“It’s beautiful.”
“Come on.” He guided Yusef toward a hallway. “Let me show you where you’re sleeping.”
The guest room was bigger than my entire apartment. King-size bed with gray linens. Its own bathroom. A desk by the window with a view of the water.
Yusef stood in the doorway, taking it all in with exhausted eyes.
“You good here?” Prime asked.
Yusef nodded slowly. Then he walked to the bed and collapsed face-first onto the mattress.
“I just want to be alone,” he mumbled into the pillow. “Is that okay?”
“That’s okay, baby,” I said, my heart aching. “We’re right down the hall if you need us.”
“Get some rest, lil man,” Prime added. “Tomorrow’s a new day.”
We closed the door quietly and stood in the hallway for a moment. I could feel the weight of everything pressing down on us. On me.
“Come on,” Prime said, taking my hand. “Let me show you the rest.”
The tour took us through the living room with its massive sectional and mounted TV. Through the dining area with a table that seated twelve. Through a home gym with equipment that looked like it cost more than my broken down car. The master suite was upstairs, he mentioned—a whole separate floor for privacy.
But it was the study that made me stop.
The room was smaller than the others. More intimate. Bookshelves lined one wall, filled with titles I recognized—The Art of War, 48 Laws of Power, but also James Baldwin, Langston Hughes, Toni Morrison. A leather chair sat in the corner near a reading lamp.
And against the far wall, near a window overlooking the water, sat a keyboard. Next to it, a guitar on a stand.
“I forgot you said that you played,” I said, eyeing the instrument.
Prime leaned against the doorframe, watching me explore the space. “Told you…”
“Are you good?”
“I only play for myself. You would have to tell me if I’m good,” he said, leaning into me, while brushing the side of my face before retreating back to the doorframe
I ran my fingers over the keyboard keys, not pressing them. “There’s so much I don’t know about you.”
“Yeah, there’s a lot you don’t know about me.”
I looked at him. Really looked. At the man who’d disposed of evidence for my son. Who disappeared a body for me. Who’dbrought us to his home. Who’d shown more care for Yusef than his own father ever had.
“Play something for me.”
He pushed off the doorframe and crossed the room. Sat down at the keyboard and adjusted the bench. His fingers hovered over the keys for a moment.
“If you don’t like it. Your body gonna end up wherever Larry’s is.”
“Excuse you?” I laughed.
“Don’t hurt my feelings.” His stone cold blue eyes stared into my soul, before his lips parted into a sly grin. At that moment his fingers found the keys.
The opening chords of “Nothing Even Matters” filled the room, and my breath caught in my throat. I knew this song. Had listened to it a thousand times, dreaming about a love that felt this way.
But hearing Prime play it—watching his fingers move across the keys with practiced ease—was something else entirely.
And then he started to sing.
