I thought of my father, Reverend James Banks, who’d marched for justice when it had cost him friends, job opportunities, and physical safety. He’d taught me that words did not measure a man’s character, but by what he would sacrifice for his principles.
If I were going to lose everything, it wouldn’t be for staying silent. It wouldn’t be for playing it safe or protecting a system that didn’t deserve it. I’d do it for her, for Nia, but also for the truth she stood for, for the right to speak without being called a threat, and for the principles I’d claimed to serve all these years.
I pulled the door open and stepped inside. The conversation in the room died immediately.
“This is a closed meeting. You need to leave immediately.”
I closed the door behind me. “I’m here to provide testimony regarding Dr. Nia Price. And I’m not leaving until you hear what I have to say.”
15
NIA
I sat in my parked car, the AC barely making a dent in the Alabama heat. The official notice shook in my hands, almost like it wanted to get away. “Dr. Nia Price: Status Update Removal from Federal Persons of Interest Database.” Just like that, the nightmare that threatened my career and came between the only man who’d truly seen me was finally over.
I snapped a pic and sent it to Talia. She responded immediately.
Talia: They really sent that shit through the mail? Like a damn electric bill?
Her outrage made me feel seen when my own emotions were still too tangled to understand.
Me: God forbid they apologize publicly, the way they humiliated me on a public list. At least they used first-class postage.
Talia sent me a GIF of Viola rolling her eyes. I laughed out loud before setting my phone aside. I folded the letter and stuffed it into my bag.
I checked myself in the rearview mirror, hardly recognizing the woman staring back. These past weeks had changed me,left shadows under my eyes that concealer couldn’t quite hide, tension in my jaw that hadn’t fully released even with this news. I’d survived, though. Now what?
Survival was only part of it. The other part that kept me awake at night was Ronan. The silence between us with all we’d left unsaid.
“Fuck it.” I grabbed my bag and keys. Sitting here stewing in regret wasn’t helping anyone.
I stepped out of the car, the Alabama humidity’s embrace suffocating but somehow still home. I locked my car and stood still for a moment, appreciating the noise of the city. Birmingham at dusk, beautiful and broken and resilient, just like its people. Just like me.
My stomach growled, reminding me I hadn’t eaten since a hasty granola bar at lunch. I moved toward the food truck with its promises of quick, greasy salvation. My body moved on autopilot while my mind continued its endless loop of thoughts about Ronan.
A couple walked by, holding hands and laughing at a private joke. I looked away; their closeness stung. My sundress stuck to my back, so I pulled my locs into a quick bun with the elastic from my wrist. It helped a little; at least I could feel a bit of breeze on my neck.
The smell of spices and food wafted over, tightening my stomach with hunger. The food truck lot came into view, with groups of people waiting in line or sitting at picnic tables. Music played, mixing with the sounds of conversation and laughter.
I stopped when I saw him standing in line, focused on the front. For a second, I thought about turning around and pretending I hadn’t noticed him, sparing us both the awkwardness, but I was tired of running, tired of hiding from the truth.
His head turned, and our eyes locked. Time seemed to stretch and contract, the noise of the food truck lot fading to background static as understanding passed between us without a single word spoken.
We had found each other again. Now we just had to figure out what came next.
Neither of us moved for a long moment, then we both walked toward each other, him leaving his place in line. We met on the lot between two food trucks, close enough that I could smell his cologne but with enough distance that strangers wouldn’t think we knew each other. Except our eyes gave us away, locked together like we were drowning, and the other person held the only lifeline.
“Nia.” The way he said my name, almost reverent, made something catch in my chest.
“Ronan. Thank you for what you did at that review.”
“You heard about that?” His eyebrows raised slightly.
I shifted my weight, suddenly unsure of what to do with my hands. “Birmingham’s a small town when it comes to gossip. I heard you lost your badge because of . . . me.”
His expression was pained, as if he were touching an old wound to see if it still hurt. “Not because of you, but because of what was right. There’s a difference.”
I forced myself to maintain eye contact when all impulses screamed at me to look away from the intensity of his gaze. “Your badge meant everything to you.”
