And nobody had asked me if I was okay.
CHAPTER 22
Zay
“Everybody Needs Something From Me”
After my aunt’s brunch, later that night, I went to the Laveau warehouse with a chip on my shoulder.
I walked in, mad as fuck. My father was there, arms folded. My uncles lined the walls.
“You and your wife could’ve handled my little sister better, telling her that news. She ain’t ask for none of this. You knew for years she was gonna have to marry, and you let your guard down because of your ego.”
My father stood up. The same way he used to when I was a kid and knew I’d said something that crossed the line.
“You trying to blame me for her downfall? I didn’t put those drugs to her lips. I didn’t tell her to run off.”
“You did,” I shot back. “You pushed her away every time she tried to be herself. Punished her for school. Punished her for dating. Didn’t let her live, so she ran off with your fuckin’ driver, thinking he was a father figure, and he set her up. She had to sneak to breathe. Live with it. You did this.”
He stepped closer. “Who are you talking to, lil nigga?”
I laughed once, low.
“I’m talking to the nigga that owes me a million dollars. You taught loyalty, paying debts, standing on business, then been shorting your own son for years.”
My uncle moved quickly between us before it turned physical.
“Enough,” he said. “Handle business.”
That’s what this always came down to anyway. Money. Power. Pride.
My father opened a case and pushed it across the table. Cash.
“That’s half a million. Don’t ever act like I won’t pay you,” he said. “Shit rough right now, but not rough enough I can’t pay my son. I’ll do better by Yuna too.”
I looked at the money. Didn’t touch it right away.
Words didn’t fix what he’d done to this family.
I took the case anyway.
I had plans with it.
$$$$$
By the time I got home that night, it was damn near midnight.
I should’ve been there earlier. I usually was. But Yuna’s situation had everything off balance and my head wasn’t right.
The house was quiet when I walked in. Big foyer. High ceilings. Too much space when your thoughts are loud.
I dropped my bag by the door and followed the sound of quiet sniffling to the dining area.
The mother of my son, Emily, sat at the table, a glass of wine in her hand.
Her shoulders were hunched. She didn’t look up right away.
She’d been diagnosed with multiple sclerosis three years ago while pregnant with our son, Zacian Jr. One minute wewere planning a baby shower; the next minute, doctors were explaining lesions, flare-ups, and uncertainty.
