Caine was still on top of Laney when they finished, her nails digging hard into his back, leaving marks he'd feel later. Her thighs tightened around him, breath catching in her throat, then going ragged. He stilled, the pulse working through him, his weight pressing her into the mattress.
He stayed there for a second, breathing hard against her neck, skin slick with sweat. Then he flopped onto the bed beside her, the mattress dipping under him as he stretched out on his back. The ceiling fan turned overhead, blades whispering through the air. Laney's hair was a mess, dark strands stuck to her neck and cheek. She reached up, fingers threading through it, pulling at the tangles without much success.
She leaned over, breasts grazing his arm as she stretched for the joint she'd rolled earlier, fingers closing around it and the lighter beside it. She settled back against the pillows, one hand working through her hair again, the other turning the lighter over once before she brought it up.
Her phone lit up on the nightstand. She glanced at it, face blank, then looked away. The screen went dark again.
Caine watched her from the corner of his eye. She was focused on her hair now, working a knot loose near her temple, pulling strands back.
"Next time you in the mood like this," he said, "I'm gonna need at least a thirty-minute warning."
Laney rolled her eyes, hand dropping from her hair. "You wasn't sleeping anyway."
"That ain't the point." He turned his head to look at her. "I could've been otherwise occupied."
She ignored him. The lighter clicked once, twice, and the joint caught. She took a drag, held it, then let the smoke out slow through her nose. The smell filled the room, sharp and familiar. She passed it to him without looking.
Caine took it, fingers brushing hers. He brought it to his lips and pulled, the heat curling into his lungs, settling there before he let it out. Laney was watching the ceiling now, eyes tracking the fan blades.
"You know I could get used to this again," she said. "Sneakin' 'round at two in the mornin'."
Caine let out a short laugh through his nose, smoke still hanging in the air between them. "How you gonna swing that?"
Laney shrugged, one shoulder lifting and falling. She reached over and took the joint back, fingers plucking it from his. "My mama and daddy used to leave me and Caleb at home alone when we were eight and nine. And we ain't have family livin' right on top us." She took another pull, ash glowing orange in the dim light. "We turned out fine. 'Sides, them boys sleep like they got sixteen-hour shifts in a coal mine."
Caine stared at her. The words sat there, casual.
Laney glanced over, caught his expression. "What?"
He plucked the joint from her fingers. "You ain't turn out fine."
Laney's hand came up fast, slapping him in the chest with the back of it. "Dickhead." She shifted against the pillows, pulling her knee up slightly. "At least I wasn't out there stealin' nobody grandma's Oldsmobile."
Caine laughed, the sound low and rough. "Neither was I. Ain't nobody giving you no money for that."
Laney took the joint back, fingers brushing his again. She brought it to her lips and took a slow drag, eyes narrowing slightly as she looked at him. "Lord, you get on my last nerve sometimes."
"Yet here you are." Caine turned his head on the pillow, watching her profile. "Just keep on coming back like you addicted to it."
Laney ashed the joint on the nightstand, tapping it once, twice against the wood. She stared at the small pile of ash for a moment, then looked over at him. The fan blade shadows moved across her face. "Never said I ain't." She paused, tongue touching the corner of her mouth. "But not any more than you are."
Caine snorted, reaching for the joint again. He took it from her, brought it to his lips, and pulled deep. The smoke filled his chest and he held it there, counting the seconds in his head before he let it out. "Never said I ain't."
~~~
Trell was still on top of Mireya, her nails digging hard into his back, leaving marks that would still be there tomorrow. Her legs wrapped tight around him, breath catching in her throat, then going ragged. He stilled, the pulse working through him, his weight pressing her into the mattress.
He stayed there for a second, breathing hard against her neck, skin slick with sweat. Then pushed himself up, the mattress shifting under his weight as he stood. The floor was cool under his feet. He walked over to the dresser, movements easy, unhurried, like he had all the time in the world.
The blunt was sitting where he'd left it earlier, next to his phones and keys. He picked it up and brought it to his lips, thumb working the lighter until it caught. The flame flickered once, then steadied. He lit the tip and took a pull, holding the smoke in his lungs before he let it out slow toward the ceiling. The smell filled the room, sharp and thick.
Mireya moved behind him. He heard the sheets rustling as she pulled herself up, the headboard creaking when she settled back against it. He took another pull from the blunt, eyes drifting toward the window.
He turned and walked back to the bed, blunt between his fingers, smoke curling up toward the ceiling. Mireya sat with the sheets slung across her thighs, hair loose around her shoulders, eyes on him as he came closer. He got back in beside her, the mattress dipping under his weight.
"You know when we were in San Diego," he said, settling in next to her, "Gustavo tried to steal you away from me."
Mireya raised an eyebrow, head tilting slightly. "Yeah, what you say to that?"
Trell let out a short laugh through his nose, the sound easy, amused. "You one down ass bitch when you not letting school get in the way of your paper."
Mireya sighed, the sound soft but weighted. "Trell…"
He held his hands up, blunt still between his fingers, smoke rising between them. "I'm only trying to open your eyes to what's right in front of you, baby." He took another pull, then looked over at her. "How'd you feel just hopping on a plane and flying across the country?"
