We said our goodbyes and I hung up, staring at the phone in my hands like it had just delivered a death sentence.
Because in a way, it had.
Prime was watching me, waiting.
“Funeral’s Friday,” I said, and my voice sounded far away even to my own ears. “She wants Yusef there.”
He nodded slowly, processing. “I’ll go with y’all.”
I looked up at him, surprised through the fog of dread. “You don’t have to?—”
“I know I don’t.” He pulled me back against his side, arm tightening around me like he could physically hold me togetherif he squeezed hard enough. “I want to. Y’all ain’t walking into that alone.”
The tears came again. I swear I was so tired of crying—felt like that’s all I’d been doing for days. But these were different. These were the grateful kind.
“Thank you,” I whispered into his chest. “For everything. For today. For my father. For being here. For… all of it. Everything.”
He pressed a kiss to the top of my head. “I told you. I got you. Always.”
I tilted my face up and kissed him. Soft at first, just lips against lips, breathing the same air. Then deeper, letting him feel everything I couldn’t find the words for. All the fear and gratitude and love and exhaustion tangled up together.
When we finally pulled apart, he was looking at me with those eyes that saw everything. Every crack in my armor. Every scar on my soul. Every secret I’d ever tried to hide.
And he was still here. Still holding me. Still choosing me.
“Come on.” He stood up, pulling me with him. “Let’s go to bed.”
I glanced at the clock on the wall. “It’s not even nine thirty.”
“And? Did I say something about sleeping?” That smirk was back, and despite everything—despite the funeral and the fear and the chaos waiting for us around every corner—I felt myself smile.
“You’re ridiculous.”
“And yet.”
I let him take my hand, let him lead me toward the stairs, ready to forget about everything for a few hours and just exist with him in that big bed with the black sheets and the city lights streaming through the windows.
His phone buzzed in his pocket.
I felt him tense—just for a second, barely noticeable, but I was pressed close enough to catch it. He pulled out the phone, glanced at the screen, and his jaw tightened.
Then he slid it back in his pocket without a word.
“Who was that?” I asked.
“Nobody important.” He squeezed my hand and kept walking toward the stairs. “Come on.”
I noticed. Of course I noticed. The way his whole energy shifted for just a second before he locked it back down. But I didn’t ask.
Maybe I should have. Maybe the old me—the me from a week ago who was still keeping her own secrets—would have pushed. Demanded answers. Reminded him that we’d promised no more lies between us.
But I was tired. Bone tired. And whatever that phone call was about, whatever new problem was brewing, it could wait until tomorrow.
Tonight, I just wanted to be held by the man I loved in a home that was starting to feel like ours.
Tomorrow could bring whatever chaos it wanted.
I’d deal with it then.
