Josh Santos walked into Basic & Wear, his father’s hardware store, his eyes finding Ricardo at once, behind the cash register—standing for Rafa again. He sighed deeply, no longer surprised. Such a waste of talent, his brother. A bachelor’s degree and a JD, a voice that could win awards, and there he was, putting in regular hours as if he couldn’t find anything better.
Josh moved around to the employee’s side and came to stand beside him. A gangly teenage boy with wire-rimmed glasses shifted from foot to foot while Ricardo rang his purchase.
“Thanks, RJ Santos.”
“Any time, Davi.”
“Hmm,” the boy fidgeted, “can I have another autograph? I forgot the last one in my pocket and my mom washed my pants, so, you know?” He pushed his glasses up with his index, and Josh smirked.
“Sure, it happen
