Cannon chuckled. “How did you handle it?”
“The choir director gave a solo. Instead of singing when I got the mic, I said, ‘Emilee Preston did nothing wrong, and y’all need to be asking for her forgiveness.’”
Cannon laughed lightly. “I can see a nine-year-old you doin’ that fasho.”
Nahla shrugged. “I’ve always been who I am,” she said. “But anyway, my parents were so upset with me. They put me on punishment for forever and told me to never get in grown folks’ business again.”
Nahla chuckled as her fingers slowly moved through Cannon’s hair, grazing his scalp slightly.
“That didn’t sit right with me either, and that statement became the focal point of my issue. It wasn’tgrown folks’business, because Emilee was a child. They were treating her like an adult who consented to an affair when she was actually achildwho was sexually assaulted. I didn’t have all that language at the age of twelve, but I knew that situation wasn’t right.
“My choral solo didn’t settle me the way I thought it would, so I did what felt natural. I wrote about it. By the time I finished, I had a three-page-long article titledMonster Deacon: How Grown Folks Business Hurts Children.”
“Aye, that’s a cold ass tile for a twelve-year-old to come up with,” Cannon said. His tone was lazy, and his breathing was becoming slower. Nahla smiled and kept going. She told him all about how she missed the bus after school one day, walked to the library, and made several copies of her story. She gave one to Emilee, and they remained friends until the day her parents moved her away.
“My father eventually found one of the copies and flipped out. That situation is probably why they were so disappointed when I wrote the op-ed. That was when I really started to identify as a writer. From the very beginning, I knew I didn’t want to do the safe stories. I wanted to cover the issues that got the stagnant riled up. I wanted to write the stories that made bad people uncomfortable.
“As soon as I was old enough to choose for myself, I stopped going to that church. Luckily, I was smart enough to blame the people and not the Lord. That’s why I still tune into the online service with the church I joined in Atlanta. I want to be careful joining another church home around here.”
Once she finished that story, she told him a few more about her life experiences. With each story, Cannon was engagingless and less, and Nahla’s voice dropped lower and softer. She could feel Cannon’s body slowly unwinding against hers as she continued, and at some point, his responses faded. There were no more small hums, and the hand he had been using to rub her stomach had fallen loosely at her side.
Nahla glanced at him. His eyes were closed, his mouth was parted just a little, and his breathing was slow and even. She realized as she watched him that this was the first time she had ever seen him sleep. She vowed from that moment on that she would not fall asleep on him anymore. She would, instead, make it a point to help Cannon settle enough to rest every night they spent together.
She could only imagine the experiences and pain he carried with him that hindered him from getting a good night’s rest. She knew his insomnia went deeper than just being a “night owl.”
Nahla sighed and kissed his cheek. Shewouldnever stop wanting to know him better,butshe could commit to waiting until he was ready to tell her. She could commit to never chasing his story again.
As she sat there, staring into the darkness, her own eyes felt heavy. She allowed herself to drift off with a satisfied smile on her face. It had been one hell of a day, but in the end, they took a step closer to each other, and she knew it.
“Damn,”Cannon said as he rolled over.
The sun was bright and hurting his eyes before he even opened them. He slowly peered at the clock on his nightstand.
Ten thirty-two a.m.
Cannon sat up in confusion. The sun never got up before he did. He couldn’t remember the last time he slept past six. As the events of just a few hours ago started to come back to him, Cannon realized two things: He had had the best sleep of his life last night,andthe reason for that was Nahla Avery.
He lay back again and stared at the ceiling, replaying her stories, her touch, and her soothing voice in his mind. The way she held him—the way shelovedhim—last night was apparently exactly what he needed. Nahla had cracked the code. She hadfigured him out in a way that he was never able to. As selfish as it might have sounded, Cannon wanted that treatment always. He wanted her to write all those stories she was telling him last night, in a book, so that he could choose which one he wanted to hear on a nightly basis.
He exhaled slowly and finally got out of bed. He headed straight to the restroom.
As he got ready for the day, a thought hit him. He thoroughly enjoyed listening to her tell him the stories of her life last night, not because he was nosy, but because he loved her. He loved discovering new things about her.
She loved him, too, but Cannon denied her access to his past at every turn. He actually did worse than deny her. He accused her of using him for a story. He didn’t think that even when he said it, so he never should have allowed it to come out of his mouth. She didn’t want to hear his apology the night before, but he definitely owed her one, and he was going to make good on it ASAP.
Once he was dressed for the day, Cannon went to the front of the house in search of his lady. His first stop was the kitchen. She wasn’t in there, but the smell prompted him to continue into the kitchen toward the microwave. As he expected, there was a full plate of breakfast waiting for him. He heated the plate, grabbed a fork, and went to the living room. That was where he found her.
She was curled up on the sofa, sipping from her coffee mug, with her computer in her lap. Before he was even in her line of sight, he could tell she sensed his presence. Lowering her mug, she turned slightly with a smile.
“Hey, sleepyhead,” Nahla said as Cannon joined her on the sofa.
Leaning over, Cannon kissed her temple before sitting back.
“Good morning. Thank you for this,” he said as he dove into his breakfast. There weren’t many mornings since they’d beencooped up in the safe house together that she didn’t make him breakfast, but he appreciated it every time.
“You’re welcome.”
Cannon dug into his breakfast, while Nahla continued sipping her coffee and scrolling on her computer. Cannon glanced at her screen and saw that she was reading one of the case files. That put his mind on his run-in with Ox, which brought him back to his argument with Nahla about his past.
