“And you?” I asked.
His shoulders lifted in a shrug, but the sound in his throat gave him away. “I’m not looking to play. Not with her. Something about her… feels different. Makes me think twice. Hell, makes me think more than twice.”
I let that sit. The honesty in it. Malik wasn’t the type to run from his own messes, but he wasn’t quick to name something real either. This—Cierra—was shaking something loose in him.
“Feels familiar,” I said finally.
His eyes cut to mine. “You talking about your girl?”
I didn’t answer, but I didn’t need to.
“I think she’s keeping something from me,” I admitted finally. “Something big. Might even be… pregnant-big.”
Malik’s whistle cut the air. “Shit. You serious?”
“I saw the signs. Food she didn’t eat because her stomach is turning, the way she’s been dodging. I could be wrong.” My throat worked. “But I don’t think I am.”
Malik leaned back, the cold air from the open door washing over us. “So what you gon’ do? Press her? Demand answers?”
I shook my head. “That’s not me. And it won’t work with her. She don’t respond to pressure. She responds to… space.”
He studied me long enough to make it uncomfortable, then smirked. “That’s why she likes you. You patient in ways most men ain’t. Don’t mean you don’t deserve toknow, though. Just—when you do ask, make sure it’s from a place of wanting to hold her, not corner her.”
His words landed heavier than he probably knew. I clapped his shoulder, grateful. “You sound like you got some wisdom yourself.”
He chuckled, his eyes going soft like he was thinking about Cierra. “Man, I’m learning as I go. Maybe we both are.”
I huffed a laugh. “Cierra’s got you spun, huh?”
“She does,” he admitted, shaking his head. “And it pisses me off because she won’t let me past the damn front desk.”
“Maybe that’s her test,” I said, mouth twitching.
“Maybe.” He grinned, rueful. “But she’s worth it.”
The look on his face—the one that said he knew what he was getting into, even if it scared him—felt like looking in a mirror.
We clasped hands quick before splitting paths. “You good?” he asked one last time.
“I’ll be good,” I said. “Thank for listening, bro.”
By the time I stepped into The Green Room, the noise and smoke hit me like always, but the clean break of the first rack didn’t land right. The bracket was wrong—no Whitaker beside my name. No banter. No smirk when I scratched. Just me, holding onto Malik’s words and missing her in every angle of the table.
Tournament nights always gave me energy I didn’t know I needed—it was rhythm. Same way, equations steadied me in the classroom. Same way time was supposed to.
But none of that was helping right now because hername should’ve been inked right under mine. Tonight, the bracket looked wrong—empty without her.
“You showing up without your partner?” Tino leaned on the bar, mic dangling from his hand.
Uncle Leon sat two stools down, his face saying more than his mouth. “Thought for sure I’d see Rayna’s name. You two lit this place up last time.”
I gave them the kind of smile meant to pacify, not please. “She’s not been feeling well.”
Uncle Leon and Tino shared a look before going back to minding their business.
Yeah. I wasn’t buying it either. Rayna was the healthiest, most vibrant woman I knew, and suddenly her name needed to be placed on the Mt. Calvary’s sick and shut-in list? Didn’t sit right.
I told myself not to push. Not to wedge myself in where she wasn’t ready. Talking to Malik put everything in perspective for me, but it didn’t mean it wasn’t hard not to confront her even when I understood restraint very well.
