Page 2 of Reeling for His Omega

“My happiness is not your responsibility, Dad.” The words tumbled from my mouth before I could think about how they would land. With my father, I always thought about how my words would be absorbed.

We were attorneys, after all.

My heart stumbled over the next beat. This was one of those moments in life. The couple eating the hot dogs had long gone, but I knew what I wanted.

And none of it could be found at a boardroom desk or in the courtroom.

My education didn’t matter.

The money was all saved up because I’d learned early on that the car and the house and the vacation served only as a bandage for a blister that enlarged by the day.

“That’s true, but it looks like you’re not taking responsibility for it either.”

He was right. In his own harsh way, my father was always right. Except for one thing.

He promised that eventually law school and being like him would bring me some joy.

“I don’t want to be a lawyer anymore.”

He snorted.

“Let me rephrase, I’m done being a lawyer, Dad. Today is my last day.” I turned around to see the end of a dramatic eye roll. Laziness, he’d once told me. Eye rolling was for people who couldn’t express themselves otherwise or defend their case. As bad as whatever.

“Not this again. Why must we revisit this argument every few months? Does my reasoning have an expiration date I don’t know about?”

“Yes. It does. And it expires for the last time tonight.”

“You’ll be back tomorrow, Eryx. Sleep on it, Son.”

On my way to the door, I patted him on the shoulder. Not one time could I recall him hugging me. I’d laid my heart on the line once, when I was in kindergarten and had an eventful day. Asked him for a hug.

He’d gathered his briefcase and said he was late to court.

It was a Sunday.

“You’re going to fail.” He’d switched to the nasty tone. The one he used in the grit of closing arguments. Pointing a finger at the guilty party.

“At what?”

He pushed his hands into his pockets. “At anything but this. This is who you are.”

“Then I fail. But I can’t do this anymore.”

Chapter Two

Joaquin

I picked the spot in front of the shuttered theater because it seemed like the perfect place for a gourmet popcorn cart. For over a year, I’d rolled up every day and unloaded the cart under the marquee affixed with the title of the last movies shown there.

Theater. Popcorn. A perfect match.

On this particular day, I was running a little late because a high-end sedan was parked in the slot where I always stopped the truck to roll off the cart. It was technically a loading zone, although nobody had unloaded anything there in a very long time. I had the choice of either waiting for whoever was parked there to leave—presumably within the loading minutes allowed—or find another spot to park and wheel the cart back.

Since there was a lot of foot traffic building up, I didn’t want to waste any time. Usually, I left my pickup in the city parking on the next block, so I headed that way and found an empty slot.

I climbed out and went around back, grumbling under my breath. The cart did roll, but it was a little top heavy and needed new wheels. I’d been planning to replace them soon, but my profit margin was so low, I put off anything that could be delayed. The few feet I normally had to push it were no big deal. But a couple of blocks?

The wheels clanked, the containers of flavors and colors rattled, and I caught two glass jars just before they would have hit the ground. People were looking out of windows and doors, eyes wide, and I fought back embarrassment by reminding myself that I was getting some attention. Maybe someone who hadn’t noticed the cart would see and decide to come buy a treat later. I tried to return their stares with a friendly smile and wave while still managing to keep the wheels rumbling in the right direction.