These kids was my kids.
And this life we built was my entire world.
And a nigga wasn’t losin’ none of it.
Trill-Land, Jungle Estate
I was still sitting in bed while Pressure was on the patio, and it was crazy how quiet the room felt without him. The boys had finally knocked out and Zurie had gone to sleep, so the house should have felt calm, yet my mind wouldn’t settle for anything. I kept thinking about everything Pressure had been doing these past few weeks, everything he had been trying to fix, and everything I had been feeling as a woman who loved her husband but needed him to truly hear her.
I ran my finger over the hem of my silk gown, the soft blue fabric slipping across my skin like water. The gown flowed around me every time I moved, and my hair hung down my back in this long, heavy wave that made me feel feminine and soft, even though my heart had been tight for days. Loving a manlike Pressure was intense because he was everything at once. He was dominant and stubborn and spoiled in his ways, but he was also loving and protective and the kind of father that little girls prayed for and little boys admired. He just had to learn that loving me meant listening too.
Three weeks…
Three whole weeks without letting him touch me, and it wasn’t because I didn’t want him, but because I needed him to understand that my body wasn’t something he could gamble with when he felt like being reckless. I had carried two babies back-to-back. I had bled and healed and pushed through nights where my body felt like it didn’t even belong to me. I needed him to respect the simple boundary of not nutting inside me when I told him I wasn’t ready for another pregnancy.
And God knows I loved him more than anything, but sometimes loving a powerful man meant teaching him how to love you the right way.
Pressure had been trying though, and that was the part that kept tugging at me.
He had been getting up early to take Zurie to school every morning, making sure she ate, brushing out her little ponytails when I was too tired to do it, and letting her climb all over him like he was her own personal jungle gym. He would adjust her seatbelt, kiss her cheek, and say, “My Z, if anybody bother you today, you already know who to call,” and she would smile.
He would rush home to grab Kaylon out of my arms before I even had the chance to protest, saying things like, “Come here, lil’ man, let yo’ mama breathe for a second,” and then he would walk around with him on his shoulder while handling his business calls.
He had been going to Club 9 Dining more often to make sure things were running smooth and still finding time to stop by the Trillium warehouse to check on the inventory because he didn’ttrust anybody but himself with his brand. And somehow he still found time to sit with Prestyn and race cars with him across the floor until the boy wore himself out laughing.
And the crazy part was, he wasn’t doing any of it because I told him to.
I sighed and slid out of bed because sitting here wasn’t helping. I walked over to the bar across the room, grabbed a clean wine glass and poured myself a little rosé. The pink liquid caught the light from the lamp, and for a second I just stared at it, thinking about how tired I was of feeling tense in my own home.
I didn’t want to be mad anymore. I didn’t want to punish a man who was trying. I didn’t want to keep pretending that sleeping beside him every night without touching him didn’t hurt me too.
He was my husband, and I was his wife. We were learning each other, and we were growing.
I took a slow sip of my wine and walked toward the patio doors. The glass slid open easy, letting in the warm night air from the jungle estate. The lights around the pool glowed soft, and I could hear the leaves rustling from the breeze. Pressure was sitting in one of the black chairs near the table with his legs stretched out and a blunt balanced between his fingers as he stared into the night like something out there was calling to him.
He looked too damn good for me to be staying mad this long.
His haircut was fresh, his waves catching the light from the patio lamp, and that thick, healthy beard of his made my stomach knot in the best way. His shoulders were broad, tattoos running across his biceps, and even from here I could see the way his chest puffed up.
He glanced over when he heard the door, and the moment our eyes met, something in my spirit softened.
“Wussup, baby,” he said, his voice low and rough from smoking.
“Hey,” I replied, sitting in the chair next to him.
He watched me take another sip of my wine, his eyes roaming over my gown like he was trying not to stare too hard. The tension between us was warm instead of cold tonight, and that alone made me breathe easier.
For a moment neither of us spoke, but it wasn’t uncomfortable.
“I been thinking,” I finally said.
He looked at me fully then. “About what?”
“Us,” I said softly. “About how much we’ve been trying, and how much we’ve been messing up too.”
His eyes lowered a little, guilt moving across his expression even though he didn’t say anything yet.
“I know you’ve been trying,” I continued. “I see it. I see you with the kids. I see you working. I see you taking care of everything without complaining, and I know why you been doing it.”