Mireya shrugged, one shoulder lifting and falling. "I liked it."
Trell put his arm around her shoulders and pulled her toward him. He looked down at her as he spoke, eyes on her face. "Exactly. Then you go in rooms and ain't scared of nothing. Cold ass bitch." He paused, letting that sit for a moment. "And I know you enjoyed that little shopping spree I took you on before we came back."
Mireya rolled her eyes, mouth pulling into a smile. "I would've liked it more if you ain't try to tell me what I could and couldn't get."
"I was trying to save some money on baggage fees, girl." Trell shifted his weight, arm still around her. "You know they be taxing niggas out here with that shit."
Mireya laughed, the sound light and real. "You got it like that."
"I could have a million dollars in my pocket," Trell said, voice even, "but I ain't about to pay no fees that I don't want to. That's hustling backwards."
Mireya looked up at him, head resting against his chest "I think I'm worth a fifty-dollar bag fee."
"No doubt." Trell nodded, the motion slow, deliberate. "No doubt."
He paused for a moment, the room going quiet. Then he reached over and grabbed her chin, fingers firm, tilting her face up so she had to look at him. His thumb pressed against her jaw, keeping her eyes on his.
"The reason I'm so hard on you about the school shit," he said, voice dropping lower, more serious, "is because I don't want you going out here and getting hurt thinking these college niggas understand you. They not gonna." He let that sit for a second, watching her face. "And they ain't gonna love you like you should be loved because they can't relate to you. To your shine. They gonna try to dim that."
Mireya's lips rolled into her mouth, pressing together as she listened. She didn't say anything. She just watched him, taking it in.
Trell kept going, his tone steady, certain. "Only people like you gonna be able to love you. That's why you and me work. We cut from the same cloth." He paused, thumb still pressed against her jaw. "You know what I'm saying?"
Mireya nodded, the movement small but there. The praise wrapped up in what he was saying did what it always did, settling into her chest. "Yeah," she said, voice soft. "I hear you."
Trell let go of her chin and brought the blunt back to his lips, taking another slow pull. The smoke leaked out through his nose as he settled back against the headboard, arm still around her shoulders, keeping her close.
~~~
E.J. set the plate down in front of Tessa, the ceramic clicking soft against the kitchen table. Eggs scrambled loose, bacon still steaming, a little grease pooling at the edge. The smell filled the small kitchen, mixing with the coffee he'd brewed earlier that sat cooling in a mug near her elbow.
Tessa sat with her hands folded in her lap, shoulders tight, eyes on the plate. The morning light came through the window behind her, thin and gray. Her hair was pulled back, a few strands loose around her face that she hadn't bothered to fix.
E.J. pulled out the chair next to her and sat down, the legs scraping against the linoleum. He leaned over, arm reaching across to her, hand settling on her forearm. His thumb moved slow over her skin, back and forth, the motion automatic. "You still good with this, right?"
Tessa picked up the fork. Her fingers closed around it, and she brought it down into the eggs, the tines breaking through the soft yellow. She didn't lift it. She just left it there, stuck in the middle of the plate. "I don't know." Her voice was quiet, careful. "Does this make me a bad person? That I'm helping y'all set someone up? Especially someone I know so well?"
E.J. shrugged, the movement easy, casual. His hand stayed on her arm. "I ain't the one that can answer that for you, bae." He watched her face, waiting for her eyes to come up to his. They didn't. "Only person gonna know is you so as long as you can sit with it then it's all good."
Tessa's thumb rubbed along the handle of the fork. She turned it slightly, making the eggs shift on the plate. "You've done worse stuff than this, right?"
E.J. stared at her. The question hung there between them, heavy and obvious. His jaw worked for a second, tongue pressing against the inside of his cheek while he decided how to play it. Then he nodded, slow and deliberate. "Yeah, I have." He paused, letting that sit. "But I get you ain't built like I'm built. That's why we only need you for the bare minimum."
Tessa put the fork down. It clinked against the plate, a small sharp sound in the quiet kitchen. Her hands went back to her lap and she sighed, the breath coming out long and tired.
"You know the last time you went inside, that almost broke me." Her eyes finally came up to meet his. "When they were throwing all those numbers out there. I thought I'd never see you again."
E.J. smiled, the expression coming easy, almost reflexive. "System can't hold a real nigga, girl."
Tessa smiled back, but it didn't reach her eyes. Sadness sat there instead, quiet and stubborn. "I just wanted you to know that." Her voice dropped lower. "And to know that I love you and that's why I'm helping y'all because I can't see you locked up again because some guy wants to fuck me and you're in the way of that."
E.J. laughed, the sound surprised and genuine. "That's a wild way to put that."
Tessa's eyebrows pulled together, her face shifting from sad to something sharper. "E.J., I'm being serious right now."
E.J. held his hand up, palm out, still smiling but reining it in. "My bad." He let the smile fade and his voice dropped into something softer. "I love you, too."
