“And that’s my fault?” he stood, studying me.
“Did I say that?”
“Then what are you saying?”
“It’s frustrating!” My voice came out louder than I meant it to. I pressed my hands against the counter, my eyes burning with tears that I prayed didn’t fall. “All I’ve wanted my entire life was to connect with either of my parents and you waltz in there, getting more warmth out of her than I’ve gotten in thirty-eight years. That's what I'm saying.”
The kitchen was silent.
“I didn’t go in there to outshine you, Nai,” he said. “I came because I was trying to show up for you like you asked.” He pushed off the counter. “I’m not about to stand here and be your punching bag because you’ve got unresolved shit with your parents that has nothing to do with me.”
I rubbed my temples. “I know that.”
“You sure? Because it feels like you’re making me out to be the enemy right now.”
“Fontaine—”
“Nah.” He held up a hand, cutting me off. “I understand tonight may have brought up a lot. I do. But you need to be honest about what this actually is instead of making it about me being too charming or whatever else you want to call it.”
I hated that he was right.
My father’s disinterest still resided in the back of my head even in death. And my mother, whose aloofness was her way of surviving Sterling’s fuckery, was only now starting to see me. Thirty-eight years of being programmed that love came withconditions or didn’t come at all, and Fontaine made it look like the simplest thing in the world.
“I’m sorry,” I sighed and leaned against the counter. “I—I’m still figuring out how to do this. All of it. The mother thing, the family thing—” I gestured between us. “This.”
He crossed the kitchen and pulled me into him before I could say anything else. I wrapped my arms around him and let the beat of his heart ground me like it always did.
“Is this what people mean when they say they got ‘triggered’?” I asked against his chest.
“Yes.” His hand moved slowly up my back. “You could’ve just said that in the car.”
“Aw, where’s the fun in that?”
27 /FONTAINE JACKSON
Three weeks had passedsince Slim’s memorial service.
It was small, but the impact he’d had on the people who loved him filled every corner of that church. His cousins sat with his grandmother, who kept her head high throughout. She didn’t shed a tear—and in a sad way it felt like she’d always known she’d outlive him. Like she’d been bracing for it for years and had made her peace somewhere along the way.
Drea sat up front with me and the rest of the crew. She kept tugging at the sleeves of her long black dress—her mottled, scarred skin peeked out, still healing and itching her constantly. She cried silently, keeping her eyes hidden behind oversized sunglasses as though she was trying to take up as little space as possible. But she nearly broke when Slim’s grandmother pressed a small urn into her hands—a portion of his ashes for her.
We’d told her about the pregnancy beforehand. She’d come by the house shortly after Drea was released to meet Drea properly. Mama and I had left them to talk in the living room alone, and whatever passed between them seemed to have helped her. Drea only told me that his grandmother wanted to be part of the baby’s life and I’m sure that meant everything to her,knowing there would always be a piece of his family still present.
But life didn’t stop moving just because we were grieving.
The Council meeting had just wrapped up.
It was the first one since giving the Reapers a seat. CJ had come down for it and I didn’t feel like putting a bullet in his head when he walked into the boardroom, so I considered that progress. The Reapers fit in well. I was proud of Jelani for taking the reins and putting both crews in a position to make more bread. The rest of the Council members were eager to get weapons from them, and after some preliminary talks, everyone had cleared out—leaving the four of us behind. It still felt strange that Slim wasn’t part of this. His absence felt like a phantom limb.
Jelani poured us all a fresh round of drinks and sat back down. Cash was next to me, CJ across from us rolling his glass between his palms.
“I think we have what we need to get started,” Jelani said and took a sip of the Macellen.
Cash’s jaw tightened. CJ scoffed and threw back his drink.
“What are we doing?” I asked.
“We need to make his life difficult in ways he can’t trace,” Jelani said. “He washes his money through his businesses up and down the east coast. Real big into construction and real estate. We already know where some of these are.” He glanced at Cash.
