Across the room, Tanya—the club owner—rushed over, heels clickin' hard against the floor. She stopped short when she saw the heat drawn, eyes buggin' slightly as she looked at me.
"St. Jean, we don't want no trouble in here," she said low, lips barely movin'. I nodded once. "I got it."
"Jules," I said again, firmer this time. "Different time, different place." His eyes finally cut to me. They were bloodshot, glossy with rage. But behind all that... hurt. Real hurt. I leaned in closer. "Come on, Ju. It's too many people in here, too many witnesses. Get your wife. Let's go before this turns into a murder scene." He stared at Nash another second, then finally he stepped back.
Click.
He tucked the gun back in his waistband, hand still hovering like it could come back out any second.
He didn't say a word to Nash. Didn't even spare him a look. Instead, he turned to Nia—voice cold, empty. "Let's go." Nia nodded fast, still shook, and fell in step behind him. Her hand ghosted over his back like she was scared to touch him but scared not to, too. We moved out fast. Me, Chiana, Pierre, Amina trailin' behind. The club had gone half silent now—music still playin', but the vibe was off. Folks whisperin', pointin'. You could feel it in the air.
We got outside, the heat of the New Orleans night hittin' us like a wall of bricks. Bourbon still buzzed, music blastin' from other clubs, lights blinkin' over balconies, the smell of fried food and weed blendin' in the air. Jules kept walkin', straight to the truck. Pierre leaned in to me, voice low. "He really was gon' kill that nigga."
"Yeah," I muttered, "I know." And I ain't blame him one bit. We piled into the truck, Jules and Nia climbed into the third row, still steamin'. Chiana slid up front beside me, arms folded tight across her chest, while Pierre and Amina crammed into the second row, Amina already halfway poutin'. I pulled off, the engine rumblin' low as we pulled away from all the lights and noise of Bourbon Street.
Through the rearview, I peeped Jules and Nia already goin' at it. "You stupid as fuck, Nia," Jules barked, his voice bouncin' around the inside of the truck. He pointed a finger dead in her face, mushin' her forehead back like a big brother scoldin' his lil sister. "Stop putting your fuckin' finger in my face, Jules!" Nia snapped back, swattin' his hand away. "you don't even have to do all of that!"
"I ain't even get to eat no damn chicken because of this stupid ass shit!" Jules hollered, throwin' his hands up. "You fuckin' that nigga or some? Huh?" His voice cracked, hurt bleedin' through all that rage as he grabbed her shoulders roughly, pullin' her toward him. "Aye, come on now, Ju," Pierre said from the middle row, turnin' around and holdin' a hand up. "Do that shit when y'all get to the comfort of your own crib, man."
"Nah, fuck that!" Jules barked, voice thunderin' through the truck. "Nigga, My bitch, the bitch that I got paperwork on, got me out here lookin' stupid! Slobbin down a nigga in public like I ain't that nigga!" Nia lunged at him slapping him before he restrained her. "Ima show your hoe ass a bitch," She screamed. I gripped the wheel tighter, my jaw clenchin'. The truck was dead silent except for their arguin', the tires hummin' low against the road. Chiana shifted next to me, mumblin' under her breath, "They gon' fight the whole damn way home." I kept my eyes on the road but spoke low enough for her to hear. "That's they marriage, Chi. Let 'em bleed it out."
Amina tried to jump in from the middle seat, tryin' to keep it light. "Jules, you need a drink and a prayer. Maybe even a lil' holy water." Pierre snorted, "Both they ass need to chill out. They even now I don't enn know why they doin all that." That pulled a small giggle outta Chiana, but she quickly covered her mouth. Meanwhile, Nia crossed her arms, leanin' back against the third-row seat, rollin' her eyes so hard I thought she was gon' roll 'em straight out her head. "If you ain't happy, Jules, leave then," she snapped. "Ain't nobody beggin' you to stay."
