Page 85 of Forced Into Your Arms
It sounded personal, but close friends had personal disagreements all the time. Mace had been in my life for years. Sam was my cousin. They spent more time around each other than most people realized, especially when I was handling business or moving between restaurants.
Maybe they’d fallen out over something neither one thought I needed to know.
I scrolled further.
Sam:You coming tonight?
Mace:Can’t. Vice got me handling something.
Sam:He always got you handling something.
Mace:That’s my job.
Sam:And what am I?
I narrowed my eyes in confusion.
I read the exchange again, trying to make it fit into a box that made sense. Sam could’ve been asking as a friend. Maybe they had plans and Mace canceled. It could’ve been anything.
The next message came the following morning.
Mace:You know what you are.
Sam:Do I?
I stopped scrolling.
A feeling I couldn’t name settled in my chest. It wasn’t anger yet because I still didn’t know what the fuck I was looking at. All I knew was that the conversation sounded like something I wasn’t supposed to see.
I continued anyway.
Weeks earlier, the tone changed again.
Sam:I miss you.
Mace’s reply came a few minutes later.
Mace: Saw you yesterday.
Sam:That ain’t what I mean.
Mace:I know.
My grip tightened around the phone.
There were plenty of ways to interpret missing somebody. Hell, Sam told my aunt he missed her every time he wanted her to cook. He could’ve meant they hadn’t spent time together outside of work. I just wanted to give them both the benefit of the doubt.
Then I reached the next message.
Sam:I hate acting like you ain’t mine when everybody around.
I stared at the screen until the words blurred together. No matter how many times I read them, they didn’t change.
Mace had responded with one sentence.
Mace:We agreed this was how it had to be.
I put the phone down and leaned back, trying to process what was sitting in front of me.
