Page 25 of Better as It

“Smell of rain wakes me up,” he mutters.

“Useful talent.” I joke with him.

He glances at me. “You and Dia— you ever gonna talk about it?”

I don’t pretend not to know what he means. “Don’t know. I’m not pushing. She’s still healing.”

BW nods. “Yeah. But healing don’t mean you gotta keep pretending you’re just a friend.”

I grip the wheel tighter. I don’t reply though. Nothing I can put into words ever explains the dynamic between we have.

“You think she doesn’t know how you feel? If I can see it my fuckin’ sister knows it.” he adds. “She’s not blind, brother.”

“She’s grieving.”

“Yeah. But she shut everyone out. You, though, she calls you back. She lets you in the house. Actions speak, fucker. That says a lot.”

We make it home by midnight, drop the van at the garage, and check in with Tripp. He gives the nod of approval. “Good work. Clean?”

“Clean,” I say. “Sons send their regards.”

I don’t go home after that. I drive past the shop, past the bar, out toward the island where Dia lives. I pull over beside her car. Looking at the lights being off, I hope she’s resting. I remain in place for a few minutes.

Then I text:

Back in town. Don’t need anything. Just wanted you to know I meant it—before the rest, I was your friend. Still am. Always will be.

I hit send, kill the engine, and sit in the silence that follows.

The reply comes a minute later. Just one word.

Always.

EIGHT

DIA

“Be like the bear, fierce, protective, and unapologetically you.”- Unknown

Maritza shows up without warning.Skye alerts me first, thinking it’s another delivery from Justin, I push her into my bedroom and shut the door. She still barks but at least I don’t have to hold her back from biting someone. When I order deliveries, I put in the notes leave at the door and don’t knock. For all the work I’ve done with this dog, the training I’ve paid for even, there is something in her spirit I can’t soothe. I fear the time before I got her has permanently left this distrust etched into her. It kills me I can’t take her pain away.

It's probably how my family feels about me. Unable to help is the worst.

I hear her before I see her—Maritza that is, knocking like the building’s on fire, keys jingling, and her voice sharp through the door. “Open up! Dia, I swear to God, if you’re ignoring me again, I might just lose my shit and tear the door down!”

I pull the door open mid-rant, still in pajama shorts and a tank top, hair a mess, eyes gritty from sleep I didn’t actually feel like I got.

“Jesus, I’m here, no need to wake the neighbors.”

She marches in like she owns the place, arms crossed, eyes sweeping over me. Her face shifts from irritation to concern in half a heartbeat.

“You look like hell.”

“Thanks,” I mutter, closing the door behind her. “Why are you here?”

She pauses in the middle of my living room, scanning the half-empty coffee cup on the table, the soup container from two nights ago still sitting on the counter, my dog barking like the crazy shit she is from behind my bedroom door.

“You’ve been off,” she says simply. “More than usual. And now you’re not answering texts. I get it, you lost Clutch and this shit is hard. But I can’t do the freeze out. I can’t handle not being able to get you through the depression. Because the way you shut down, as your bestie for the restie, I have to tell you is depression. So here I am. Hoping to be a little bit of light in your darkest time.

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