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Evan sat in his cluttered room, the dim glow of his computer screen painting shifting shadows on the walls. He was deep in an online game—the kind of world he could vanish into for hours without blinking. The rhythmic clatter of his keyboard and the occasional muttered curse were the only sounds.
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Then came the smell.
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It crept through the crack beneath his door, dragging him back to reality. Freshly baked bread. Melting cheese. Crisp, sizzling bacon. His stomach growled before he could stop it, stirred by something deeper than hunger—memories of better days. Simpler ones. His mother’s cooking had always been one of the few things that could lure him out of hiding.
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He heard muffled laughter and conversation through the door, followed by his mother's voice calling, "Ebby, dinner's ready!"
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Ugh, that name again.
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His jaw tightened, a flicker of irritation curling in his chest, though he couldn't ignore the familiar warmth that came with it.
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"Okay! I'll be there in a minute!" he called out, forcing a lightness into his voice that wasn't really there.
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"Hurry, or it'll get cold!" Her voice carried that firm, motherly urgency.
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His grip on his mouse tightened. A sharp exhale. "I said I'll be there in a minute!" The words shot out harsher than intended, but the thought of dragging himself downstairs, of wading into conversation and expectations, made his skin prickle. The walls of his room felt safer-quieter.
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As the laughter faded, footsteps approached his door.
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Knock knock.
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"Come in," he called, resigned.
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"Hey, honey, I brought you a plate," she said, stepping inside with a small dish of food.
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"Thanks, Mom," he replied.
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She leaned against the wall, arms crossed, her expression a mix of warmth and urgency.
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"Remember to say hi to your brother before he leaves," she urged, a small frown creasing her brow. "It's been ages since you've seen each other."
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Evan didn’t look up at first. He hesitated, fingers frozen above the keyboard.
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"I know," he mumbled, almost too quietly. Then, a beat later—
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"I will. Promise."
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Her expression softened.
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"Enjoy your meal," she said gently, starting to turn away.
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As she stepped out, Evan called after her—not loud, not emotional, just enough.
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"Thanks, Mom."
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She paused at the doorway, smiling.
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"Please close the door behind you," he added quickly, awkwardly.
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Sinking back into his chair, Evan let out a quiet, contented sigh and pushed his keyboard aside. A few clicks later, the game vanished, replaced by the red-and-white glow of YouTube’s homepage. His eyes scanned the wall of thumbnails, half-focused, until one caught his attention—just interesting enough to hold him over while he ate.
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The first bite of mashed potatoes stopped him mid-chew.
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Damn. She really outdid herself this time. The creamy texture, the subtle pop of seasoning, the bits of potato skin giving it just the right bite-perfect.
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He scooped up another forkful, letting the buttery warmth linger on his tongue before moving on to the bread. A satisfying crunch gave way to a pillowy softness, the rich garlic butter melting into every crevice. He let out a small, appreciative hum.
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By the time the video was halfway through, his plate was clean. He blinked at it, surprised by how full he felt. A chuckle rumbled in his chest. "Well, there's always room for dessert." Pushing back his chair, he got up to head downstairs but heard his phone ding
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Message Received from Kyra
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Kyra: Heeey papiii, whatcha doin’?
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Evan: Just finished dinner. Got some family over. About to sneak downstairs for dessert without getting cornered.
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Kyra: Baaabe, stop. They're your family. Who’s there?
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Evan: My brother and nephew. I know I should say hi, but small talk makes my skin itch.
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Kyra: You say that about all conversations! It’s your brother, not a job interview.
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Evan: Not all conversations. Just... most. You’re the exception. We’re not exactly close anymore anyway.
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Kyra: Maybe ‘cause you keep dodging him? You do this with everyone. If you hadn’t crawled out of your shell that day at GameStop, we wouldn’t be together!
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Evan: You mean you came up to me because we had the same 'World of Warcraft' shirt on. I was a wreck.
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Kyra: Oh, I remember. Lol
"What’s your character name?"
Cue sweat patches and stuttering. It was adorable.
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Evan: You love bringing that up.
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Kyra: Because it was the moment I knew you weren’t some fake ‘bad boy.’ Just a sweet nerd with anxiety.
