The bar wasn’t anything special. One of those repurposed industrial spots with exposed pipes and furniture that looked like it had been stolen from a failed art school. Dominic liked it because it “created conversation,” which was code for: the chairs were uncomfortable enough that no one wanted to stay too long.
Reid arrived late, intentionally. Just enough to make an entrance, not enough to be disrespectful. Dominic was already holding court at the far end of the communal table, one foot on a crossbar like he was in a magazine spread about modern male entrepreneurship.
“Reid!” Dom called, too loud, too cheerful. “Finally. We were starting to think you ghosted.”
“I try to keep the mystery alive,” Reid muttered as he slid into the seat across from him.
Around them, conversation dipped just slightly. Micah was there, Layla too, scrolling something intently. Silas sat near the edge, pretending to be amused by a coaster. No one said much.
Dom leaned in. Not physically, just energetically—like he was about to explain a complicated feeling he wasn’t actually feeling.
“Glad you made it,” he said. “Thought we could all just chill tonight. Reset the vibes, you know?”
Reid blinked slowly. “Something wrong with the vibes?”
Dom laughed—always the host, never the human. “Not wrong, exactly. Just a little tense lately. And look, man, I get it. There’s been some stuff flying around, and I think maybe a few of us have misread some things.”
Layla looked up, then looked down.
Reid smiled without his eyes. “Some things.”
“Look, I’m not pointing fingers. I just want to make sure everyone’s on the same page. That we’re all good.”
Dominic’s voice dropped slightly, the tone he reserved for moments he wanted remembered. “You’ve just been a little… intense. That’s the word people keep using. And it’s fair. You’ve been through a lot. But I think it’s starting to ripple outward, you know?”
Micah nodded like that was a profound statement.
Reid leaned back, took a long breath. The table was too quiet, too curated. Even the silence had PR.
He looked at Micah. "What did you hear?"
Micah blinked. "Just stuff. That you've been... intense. Dom said it. Silas mentioned it too. You’ve just been different."
Reid turned to Silas, who flinched like he'd been caught lip-syncing. "Silas?"
Silas tried to chuckle. "Nothing bad. Just... people pick up on things. Energy shifts."
"Right," Reid said. "Because I’m not cracking jokes and doing the vibe check anymore. That makes me unstable."
Dom raised a hand like a traffic cop. "No one said unstable. That’s your word."
Reid smiled tightly. "No. That’s your narrative. You just haven’t updated the phrasing."
Layla shifted in her seat. Her eyes met Reid’s, briefly, and then dropped. But not like she was afraid. More like she didn’t want to be seen nodding.
Dom leaned forward. "Look, man. You know I support you. Always have. This is just about keeping the peace. Making sure everyone feels safe."
Reid laughed once, short and sharp. "You mean keeping your version of peace. Where no one raises their voice and everything’s smoothed over like spackle over rot."
Dom frowned. "Why are you being so combative?"
Reid stood. But he didn’t walk away. Not yet.
"You want to talk about fairness, Dom? Let’s talk. Let’s talk about how you host these little interventions where the conclusion’s already printed on the menu. Let’s talk about how concern only shows up after someone else decides they’re uncomfortable with my presence. And how you let that discomfort dictate the narrative."
No one said anything. Micah looked like he wanted to joke. He didn’t. Layla just watched.
Reid looked around the table. "You don’t want me to calm down. You want me to be convenient. You want me to stop being a mirror."
Then he left. No drama, no door slam. Just the clean exit of someone who knew how little he was being missed—and how much he’d be remembered.
Three years ago, they’d stood in this exact bar—before the redesign, before the curated menus, before the narrative.
Dom had pitched him the idea of “a shared creative space,” a network of like minds, collaborative projects, cross-promotion.
“It’ll be organic,” he said. “No egos, just community.”
Reid had believed him. That was the worst part. He’d thought maybe someone else finally saw things the way he did.
Dom never mentioned revenue splits. Just vibes.