“Yo, you fucked me up the other night, bro.” Redz’s voice was strained. Pissed. “I went to the doctor yesterday. You broke two of my ribs.”
“I had to make it look real.”
“You ain’t have to go that hard though. I can barely breathe without it hurtin’.”
I rolled my eyes. This nigga was soft as baby shit. “What you want me to do about it?”
“I need more money. Five hundred ain’t cuttin’ it. I got medical bills now. I need at least another stack.”
A stack. This bum ass nigga wanted a thousand more dollars because he couldn’t take a few hits.
But whatever. It was worth it to keep him quiet. Last thing I needed was Redz running his mouth about our little arrangement.
“Aight,” I said. “I’ll Cash App you later today.”
“Bet. And yo—we good after this, right? I ain’t tryna get caught up in no more of your schemes.”
“We good. Just keep your mouth shut.”
I hung up before he could say anything else.
Soon as I put the phone down, it buzzed again. This time it was a text.
Kacey.
My baby mother. My real one. The woman I was actually gonna build a life with.
She’d sent a picture. Her pregnant belly round and full, our daughter Kalani on her hip, both of them smiling at the camera. Kalani was two now, looking more like me every day. And the baby in Kacey’s stomach—my son—was due in a few months.
Can’t wait to be there with you baby. Once lil man is born and I recover, we’re on the first flight out. You better have our house ready!
I smiled. A real smile. Not the fake shit I gave Mehar.
Kacey was the one. Had been since high school. Yeah, I fucked around—a lot—but she was always home base. She knew about some of my dirt, didn’t ask too many questions about the rest, and she held me down no matter what. That’s wifey material right there.
I typed back:It’s gonna be ready. I got y’all. Tell Kalani daddy loves her.
Three heart emojis came back.
I put the phone down and went to check on the Uber Eats I’d ordered. Should be here any minute. I got Mehar some fancy breakfast—avocado toast, a veggie omelet, fresh squeezed orange juice. The kind of healthy shit she was always talking about eating.
Gotta keep her happy. Happy bitches don’t ask questions.
The doorbell rang. I grabbed the food, tipped the driver, and brought it to the kitchen. Started setting it up nice on plates, like I actually gave a fuck about presentation.
“Mmm, something smells good.”
Mehar appeared in the doorway, rubbing her eyes, wearing nothing but my t-shirt. It hung off her shoulder, hit her mid-thigh. She looked sexy as hell. And completely clueless.
“Made you breakfast,” I said, gesturing to the spread.
Her whole face lit up. “Thad! You didn’t have to do this.”
“I wanted to.” I pulled out a chair for her. “You gotta eat before you go to work. Can’t have my girl running the bakery on an empty stomach.”
She sat down, looking at the food like I’d cooked it myself instead of paying twenty dollars for someone to deliver it.
“This is so sweet.” She looked up at me with those big brown eyes. “Thank you.”
