I leaned back in my chair, the wood creakin' underneath me. My fingers tapped slow against the rim of my glass, mind already runnin' a mile a minute. I knew Maseon wouldn't stay gone forever. He always slithered back through Louisiana eventually—like roaches when the lights cut back off. And when he did, I was gon' be right there waitin'. "Memphis?" Noles echoed after a long beat. "Shit, that sound 'bout right for that scary-ass nigga." Jules shook his head, muttering, "Nigga been a snake since high school. We should've peeled his skin off back then."
Pops raised a brow at me. "What you thinkin', Juste?" I looked up, my eyes dead steady. "I'm thinkin' that when he bring his ass back to Louisiana... I'm cuttin' his breath short. Ain't gon' be no conversation, ain't gon' be no warnin'. It's gon' be one shot—clean and final." Nobody said a word. They all knew I meant that shit. After Fred left, we stayed locked in, talkin' numbers, structure, Houston rotations, and the new product lines we was gonna push through the development once it opened. The whole time I was noddin', listenin', speakin' when needed... but my mind was already in Memphis, watchin' Maseon's final moments unfold like a movie on slow play. I wasn't gon' chase him. I wasn't even gon' sweat it. He was gon' come back home eventually. And when he did, I was gon' be the last face that fuck nigga saw.
-
By the time the sun started settin', the sky was turnin' that soft gold mixed with lavender—the kinda color that made you pause even in the middle of war. We was in the backyard, and I had powdered sugar on my shirt and heat in my lap—both from the beignets Chi made and the glock sittin' beside my leg. Chiana stood across from me in them tight lil shorts, her Dior shades pushed up on her head, lips glistenin' from that lemonade she'd been sippin'. Weed-infused, of course. That's been her thing lately—weed and citrus and tryin' to stay calm in the middle of all the chaos.
She was lookin' at me like I was crazy, brows raised as I pointed to the guns laid out in front of us on the patio table—my .40, the Desert Eagle, and the AR. "Juste, I just don't think all this is necessary," she said finally, her voice a lil breathy, like she ain't wanna argue but couldn't hold her tongue either. I leaned back in the lawn chair, one leg stretched out, the other propped up on the edge of the table. I bit into a still-warm beignet and wiped the sugar from my fingers before speakin'.
"Chiana, just hush and listen," I said, not harsh, just firm. She had to understand this wasn't paranoia—it was survival. "Look, I ain't sayin' you gotta be runnin' round the city with a choppa in ya purse. But with the way shit been movin'? The way folks tryna circle back? I need to know you can protect yourself if it come down to it." She stared at the guns like they offended her. Like they didn't belong near her perfectly laid baby hairs and rose gold nails. "Juste, you protect me. That's what you do. Why the hell would I need to—"
"'Cause I can't be everywhere, Chi." I stood up, walkin' over to her, my voice lower now. "I was there that night Maseon came for us, yeah. But what if I wasn't? What if I ain't got time to pull up or ain't close enough to stop the bullshit? You gon' wish you took this lesson serious." She looked at me, and I saw it in her eyes—that flicker of memory. Of the pain. Of the hospital. The silence between her heartbeat and the machines. Her lips pressed together tight. "Fine," she said quietly. "But I'm shootin' in these sandals. So don't say shit if my aim ain't perfect."
I smirked. "Ain't nobody ask you to be Annie Oakley. Just stand firm. Don't flinch." I stepped behind her, slidin' my hands around her waist to guide her grip. Her ass brushed against me, and I had to breathe slow not to get distracted. She smelled like coconut and vanilla, and I swore the woman could make me forget I had bodies to bury. "Hold it steady," I murmured near her ear. "Don't fight the kick. Let it move through you." She nodded, bit her lip, and squeezed the trigger.
The first shot rang out and she stumbled a lil. But she ain't drop the piece. "Again," I said. By the third shot, she was locked in. I leaned back, noddin', feelin' that strange mix of pride and dread rise in my chest. She looked too good behind a barrel. Too ready. And I hated that the world made her need to be.
Chiana
Spring was starting to roll around, The late afternoon sun was low, casting that warm golden hue across the park. The sound of kids laughing, sneakers hitting pavement, and the steady creak of the swings filled the air. I stood behind Jezel, her tiny braids bouncing with each push I gave, her laughter nonstop. "Push me higher, Auntie Chi! I wanna fly!" she squealed, kicking her pink and white sneakers toward the clouds like she had wings tucked in her back pocket. "You better hold on tight, baby girl," I laughed, giving her a gentle push that made her giggle harder.
The boys were off fishing with Jules. Jezel had been with me, Amina, and her mama all day—us girls doing what we do best: shopping, snacking, and spilling just enough tea to make each other laugh 'til we snorted. We'd taken the Jezel out for pasta, her favorite, after and now ended up here, letting her burn off some of her energy.
Amina sat on the nearby bench, scrolling her phone with her legs crossed, sunglasses perched on her nose like she was duckin' paparazzi. She looked too damn good for the playground in her olive green romper and designer slides, but that was Amina—fly at all times. "You see Pierre tried to FaceTime me twice while we was in that pasta spot?" she said without lookin' up. "I ain't answer. I already told him I was busy." I gave Jezel another push, glancing over my shoulder. "What he want now? Ain't y'all good?"
