“I’m not avoiding you. Remember, things are complicated right now.”
I lowered my voice and leaned in. “Right. The watchlist. I’ve been making calls, trying to find out who put you on it. There are ways I can?—”
“Don’t. Please, Ronan. Don’t pull strings for me. That’ll just make things worse.” Nia’s eyes finally met mine directly.
I stepped back like she’d pushed me. “I’m trying to help.”
Her face softened a little, the first sign she was letting her guard down. “This is exactly why we . . .” She motioned between us but didn’t finish.
A heavy-set brother pushing a cart full of kids’ cereal passed us, nodding my way. “Chief Banks. Good work with that school program in the West End.”
“Appreciate that,” I responded automatically, my attention still fixed on Nia, whose eyes had drifted away again, scanning the exit like she was planning her escape route.
When we were alone again, I tried once more. “Can we talk? Away from . . .” I gestured at the grocery store.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea right now. I need to be careful about who I’m seen with, given everything.” She adjusted her purse strap and shifted her basket to her other hand.
“You think I’m part of the problem?”
Her eyes met mine briefly before looking away. “I think you’re part of a system that’s currently targeting me. And being seen with Birmingham’s chief of police right now won’t help my situation.”
Damn, that hurt.
“I understand. I’ll let you get back to shopping,” I replied, though I didn’t really mean it. Not after everything we’d been through.
She nodded, relief flashing across her face. “Take care, Ronan.”
Nia was scared, or at least concerned. She clearly believed I couldn’t or wouldn’t protect her from whatever was coming.
I stood there connecting dots in my head. The watchlist. The way she’d avoided discussing anything substantial. It all pointed to one thing: She knew something about the federal investigation she wasn’t sharing with me. Something that made her pull back. Whatever it was, she didn’t trust me enough to let me in on it.
I left my cart by the coffee aisle and walked out, suddenly not hungry anymore.
In the car, I tried to tell myself that with Nia on the federal watchlist, she was being smart and protecting herself. Being seen with the police chief right after being called a ‘potential disruptor’ wouldn’t look good to her colleagues or the activist community that respected her.
She was playing it safe. Smart. Strategic. Exactly what I’d expect from Dr. Price, who calculated every move in the ongoing chess game of systemic change.
Except the woman in my cabin hadn’t calculated anything. She’d been real, raw, uninhibited. The way she’d looked at me all the way through to parts of me no one else bothered to notice, that hadn’t been a strategy. The way she’d touched me, whispered my name, and fallen asleep against me with complete trust, . . . none of that was political.
I had to be overthinking this, but was I? The pieces tried to click together in my mind. Her careful distance. The way she’d reacted when I mentioned making calls about the watchlist. My jaw clenched. What if she were already cooperating with the Feds?
I understood self-preservation. What fucked with me was being left out of the loop. That was what hurt. Not that she might protect herself, any rational person would, but that she hadn’t trusted me enough to tell me. After everything we’d shared, she’d cut me out assuming I was part of the system coming for her rather than someone who’d stand between her and it.
The Nia who’d lain beside me afterward, while we talked about everything and nothing. The woman who’d called me beautiful, who’d looked at me like I was more than my position, more than the roles we’d been assigned in this fucked-up system.
That woman wouldn’t shut me out without reason. Something happened in the few days since I’d seen her. Something scared her enough to put up walls I thought we’d dismantled together.
I rubbed my palm over my face. Another possibility crept in. The chief of police fraternizing with a known “disruptor” would damage her credibility in activist circles, my standing with the department, and city leadership.
Why hadn’t we realized that our private moments would eventually clash with our public roles?
It was still early enough. I put the car in reverse and backed out of the parking space. This spiral of speculation wouldn’t help. I needed perspective, needed to talk to someone who’d understand. My usual confidant, Todd, would be another factor I needed to keep out of the equation.
There was only one person I could think of who might help me see through this mess. Someone I visited too rarely, spoke to even less, but who’d always cut through my bullshit with the clarity I desperately needed now.
I pulled onto the main road, heading east toward the outskirts of town, toward Oak Ridge Cemetery. Toward my father’s grave.
The irony wasn’t lost on me, seeking guidance from a man who’d been dead for years. Reverend James Banks always saw straight to the heart of any problem and always knew when I was lying to myself. And right now, with my heart and head at war, and Nia’s distance tearing at something I hadn’t even realized was vulnerable, I needed that clarity more than ever.