Tessa stared into his eyes, the moment stretching out between them. The kitchen went quiet except for the faint hum of the refrigerator and the tick of the clock on the wall. She leaned forward, closing the space between them, and kissed him. Her hand came up to his jaw, fingers light against his skin. The kiss was slow, intentional.
When she pulled back, her hand lingered on his face for a second before she dropped it.
"When this is over, can we go somewhere?" Her voice was still soft, but there was something hopeful threading through it now. "Just the two of us? To get out of the city and away from everything for a bit."
E.J. nodded. "Yeah." He shifted in his chair, arm still resting near her on the table. "Where you want to go?"
"Fairhope."
E.J. shook his head. "That's some white girl shit."
Tessa rolled her eyes, half annoyed, half amused. She picked the fork back up and poked at the eggs again, breaking them apart without any intention of eating them. The tines scraped against the plate, a soft grating sound that filled the space where words had been.
~~~
Nicole pulled the door open and stepped back, eyes going straight to the dress Sara was wearing. "You look nice."
Sara rolled her eyes and walked past her into the apartment, heels clicking twice on the hardwood before she kicked them off near the door. She dropped down onto the couch with a heavy sigh, letting herself sink into it.
"I had to do the whole good Catholic thing today." She adjusted the dress where it had bunched at her hips, smoothing it down with one hand. "No matter how many times I tell mi mama that I'd rather not, she pulls me back in."
Nicole closed the door and followed her over, the latch clicking into place with a solid sound that echoed briefly in the quiet apartment.. She sat down beside Sara, the couch dipping under her weight, springs shifting beneath the fabric. "At least your mother isn't trying to get you set up with some guy who wants fourteen kids and to live on a homestead out in the middle of nowhere near the Mississippi state line."
Sara snorted a laugh. "That's probably because a man like that wouldn't want me considering I already got one of those fictional fourteen."
Nicole rolled her eyes. She shifted on the couch, turning slightly to face Sara, one arm stretching along the back of the cushions. "Speaking of men, what happened on your date last night with Devin?"
Sara sighed. She let her head drop back against the sofa cushions, eyes tracking the ceiling, following a thin crack that ran from the corner toward the light fixture. Outside, a car passed on the street below, the sound rising and fading.
"Didn't happen. He just texted me out of nowhere, said something came up at work and we haven't talked since."
Nicole's expression shifted, sympathy giving way to something sharper, more critical. Her mouth pressed into a thin line and her eyebrows pulled together. "Oh, girl, I think it's time for you to cut him off." She leaned forward slightly, elbows on her knees now, voice firm and direct. "You don't even like him enough to be letting him get away with all of this."
Sara sucked her teeth. Her head came up off the cushions and she turned to look at Nicole, shoulders tightening. "Yes, I do." The words came out hard, clipped and firm. "I just feel like I should be giving him the benefit of the doubt or something, right? It's not like we're two teenagers. We're grown. And got grown problems and lives."
Nicole tilted her head, eyes narrowing slightly, studying Sara's face. "I was talking to my friend Julia about this."
Sara's eyebrows pulled together. She sat up straighter, shoulders squaring. "You gossiping about me with your friends?"
Nicole waved off the comment, hand cutting through the air between them. "I offer to bring you with me every time I go see them. You're the one that wants to stay cooped up in your apartment." She paused, letting that land. Her voice dropped slightly. "Anyway, I think she figured it out."
Sara's jaw tightened, muscles working beneath the skin. Her fingers pressed into the fabric of her dress where it lay across her thighs. "Yeah? What she figured out?"
"He's got a wife." Nicole said. No preamble, no softening. "Probably some kids."
Sara pushed herself up to her feet, the movement quick and sharp. The dress shifted around her legs as she stood. "That's ridiculous."
Nicole stayed where she was on the couch, looking up at her. "Is it?"
"Yes." Sara's voice was firm, clipped. She started toward the kitchen, already putting distance between them. "I work at hotels, remember? I can tell when a married man is creeping."
Nicole turned on the couch, arm draped over the back so she could watch Sara move into the kitchen. "I think it makes total sense."
Sara ignored her, already opening cabinets, fingers running along the edges of bottles and boxes, searching. The door hinges creaked softly. Glass clinked against glass as she pushed things aside. "You got some wine?"
Nicole's voice came from the living room, amused now. "What happened to being a good Catholic today?"
Sara called over her shoulder without looking back. "I'm drinking the blood of Jesus."
~~~
Smoke rose from the grill where Carlos stood with tongs in one hand, flipping burgers and hot dogs while Javier stood next to him with a beer, talking shit about something that made Carlos laugh and wave him off.
Caine sat at one of the plastic tables with Dwight, Donnie, and Keanon, cards fanned out in his hand. Empty beer bottles sat scattered across the surface, sweating rings into the white plastic. Terrell and Jaylen were over by the grill with a few other guys from the team, voices carrying across the space in bursts of laughter and arguing.
Donnie looked at his hand, squinting at the cards. He shifted in his seat, the plastic chair creaking under him. "I got four and a possible."
Dwight dropped his cards face down on the table and looked at Donnie. "Nigga, don't start with that possible shit. Either you got four or you got five. Pick one."
