Page 15 of Dreams and Desires

“Don’t use that tone here.”

My dad’s eyes cut through me. He doesn’t yell. He doesn’t have to.

I freeze. Not becausehe’s right. Just because I’m tired. Too much has happened today and I don’t have the energy to fight both him and my mom in the same hour.

Jacob’s still sitting at the table. He glances between us, then pushes back his chair. Quiet. Smooth. Like he’s defusing a bomb.

He stands and reaches for my hand. “Come on.”

I let him pull me out of the kitchen without a word.

On the stairs, Jacob glances over his shoulder. His hand is still wrapped around mine.

"You should get out for a bit. Just go… be somewhere else. Clear your head."

I pause halfway up the steps. "What?"

He shrugs like it’s obvious. "Go out. Go do something that isn't this house, or Mom, or Dad. Or me. Just for a night."

I stare at him. He’s not wrong. My brain’s still buzzing from earlier. Everything feels too tight, too loud, too close. "I don’t know," I mutter.

"Do it anyway," he says, giving my hand a small squeeze before letting go. "You need it."

I don’t argue. I just nod and walk into my room.

I lie down on my bed for a while, staring at the ceiling like it’ll give me answers. It doesn’t. Of course it doesn’t.

After a while, I get up. Walk to my suitcase. Start digging through it. My hand brushes over a black dress—soft, worn, familiar. I pull itout, hold it up, and then just slip it on. No second-guessing.

It fits like always. A little loose around the shoulders, snug around the hips. I add boots and tie my hair back. No makeup. Even though I love it, I got energy for that tonight.

The bar’s only a few blocks away. I walk there. The night air helps, a little. My legs move fast. I don’t stop thinking, but at least I’m not in the house.

Inside, it’s the same as always. Low light, warm wood, chatter humming over the speakers. People leaning close at small tables. A couple guys throwing darts by the bathrooms. I slide onto a stool near the end of the bar.

I order a whiskey. Something with heat. I don’t want to sip something sweet. I want to feel it.

While I’m waiting, two guys nearby are talking. Loud enough to hear, not loud enough to pretend it’s meant for anyone else.

"That new guy in town, Patterson. You hear what he’s doing?"

That name hits like a slap.

My stomach tenses.

The other one laughs. "The suit? Yeah. Some big resort thing. Supposed to be massive."

"Right by the park," the first guy says. "Gonna change everything."

I tune out whatever comes next.

Patterson. The same guy from earlier. The one I slapped in the middle of the street. The one who almost hit Jacob.

Now he’s trying to rip up Cody Riverside Park.

I pull out my phone, type in his name. Articles come up instantly. Headlines about multimillion-dollar builds. Photos of him standing in front of glass towers and sweeping golf courses. Everything pristine. Perfect.

None of it belongs here.

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