“Yes.”
She was now. Just a smidgen. The ride over was filled with her filling him in on how Skylar had just tried ruining her night. Cyren didn’t understand how someone, especially family, would intentionally go out of their way to hurt you. Her mind couldn’t make sense of it.
“Fuck what she was talking about, a’ight? Some people say and do things because they’re hurt, projecting their insecurities and hurt on you, when it’s never about you. It’s about them. That’s something she needs to work on.”
She hadn’t even gone into detail about the conversation they had before she stepped outside. Easily, Heavy had figured out what the real issue was. He tried giving Cyren some logic without her emotions getting in the way. He wasn’t invalidating her feelings but letting her know that Skylar, or whoever, wasn’t worth occupying space in her mind. She still wanted to slap her for talking crazy, but maybe another day.
Sighing, Cyren nodded. “Okay. I hear you.”
She tried not to overthink being at his house as he tucked his gun and climbed out to open her door. All she knew was that she wanted to be around him, and obviously, the feelings were mutual. They walked through the garage with him leading the way.
He secured the locks and set the alarm before they ventured further inside. Cyren walked in, slowly, her eyes adjusting as she took in the space. The first thing she noticed was how warm it felt. Not just the temperature, but the energy. The place felt lived in and looked or felt nothing like the bachelor pad she had envisioned.
“It’s nice in here,” she said.
Heavy flicked a few more lights on. “‘Preciate it. You want something to drink to go with your food?”
“Yes. What do you have?” Cyren asked, taking in the living room.
Her gaze moved around the space, catching the details one by one. The house had old bones. You could feel it in the structure, the way the walls held shape, and in the slight creak in the floor when she shifted her stance. It had been updated without stripping it of its history and memories.
Shades of black and gray were throughout with gold accents here and there. Cyren could tell it had no womanly touch. The plug-ins were even more masculine, filling the air with a deep, woodsy scent. The cream couch looked like she’d sink into it, and Cyren couldn’t wait to test it out. A worn, black leather recliner sat closer to the TV, while frames lined the walls. Curious, she stepped closer, eyes focusing on one in particular.
“Is this your dad?” she asked.
Heavy followed her gaze. “Nah. That’s my grandfather.”
Her eyes brightened. “Oh. He’s handsome,” she mumbled the words, but Heavy had the best hearing.
Cyren was certain Mr. G was Heavy’s dad. The way Black men and women age so beautifully, and get finer with time, was just one of those things to smile about and admire. She could tell he took good care of himself.
“He would’ve never let me hear the end of that if he were here,” Heavy said.
Her head snapped his way. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”
She didn’t need him to clarify what ‘here’ meant. Cyren detected the sadness in his tone. Knowing she meant no harm, Heavy checked his feelings.
“It’s all good,” he said. “Gramps was fly as hell.”
“I see,” Cyren said, taking in a few more pictures he had up on the wall. “Did he raise you?”
“He helped, yeah,” Heavy answered. “My pops went into the feds when I was sixteen, so he was the main male figure physically in my life until he passed.”
“Well, Gramps did a good job.” She smiled.
“You think so?”
Cyren nodded. “Mhm. I mean, you seem to be doing pretty good for yourself.”
She wasn’t sure what he did exactly, but she wasn’t green.
A quiet huff released through his nose at her observation. “Define good.”
Cyren glanced at him, then around the house again. “You got your own space. You carry yourself like you have some sense. You don’t seem like you’re all over the place.” She shrugged, lightly. “That has to count for something.”
Heavy studied her for a second, trying to decide whether she was trying to spit game to him or if she really meant what she was saying. Everythinglookedgood to someone on the outside.
“Yeah,” he agreed, “you right. Thank you.”
