At six o’clock, I needed to be walking through that door, ready to prove to her that this morning’s apology wasn’t just words. That I meant it when I said I wouldn’t disappear on her again.
“Hoe ass nigga, you shouldn’t be at the club anyway. You acting so unmarried, I need my money back for that wedding suit and girl dress.” I laughed, but it came out short.
“Damn, Brodie, you judging me now? It’s just velvet.”
“Velvet ain’t got nothing I need. My wife’s cooking tonight. That’s where the fuck I’m supposed to be.”
“Aight nigga. I’m already in the doghouse. I’m hitting Velvet to see what’s good with Tanisha.”
“Be careful, bruh. Hit me tomorrow.”
We said our peace before going our separate ways. I stayed on the bay to finish my smoke session while I let my thoughts consume me.
I’d gotten comfortable being alone. Had been alone since I was two and my mama died, leaving me with a father who loved me the only way he knew how—by teaching me to be harder than the streets that raised us both.
Legend raised me to survive, not to love. Ain’t no bedtime stories, no goodnight hugs. Just lessons on how to keep your hands clean, even when your work is dirty. He showed me how to bury enemies, not how to keep a woman. That’s why I didn’t know what the fuck to do with Coco.
I was tired of being alone. Tired of pretending I didn’t want what other men had—someone to come home to, someone who gave a damn if I made it through the door.
Her scent filled the penthouse even when she wasn't there, soaked into my expensive sheets. Her voice carried from the shower as she sang old school R&B, always ministering to herself. Nobody had ever cooked for me the way she did, and I caught myself looking forward to it the same way I looked forward to seeing her move through my space in that silk robe, tied tight around her waist.
And that was the problem.
She wasn’t supposed to be a comfort. She was supposed to be a shield—a last name that bought me time while things cooled down. But every day with her chipped at the wall I’d built around myself, the same wall my father helped me construct when I was young enough to believe love was something other people did.
She was already mine in ways a marriage certificate couldn’t define.
Colecion was different. Too smart to dismiss, too fine to ignore. She lit up rooms without trying, commanded attention without demanding it. That made her dangerous in a world where standing out could get you killed.
On the night this all started, I had only two options: eliminate the problem or marry it. My father had been running these streets for forty years, and he knew loose ends had a way of unraveling empires. She was supposed to be a loose end tied up neatly. Instead, she turned into the whole thread. And I wasstarting to think if anybody tried to pull her from me, I’d let the entire empire unravel before I let her go.
Before I headed home tonight, I stopped to check my pops. I needed to check his meddling ass for having his lawyer send her that prenup without running it by me first. At the same time, I had to thank him—truth be told, I wasn’t sure how to bring up that conversation myself or if it was something that needed to be brought up. I’d told her I could see this working out, and I meant it. But after being gone for two weeks, I didn’t know if she fucked with me still or if she was just playing her position, waiting for the year to be over so she could disappear back into whatever life she’d been living before I turned it upside down with my money in tow.
I found him in his garage, wiping down his prized ‘67 GTO.
“Pops, what the fuck you on?” I asked, not bothering with pleasantries.
He looked up, that familiar smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. “What I do now, son?”
“You meddled when I told you not to,” I said, crossing my arms and leaning against the workbench he’d built with his own hands. “Sending papers like you running my life. I get it, you ain’t feeling the arrangement, but it’s my arrangement. And that’s my wife.”
He studied me for a long moment, his weathered hands still moving over the car’s surface. “Grim, you fell in love how? It ain’t even been that long. I got a little worried.”
I blew out a breath, feeling like that little boy again, trying to explain something to my father that I didn’t fully understand myself.
“Shit changed, Pops. I don’t know how it happened, but what I do know is you need to stop overstepping in my business. Relax, go hit Aces, find you a new woman to bother, and stay outof my affairs. Got my lady mad with me about some shit I ain’t even do.”
He shrugged, that same casual gesture that used to drive me crazy when I was a kid. “I ain’t mad at you, son. But if you aren’t gonna do right by that girl, I’ll damn sure shoot my shot. Pretty as she is, smart as she is? She ain’t gonna stay on the market long when you set her free.”
“You got me fucked up, old man.” My voice dropped to that dangerous register. “She stuck with me, I’m making that clear tonight. No prenup needed.”
He laughed at the threat in my voice. “There he is. There’s that killer instinct I raised you with. Now take that same energy home and tell her how you feel before somebody else does.”
I stared at him, confused. This wasn’t the man I knew. “What’s wrong with you? You sick or something?” He’d never believed in marriage, always said it was a trap.
His expression softened, which was rare. “Son, after your mama died, no one ever measured up. That’s where my thoughts came from—not from hating women, but from missing the one who mattered.” He straightened up, getting serious, but his voice stayed gentle. “Go home and do what needs to be done. A happy wife is just as important as money flowing and keeping the police off our backs.”
For a moment, I saw him in a different light. Not just Legend Grimson, the boss, but a man who’d lost the love of his life and spent years trying to fill that hole with everything except what he really needed.