Keanon leaned back in his chair, one arm draped over the backrest, grinning. "Should've been started docking his ass for that shit when we finished the first game."
Caine kept his eyes on his cards, mouth pulling into a small smile. "Y'all only want to dock him because we beat y'all asses in the first game."
Donnie reached across the table, hand extended toward Caine. Caine met it halfway, their palms slapping together in a quick dap. "Let these niggas know." Donnie turned his attention back to Dwight and Keanon, voice louder, animated. "Y'all lucky we ain't put no money on this because we would've been running y'all pockets all day."
Dwight sucked his teeth, the sound sharp and dismissive. He picked up his cards again, shaking his head. "You dirty ass Louisiana nigga would probably just snatch it off the table and run off with it."
Caine jabbed his thumb in Keanon's direction without looking up from his hand. "Don't forget he from Louisiana, too."
Keanon waved the comment off, hand cutting through the air between them. "Y'all don't get to pick and choose when I'm from Louisiana and I ain't." He shifted in his seat, leaning forward with his elbows on the table. "This one on y'all from them big cities."
Donnie gestured at Keanon with his cards, the motion loose and easy. "This why we say you part of Texas."
Caine and Dwight laughed, the sound mixing with the noise from the grill and the music someone had playing from a speaker somewhere behind them. Dwight looked at his cards one more time, then pulled one and laid it down in the center of the table. The card hit the plastic with a soft tap.
Donnie followed up, playing his card without hesitation. Keanon went next, then Caine. The cards sat in a loose pile in the middle of the table. Keanon reached over and pulled them toward him, claiming the book.
Dwight leaned back in his chair, the legs scraping against the concrete. He looked around the picnic area, eyes tracking the guys standing by the grill, the empty tables, the parking lot beyond. "You know it's crazy we ain't got no bitches out here. Ratio way off." He turned his head toward Caine, eyebrows raised. "I know you got the hoes. Where they at bruh?"
Caine held his hand without the cards in it up, palm out, the gesture casual and final. "Every time I get bitches to come somewhere for y'all, y'all can't close. Y'all on y'all own now."
Dwight shook his head, mouth pulling into a grin even as he talked shit. "Stingy ass nigga."
The game continued, cards being played and books being taken, the rhythm of it easy and familiar. Donnie leaned back in his chair, tilting his head toward the grill where Carlos was still working. He cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted across the space. "Say, Los! When them burgers gonna be ready?!"
Carlos looked up from the grill, spatula in hand, and waved it at Donnie. "Five minutes, nigga!"
Caine shook his head, a small laugh escaping before he could stop it. "Always thinking about food."
Keanon played his next card and grinned. "That's why coach got him on a diet."
The table erupted in laughter, Donnie included, his shoulders shaking as he reached for his beer and took a long pull. He set it down and flipped them all off with both hands, still laughing. "Fuck y'all."
Caine played his card, the movement automatic, eyes still tracking the conversation. The sun cut through the pine branches overhead, casting moving shadows across the table. A breeze picked up, carrying the smell of burgers and charcoal across the picnic area.
~~~
The house was full, family spread out through the rooms and spilling into the backyard like the gathering had a life of its own. The kitchen smelled like potato salad and ham, sweet tea sweating in pitchers on the counter. Voices layered over each other, coming from the back patio where Marianne sat with Pastor Hadden, from the living room where Caleb had his phone pressed to his ear, from the yard where the boys ran circles around Jesse, Tommy and Blake.
Laney stood in the kitchen with Gabrielle, drink in hand, the condensation making her palm damp. She laughed, head tilted toward Gabrielle's phone as she scrolled through something that had them both grinning.
Gabrielle tapped the screen and a video started playing. Laney leaned in closer, watching, and then her shoulders shook with laughter.
"I ain't never seen nobody run like that. You would've thought he was runnin' from Michael Myers."
Gabrielle laughed. "He did like to go to Lake Lanier. Might've been something worse to run from."
Laney shook her head, still grinning. "I cain't trust no one that would be willin' to go there."
"Right?" Gabrielle was still scrolling, already pulling up the next thing to show her.
The front door slammed. The sound cut through the house, sharp and violent enough to make both of them look up. Rylee came storming through, heels loud on the hardwood, her face twisted with something that looked like rage and heartbreak fighting for space. She went first toward the back door, then spotted Laney standing in the kitchen and pivoted hard.
She stomped over, her hand coming up and throwing something down on the floor between them. The Georgia collage lighter hit the tile and skittered toward the cabinet. Rylee pointed a finger in Laney's face, close enough that Laney could smell the weed on her clothes. "You're fuckin' him! I found that fuckin' lighter at his apartment. You been usin' it."
Laney's stomach dropped. She glanced at Gabrielle, whose eyes had gone wide, then stepped closer to Rylee, lowering her voice, teeth clenched. "Lower your fuckin' voice."
Rylee's voice went louder instead, sharp and cutting, carrying through the house. "Fuck you! I told you that I had feelin's for someone and it turns out that you're fuckin' him!"
Laney's hand came up, palms out. "Rylee, stop it."
