35
OCEAN
I walked into the gym with Trace and Shade, the echo of our sneakers against the polished hardwood flooding my eardrums. Indoor gym, mid-afternoon, nobody else here but us...it was the perfect break from everything.
Trace was off duty for the day, which meant we could actually play without him scanning for threats.
The vibe was light and easy.
“You sure you ready for this?” I teased my brother, dribbling the ball low to the ground.
Shade grinned. “Fool, you know I’m the pro here. Don’t get your feelings hurt when I dunk on you.”
“Feelings hurt? Nah. I got you, though. Just don’t cry when I take that shot.” I went up, let the ball swoosh through the net clean, and watched Shade roll his eyes in mock disbelief.
Trace laughed from the sideline, shaking his head.
We started shooting around, passing the ball back and forth.
“So, how’s Nyx? How’s my little niece or nephew?” I asked, letting Shade dribble past me.
He smiled, his whole face lighting up. “They’re good. Nyx is officially in all things baby mode. She’s picking names, nursery décor, clothes...anything she can think of, she’s doing it.”
I chuckled. “That’s good. You look happy man. Like, for real.”
“That’s because I am. I never thought I could have something like this, and now that I do, I can’t see my life without it.”
“I feel that. You got some once in lifetime shit going on.”
“Yeah, I do.” He laughed.
We kept shooting around. I was half-focused on the ball, half-focused on the entrance to the gym, when I noticed a familiar face stepping inside.
I froze mid-dribble. It was Melina’s husband, Waylon. Like always, he moved arrogant as hell, acting like the world owed him something. And of course, he headed my way.
“Yo…” I said low to Trace and Shade. “The nigga that’s walking over here, that’s Melina’s husband.”
Trace’s eyes followed mine. “Whose husband?”
“Melina. The chick that got her ass beat by Skye.”
“Oh.” Trace laughed. “Speaking of her...did you give her some time off?”
“Sure did. Permanently,” I replied.
“Damn.”
Shade shrugged, his eyes still on Waylon. “He looks like a bitch.”
A bitch is right, and he was about to get treated like one if he came at me wrong.
Waylon made his way in front of me, and I straightened, jaw tight, letting my gaze lock with his.
“What’s up?” I said.
“Ocean,” he replied, smooth and too confident. “I heard my wife got…let go.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Yeah. She did.”