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Evan: Omg stop, lol. And no offense babe, but you and your family aren't the closest either.
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Kyra: Evan, thats different. You and your brother were close.
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I’d give anything to have had that.
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My mom was abusive. She used to hit me and scream at my sister for crying. I basically raised her while hiding bruises. So yeah… not the same.
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Evan: Damn… I’m sorry. I shouldn't have said that.
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Kyra: Don’t be sorry. I know you didn't mean it in a bad wat. Just... don’t take what you have for granted. Not everyone gets a second chance with family.
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Evan: Why can’t I just eat my cake in peace?
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Kyra: No cake unless you make an effort!
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And no coño when you visit either.
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Evan: Pssh, two glasses of wine and you're melty as butter.
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Kyra: This butter’s stayin’ frozen till you talk to him.
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Evan: Ugh! Fiiiiine.
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Kyra: Good! And try to keep those sweat patches under control, Romeo.
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Evan: You’re never letting that go, huh?
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Kyra: Nope. Love you! Text me before bed.
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Evan: Love you too. Will do.
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At the top of the stairs, Evan paused. The familiar warmth of home wrapped around him like a well-worn blanket. Along the wall, framed snapshots told the story of a life—vacations, birthdays, fleeting moments captured and preserved. One photo, more faded than the rest, caught his eye. Evan's father, long gone, smiling gently. Though Evan and his brother I had different dads, after all the years, his presence still lingered in the silence over all of the family.
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Below, voices drifted upward—low murmurs, a burst of laughter, the distant clatter of dishes. The hum of normalcy. He preferred solitude, yet something about those sounds rooted him. They reached up like invisible threads, tugging softly, reminding him that no matter how far he drifted, he was still part of something.
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As Evan rounded the corner toward the kitchen, the glow of the television flickered against the walls. His steps slowed. Curled up on the couch, Essiya sat wide-eyed, engrossed in whatever played on the screen.
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Before Evan could slip past unnoticed, the boy's head snapped up.
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"Tío Evan! Hi!" Essiya bolted from the couch, feet thudding against the floor as he crashed into him with a tight hug.
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"Hey, little man!" Evan grinned, reaching down to ruffle Essiya’s hair.
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The boy’s laughter bubbled up as he launched forward, wrapping his arms tight around Evan’s waist. Evan stiffened for a breath, his hands hovering awkwardly in the air—then slowly, they dropped, resting gently on Essiya’s back.
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The hug lingered. Longer than usual. Evan didn’t glance at the clock, didn’t shift his weight or reach for an exit. He just stood there, letting the moment hold. Letting it matter.
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How's it going?" Evan asked
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Good! I haven't seen you in forever!" Essiya pulled back, squinting up at him. His nose wrinkled in mock concentration.
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"You look... different."
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He tapped his chin, eyes narrowed like he was solving a mystery. Then his face lit up, all mischief.
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"You're not as tubby anymore!"
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Evan let out a startled snort that caught in his throat. He scratched the back of his neck, eyes darting to the floor, then the ceiling—anywhere but Essiya’s face.
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"Yeah, uh..." His voice cracked slightly. "Been eating better, I guess."
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Essiya smirked, folding his arms with the confidence of someone who ran the third-grade dating scene.
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"Good. Girls don’t like chubby dudes, you know. Trust me. Unless you're supper funny and rich. Which you're only one of those things."
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Evan's smile twitched. "You little shi-"
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"ESSIYA! WHAT DID I SAY ABOUT TALKING ABOUT HOW PEOPLE LOOK?!" Donovan's voice boomed as he rounded the corner, playful yet protective.
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Evan noticed the faint flush in Donovan’s cheeks—a telltale sign. He’d definitely had wine with dinner.
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With hos hand playfully gripping the back of his neck, Donovan let out a warm chuckle.
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"What’s up, Evan?"
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There was an ease in his voice that only showed up after a drink or two. Sober, his older brother usually kept things surface-level, like a handshake that never turned into a hug.
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"Though he could’ve said it nicer," Donovan added, nodding toward Essiya with a smirk, "he’s right, you know. You’ve slimmed down."
