I turn to Bron. “You quit your job to chase that food truck dream with no savings. Who helped you move that busted ass trailer at five in the goddamn morning?”
He inclines his head.
I look at Jovan. “You brought a bitch to Thanksgiving after she busted the windows out your car. Did I lecture you, or did I invite her to my birthday?”
He nods.
“Day, before you got engaged to Shara, you were running through the whole goddamn city. Who went to the clinic with you?"
He looks down at his feet.
“And Titus…man…I don’t even—“
“Need to say anything,” he finishes. “I know. But I was up there with you when you said 'I do.'”
“Yeah. You were. And I appreciated it. But the rest of y’all niggas were sitting in the cheap seats. That shit…”
I wanna say it hurt, but I settle for, “That shit wasn’t cool. And I would never do y’all like that.”
Silence ensues again, heavy and long. It’s not an awkward silence this time, though. It’s thick with something else.
Shame.
I can feel their shame, and that shit makes me feel better. It's rolling through my veins like heroin, and I needed the hit. Them niggasshouldfeel ashamed of themselves.
Day finally clears his throat and holds out his hand. “I’m sorry, bruh. For real. I didn’t realize how much that would matter to you.”
I dap him up. “I appreciate that.”
“Same,” Bron says. Jovan nods, and one by one, the two of them dap me, too. Titus just sits there smiling, probably happy he don’t have shit to apologize for.
“About my birthday,” Jovan says, perking up. “I’ma have a little kickback next weekend. It would be cool for y’all to come through. Maybe we can get to know Raya. Bring her into the circle where she belongs.”
“We’ll be there,” I say immediately. “She’ll like that.”
But as soon as the words leave my lips, I wonder.
Willshe like that?
It’s entirely possible that she hates these niggas right now. And forever. I don’t know if it’ll be a good idea to subject her to them—or them to her.
But we're a unit, so we move together. If it's a disaster, then it'll beourdisaster.
5
Raya
Ace’s skin is still damp from his shower. The scent of his soap lingers in the air.
I press my palms against his broad shoulders, then knead my way down his back.
He sits on the edge of the bed, head bowed slightly, tiny water droplets glistening at the base of his neck. My thumbs glide along the hard line where his muscle meets bone, working slowly and deliberately. I love the way he relaxes into my touch. The way his body surrenders before his mind does.
He exhales softly when I sink my fingers deeper. “That feels so good,” he murmurs.
Of course it does. That’s the whole point. Everything I do is for him. To please him. To keep him happy.
“I love you,” I purr, smiling when he mumbles it back to me.
