Every instinct in me wanted to move the same way I always had.
Drive by her spot, check her mama block, and scroll cameras for a glimpse if she popped up at the club.
But after that talk with Nana, after that parkin’ lot showdown with Melissa, I knew if I kept goin’ like that, I was gon’ lose her. Not ‘cause she ain’t feel nothin’, but ‘cause she’d be too damn scared to stay.
So, I did the one thing I hated most.
I sat still for a couple days, I kept it simple.
Me: You make it in the house?
Her: Yeah.
Me: Aight. Goodnight.
No,who all over there. No,send me your location. No,I’m outsideunless she asked.
When I texted in the mornin’, it was short.
How you sleep? Did you eat?
She answered. Not always fast, but she answered.
And when she didn’t, I let it sit.
Didn’t spin the block.
Didn’t hit her three more times.
Just ate the discomfort and went on about my business.
I ain’t like it, but I did it.
At the same time, I started cleanin’ up the other side of my life for real.
I’d been sayin’ for a minute I wanted out the worst of the streets. Mo’s death should’ve been the last straw. Instead, I just moved smarter, not softer.
Now, with Melissa in the picture and Nana’s words rollin’ around in my head, I knew I couldn’t have both.
A woman who already lost her trust once, and a life that still bled.
So I called my lawyer.
“Roman,” he said when I walked into his office, all glass and polished wood. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“I’m bein’ serious this time,” I told him, droppin’ into the chair. “Start drawin’ up whatever paperwork we need to sell off the hottest parts of my portfolio.”
He lifted a brow. “By ‘hottest’ you mean… the clubs that don’t exactly file every dollar they make?”
I gave him a look.
He cleared his throat. “Right. Got it. You sure?”
“Yeah,” I said. “I’ll keep one, maybe two. Clean. I got other investments. I want less heat. Less shit attachin’ my name to bullshit.”
He studied me for a second. “This about a woman?”
“Partly,” I admitted. “It’s about me too. I’m tired.”