Amina finally looked up, slid her shades down. "Girl, he talkin' 'bout me needin' to slow down on all this travelin'. He tired of me flyin' everywhere and bein' gone all week." I smirked. "Pierre actin' like he met you in a Sunday school pew. You was a flight attendant when he found you."
"Exactly!" Amina threw up her hands. "Now all of a sudden he wanna be my damn schedule manager."
"Let me find out Pierre tryna nest," I teased.
"Let me find out I'm still young, fine, and free," Amina shot back, but the way she said it—soft, hesitant—made me pause. There was a little truth under that. She cared. She was just scared to admit it. "Y'all gon' figure it out," I said, just as Jezel jumped off the swing and ran toward the jungle gym.
As Jezel ran off, her little legs pumping full of joy, I let myself breathe. It had been a good day. A soft day. And I hadn't had many of those lately. Not since the accident. Not since that night on the road when I thought I might've taken my last breath in Juste's arms. But the weeks that followed... they surprised me. We'd been trying. No—he'd been trying. And I noticed it.
Like the time he came home damn near three in the morning, thinking I was sleep. I wasn't. I heard the front door creak, the beep of the alarm system, and his heavy footsteps dragging across the hardwood. He didn't head straight to the bedroom. Nah. He went to the bathroom, took a long-ass shower, then climbed into bed and pulled me so close I could barely breathe. He whispered somethin' I ain't never forget."Sometimes I think if you ain't make it that night, I fear the man I would've became. Hurricane Katrina wasn't shit compared to what I was prepared to do."He said it so quiet, I wasn't even sure I was supposed to hear it. But I did. And I damn sure felt it. Felt how his hands shook when he kissed the back of my neck. Felt how his breath caught in his throat like the grief was still choking him. And I think in that moment... that's when I really forgave him. For the distance. For the way he'd gone cold right after. For not showing up the way I needed him to when I came home wrapped in bandages and silence. He was scared. And Juste St. Jean didn't scare.
That's what made the last couple weeks feel different. He started coming home more. Started going on more dates at random. Even let me keep that ugly-ass plant I knew he hated in the kitchen window. We laughed more. Touched more. Slept wrapped up in each other like we were tryna heal in the same skin. So yeah, we still had shit to figure out. And I wasn't dumb—I knew the Maseon situation was still eatin' him alive. But for the first time in a while... I didn't feel like I was alone.
I glanced over and caught Nia just... sitting there. Elbows on her knees, fingers laced, eyes stuck on nothing. Zoned out like the world was spinning and she was tryin' to catch up. It wasn't like her. Nia was always the loud one, the quick-witted one, ready with a joke or a side-eye and a curse word if needed. But today? She was in her own little world, and it made me frown. "You good?" I asked, turning my full attention to Nia. "You real quiet today. What's up wit' you?"
Amina looked up from her phone, eyes covered in Gucci frames, but her brows furrowed over the top. "I peeped that too. What's up?" Nia exhaled hard. Like the weight of her whole damn life was tryna crawl up out her chest. She pushed her sunglasses on top of her head, eyes glossy but stubborn. "I fucked up, y'all," she muttered. Me and Amina exchanged a glance. Not judgment, not shock—just that silent homegirl code that meant: whatever it is, we ridin'.
"Talk to us," I said, tone low, steady. "What happened?"
She looked around the park like she was makin' sure nobody was in earshot. Jezel was off runnin' with two little girls she'd made fast friends with. Amina sat up straighter, her attention all on Nia now. "It's Nash," she finally said. "I been... still messin' with him." I'd figured. The way her phone would light up with no name saved. The way she'd smile at a text when she thought nobody was looking. "But that ain't it," Nia added, her voice softer now. "Jules... we slipped too."
"Damn," Amina breathed. I stayed quiet. Not from shock, but because I knew that kinda confusion. When your heart got history with one man, but your peace showed up in another. When your body remembered what felt like home, even if your mind was screamin' run. Nia buried her face in her hands. "I feel like a fuckin' idiot."
"You not," I said gently. "You human, Nia."
"Yeah," Amina added. "Messy. But human."
We all chuckled a little at that. "You know you gotta make a choice though," I said, leaning in just enough for her to feel the weight behind my words. "You keep going back and forth like this, you gon' lose both of them. Or worse—lose yourself in the middle." Nia let out a long breath, like she'd been holding that pressure in her lungs all day. She threw her head back, eyes closed beneath the warm sun, the wind gently lifting the curls from her edges.
"Yeah... I know," she murmured, voice low. "At the end of the day, leaving my marriage ain't really an option. We got too many kids. Too much history. Too much tied up in each other." She paused, eyes drifting across the playground, watching Jezel climb the slide like life was simple again. A tight smile pulled at her lips—but it didn't reach her eyes. "This shit with Nash... it just kinda happened. It started off light, some flirting, some laughs. Then next thing I know, we in his car with the seats laid back and him kissing me like he tryna memorize me all over again." Her laugh was soft, but tinged with guilt. "He be saying all the right shit. Touching me like he studied my body. Like he really see me."
"And Jules?" I asked, even though I already knew the answer. She exhaled slow. "Jules is my husband. My kids' daddy. We been in this so long, sometimes I forget what it feel like to be wanted just for me. Not the mama in me. Not the wife. Just Nia." Amina leaned forward now, eyes narrowed behind her designer frames. "Nash is something fun something new. different from that same old same old."
