Page 185 of Pregnant By A Rich Demon 3

“Come here,” she said.

I stood and came around the island. She turned on the stool, and I stood in front of her. She reached up and put both hands on either side of my face, then looked at me the way she sometimes did—like she was finding the place underneath everything, past the armor and the architecture of the man I’d built on top of the man who had buried his brothers at seventeen.

“You’re not going to fall apart,” she said. “I know that.”

“I wasn’t planning to.”

“But it’s okay if you do. With me.” She held my face. “You don’t have to keep the weight distributed while you’re in here.”

I closed my eyes for a moment.

Outside, somewhere down the block, a bird started up—one of the mockingbirds that worked the Garden District at all hours, claiming territory, singing back whatever it heard. The sky was definitely changing now. There was light coming.

“We’re not done,” I said quietly. “Rahsaan’s still out there.”

“I know.”

“It’s not over.”

“I know that too.” Her thumbs moved across my jaw. “But right now, it’s just us in this kitchen, and you’re home, and you’re safe.” She paused. “That’s what I’ve got. So, that’s what I’m going to hold onto.”

I put my hands over hers.

Outside, the bird kept going, the sky kept changing, and New Orleans went on doing what New Orleans always did—absorbing everything, carrying it south, putting its evening face back on, even as the morning came up around the edges.

Some things didn’t end clean. Some things settled into new shapes, and you learned to live inside them.

I pulled her forward carefully—her and everything she was carrying—and held on.

At least we had a bit of peace in that moment. And, for now, I soaked it all in.

Rahsaan was still buried behind his wall of protection, but he was up next. His ass was mine too. I didn’t care how long it took. I’d have my vengeance.

Chapter 21

KAISEN

TWO MONTHS LATER.

Iread the address three times before I even started the car, like the letters might rearrange themselves if I looked away and looked back. Truth had sent it that morning with nothing else attached—no explanation, no warmth, just a pin drop and a time. I’d stared at my phone so long the screen dimmed, and I had to tap it awake again, just to be sure it was real.

My son.

I still thought of it that way, every time, no hesitation. Not the baby. Not a baby. My son.

I was moving before I’d finished my coffee, cane in one hand, keys in the other, jacket only half on. The cane still embarrassed me some mornings—a grown ass man walking around like somebody’s grandfather—but the doctors said another few months, and I might not need it at all if I kept doing the exercises. I hated the exercises. I did them anyway because I wasn’t going to walk into that office looking weaker than I already felt.

Amai had done a number on me. Two numbers, really, if I was keeping score, and I was always keeping score where my brother was concerned. First the knife, low and vicious, meant to maim, not kill—he’d known exactly where to put it to make a point without finishing the job. Then, the bullet in my side, precise the way everything about him was precise, taking out an organ I apparently didn’t need badly enough to die without. I’d lost close to twenty pounds I couldn’t afford to lose. My reflection had started looking like somebody else’s brother, hollow around the eyes, a scar riding low on my ribs that pulled tight whenever I twisted the wrong way.

None of that mattered this morning.

I got in the car fast, twisted wrong reaching for the seatbelt, and felt the pull along my side like a warning shot. I didn’t care. I put the address into the GPS, even though I already knew the general direction. Truth had mentioned the practice before, some independent obstetrician she’d found on her own, away from the clinic, away from anything with Landry fingerprints on it, and I pulled out of my driveway before the navigation had even finished calculating the route.

I was going to see my son today.

I don’t think I’d stopped smiling since I read her text.

The drive felt longer than it should have. Every red light irritated my soul. I found myself doing the math again, the same math I’d been doing for two months straight, ever since Truth stood in my living room and told me the boy was mine—counting weeks, counting how much bigger he’d be, wondering if the ultrasound today would show a face, fingers, something to hold onto besides a heartbeat on a monitor. I’d already decided he’d have my mother’s eyes. I’d already decided a hundred things I had no right deciding. I knew that, and I didn’t care.