𝗔𝗰𝗾𝘂𝗮𝗶𝗻𝘁𝗮𝗻𝗰𝗲𝘀

Twenty-One

Rebecca Caruso

As I shut the cab door behind me, the distant hum of the engine gradually faded away, and a sense of déjà vu swept over me, caught in a perpetual loop from the night before.

Same time, the same place, and the same inexplicable feeling...

Guilt.

With cautious steps, I made my way home. The crisp crunch of fallen leaves beneath my feet resonated through the silence. Each footfall carried a hint of uncertainty, as though the entire world held its breath, anticipating my next move.

I left the diner, belly full of pancakes and mind buzzing with a mix of panic and poised persuasion. The meeting with Rafael had been a delicate dance of negotiations, and the subsequent phone call with Marco left lingering uncertainties in the air.

Though five minutes had passed since I hung up the phone, I could still feel the verberation of Marco's anxiety through my ears. I needed him to trust me —for my own sake; not Rafael's, and certainly not for this case.

A familiar sight of our front porch came into view. An unexpected scene unfolded as Christopher and Robert sat side by side, savoring their cigars.

Shit. 

The soft glow of tobacco cast a warm ambiance, contrasting with the chilly night. Christopher looked up, a smile spreading across his face as he waved. "Hey, you're finally home!"

"Hey...you're both up," I remarked, waving back as I walked up the few steps. "Why?"

"We just wanted to make sure you got home safely, sweetheart," Robert greeted me, his voice infused with forced warmth. "Especially after last night."

"Last night," I replied vaguely, shooting a direct look at Christopher.

Seriously, can't he ever figure out when to zip it?

"You told him about last night?" The irritation lingered in my tone, a silent plea for him to grasp the concept of personal boundaries.

Christopher took a puff from his cigar, his brows furrowed, unease apparent in his expression. "Yeah, well, he wanted to know why I was still up."

I paused, grappling with a surge of displeasure. What, am I not allowed to let loose once in a while? "You're both aware that I am a capable, independent adult, right? You easily could've called or texted."

My father responded without words, a contemplative puff escaping from his cigar.

I couldn't help but read between the lines, a voice in my head whispering, He's upset that I didn't answer his call last night. The unspoken tension lingered, interwoven with the tendrils of smoke that swirled between us.

Christopher extinguished his cigar abruptly. "We were worried, that's all there is to it, Beck, I swear," he admitted, his eyes reflecting a mix of concern and remorse.

"You knew I was with Rafael," I responded, a touch of defiance in my voice.

"Exactly," Robert added coldly, his words cutting through the air like an unexpected chill. The sting of his tone settled, and an ache of disappointment lingered.

Ah, so that was the reason they waited up. He never cared about the actions of last night; he was just prowling for the words spoken this evening. They despised Rafael's probable influence on me, believing a jolt of manly intervention would erase it all.

Internally, I sighed, recognizing their intentions while still grappling with the frustration of my brother being unheard and unacknowledged. I held their gaze, attempting to convey my point without letting resentment seep into my words.