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He grinned as he stepped closer—more comfortable than Evan was used to. Almost like the space between them wasn’t always there.
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Evan shifted his weight once more, rubbing the back of his neck. "Just trying to be healthier, I guess," he muttered, avoiding both of their gazes.
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"Hey, whatever you're doing, it's working," Donovan said, clapping him on the shoulder. "It's good to see you, man. Really."
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"Yea!" Essiya chimed in with a mischievous grin. "Even your man boobs have shrunk!"
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"ESSIYA, THAT'S ENOUGH!" Donovan warned, tightening his grip on his son's neck.
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Evan chuckled awkwardly, pulling the front of his shirt, feeling a bit exposed. "It's all good, Donovan," he mumbled, trying to brush off the comment. "Actually, I've been talking to someone."
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Donovan's eyebrows shot up, his interest piqued. "Oh really? What's her name? How did you meet?"
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Evan hesitated, shifting his weight again, but when he thought of Kyra, a flicker of confidence lit his face.
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"Her name’s Kyra. We met at Game Stop."
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Donovan raised an eyebrow. "Oh yeah? What’s her background?"
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"She’s Puerto Rican."
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Essiya’s eyes lit up like he just won a prize.
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"Daaang, you got you a Latina gamer girl? Is she thick?"
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Donovan’s hand instantly smacked the back of his son’s head—not hard, just enough.
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"Boy, don’t talk like that. You sound like the damn internet."
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Essiya rubbed his head, grinning. "I learned it from the internet."
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Donovan shook his head, muttering, "And I’m gonna ban that Wi-Fi if you keep talkin’ slick."
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He turned back to Evan, his voice dropping slightly, more serious but still riding that casual tone.
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"Just be careful with Latina girls, man. They love hard—but if they think you’re messin’ around, they'll take your kneecaps. I’m serious. Ain’t nothin’ more dangerous than a Latina who thinks you’re cheating."
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Evan glanced away, scratching his arm. "Uh... that sounds... oddly specific.”
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Donovan scratched the back of his neck, glancing sideways at Essiya.
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"Let’s just say... Marilyn didn’t exactly take things lightly. Pop tires, burn clothes... all while she was the one steppin’ out."
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He coughed into his fist.
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"Anyway, it didn’t work out. That’s why I’m with a white girl now. Won’t stab you. Got great credit."
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Evan let out a weird half-snort, half-cough, then quickly looked down like his shoes had just said something interesting.
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Essiya giggled "Yeah, but they don’t know how to season food."
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Donovan blinked, then gave a slow nod. "That... is unfortunately true."
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Evan let out a weird half-snort, half-cough, then quickly looked down like his shoes had just said something interesting.
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"Well... uh... we, uh... communicate. Instead of, y’know… popping tires."
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Donovan chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. "Yeah. That’s... something we had trouble doing. Communication. I don’t know, man. It’s easier for me after a drink or two. Otherwise, I just keep everything locked up."
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Evan didn’t know what to say. He stood there, nodding slightly, hands awkwardly stuffed in his hoodie pockets.
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Donovan broke the silence with a softer tone. "I’m happy for you, man. Maybe you and Kyra can get a place together. Finally move outta Mom’s house, huh?"
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Evan looked up, caught off guard by the sincerity—but before he could respond, Donovan pulled him in.
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Evan returned the hug, feeling a rare sense of warmth and connection.
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Evan glanced toward the kitchen, feeling the familiar pull of his solitary retreat. "I think I'm going to grab some dessert and head back upstairs," he mumbled.
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But Donovan, sensing the usual retreat, interjected. "Hey, why don't you bring back a bottle of wine and a couple of glasses instead? Let's sit and talk for a bit."
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Essiya, with a cheeky grin, chimed in, "Make it three!"
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Donovan chuckled, shaking his head. "Nice try, Essiya, but you're sticking to juice for a few more years."
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Evan hesitated, his instinct to withdraw and battle with his brother's unexpected invitation. Reluctantly, he nodded and made his way to the kitchen, grabbing a bottle and two glasses. As he returned, he noticed Essiya's playful pout, which made everyone smile.
