“Mrs. Knight, hi.” She spoke.
“Heyyy, I thought that was you. How you been, sweetie?”
“Um…good. I’m just in here grabbing a few things.” Nivéa replied, keeping her tone light as she glanced over at Boe, who was glaring at her.
“Yeah, me too.” Kerri tapped the small basket looped over her arm, filled with breakfast items, bandages, and peroxide. “I got Hassan to take care of. You know his behind is still laid up in my house. Big ass baby when he wants to be, I tell you.”
Nivéa almost asked who the hell Hassan was, but Boe interrupted before she could.
“Aye, we gotta go.” He said.
Kerri’s smile faded the moment she turned her head, and her eyes landed on him. She studied him openly, unimpressed. Crown had told her about how he and Nivéa had come to an end,and while Kerri was disappointed that they didn’t work out, she understood why. Still, she believed Nivéa could do much better than the bum-looking ass nigga standing before her.
“And you are?” She asked, not waiting for an introduction.
Kerri couldn’t help herself; she came from a family of royalty. People naturally gave the Knights respect. And if they didn’t because they were unaware of the legacy, they were taught to, or worse,forced to.
Ignoring her question, Boe’s eyes remained focused on Nivéa. “We gotta go. Now.” He repeated.
Kerri watched as Nivéa’s eyes dropped, then lifted again, and it was then that she noticed the dry tear stains on her face.
“This is my baby girl’s father. Excuse us. We’re just in a bit of a rush. It was so good to see you, though, Mrs. Knight—”
“Are you okay, sweetie? You look like you’ve been crying.”
“She’s fine.” Boe snapped.
“I wasn’t asking you. Nivéa can speak for her damn self.”
Boe didn’t bother to argue. Instead, he reached into the cart and lifted the carrier out, holding it just long enough to make his point. The message was clear to Nivéa. Move, or he would walk out with the baby without her.
“Y… yes, I’m fine. Like I said, I’m just in a bit of a rush. Thank you for coming over to speak. It was so good seeing you.”
Nivéa forced a smile before pushing the basket and falling in step behind Boe. And she prayed Kerri noticed how unsteady it had been and called the cops. At this point, she was her last hope.
After grabbing the tampons and pain medication, they headed toward the register. While they waited in line, Boe remained on edge, his eyes sweeping the store for any sign of Kerri. His jaw tightened as he scanned each aisle. He wasn’t above threatening an old woman if she decided to involve herself.
“Aye, who the fuck was that?” He asked.
Nivéa cleared her throat, lying without missing a beat. “Just one of my mama’s old friends.”
“I don’t recognize her. She used to come over to the crib?”
“Yeah, but never when you were around. Why is this even important?”
Boe studied her for a long second, searching her face for something that didn’t sit right. Then his gaze drifted away, sweeping the aisles again. But Kerri was no longer in sight. And if he was being honest, that brought him a small sense of relief.
After they checked out, Boe pushed the cart toward the exit, feeling victorious. But that feeling vanished the moment they stepped out of the glass doors, and the unmistakable sound of a gun being cocked echoed inches from the back of his head.
Nivéa froze mid-step, too. “Oh my God,” she whispered, barely breathing as she turned her head just enough to catch the shine of the barrel and Danger’s side profile.
He looked nothing like the man she was used to seeing. Every other time she’d encountered him, he’d been well put together…vest fitted snug, jeans crisp, and boots planted firm on his feet. Today was different. His locs were tied back in a careless bun, and the crisp edge-up he usually kept was barely there because he was overdue to see his barber. A dingy black T-shirt clung to his frame, athletic shorts hung low on his waist, and he wore Nike slides on his feet. The last set of bandages Kerri had wrapped around his leg was visible and bloody, peeking out as he stood behind Boe.
Instinctively, Boe’s hand shot toward his waist.
“Pull that muthafucka if you want to. The way I’m feelin’, I’ll have yo’ shit splattered all over this pavement, bitch.” Danger threatened.
In his eyes, Nivéa saw deep, unfiltered pain. Not just from the wound on his leg but from losing Lil Mo. His grief hadnowhere to go but outward. His gaze was flat, heavy, and dangerous, as if pulling the trigger wouldn’t cost him a thing. He’d been down bad for too long, and now he was desperate to unleash all his frustrations.