Rylee sniffed hard, her hand coming up under her eyes, smearing tears across her cheek. Her voice cracked. "How long? Huh? How long y'all be sneakin' 'round?"
Laney shook her head, already backing toward the counter. "I'm not doin' this with you right now."
Rylee's voice rose to a shout, raw and jagged. "You always get every fuckin' thing. Everyone loves you 'cause you're fuckin' Miss Perfect. Soon as I decided I wanted somethin', of course you already fuckin' got it. Fuck you, Laney!"
Gabrielle stepped around them, hands up, her face tight with discomfort. She slipped out of the kitchen toward the living room. Caleb had lowered the phone from his ear, his hand mostly covering the receiver, eyes on the scene unfolding.
Marianne came in from the back patio, her face set in that expression that said she'd heard enough to know this wasn't normal sibling fighting. "Why are the two of you shouting?"
Rylee turned toward her mother, arm extending, finger pointing straight at Laney. "'Cause she's fuckin' Caine."
The air went out of the room. Marianne's hand came up to her mouth, her eyes widening. "That boy at the church?"
Laney's voice came out hard and desperate. "Rylee, fuckin' stop. Now."
Rylee sucked her teeth, tears falling freely now, her face wet and blotchy. Her voice dropped into something crueler, more pointed. "He's a good lay, ain't he?"
Pastor Hadden came through the back door into the house, his frame filling the doorway. His eyes swept the room, taking in his daughters, his wife, the tension crackling in the air.
Marianne's voice was tight, controlled, but shaking underneath. "Delaney, tell me that you didn't do that to your husband."
Laney turned toward her mother, the anger finally breaking through. "Every fuckin' thing ain't 'bout fuckin' Tommy."
Pastor Hadden's voice cut through. "Delaney. Watch your mouth."
Laney turned back to Rylee, trying to salvage something, anything. "We can talk 'bout this later."
Rylee was already walking toward the front door, her steps quick and unsteady. "I'm good. I'm sure you'll be too busy gettin' fucked by Caine later."
Pastor Hadden's eyes went wide. His jaw clenched so hard the muscles jumped in his cheek. His fists curled at his sides, knuckles going white.
Rylee stormed out the front door, slamming it behind her hard enough to rattle the frame.
Marianne turned back to Laney, voice rising. "You need to answer us, Delaney."
Laney started to turn toward her mother's voice, mouth opening to say something, anything, when Pastor Hadden's hand came across her face. The sound of the slap was sharp and clean, skin on skin, loud enough to echo. Laney's head snapped to the side from the impact, her body stumbling back into the counter. Pain bloomed hot across her cheek.
Gabrielle gasped, both hands flying to her mouth.
Caleb ended his call with a single tap, phone lowering to his side. He looked at Gabrielle and his voice came out calm, measured. "Go tell Jesse to keep the boys outside."
Pastor Hadden's voice was a roar, filling the kitchen, shaking the walls. "You fucked that n*gger in my church?!"
He swung at her again, this time with a closed fist. Laney threw her arm up, blocking her face. His fist caught her on the forearm, the impact sending pain shooting up to her shoulder.
Gabrielle skirted around them toward the back door, moving fast, her face pale.
Pastor Hadden was shouting now, the words coming out in a torrent. "How dare you defile the House of God?!"
He hit her again. This time his fist connected with her face, catching her cheekbone and splitting her lip. Blood filled her mouth, hot and metallic. The force sent her falling, her knees hitting the tile hard, hands going out to catch herself.
His voice boomed above her. "And committing the sin of adultery!"
He grabbed her by the hair, his fingers twisting into it, yanking her head back. Laney yelped, the sound high and involuntary, her hands flying up to claw at his wrist, trying to ease the pressure on her scalp. Pain seared across her head as he hauled her to her feet, pulling so hard she felt strands tearing.
He shoved her across the kitchen. She stumbled, fell, her side slamming into the corner of the wall between the kitchen and dining room. The impact knocked the breath out of her lungs.
Caleb took a few steps out of the way toward the wall, giving his father room. His face was blank, unreadable.
Marianne stood with her hand still over her mouth, her eyes wide but not moving, not saying anything.
Pastor Hadden grabbed Laney's hair again, his grip brutal, and dragged her across the floor. Her feet scrambled for purchase on the wood, hands still clawing at his wrist. He pulled her down the hall toward his office, his voice filling the house, shouting scripture, shouting damnation, the words blurring together into a wall of sound.
He reached his office door and shoved it open with his free hand, then dragged her inside and slammed the door behind them. The sound echoed through the house.
Gabrielle came back in through the back door with Tommy. Tommy shut the door quietly behind them, his face carefully neutral. They stood in the living room with Caleb and Marianne, the four of them frozen.
The sound of impacts came through the office door. Fist on skin, heavy and dull. Pastor Hadden's voice was still shouting, demanding confession, demanding apology, demanding penance. Something shattered inside the office, glass breaking, the sound sharp.
Laney cried out, the sound muffled by the door but unmistakable.
Another impact. Another cry.
Then Laney's voice, raw and desperate, cutting through everything else. "Daddy, stop hittin' me."
