“Reality and conversations. Going to college and being with Chesteria made me slow down. Me and her used to talk a lot about our future—kids, stability, and what wedidn’twant our lives to look like.” My jaw tightened just a little. “I started thinking about my child sitting in a classroom one day, and a teacher asking, ‘So what does your dad do?’ and my kid gotta say, ‘I don’t know. He stay gone all the time, he always wears black, he carries a gun and has bags of money he never explains. Then the other kids start whispering, teachers start side-eyeing, now everybody knowing something ain’t right, but nobody saying it out loud.”
“Damn,” Adrian mumbled, as the picture started to look a little too familiar.
“Right. That ain’t the type of mystery you want attached to your name. That’s how kids grow up embarrassed, confused or thinking that’s the goal.” I looked directly at Adrian. “Being in the streets feels cool when nobody’s depending on you and ain’t nobody waiting on you to make it home. But once you got little eyes watching you? Especially boys? You gotta move different. They don’t just hear what you say; they copy what you do.”
Adrian shifted, listening.
“I don’t have kids… not yet,” I added. “But I already know I don’t want my future son learning manhood from rumors, money he can’t explain, or a father he barely sees. Street life don’t come with sick days or guarantees. And kids don’t care how respected you are outside; they care if you show up whenit’s needed.” I exhaled. “Adrian, you ain’t a bad father for trying to survive, but you gotta think long-term, and about the example you’re setting.”
Adrian nodded slowly. “Never really thought about it like that.”
“Again, I ain’t judging. All I’m saying is, a man making it home every night is more powerful than a quick lick or being a man everybody scared of.”
That one sat heavy, but in a good way.
“Preciate the advice, homie. But before you go, can I ask you one more favor?”
I side-eyed him, half-suspicious. “What?”
He scratched his neck, eyes darting everywhere but on me. “Can you teach me how to… you know… do manly stuff?”
“Manly stuff?” I repeated, cocking a brow.
“You know!” He looked embarrassed. “Like… change oil, grill chicken without catching it on fire, build a shelf, split logs, fix a toilet—shit like that. All I know how to do is roll blunts and reset my Wi-Fi. I wanna beusefulin the apocalypse, bruh!”
I laughed. “Adrian, you gotta be every bit of thirty-five,at least, and just now wanna learn how to work a plunger?”
“I ain’t say all that,” he grumbled.
“Nah, you said what you said. So you want me to give you amanhood makeover, huh?”
He hunched his shoulders. “Shit, why not? If I’ma be single and healing, I might as well learn how to hold a power drill and my emotions at the same time.”
I patted him on the shoulder. “Bet. Lesson one starts today… or tomorrow. It just depends on my mood.”
He perked up, grinning. “Deadass?”
“Yeah. And lesson number one will be, how to hold a level without looking like you’re trying to take a selfie.”
“Damn, I was just trying to get my angle!”
“Nigga, ain’t no angles in construction… just 90 degrees and common sense.”
Adrian laughed. “So you saying I ain’t got no sense?”
I squinted at him. “I’m saying, your common sense still got the factory seal on it.”
We both cracked up as the wind rolled through the porch. Truth was, he had a long way to go. But for once, it looked like the nigga was finally trying to build something that didn’t involve bricks… and I could respect that.
Chapter twenty-three
Chesteria
“We weren’t cold, or without lights, but that day still brought things to light.”
It was officially day four of being at the cabin and day two of the power being out.Thankfully, the generator was still clocked in and doing its damn job. The heat was running, the fridge was humming, and we still had hot water—praise be. And because we followed protocol, nobody got slapped with extra chores, nor was anyone walking around funky, hungry, or bored. Bryce might’ve been a savage with a short fuse, but the man ran that cabin clean, organized, and just alittlebit terrifying… like a retired mob boss running his safehouse.
Me and Isis stood at the kitchen window like two nosy aunties peering out at the neighborhood drama unfolding below. And baby, the show was comedy gold.
