He smirked like he already knew he won. “Get in the car.”
I walked past him with my lil’ drunk attitude, cussin’ under my breath, but deep down I knew exactly what kind of night this was.
It was a chaotic ass Mensah night.
And what made it worse…
It wasn’t even over yet.
On the way home, I stayed quiet and to myself, starin’ out the window while the city lights blurred past us. The car was too smooth for how loud my thoughts was, and the only sound between us was the sound of the engine and the low music playin’ from the speakers. Kay’Lo ain’t say nothin’, didn’t sigh heavy, didn’t start in on no lecture, and that alone told me he was tired in a way I ain’t seen before. His hand rested on my thigh after a minute, his thumb rubbin’ slow circles like muscle memory kicked in before he even realized it. He kept his eyes on the road with his jaw tight but not angry, and for once it felt like he understood that tonight wasn’t about control or arguments or who was right.
I watched his side profile while he drove, the way the streetlights hit his face, and I felt that ache in my heart that always came when I realized how much I loved this man and how tired I was of fightin’ him at the same damn time. He’d been takin’ his meds on and off, doin’ good for a while then slippin, and every slip felt like it cost me a piece of myself. I wanted to scream sometimes. I wanted to shake him and make him understand how scared I was, but all I had left tonight was silence and the weight of everything we ain’t said.
When we pulled up to the gate, the iron slid open slow, lights sweepin’ over the driveway like nothin’ had ever gone wrong in this place. He parked next to his cars, shut the engine off, and before I could even reach for the door handle, he was already around the car openin’ my door for me. I stepped out and the cool air hit my skin, but before I could take another step, he pressed his chest to mine right there by the car. His hands went to the door on either side of me, cagin’ me in, and I felt that familiar flutter in my stomach even though I was still irritated as hell.
He ain’t say nothin’ at first. He just looked at me, his eyes dark and full of disappointment and love tangled together in a way that made my throat tighten. I hated how that look still did things to me. I hated how much I still wanted him.
He leaned in and kissed the side of my neck, slow, then my jaw, and then my lips, not rushin’ it, not takin’ nothin’, but just remindin’ me we was still us. When he pulled back, he slid my phone out my hand like it was nothin’. I rolled my eyes, already knowin’ what he was about to do, and didn’t even bother sayin’ shit. He unlocked it, turned my location back on, handed it back to me, then kissed my neck again like that settled it.
“I love you,” he said low, his voice rough but calm. “And I’m tired of fightin’.”
I looked at him, and for a second, I wanted to say everything that was sittin’ heavy in my mind, but the words wouldn’t come. I just nodded, and he seemed to take that as enough.
He grabbed my hand and led me inside, and the second we stepped through the door, he scooped me up like I weighed nothin’. I let out a surprised laugh even though I tried not to, my arms automatically goin’ around his neck. He carried me upstairs like this was just another night and not one of the hardest weeks of my life.
In the bathroom, he set me down gentle and turned the water on, checkin’ it with his hand like he always did. He reached up and started takin’ my wig off, careful but still himself, and I couldn’t help but smirk.
“You know you be yankin’ my shit sometimes,” I said.
He huffed a quiet laugh. “I know. That’s why I’m bein’ good tonight.”
That lil’ joke broke somethin’ open in me, and I felt my shoulders drop for the first time all day. He helped me into the tub and washed me slow, his hands firm but tender, like he was tryna scrub the stress right off my skin. Tears pricked my eyes, and I let them fall, mixin’ with the water, and he ain’t say nothin’ about it. He just kept washin’, his thumb rubbin’ over my shoulders, my arms and my back, lettin’ me breathe.
When he helped me out, he wrapped me in a towel and dried me off, then carried me back to the bedroom like it was the most natural thing in the world. Candles was now lit, the room warm and quiet, and he stripped down to his briefs before sittin’ back against the headboard.
“Come here,” he said soft.
I crawled into bed and laid back between his legs, my back pressin’ into his chest, and the warmth of him wrapped around me in a way that made my heart ache. He put some oil in his palms and rubbed my shoulders first, workin’ out knots I ain’t even realize was there, then his hands slid lower, cuppin’ my breasts, massagin’ slow and sure like he was puttin’ me back together piece by piece.
I let my head fall back against his shoulder and closed my eyes, every bit of tension meltin’ even though my heart was still bruised.
“I’m tired of beefin’ with you,” he murmured near my ear. “This shit gettin’ old, and I don’t even like beef like that.”
I smirked before I could stop myself. “You lyin’. You love beef.”
“Only when it ain’t with my wife,” he said, kissin’ my cheek. “You know I’m sick of my own shit, right?”
I stayed quiet, just breathin’ him in, lettin’ his hands do what his words couldn’t. He kissed my temple, my cheek and my neck, whisperin’ that he was tired, that he missed me, that he hated the distance between us. It wasn’t an apology, and it wasn’t a promise. It was just him bein’ real in the only way he knew how.
For the rest of the night, he held me close, his arms wrapped around me like he was afraid I’d slip away if he let go. The candles burned low, the room filled with warmth, and even though nothin’ was fixed and tomorrow was still gon’ be heavy, I let myself sink into the moment because right then, all I needed was to feel loved.
And Kay’Lo gave me that.
Port of Cartier
Two weeks later…
We had just landed in Port of Cartier, and I was already knowin’ I made the right call bringin’ my wife out here, ‘cause the second the jet slowed and the door opened, that island air hit different. The shit was rich and warm with ocean salt and money all mixed together like it was built for people who knew how to live. Port of Cartier wasn’t loud in a tourist way, but it was smooth and intentional, all clean white stone, gold accents, palm trees lined up like they was handpicked, and water so blue the shit ain’t even look real.