Gabrielle looked around at the others, her voice barely above a whisper. "Should we—"
Caleb shook his head once, the motion small but definitive.
Marianne patted Gabrielle on the arm, her voice soft. "She just needs correction."
Tommy snorted a laugh.
The sounds continued. More impacts. More shouting. Laney's voice again, begging, crying. The house held it all, the walls absorbing every sound, every word, every blow.
Then it stopped. The silence was sudden and heavy, pressing down on the house like a weight.
The office door swung open, banging against the wall. Pastor Hadden came walking down the hall, his chest heaving, breath coming hard and fast. His shirt was untucked, his tie loosened. Sweat darkened his collar.
Marianne's eyes dropped to his hand. "Your knuckles."
He looked down. His knuckles were split, blood welling up in the cracks, dripping onto the hardwood.
Marianne went to the kitchen and pulled a clean towel from the drawer. She came back and handed it to him, her movements efficient, practiced.
Laney came stumbling out of the office, one hand braced against the wall to keep herself upright. Her other arm was wrapped around her stomach, holding herself together. Her left eye was already swelling, the skin around it darkening to purple. Her lip was split, blood running down her chin. Bruises were forming on her arms, dark fingerprints and the red marks that would turn black by tomorrow.
She didn't look at any of them. She kept her eyes on the floor, on the door, on anything but her family standing there watching.
Gabrielle took a half step toward her, hand lifting slightly.
Caleb's voice was quiet. "Gabi, leave it."
Tommy shifted his weight, arms crossed. "She's a big girl. She'll be alright."
Laney reached the front door. Her hand shook as she turned the knob, her movements slow and careful, everything hurting. She pulled the door open and walked out into the afternoon sunlight, leaving the house behind.
~~~
Mireya lay on the couch, the silence thick and luxurious in a way it almost never was. Camila was at Elena's, the apartment empty except for the hum of the refrigerator and the occasional sound of footsteps from upstairs. Someone's TV bled through the wall, muffled voices and canned laughter she could feel more than hear.
She held a skirt up in her hands, turning it over, the fabric barely longer than the distance from the top of her middle finger to the bottom of her palm. Black, shiny, something that caught the light when she moved it. Trell had pulled it off a rack in San Diego and handed it to her without asking if she wanted it. She ran her thumb over the material, smooth and thin at the same time.
She tossed it onto the armchair where the rest of the clothes from the trip sat in a pile. Tags still on most of them. She hadn't bought hangers yet. Kept meaning to, kept forgetting, kept leaving them there in a messy stack she told herself she'd get to eventually. The pile had grown over the week, shirts and another skirt and a pair of shoes.
The pounding on the door started sudden and loud, fist on wood, insistent and angry. Her eyebrows pulled together. She pushed herself up from the couch, bare feet silent on the carpet as she moved to the door. The pounding came again before she got there, harder this time. She leaned up on her toes and looked through the peephole.
Jordan stood on the other side, shoulders tight, jaw set. Even through the distortion of the peephole she could see the tension in his face.
Her expression softened. She unlocked the deadbolt, then the chain, then the doorknob. She pulled the door open, smile spreading across her face. "Hey, baby. I didn't know you were going to drop by tonight."
Jordan stepped inside without looking at her, his shoulder turning away when she reached out to hug him. He walked around her into the living room, movements stiff and controlled, deliberate. His hands stayed at his sides, fingers curled slightly. "Didn't know that I was going to stop by either."
Mireya closed the door and followed him, the latch clicking soft behind her. She stepped close and wrapped her arms around his waist from behind, pressing her chest against his back. This time he let her, but his body stayed rigid under her touch. She looked up at him, smile still in place, trying to read the set of his shoulders, the way he wouldn't turn his head to look at her. "I missed you this week. Why haven't you been answering my texts?"
"Been busy." His voice was flat, distant. He still hadn't looked at her.
Mireya's smile faltered slightly. Her arms loosened around him. "Did I do something wrong?"
Jordan's eyes moved away, tracking across the room to the pile of clothes on the armchair. The tags caught the afternoon light coming through the window, bright red and white against the dark fabric. He stared at them for a long moment. He didn't look back at her when he spoke. "Where were you last weekend?"
"I told you. I was with Sara." The lie came easy, automatic.
Jordan's jaw tightened, the muscle jumping. "You need a suitcase to go places with your baby daddy's mother? And that's an all weekend thing?"
Mireya stepped back, her arms dropping from around him. The space opened up between them, cold and sudden. The smile fell from her face completely. Her heart started beating faster. "You been following me?"
Jordan shook his head, still not looking at her. "I came over here to bring you some food because you're always complaining about work but here I find out that you getting flown out places."
Mireya's voice rose, defensive. "I told you to stop fucking accusing me of shit. What do I need to do to make you believe m—"
Jordan snapped, turning on her, his voice exploding into a shout. "The woman across the hall saw you! Stop it. Stop lying to my fucking face!"
Mireya held up her hands, palms out, her voice dropping into something softer, more placating. "Look. Mrs. Ella Mae over there is getting old. Her eyes aren't great."