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At first, Evan felt awkward, unsure of what to say as he poured the wine. He fumbled with the bottle, spilling a little on the table. Donovan laughed it off, and they both took a sip. Slowly, the wine began to ease the tension in Evan's shoulders, the warmth spreading through him.
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As the evening wore on, the wine worked its magic, loosening Evan's usual guarded demeanor. The conversation flowed easily, the years of distance melting away, if only for a moment. They talked about trivial things, the kind of banter that felt natural and reassuring. Donovan's usual guarded demeanor was also softened by the wine, allowing a rare glimpse into the brother he used to know.
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"Do you have any games on your phone tìo Evan?" Essiya asks
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"No time for that, Essiya. We're about to leave," Donovan replied, scooping him up. "It was good seeing you, man. Stay in touch. I know we've grown apart over the years-"
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"I WANT TO SEE YOUR GIRLFRIEND!" Essiya suddenly interrupted, eyes wide with excitement.
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Evan, feeling the warmth and confidence from the wine, chuckled as he scrolled through his phone without hesitation, searching for a good picture. Donovan quietly scolded Essiya for interrupting, but Evan was unfazed, buoyed by the newfound ease that the wine provided.
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Once he found a decent photo, he turned the screen toward them, a proud smile on his face. "Here she is," he said, his voice steady and sure.
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"Wow, she's gorgeous, man. Good job, little bro," Donovan said, beaming.
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"Daaaaamn, Tío Evan! You got you a baddie for real! She got a little sister?" Essiya asked with a sly grin.
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"BOY, WATCH YOUR DAMN MOUTH!" Donovan exclaimed. "Go to the car and wait for me before I give you a wedgie!"
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Essiya took off running out the front door, screaming, "Not another wedgie!!!"
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They both laughed.
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"Man, kids. They're something else," Evan said, shaking his head.
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"Yeah, tell me about it," Donovan replied, smirking. "We're careful, no cursing around him, we watch what he watches, no phone yet. But somehow, he's out here saying stuff like, 'Damn, bruh,' 'No cap,' and 'skibity toilet,' whatever that means. It has to be the kids at school."
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Evan nodded thoughtfully. "Maybe he picks up some of that from his friends, but he doesn't strike me as a follower. He's got his own mind, his own direction. Maybe he'll wander into a few backrooms for the fun of it, but he'll always find his way. You and Morgan have done an incredible job with him."
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Donovan's expression softened. "Thanks, man. That means a lot." He hesitated, then sighed. "Hey man, I know we've grown apart. A lot of that was on me, joining the bloodd when you were younger. But it was never personal. I kept you distant to protect you and Mom. That life wasn't something I wanted you anywhere near. But I want you to know I love you, man. No matter what, I'm always here for you."
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Evan was caught off guard by Donovan's openness. It was unexpected, even with the wine loosening their tongues. The depth of the conversation stirred something in him, and despite being tipsy, his hermit personality threatened to return. But the wine gave him just enough courage to stay present and engaged.
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Memories flooded his mind-long afternoons spent playing video games together as kids, laughing and fiercely competing over every level. Donovan always had a knack for strategy, effortlessly beating him time and time again, taunting him with playful jabs about being the "worst player ever." Evan remembered the sting of those losses, the frustration that would bring tears to his eyes, especially when he knew he could never seem to win.
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And then there were their wrestling matches, where Donovan would easily pin him down, slipping him into an ankle lock and making him tap out almost every time. Evan could still hear Donovan's laughter, teasing him as he struggled to break free. "You'll never beat me, little bro!"
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But everything changed when Donovan got involved with that gang. Instead of sharing laughs and bonding over games, the distance grew. Donovan became elusive, hanging out with new friends and disappearing for hours without explanation.
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Evan felt abandoned and confused, unsure why his brother had pulled away. Which led to him becoming a hermit. During that time, their mother drew even closer to Evan, babying him in Donovan's absence. It was a comfort that eventually led to Evan still living with her, the bond growing out of necessity and protection.
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"I- It's all good, man. No hard feelings," Evan finally replied, a hint of regret in his voice. The memories tugged at him, and he felt the sting of tears again. "I appreciate that. I know we've grown apart, but we're still brothers. Always will be. Nothing will change that. I love you, man."