"You got me fucked up," Jules growled low. "I'd die 'bout you, Nia, but remember you don't live in a world without me and I don't exist in one without you. You just forgot that shit." The whole truck went heavy again. Nia blinked at him, her mouth twitchin' like she wanted to say somethin' slick... but instead, she turned her head toward the window, silent.
I blew out a slow breath, turnin' the music up just a notch, lettin' Kevin Gates drown some of the heat in the air. I slid a glance at Chiana out the corner of my eye. She was sittin' quiet, her hand slidin' over to rest on my thigh, squeezin' gently. I covered her hand with mine. At least for now, we was solid. But the way things was movin'... I knew peace was always temporary in our world. Always.
CHIANA
I watched him across the table, his jaw flexin' tight as he ended the call, tossin' his phone face down like it disgusted him. He went back to cuttin' into his steak and eggs, actin' like the weight of the world wasn't sittin' heavy on his back. Today was the grand opening. Me and Juste had ended up at Waffle House at some early ass hour this morning, still riding the high from being up all night. Laughing, talkin', touchin' on each other like we was scared sleep might snatch the moment away. Lately, it was like that with us—real clingy. Needy. I didn't just love him, I needed to be in his skin.
I picked up my orange juice, takin' a slow sip before askin', "What'd your daddy say about Evie?" Juste wiped his mouth with a napkin, voice real dry. "Say her counselor don't feel like it's a good idea for her to come out yet. So she stayin'. However that go." He brushed it off, but I caught it—the little flicker of hurt in his eyes before he smothered it with pride. He'd been actin' real cold when it came to Ms. Evie lately. I didn't blame him.
I leaned back in my seat, lettin' the sunlight catch on the simple gold ring he liked me wearin' on my right hand. "After this grand openin'," I said, lookin' him dead in his eyes, "let's do somethin'. Just us. No phones. No business. No drama. You and me. " Juste sat back too, like he needed to let that sink in. His fingers tapped the table once, then he picked up his phone, scrollin' through somethin' real focused. I frowned. "Mmhmm. What you over there plottin'?"
He smirked a little, still scrollin'. "So look... White boy Mike been tryna pay me back for some shit he owe me. At first I kept tellin' his white ass no, but now that you say that—" He turned the phone around and slid it across the table to me. It was a picture of a small yacht—two bedrooms below deck, big ass upper deck, looked like it had been renovated real clean. It wasn't no flashy billionaire shit—it was real, real nice. "I can't drive dat muthafucka, but I can damn sho' pay a nigga to," he said, serious as hell. "What you say, baeeby? After all dis, let's take off. Jus' you and me." I stared at the screen for a second, then up at him—the man that risked it all for me, loved me so hard it scared me sometimes. A slow smile stretched across my face, my heart damn near spillin' out my chest. I nodded, whisperin' around the lump in my throat. " Let's do it."
After finishing up, we left Waffle House. The truck rumbled low as we cruised down the backstreets, the Waffle House smell still clingin' to my clothes, my stomach full, my heart a little lighter. I leaned my head against the window, smilin' to myself, just lettin' the ride rock me. I had no idea where we was headed—and for once, I didn't care. Then, the truck slowed, the tires crunchin' over loose gravel, and I lifted my head, blinkin' at the street we was turnin' down. A street I hadn't been down in years.
I turned in my seat, frownin' at Juste as he eased the truck to a stop under the heavy moss-draped trees. "What we doin' here?" I asked, my voice small, caught somewhere between confusion and fear. He killed the engine, sittin' back in his seat, eyes steady on me. "When the last time you been to see your people, Chiana?" he asked, real soft but real firm. "Today's a big day for you, baeeby. They deserve to know how far you done came."
For a second, I couldn't even find my breath. His words cracked somethin' wide open in my chest. Tears threatened, but I blinked 'em back fast. Without another word, I got out the truck, my feet crunchin' against the gravel. I hesitated, then turned, glancin' over my shoulder. "Come with me?" He didn't even answer—just nodded and climbed out, fallin' into step beside me, a quiet, solid force at my side.
