We kept eating, the room warm, peaceful, filled with nothing but plates clinking and soft laughter from outside. And for a moment, everything felt damn near perfect.
Knock. Knock.
The sound echoed throughout the house, sharp enough to freeze all of us mid-bite.
“I got it! Don’t worry about it!” my mama hollered from the staircase.
Rich didn’t even look up as he chewed on bacon. “Ain’t nobody but Southside ass,” he mumbled.
I smirked, lifting my orange juice while watching Stormi from across the table. “Right. The only Black person I know who got a key and only uses it for emergencies.”
Stormi caught me staring and gave me a soft, shy smile. I knew she needed time to heal. Her body was still recovering but that didn’t stop the way my mind drifted. The way she looked in my T-shirt, the way her curves still called me, the way I wanted her on top of me again so bad it hurt… but before I could enjoy the moment.
“Seth!” my mom screamed.
Her voice sliced straight through me.
Rich and I jumped up like we’d rehearsed the move, damn near knocking chairs over as we ran toward her. Stormi followed quickly, worry etched across her face.
When I got to the foyer, my heart tightened. Two detectives stood there talking to my mother, who looked like she was seconds away from falling apart.
“What can I do for you?” I said, stepping in front of her, shielding her like instinct.
“Seth,” my mom whispered, voice trembling, “they say they’re looking for you. They got questions about some complaint they keep getting.”
“It’s okay, Ma. I’ll handle it,” I told her softly, even though my mind was already racing.
One of the detectives stepped up. “Mr. Greene, we were wondering if you could come down to the station with us. We have a few questions that need answering.”
“Ask them here.” My voice was calm, but my jaw was tight. “I got nothing to hide from my family. And I don’t say shit to police in a damn station.”
The second officer spoke up. “These interviews have to be video recorded, and that has to be done at the station.”
I caught Stormi’s eyes across the foyer. The stress in her expression hit me hard. She’d barely been home for a full week. She needed peace. She needed recovery. And instead, this bullshit walked through my door.
Rich stepped up, unbothered and ready for war. “Don’t y’all got them dash cams on your vest? Hit the damn button, record right here.” He pressed the cop’s camera like he was checking a mic.
“Don’t do that,” the officer snapped, stepping forward like he wanted to become a cautionary tale.
I stepped between them. “What the fuck do y’all need a station interview for?” My patience was paper thin.
“We’ve received multiple complaints regarding threats you allegedly made toward a woman’s son,” the officer explained. “And now her son is missing.”
I blinked, annoyed. “And what the fuck that gotta do with me?”
“She identified you as the party responsible,” the white officer added, staring me down like he wanted trouble.
“Man, get the fuck outta here.” My voice dropped dangerously.
“It’s only questions,” the cop insisted.
“So, I should call my lawyer and meet you down there, right?” I asked. “Since I’m not being arrested.”
I watched his face twist, but he didn’t deny it. I knew the law. I studied it like I used to study the drug game. That’s why I stayed untouchable. Why I came home every night. Why my wife didn’t have to talk to me through a collect call or didn’t have to bring the boys to visitation behind plexiglass.
“Give me an hour,” I said, opening the door wide. “Me and my lawyer will be down at the station.”
“Don’t make us come find you,” one of them warned.
