“You don’t need those details, Goddess.” He reached over and took my hand, his busted knuckles rough against my fingers. “Just know that he ain’t ever gonna hurt nobody again. And he knows exactly why it happened. I made sure he understood. Told him it was for you. And for Zahara.”
The sob that ripped out of my chest caught me off guard.
For you. And for Zahara.
This man. This terrifying, complicated, beautiful, dangerous man had driven forty-five minutes to Baltimore and nearly killed my father with his bare hands. Not because I asked him to. Not because anybody asked him to. Just because he’d heard what Shamir did to us and decided on his own that it wasn’t gonna stand.
I was scared of him. I was grateful to him. I was in love with him. I was shook by him. All at the same time, all tangled up together until I couldn’t tell where one feeling ended and another began.
I didn’t know whether to cuss him out or kiss him or throw up.
So I just held his hand. Squeezed it tight. Let the tears roll down my cheeks in silence as he drove us home.
The penthouse feltdifferent that night. I took a long shower, letting the hot water beat down on my shoulders until my skin turned pruny. Scrubbed that diner smell off me—the grease and the coffee and the slight scent of desperation that came from serving people who treated you like you was invisible. By the time I got out and wrapped my hair in a towel, I felt almost human again.
I could hear Prime and Yusef in the living room before I even made it down the hall.
“Aight, show me what you got. Let’s see them push-ups.”
“How many you want?”
“How many you been doing?”
“I’m up to seventy-five now. No breaks.”
“Seventy-five?”Prime sounded genuinely impressed. “Bet. Let me see it.”
I leaned against the hallway wall, peeking around the corner to watch. Yusef was already on the floor in position, and Prime was sitting on the edge of the couch, elbows on his knees, watching like a coach.
“Remember—chest to the floor, full extension at the top. None of that halfway mess.”
“I know, I know.” Yusef started knocking them out, his form tight, his breathing controlled.
“That’s twenty. Keep going. Don’t slow down.”
“I’m not slowing down.”
“Thirty. Good. Breathe through it.”
I smiled, watching them. This is what normal looked like. This is what family felt like. A man invested in a boy who wasn’teven his, pushing him to be stronger, better, more capable of surviving in a world that wanted to break him.
“Fifty. You’re almost there. Push through.”
Yusef’s arms were trembling now, sweat beading on his forehead, but he didn’t stop. Didn’t quit. Just kept pushing, his jaw set with that determination Prime had been building in him since their first session at the gym.
“Seventy-three… seventy-four… seventy-five!” Yusef collapsed onto the floor, chest heaving, a huge grin spreading across his face. “TOLD you!”
Prime laughed and reached down to dap him up. “Aight, aight. I see you. That’s growth right there. When I met you, you couldn’t even do twenty without crying about it.”
“I wasn’t crying!”
“You was close.”
“Whatever.” But Yusef was still grinning, proud of himself in a way I hadn’t seen in too long. “When can we go back to Pharaoh’s gym? I wanna work on my combinations.”
“This weekend. We’ll get you on the bags, work on your footwork too. You been practicing that slip I showed you?”
“Yeah, watch—” Yusef jumped up and demonstrated, bobbing his head to avoid an imaginary punch, then throwing a counter. His form wasn’t perfect, but it was better. Way better than when he started.