The graveyard was quiet except for the soft rustle of the wind. I weaved through the crooked headstones until I got the one that mattered most. My parents. I dropped down to my knees in front of it, layin' my palm gently against the cold stone. I stared at their names, the dates carved underneath. It had been too long. Way too long. I took a breath, the air heavy in my chest. Then I started talkin'.
"Hey, Mama. Daddy. It's me... Chi." My voice cracked, but I pushed through it. "I know it's been a minute... life got real messy after y'all left. I haven't always been perfect, neither. I made mistakes. I lost myself a few times. Thought I would never feel whole again after y'all died." I swallowed hard, wipin' at my cheek where a tear slipped free. "But I got back up. I finished school. I built a life. I'm runnin' my own business now. , Mama—you woulda been proud of the grown woman I am." I smiled sadly. "I'm still me, Daddy. You'll be happy to know your baby girl don't take no shit."
Juste stood a little ways behind me, arms crossed, head bowed like he was givin' me my moment but ready to jump in if I needed him. I stared at the headstone, my voice softenin'. "And... I found somebody. Somebody real. Somebody who sees me, even the broken parts, and love me anyway." I turned, glancin' back at Juste. "He ain't perfect. Lord knows, he get on my last nerve sometimes," I laughed watery, "but he loves me hard. Protects me like it's his only job on this earth. When I'm with him, I feel safe. I feel... home." I turned back to the stone, whisperin', "His name's Juste. And he the best thing that's happened to me." I wiped my hands on my jeans and stood, brushin' the dirt from my knees. Juste stepped forward then, real slow, and wrapped his arms around my shoulders from behind, pressin' a kiss to the side of my head. We stood there like that for a while, lettin' the breeze wrap around us. I knew right then—no matter what storms came, no matter how hard life tried to knock me down again—I had a home now. Right there in his arms.
_
I stood in front of the mirror, takin' a slow breath as I checked myself over one last time. The black, one-shoulder dress clung to every curve just right—fitted without screamin' for attention. It hit just at my knees, classy but sexy enough to make Juste stare. I sprayed a soft mist of perfume at the base of my neck and wrists, the sweet, airy scent wrapping around me like armor. Slidin' the diamond tennis bracelet he'd surprised me with around my wrist, I smiled to myself. It caught the light with every little movement—a small reminder of how far we'd come. I stepped into my simple black red bottoms, the ones that made my legs look a mile long, and gave myself a once-over in the mirror.
This wasn't just another day. This was the day we opened a door for our people. The day the St. Jean legacy expanded more than I even knew. I made my way down stairs. Juste was dressed to match me in a pair of black Levis and a Polo shirt. We left the house and headed to Thiloux. We were already running a few minutes behind. The parking lot of the brand-new St. Jean Development Co. buzzed with life. A huge banner stretched across the entry gates, snappin' in the warm Louisiana breeze: "Welcome to the Future of Thiloux — St. Jean Development Co."
Balloons bobbed in the air—black, gold, and white. The smell of BBQ and fresh shrimp and crawfish hit me before I even opened the door. Vendors were lined up around the perimeter: big pots steamin', trays of pralines glistenin' under the sun, food trucks servin' everything from fried catfish to homemade lemonade. Kids ran wild between the bounce houses and face-painting booths, laughter and screams mixin' with the thump of music playin' live from a DJ tent.
I stepped out the truck, the heat kissin' my skin, my black dress catching the sunlight just right. The gold anklet I wore winked with every step I took across the pavement. My heart swelled as I took it all in. Saint stood up near the main tent with Noles, Pierre, with Amina clinging to his side, and Jules. Nia was running around with the kids. Security was tight, even at a celebration. Juste climbed out behind me, adjustin' his watch, hand lightly resting on my lower back, like always. I let my eyes scan over everything—the crowd, the booths, the smiles—and it hit me.