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Evan pulled Donovan into a hug. Not just for the sentiment but to hide the tears burning in his eyes.
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"I love you too, bro," Donovan replied, emotion thick in his voice.
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"Oh, my boys. I dreamed of this day..."
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They turned to see their mother standing in the doorway, hands clasped over her mouth, eyes glistening with tears.
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"Moooom!" Evan groaned, rolling his eyes with a smirk as their mother rushed into the room, hands clasped over her mouth.
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"Family hug!" she exclaimed, wrapping them both tightly.
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For a fleeting moment, everything felt perfect. But then-
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CRASH!
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The sharp sound of glass shattering jolted them out of their blissful moment.
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"What was that?" Evan murmured, heart racing.
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Another crash. Then another. Objects clattered to the floor, and the framed photos on the walls trembled.
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He blinked in disbelief. "Are they... shaking?" he murmured, rubbing his eyes as if to clear his drunken vision.
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Their mother started toward the kitchen, but the ground beneath them jolted violently, making her stumble and fall.
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"Mom!" Both brothers yelled, lunging toward her.
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The tremors intensified, turning into a full-blown quake. Evan's pulse quickened. "Are we having a fuckin’ earthquake? In Florida?!"
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Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Donovan sprint toward the front door.
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Essiya.
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"Come on, Mom! We need to get to the bathroom!" Evan shouted, urgency spiking his voice as he helped her up. The house groaned ominously around them, the walls vibrating with the force of the tremor.
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Evan pulled both himself and his mother into the bathroom, knowing it was one of the safest spots in the house with fewer things to fall on them. The shaking felt endless, each violent jolt more terrifying than the last. They huddled together, trying to steady themselves against the quivering walls.
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The air was thick with fear, the sound of rattling furniture and shattering glass echoing through the house. Evan's heart pounded in his chest, and he could feel his mother's trembling hand clutching his arm tightly.
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"Dear God, please keep us safe," his mother began to pray, her voice wavering with each aftershock. "Where's Donovan? Is he safe?"
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Evan's mind raced, his concern for his brother cutting through his own fear. "He went for Essiya."
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But just as suddenly as it began, the tremors faded into stillness, leaving behind an eerie silence.
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Evan exhaled shakily, his ears ringing. He and his mother slowly pulled themselves up, still reeling from what just happened.
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He stumbled into the hallway, gripping the frame for support. Then, cautiously, he stepped into the kitchen.
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His stomach dropped.
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The kitchen was a war zone. Broken dishes, shattered glass, scattered food, it was everywhere.
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"Evan, I'm going to check on your brother," she said, her voice trembling.
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"Okay," Evan murmured as he started picking up plates, checking for salvageable pieces.
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Then he heard it.
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A scream.
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Not just any scream. A gut-wrenching cry that froze his blood in his veins.
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"Oh my dear Lord!" His mother yelled.
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Terror gripped his chest. He bolted toward the sound, nearly slipping on the debris-strewn floor. His heartbeat pounded in his ears as he rounded the corner.
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And then-
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His breath caught in his throat.
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His mother was on her knees, sobbing, trembling hands clutching her chest.
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"Oh, Lord, no. Please, God, my baby, my Bubby, please help him!."
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Evan followed her gaze.
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Donovan lay face-down in a growing pool of blood, cradling Essiya, motionless, a smaller puddle of crimson pooling beneath his head.
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Evan stumbled back, weak-legged.
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"W-what the hell..."
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His heel caught on a fallen brick, and he nearly toppled over. Stones and debris from the house littered the ground.
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"HELP THEM, EVAN!" his mother screamed, voice raw with agony.
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Snapping out of his shock and pure adrenaline, he turned and sprinted back inside. "I'm calling 911!"
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He raced up the stairs, but resistance met him as he tried to shove his bedroom door open.
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Something must've fallen, blocking the entrance.
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Gritting his teeth, he threw his weight against the door. It barely budged. His mother's sobs echoed through the house, fueling his desperation. He slammed his shoulder against it again. And again. The wood groaned, splintering. Then, finally, cracked.
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A sharp pain shot through his shoulder, but adrenaline dulled it.
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One more.
