too much, she would never really learn the ways of the streets—or the world, for that matter. It was his sheltering in the past that had left Ciara naïve and open to the smooth talk of a sex trafficker. He still worried himself sick about her sometimes.
He picked up his own drink, a Heineken, and took it to the head for a swig.
“Ah!” He winced as the cold brew hit his throat. He was praying it would hit his brain as hard to ease his mind. Brice still struggled with PTSD and intrusive memories. They were sometimes better than others, but one thing remained the same—he couldn’t control when and where they’d tramp into his mind.
“So, what’s new?” Brice asked Ciara, putting his beer down noisily and looking at her across the table of a quaint restaurant in a newly gentrifying section of Brooklyn. A lot had changed, but at the same time, a lot had remained the same as it was back then. Brice had continued the same traditions he’d had with his sister—a monthly, or at least every six weeks, meetup to chat. After Brice left home and landed the promotion to detective, he didn’t have as much time for Ciara as he had before he became (in his assessment) a hotshot at the NYPD. But, just like now, he’d carved out time for her as much as he could. Back then, Brice had looked forward to spending time with Ciara, even if it meant taking her on one of her expensive mini shopping sprees.
“Nothing new. Same old things. School, work, home. Boring, boring, boring,” Ciara said, letting out an exasperated breath. She ran her pointer finger over the condensation on her glass and darted her eyes around the restaurant. Things felt awkward for them again. It never took long for it to get like this.
Brice shifted in his seat, immediately uncomfortable with her response. He looked up at her, and concern creased his brow. He lived on pins and needles when it came to Ciara and her safety. It was still hard for him to shake everything that had happened.
“But what’s wrong with that?” he asked, which was different than what he’d done in the past. Just as the question left his mouth, his mind reeled backward to right before their lives had imploded. Brice forced a weak smile, but as usual, he couldn’t keep that old memory from flooding back into his head. Another swig of beer didn’t help either. With him, the memories did what they wanted, and so did his mind. Brice had grabbed Ciara from school and taken her to her favorite spot. It was their tradition. He asked her what was up with her, and things had gone left from there.
* * *
“Nothing is up,” Ciara snapped. “Why you always asking me that question as soon as we alone?” Ciara continued in typical nasty-attitude teenager fashion, rolling her eyes and folding her arms across her chest.
“Ay, ay, what’s that attitude all about?” Brice asked in return, looking at his baby sister in a new light. His eyebrows crinkled so far into the center of his face he felt like they’d stay that way permanently.
“I know Mommy told you,” Ciara snapped, rolling her eyes and bouncing her legs under the table.
Brice couldn’t lie even if he wanted to at that moment. She was only sixteen, but his sister knew him well enough to know that their mother had indeed told him that Ciara had not come home until 2 a.m. one night, and when confronted about her whereabouts, Ciara had shoved their mother and run to her room. This wasn’t typical behavior for Ciara.
Although Brice wanted to shake the truth out of his sister, he tried to remain calm in his questioning. “Well, I’m waiting for you to tell me your version,” Brice replied, keeping his voice even. She was a teenager, and he tried to understand, but his patience had begun to grow thin.
“You’re my brother, not my father. I don’t have to tell you nothing,” Ciara spat, pushing her chair back and standing up.
Her sudden movement surprised Brice, so much so that he jumped into action.
“Where do you think you’re going? Sit down,” Brice instructed in a harsh whisper, trying not to attract the attention of numerous customers eating at Dallas BBQ downtown.
“I don’t want to have these meetings anymore. I’m not one of your suspects to be questioned all the time,” Ciara replied acidly as she rudely got up from the table and stormed for the exit.
Brice’s pride and feelings had been crushed like a bug on a windshield. His hands shook fiercely as he dug twenty dollars out of his pants pocket and threw the money on the table before he headed out after his sister.
He spilled out onto the street in front of the restaurant, his chest heaving. He spotted Ciara’s bright coat weaving through the crowd on the sidewalk.
“Ciara! Ciara! Wait!” Brice called after her as he picked up his pace. She ignored him and picked up her speed. Brice’s chest heaved harder, and his mind raced with questions and anger.
He’d never seen his little sister so uncharacteristically rude and disrespectful. They’d been best friends since she was born. Up until that point, Ciara usually told him everything. Brice even knew when she had her period before their mother. Ciara confided in him about her crushes and even her little spats at school. If something was bothering her, Brice assumed she would have told him about it.
Brice finally caught up with her. He’d grown winded and out of breath when he finally grabbed her arm roughly.
“What are you doing?” he wolfed, holding onto her with an iron grip.
“Get off of me!” Ciara screamed, wriggling to get free and managing to get some nasty glares from some of the patrons bustling up and down Fulton Street.
“Ciara, what is wrong with you? Why are you acting like this?” Brice gritted through his teeth, wringing her arm to bring her closer to him. “What the hell has gotten into you?”
“Ouch! Get off!” she screamed again. This time, people stopped and stared.
“Yo, man, the girl said get off her. You need to find one your own age,” a tall guy with a do-rag and baggy jeans said, moving closer to Brice and Ciara.
“This is my fucking sister. Mind your fucking business,” Brice spat, still holding on to Ciara’s arm with a death grip. She wriggled and fought him like he was a total stranger trying to kidnap her. Brice experienced both shock and hurt all at once.
“Who the fuck you talking to?” the skinny stranger snarled. Suddenly, as if they grew out of the brick buildings, six other dudes surrounded Brice like a hungry pack of wolves circling their dinner.
“I’m a fucking cop, so back the fuck up!” Brice shouted, letting go of Ciara for a second to pull out his shield. When he let go of her arm, Ciara broke free and ran. Distracted by the group of thugs and worried for his safety, Brice couldn’t run after her.
“Fuck!” he huffed, eyeing the group evilly.
“Yo, man, we were just trying to help the girl. You know what I mean,” the main guy tried to explain with his hands raised in surrender, unwilling to challenge Brice’s shield.
Brice spun around to display his badge, hoping to disperse the crowd that had gathered to watch. Out of his peripheral vision, he watched his sister’s pink jacket disappear around the corner. Exasperated, Brice finally walked back to his car and promised that he would be giving his sister a serious talking-to when he caught up with her.
That day would forever be etched is Brice’s mind, as it set off a series of life events he wouldn’t ever forget.
* * *
“Nothing is wrong,” Ciara answered, breaking up Brice’s memory of the past. “I wish you and Mommy would stop asking me that constantly. I’m not a kid anymore,” she said, slightly annoyed. She wanted to understand her big brother’s concerns, but at the same time, she wanted to forget all that had happened to her. It had been a dark time in her life, but everyone around her acted like they were the victims and not her.
Brice drank the last of his beer. He lowered his eyes. “I know, baby sis. You’re right, but I’m always super worried about you. I love you more than you know,” he said