Roman didn’t even look impressed. He looked . . . hungry, dangerous, like the air itself was disrespectful for existing near me. And that was the first time my love for him flickered into something else, not doubt or disgust, just . . . awareness. Because Roman’s protection had always felt like a blanket, warm, heavy in a good way, as if being covered without being crowded. But right then, it looked like a storm. Storms didn’t always ask where you wanted to stand.
Elias stepped in like the badge was a blade, and the law was already sharpened, voice calm but carrying thatI write reports for a living, and I do not miss detailsweight.
“When I approached this scene,” he said, eyes locked on Harris like a case file he’d already highlighted, “you were actively harassing this woman. You were crowding her space, escalating your tone, and you put your hands on her. That part matters.”
He pointed, not dramatically, just precisely and surgically.
“And you have the nerve to sayassaultlike you don’t understand definitions. The force used to stop you was the least restrictive amount necessary to create distance and restore safety. Period. You want to talk injuries? Let’s talk injuries.”
His gaze slid to my arm, then back to Henderson, jaw tightening.
“You bruised her. Look at her arm. Look at her body language. Look at her face. She is notdramatic. She is regulated. That’s what women do when they’re trying not to get hurt in public.”
He stepped closer, voice dropping lower, colder, like a door closing.
“I’m calling this in. Right now,” Elias decided, then his eyes cut toward Jonay for half a second, and when he spoke again, it came out with that controlled fury that only showed up when somebody disrespected who a man loved. “And you called my wife out her name. You really did that. In a mall. In front of witnesses. You are lucky I’m choosing professionalism over impulse because you don’t deserve that grace.”
Elias pulled his cuffs. “So, here’s what we not gon’ do. You not gon’ raise your voice. You not gon’ posture. You not gon’ pretend this is confusion. You’re not a victim; you’re a liability.” He angled his head, that slight tilt that said he’d already decided how this ended. “Let’s go. And don’t you dare resist.” His mouth twitched, humorless. “You got me cutting my time with my baby in half to deal with your unhinged, can’t-take-no-for-an-answer behavior. Congratulations. You just made yourself my problem.” Then he looked at me, his tone softening just enough to feel like a hand on my shoulder. “Baby sis, . . . please press charges on him. Don’t protect his comfort with your silence. He earned paperwork.”
Elias shifted closer to Roman and lowered his voice. “She needs a restraining order,” he said matter-of-factly, but his eyes flicked to Roman’s face. “And you . . . you got that look.”
Roman didn’t speak, and the silence was deafening. It had weight. His jaw was set, shoulders squared, that dangerous stillness clinging to him like a fitted suit. He looked like a storm passing, not a finished one, but one still choosing.
I stepped toward him because that’s what I did. I moved toward the people I loved when they were unraveling. I reached. I soothed. I tried to soften sharp edges with gentle hands, like tenderness was a language everybody understood. And I needed to check his temperature because Roman, hot enough, could burn the whole mall down without touching a lighter.
“Baby,” I said softly, touching his forearm. “Are you?—”
He snapped. “Why you still giving him air, Solè?” Roman’s voice came out rough, clipped, too loud for how close he was standing. Heads turned. A couple of people slowed down, treating a wound like a show. “I step away five minutes,five, and he comfortable enough to put his hands on you?” His jaw tightened, anger spilling sloppily. “You know you gotta shut that down. You know you can’t let folks get that familiar with you.”
His words hit hard, heavy and misplaced. He threw a shield and still managed to cut me. The same man who made me feel safest had suddenly become the loudest thing in the room, and I was standing under that volume, blinking like I’d been pulled from warmth and into winter.
I understood his fear. I did. But I refused to be anybody’s punching bag. I would never talk to him like that, never turn my worry into a public correction, and I needed that same care in return.
I took one step back. My heel scraped the polished floor, a small sound that felt louder than the mall music. Something in our bond—our communication, our safety, our respect—cracked right there. In Roman’s eyes, I saw remorse bloom. Not for the bruise on my arm, but the one on my dignity.
He caught me by the waist, gentle but firm, pulling me into him like he couldn’t stand the distance. The space between us scared him more than any man ever could.
“Baby,” he said, breath uneven now, the anger cracking open to show what it was really guarding. “Baby, listen. I am so sorry. I’m sorry I came at you like that.”
His forehead brushed mine, and I wanted to melt into that familiar warmth. I wanted to pretend the last ten seconds never happened. I wanted to rewind time and replace his tone with the version of him I knew best, the one that handled me like something precious, my porch, my safe space. But my heart didn’t rewind that fast. It stayed stuck on the sharpness, on the way his voice had turned me into a problem that needed correcting.
“I am not mad at you,” he said, voice lower, more Roman now, still rough but honest. “I’m mad at myself. I’m mad at the fact that I let you be out here for even a second without me right there. I’m mad I wasn’t quicker. I’m mad I saw him reach, and for a split moment, my brain started showing every headline I ever read, every story I ever heard, every ‘if only’ that doesn’t bring somebody back.”
His grip tightened just enough to say he was trying to keep himself steady.
“I have two sisters,” he continued, swallowing like the words had edges. “And I’ve been their shield since I was barely grown myself. That’s my default. Protect first, ask questions second. And when I saw him touch you, it felt like the same threat. Like the world was testing me again. Like God was daring me to stand still.”
He exhaled hard through his nose, fighting with himself in plain sight.
“And I hate that my fear settled on you,” he said, forehead still pressed to mine. “I hate that I embarrassed you. You didn’t do nothing wrong. You hear me? Nothing. That man was wrong. He was disrespectful. He was dangerous. My job is to put that where it belongs, not put it on you.”
His voice softened, but the tremor in it gave him away. He wasn’t just angry. He was terrified.
“I don’t ever want you to feel like you have to earn my softness,” he said. “I don’t ever want you to feel like you have to be perfect to be protected. I was wrong, love.”
The apology was real. I could feel it in the way his arms trembled just slightly, like he was holding back the version of himself that would’ve turned the mall into a crime scene. And still, the sting stayed. Because I had already been violated by Mr. Henderson, and then I had been publicly scolded by the man who called me his peace. It was like getting pushed into the ocean and then being asked why I was wet.
My throat burned. My eyes watered, but I blinked it back. I was tired of being watched and tired of being a moment.
