After two decades working in the same place, doing the same thing, just barely not making the same pay, Ryder should’ve been tired of it. He should’ve quit the moment he was old enough to recognize his other options – but he hadn’t. And after a certain amount of time passed, other options sounded like mythical storybook creations. A land where the days didn’t begin with charred coffee, the smell of rising tide, and a chorus of cranky old men. It was strange how accepting his job for what it was, no more and no less, had shifted into him almost liking it. He appreciated the monotony in it, the dependability. Not just as a source of income – it barely cleared that threshold – but as his constant. Everything else in his life had come and gone, but the docks stayed. The job stayed. It never changed, he knew there would never be a day when he showed up to clock in at dawn and find that it had up and gone.
For that, he supposed, he was an easy person to track down. For nine hours a day, he was here. The other nine hours weren’t that hard to nail down, either, he supposed, with a glance over at the clock as he heard the voice. It was almost time to call it a day, and, inevitable, grab a drink or two at the Fear Knot. For all the little variables in the last year, the small changes, he had, for the most part, maintained his orbit. Until someone fucking threw it off.
“Depends on who’s asking,” Ryder said with an exhale, dropping the last crate and giving it a rather unceremonious kick off to the area he was meant to have unloaded it. Close enough. Part of him expected to be served for something – turn to see a cop with papers in hand. But he didn’t. He turned and saw a kick who looked like he was maybe 25, and even that Ryder wasn’t sure about. He squinted at him through the unforgiving sun glinting off the ocean, inclining his head slightly in a gesture to a more shaded area of the docks. He took off his gloves, tossing them to the side with all the care he’d given his shipment, and regarded the kid with a degree of skepticism that wasn’t entirely unfriendly. “If you’re collections or some shit, that dude quit like a month ago. If you’re not… well. Are you?”
He should have thought this through. For all the planning he thought he’d done, he felt wholly unprepared for this. Ryder was skeptical. Of course he was. And even despite that, despite his racing mind as he struggled for something to say, he couldn’t help but draw comparisons. They shared features, but even in the ones they didn’t, he could see his mom in Ryder’s face. Their mother’s face that he knew so well. Their mother, who, it seemed, he didn’t know at all. The realization squeezed like a vice grip on his heart.
After maybe a beat too long, Jack laughed, running a hand over the back of his neck. “No, nothing like that. I’m--” The words died on his tongue, refused to form. I’m your brother. Just fucking say it. I. am. your. brother.
“I’m--” your brother, “looking for a job, actually.” Wow, nice one, idiot. “I just got into town a few days ago. You know, got a map, threw a dart, wound up here.” He shrugged, the lies tasting like bile in the back of his throat. He swallowed it down. “Someone told me to try here, said you might be hiring?”
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