Jordan's voice went louder, cutting through her words like a knife. His whole body turned toward her now, shoulders square, eyes blazing. "Stop talking to me like I'm fucking stupid, Mireya!" He took a step toward her, closing the distance she'd just created. His voice filled the small apartment, bouncing off the walls. "Kobe saw you with some motherfucker in the parking lot and now this? What is he? Your sugar daddy? One of your OF 'collab' partners? How much is he giving you to fuck him, Mireya?"
Mireya's face fell, the color draining from her cheeks. She felt the floor shift under her feet. Her voice came out smaller now, strained, almost pleading. "Jordan, baby. Loo—"
He cut her off again, the word sharp and vicious. "Don't fucking call me that. Don't you fucking dare."
Mireya flinched like he'd raised his hand to her, her whole body jerking back. Her shoulders came up, protective. She took a deep breath, trying to steady herself, trying to find solid ground that kept slipping away. Her hands were shaking now. "Okay, I'm sorry. It's not what it looks like."
Jordan laughed, but there was no humor in it. The sound was bitter and cruel. He ran his hand through his hair, shaking his head. "You know Maddy clocked you. On Mardi Gras Day? She knew you had just gotten fucked. What'd you do suck some fucking dick right before meeting my fucking family?! How fucking disgusting."
Mireya pressed her lips together, trying to hold it together and failing. Tears pricked at her eyes, hot and sudden. She took a step toward him, hand reaching out for his. "Please, let me expl—"
Jordan yanked his hand back like she'd burned him, disgust twisting his face. "Don't fucking touch me."
The look on his face broke something in her. A sob choked out of her throat, her body shaking as the tears started falling freely. "Jordan, please stop. I can explain."
Jordan's lip curled up in a sneer. "How many times did you fuck someone else before you saw me? Do I need to go get fucking tested?"
Mireya shook her head, hand pressed to her forehead, fingers digging into her skin. "I'm clean."
Jordan snorted, the sound harsh and dismissive. "Clean's a fucking stretch. You might not have shit yet, but you're a dirty fucking gutter slut."
The words hit her like fists. Her legs went weak. She cried harder, the sobs coming fast and desperate, almost hysterical. The fear was overwhelming now, drowning everything else. She choked out the words through tears. "Please stop. I'm not what you think I am."
Jordan's voice was cold, cutting. "Then fucking tell me what you are."
She opened her mouth. Started to say something. "I—" Then stopped. The words wouldn't come. "I can't. It's complicated."
Jordan's face twisted with something that looked like pain mixed with rage. "Was everything a lie? Did you ever even really give a fuck about me?"
Mireya could only shake her head, then nod, the movements jerky and confused. She couldn't speak. Her throat was too tight, the sobs still wracking her chest.
Jordan scoffed and turned toward the door, already done with her.
Mireya lunged forward, grabbing his wrist with both hands, desperation making her movements clumsy. "Please let me explain."
Jordan ripped his arm out of her grasp, the motion violent. "Get your fucking nasty ass hands off me. Fuck's wrong with you?"
The force of him pulling away sent her stumbling. Her knees hit the floor hard, the impact jarring. She stayed there, kneeling on the floor, sobbing so hard she could barely breathe. Her whole body shook with it.
Jordan shook his head, looking down at her with something that might have been pity mixed with contempt. He turned and walked out of the apartment, the door slamming behind him hard enough to rattle the frame.
Mireya stayed on her knees, hands pressed to her face, sobbing into her palms.
She pulled her hands away from her face long enough to drag in a shaky breath, then pressed them back, the sobs starting fresh.
The crying intensified, her whole body convulsing with it. She curled forward, forehead nearly touching the carpet, arms wrapped around herself. The apartment was too quiet. The silence pressed down on her, heavy and suffocating.
She didn't know how long she stayed like that. Time slipped away from her, measured only in the waves of panic that kept crashing over her, pulling her under again and again. Eventually the sobs slowed, her body too exhausted to keep producing them at the same intensity. But the shaking didn't stop.
She pushed herself up off the floor finally, movements slow and unsteady. Her knees ached from where they'd hit the carpet. Her face felt swollen, eyes burning. She moved to the couch and collapsed onto it, pulling her knees to her chest, wrapping her arms around them.
The pile of clothes stared at her from the armchair. She stared back, vision blurry with leftover tears.
Her phone buzzed on the couch cushion next to her. She didn't look at it. Didn't want to know who it was.
She closed her eyes and tried to breathe. The sobs started again, quieter this time but no less desperate. She pressed her face into her knees and let them come, her whole body shaking.
~~~
Ramon sat on one of the two beds in the hotel room, back against the headboard, legs stretched out in front of him. The room was standard, cheap. Beige walls, darker stains on the carpet near the bathroom, the smell of old cigarette smoke baked into everything no matter how much air freshener the cleaning staff sprayed.
Tyree lay on the other bed, sprawled out on his back, one arm behind his head, phone in his other hand. The glow lit his face from below, casting shadows under his cheekbones. He scrolled without looking up, thumb moving in lazy swipes.
