Gabriel and Daniel rode to school in silence.
The streets were quiet, morning still half-asleep — the kind of quiet where you could hear a pin drop, the kind that let your thoughts run wild if you weren't careful. The bike rolled over cracks in the concrete and potholes as a breeze cut past their faces, carrying the faint smell of car oil, wet pavement, and trash waiting on the curb.
Gabriel kept pedaling without thinking. His mind was elsewhere, his body on autopilot. The same thoughts replayed again and again.
Most mornings, Jai-Lee would be waiting for him by the school gate. They always walked in together, talked a little, laughed at how stupid Gabriel's jokes were.
But today—
His phone buzzed in his pocket.
He pulled it out, thumb swiping the screen downward. A new message from Jai-Lee. He didn't even need to open it — the message was short and straight to the point.
Don't wait for me. I'll see you inside.
No emoji. No reason. Just that.
He stared at it for a second as his heart started to beat faster. The words sat heavier on his chest than they should've. Then he slid the phone back into his pocket and kept pedaling.
Daniel sat on the back pegs, gripping the seatpost and glancing up every so often. He could tell something was wrong. Gabriel hadn't said a word since they left the house, and the silence felt thick — like something was sitting between them.
Daniel cleared his throat. "Gabe?"
"What? Now?" Gabriel's tone came out harsher than he meant it to.
Daniel flinched but didn't push it. Gabriel had been like this a lot lately — carrying too much, saying too little. It wasn't that he hated being an older brother, but it felt like a job he never applied for.
Their parents treated him like Daniel's personal bodyguard, and Gabriel was sick of it.
If Daniel went to the shop, Gabriel had to go. Basketball practice? Gabriel too. It was like being half-son, half-parent — and the part that got left behind was the one that actually wanted to live his own life.
That weight had been sitting on him for years, pressing down on his shoulders like a quiet reminder that nothing was really his. It wasn't anger — just something that built up over time. A slow kind of frustration that waited for a bad day to show its face.
Daniel took a deep breath and finally spoke again. "Do you think Mom's right? You think Dad's actually coming back when he finishes this project?"
Gabriel let out a short, humorless laugh. "You're serious?"
"I mean… yeah. Be real with me."
Gabriel sighed, eyes fixed on the road ahead. "Alright, you asked for the truth? He's always been like this. You were just too young to remember back then."
Daniel stayed quiet, deep in thought, waiting for his brother to finish.
"Every time he starts something new, it's the same story," Gabriel said. "Big promises, bigger excuses. He keeps saying it's just temporary — says he'll be around after it's done — but that 'after'? It never comes. He finishes one thing, jumps straight into another like we don't exist. New goal, new deadline, same lies. And Mom… she keeps believing him."
He shook his head. "She keeps saying it's almost over. But it never really is."
Daniel frowned. "He had a project before this one?"
"Yeah," Gabriel said. "You were still in diapers. Some energy thing. He was obsessed — barely came home. One night I stayed up waiting for him. Thought maybe we'd hang out or something. He came in, dead tired, dropped on the couch. Ten minutes later, his phone rang. Work. He just got up and left — shouting back that he'd make it up to me. If I had a dollar for every time he said that, I wouldn't need to go to school."
Gabriel's hands tightened on the handlebars. His voice dropped.
"He promised me a trip once. Said when the project was done, we'd go somewhere fun. I believed him. Printed out pictures, circled dates. Then the project failed, and when I brought it up, he said, 'Next year.' Next year was eight years ago."
He exhaled slowly. "He's not too tired for work. He's just too tired for us."
Daniel's face fell. "But he promised to take me to the laser derby on my birthday."
Gabriel glanced back for a second, then forward again. That word — promised — hit different when you've heard it too many times before.
He didn't want to crush him, but he also didn't want him growing up believing the same lie.
"Maybe he will," Gabriel said. "Maybe he won't. Just… don't hold your breath."
Daniel looked down at his sneakers, disappointment etched across his face. "Yeah."
"If he doesn't come," Gabriel said, softer now, "we'll go anyway. Just me and you. I promise."
They rode the rest of the way without talking. Not awkward — just quiet. Heavy. The kind of silence that fills the air when too much truth's been spoken.
As they passed a row of shuttered shops, the school came into view — Jesvelt High — a gray concrete block with blue trim and banners flapping in the wind. The parking lot was already packed. Kids stood in groups near the entrance, laughing too loud, pretending life was normal.
Gabriel rolled up to the bike rack and kicked the stand down. Daniel hopped off, adjusting his backpack straps. He looked smaller somehow, like something had been taken from him — not just hope. Something deeper.
Gabriel watched him for a moment, then reached out and messed up his hair. "Hey," he said.
Daniel looked up.
"Remember, if Dad flakes again, we're still going," Gabriel said with a crooked grin. "Now fix that ugly mug."
Daniel's look of disappointment cracked. The corner of his mouth curled into a smile, and a small chuckle escaped him. "Alright. I'll hold you to it."
Then he turned and walked off toward the entrance, head down, steps dragging just a little.
Gabriel stayed by the bike rack, watching the doors swing shut behind him. He already knew how it'd go — another birthday, another broken promise, another lie covered with cake and fake smiles.
But not this year. This year, he'd show up. Even if no one else did.