“Brother?” Stormi echoed, letting out a low, humorless chuckle.
Before I could blink, she grabbed my face and kissed me slowly, , claiming what was hers. Right there in the middle of the department store. I wrapped my arm around her waist and pulled her closer, not caring who stared or who was waiting. If my wife wanted the world to know I was hers, I was more than happy to show it.
She pulled back just enough to look at the cashier. “Do it look like this my fucking brother?” she snapped.
I couldn’t help but smile. All I could think about was getting her home and reminding her exactly how much I loved that fire.
“My apologies,” the cashier mumbled, eyes glued to the scanner as she rang up the last of our baby’s things.
Ring. Ring.
Stormi’s phone rang at the perfect time, pulling her attention away from the awkward tension still clinging to her after the run in with the cashier. She answered without checking the screen.
“Hey, Jo.”
She slowed her steps as she listened.
“No, I haven’t seen or heard from Noah. I thought y’all had therapy today?” Her forehead creased. Pause. “He didn’t show?” Her voice jumped. “What the fuck?”
A couple people nearby turned their heads. Stormi didn’t care. She exhaled hard, irritation mixing with worry. “Alright. Let me call him and see what’s going on. I’ll see you later this evening for dinner.” She ended the call and stared down at her phone, thumb hovering over Noah’s name. The relaxing shopping trip was about to turn into family drama.
“What’s wrong?” I asked, sliding my card back into my wallet as the receipt printed. I grabbed the bags, already watching her face.
“Noah didn’t show up for therapy,” she said, voice tight. “And Jo said she hasn’t seen him in like two days.”
I reached for her hand, squeezing it as I guided her toward the exit. “Noah good. Trust me.”
She looked at me like she wanted to believe it but couldn’t fully let go.
I knew he was straight. If he wasn’t, my phone would’ve rung already. Noah was family now. Soon as I said I do, the streets stamped him untouchable. Whatever dumb shit he got himself into, folks knew better than to move without checking in with me first.
She stopped by the truck while I popped the trunk. “What makes you so sure?” she asked. “I don’t know what him and Dre be into, but it’s like they always up to something.”
I loaded the bags, eyes scanning the lot out of habit. “The streets always talk. If they moving foul, I’ll hear it.”
But the second she said Dre, something in my chest shifted. I hadn’t really dug into him. Knew he was tied to Ronnie’s crew, but his presence felt sudden like he just appeared and never left. I didn’t track everybody’s politics; long as my circle was solid, that was enough. I vetted who came near me, not every nigga outside my lane.
Still Dre was always there. Birthdays, family dinners, and all the big moments. Standing close but never smiling like everybody else. You don’t gotta be happy for my marriage or my kid on the way, but if you not, why keep showing up?
I tucked that thought away for later and helped Stormi into the truck, closed her door gently, then slid behind the wheel and pulled off.
She glanced over at me. “What you thinking about?”
“Dre,” I said without hesitation.
She made a face. “Ew. Why?”
“Trying to figure him out,” I replied. “Why he always around, but the energy doesn’t feel genuine.”
She sighed. “Everybody around you ain’t gonna be happy for you. People got their own problems.”
“I get that,” I said, gripping the steering wheel. “But in my lifestyle, you either happy or you hating. And quiet hate? That shit turn dangerous.”
She shook her head. “Trust me, Dre harmless. Him and Noah just wanna be some fake drug dealers.”
I smirked. “A hungry corner boy can build an organization or burn another man’s down. All depend on the nigga.”
She studied me for a second. “So, what you thinking about doing a deep dive on Dre?”