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With a final, forceful blow, the door crashed off its hinges, sending him tumbling into the chaos of his wrecked room.
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Heart hammering, he frantically searched through the debris. Books, blankets, a fallen TV, where the hell is his phone?
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"FUCK! WHERE IS IT?!" he yelled.
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Then, finally-
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Under the broken TV screen. There!
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Snatching it up, he fumbled to turn it on. The screen was cracked but still functioned. Shaking hands struggled to unlock it. After three failed attempts, he finally got through.
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The line rang.
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Then-
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"Due to a high volume of calls, your wait time may be longer than usual. Please remain on the line-"
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"FOR FUCK'S SAKE?!" he roared.
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He bolted back downstairs, nearly missing a step but managing to catch himself.
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"I'm on the phone with them, but no one's answering!" he told his mother, breathless.
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She didn't respond, just rocked back and forth, crying, hands pressed to Donovan's back.
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Minutes felt like hours.
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Finally-
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"Due to a high number of calls, it may take longer than usual for your call to be answered. Please wait patiently for an operator."
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"ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!" Evan yelled, running his hands through his hair in frustration. He paced back and forth, glancing at his mother, still sobbing over Donovan and Essiya. The sound of her cries made his stomach churn.
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After what felt like an eternity, a voice finally came through the receiver.
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"911, what is your emergency?"
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Evan took a deep breath, this intense situation sobering him up, though he still struggled to steady his voice. "We-there was something-it felt like an earthquake-my brother, he's on the ground outside-he's bleeding a lot, and my nephew-he's unconscious. I need an ambulance now!"
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The operator's response made his blood run cold.
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"Due to widespread emergencies, it may take up to forty minutes for an ambulance to reach you."
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"Are you SHITTING me?!"
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His mother looked up, eyes wide. "What did they say?"
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"Forty minutes!"
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"We can't wait that long!" she shrieked.
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Evan clenched his jaw. "We'll have to take them ourselves."
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The operator quickly provided instructions. "In that case, listen carefully. I need you to check their pulse. Place two fingers on the side of the adult male's neck and the child's wrist."
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"Mom, check their pulse!" Evan instructed, voice trembling.
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His mother hesitated before pressing her fingers against Donovan's neck, then Essiya's wrist. Her face scrunched in concentration before she nodded through her tears. "I feel it! It's faint, but it's there!"
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"Alright," the operator replied. "Can you tell me where the injuries are?"
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Evan swallowed hard, crouching closer to examine his brother. He winced at the sight of blood but forced himself to focus. "It's the back of his head... and the back of his neck. There's a big gash. A lot of blood." He hesitated, then looked at his nephew. "The kid-I think the top of his head, but I can't tell for sure."
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There was a brief pause before the operator spoke again.
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"When you roll him over, make sure his head, neck, and spine move together as one unit. Do not twist his neck in any way. You and your mother need to do this slowly and carefully. Once he's on his back, lightly wrap a clean cloth or gauze around the wound to slow the bleeding, but do not apply direct pressure to his neck."
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Evan nodded, even though the operator couldn't see him. "Okay, got it."
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"For the child," the operator continued, "if you don't suspect a skull fracture, you can apply firm pressure to his wound to slow the bleeding. But be careful. If you notice any soft spots or deformities on his skull, do not apply pressure there."
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"O-Okay," Evan stammered, running a hand over his face. He looked at his mother. "We have to turn him over carefully. Keep his head straight with his body."
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They moved cautiously, his mother supporting Donovan's head as they lifted him. They placed him in the truck bed, laying him flat with the towel beneath his head.
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Then Evan scooped up Essiya, placing him beside his father.
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Evan put his phone back up to his ear,
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"Okay, they are loaded up."
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"Would you like me to stay on the line?"
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"No, I think we got it. Thank you."
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"Alright. Drive safe, and best of luck to your family."
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click
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As he carefully maneuvered through the debris-covered streets, his mind reeled. Less than an hour ago, they had been sharing heartfelt moments, one of the best times in years. And now, in an instant, everything had changed.
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He gripped the wheel tighter, heart pounding as the hospital came into view.
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"Please, God, let them be okay," he whispered
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