Page 72 of Not Made to Last

“No,” I’m quick to say. “You focus on school and basketball. I’ll take care of the rest.”

He’s quiet a beat, and so I turn to him. He’s already watching me, his eyes holding so much pain and anguish that I have to look away. “You think I’ll really get into the NBA?”

“Of course. I have full faith that you’ll get there, Dom. But only if that’s what you really want.”

“I do,” he says, nodding. “And once I get there, I’ll take care of all of us. Forever. I promise.”

The tears I’d held on to slip from my eyes, cling to my lashes. “I know you will,” I state. “Get into the NBA, I mean. Anything else is a bonus.”

He smiles, or at least attempts to. And then sniffs once, his green eyes holding mine. “Promise you won’t leave us?—”

“Dom…”

“I’m serious, Ohana. That’s what I fear the most. That you’ll resent us one day, and?—”

“I’m not my mother,” I cut in, a flicker of anger heating my words.

“I know,” he says, and his hand tightens around mine again. “But Max isn’t your brother. He’s mine.”

“He’sours.”

Dom watches me, his eyes shifting between mine. And then he laughs. Just once. But it’s sad. So, so sad. “Remember what Dad used to say?”

I nod, knowing what he’s thinking, because the same words have lived inside me for as long as I can remember. But they’ve never been as clear as they have been since my mother walked out. “The family we create means more than the family who created us.”

Sleep evades me, as it has most nights lately, and no amount of tossing and turning puts my mind at ease. With a frustrated sigh, I throw the covers off me and open the drawer of my nightstand, pull out the phone Mrs. Garrett had given me a few days ago. I unlock it and go straight to the text messages from the only contact stored in the phone, then read through our exchange from a couple of days ago.

Hey. I’m at the front of the address you gave me to pick up the fridge, but no one’s answering the door.

Unknown

Wrong number

I just checked, and this is the number you gave me through Messenger.

I don’t know what to tell you, but I don’t have a fridge for sale.

Did you block me on Messenger?

I didn’t, but whoever scammed you obviously did.

Are you serious? I drove all this way…

I fail to see how that’s my problem, but sorry (for you), I guess.

Fuck you.

Life already has.

The next day, I tried again.

Hey

Unknown

Still wrong number.

I know.

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