E.J. sat on the coffee table in front of the chair in the corner, elbows on his knees, hands clasped between them. His leg bounced slightly, a nervous energy he couldn't quite keep still. The table creaked under his weight every time he shifted.
A knock came at the door. Three sharp raps, evenly spaced.
Ramon pushed himself off the bed and crossed the room in a few strides. He leaned forward and looked through the peephole, the fisheye lens distorting the hallway into a bubble. Tessa stood on the other side, alone, hands empty except for a phone.
He unlocked the deadbolt and pulled the door open.
Tessa stepped inside, already holding the phone out to him. "He’s taking a shower."
Ramon took it from her without comment. Behind him, Tyree lifted his head off the pillow and looked at E.J., a grin spreading across his face. "You were smart to sit in front of that chair, nigga."
E.J. shook his head, jaw tight. "Don't start that shit right now, man."
Ramon crossed the room to where their backpacks sat lined up against the wall near the bathroom. He crouched down and unzipped the front pocket of the middle one, reaching inside and pulling out another phone. He stood and carried both phones back to the bed, sitting down with them in his hands.
He plugged the phones into each other using a small cable he'd pulled from his pocket, the connector clicking into place on both devices. The screens lit up simultaneously. He looked up at Tessa. "It's gonna take about ten minutes."
Tessa shifted her weight from one foot to the other. "How much, whatever, are you putting on his phone?"
Ramon's eyes went back to the screens. "Enough."
E.J. looked at her, his voice softer than it had been a moment ago. "You still good with everything, right?"
Tyree didn't lift his eyes from his own phone. "Stop being a bitch, nigga. She a big girl and she already halfway there. Might as well just see it all the way through."
E.J. shook his head, pushing himself up from the coffee table. He walked over to Tessa and wrapped an arm around her shoulder, pulling her against his side. She leaned into him, her hand coming up to rest on his chest.
The room fell into silence. The only sounds were the faint hum of the heating unit under the window and the occasional buzz of one of their phones vibrating against fabric or wood. Ramon watched the progress bars on both screens, twin lines creeping from left to right, filling in slowly. Blue on one phone, green on the other.
Files moved from one device to another in a steady stream. Pictures first, then videos, the thumbnails too small to make out clearly but the file sizes telling enough of the story. Ramon had created a folder deep in the iCloud files on Brent's phone, buried several levels down in a directory he'd found labeled "High School Baseball pics." Old enough to look forgotten. Innocuous enough that nobody would go looking through it unless they had a reason.
The progress bars moved. Fifty percent. Sixty. Seventy.
Tessa's breathing was the loudest thing in the room now, a little too fast, a little too shallow. E.J.'s thumb rubbed small circles on her shoulder through her shirt. Tyree had set his own phone down on his chest, eyes on the ceiling, hands folded behind his head.
Eighty percent. Ninety.
Ramon watched the final files transfer, the bars completing, the confirmation message appearing on both screens simultaneously. He unplugged the cable and set his phone down on the bed. He stood and walked to the bathroom, flipping on the light. The brightness spilled out into the main room in a harsh yellow rectangle.
He grabbed a towel from the rack, white and thin and scratchy from too many washings. He walked back to the bed and picked up Brent's phone, wrapping the towel around it carefully. He wiped down every surface, the screen, the back, the edges, the buttons. Methodical and thorough. When he was satisfied, he walked back to Tessa, the towel still covering the phone, and held it out to her.
She took it, her fingers closing around the fabric.
"So, that's it?" Her voice was quiet, uncertain.
Ramon nodded once. "That's it."
Tessa turned toward the door, her movements slow, hesitant. She glanced over her shoulder one last time, eyes finding E.J.'s face.
E.J. straightened. "I'm gonna walk you back."
Tessa nodded. They moved to the door together, E.J.'s hand on the small of her back. He opened it and they stepped out into the hallway, the door swinging shut behind them with a soft click. The deadbolt didn't engage. They'd be back in a few minutes.
Tyree sat up on the bed, elbows on his knees now, eyes on the phone Ramon had left sitting on the comforter. He nodded toward it. "So, what was on there?"
Ramon walked back to his backpack and pulled out a bottle of water, twisting the cap off. He took a drink before answering. "Some shit Asia got off a pedophile John for me."
Tyree laughed, the sound low and genuinely amused. He shook his head. "I ain't think you were setting up bro that bad. They about to fuck him up in OPP. A cop and a chomo? Is the pack gas or what?"
Ramon didn't answer. He set the water bottle down on the nightstand and walked back to the bed where Leo's phone still sat. He picked it up, turning it over in his hand once, looking at the cracked screen protector, the scuffed case. Then he dropped it on the floor and placed his heel over it.
He pulled up on the phone, putting his full weight down through his heel. The phone resisted for a second, then gave with a sharp crack. Plastic splintered. Glass crunched. He shifted his weight and pulled again, the phone bending further, components snapping inside. One more pull and it broke completely in two, the screen separating from the body, wires and circuit boards exposed between the pieces.
~~~
Ant sat in the front passenger seat of Yola's car, wrapping tape around the stock of a pistol. He wound it carefully, each loop overlapping the last, covering the grip completely. His movements were methodical, unhurried.
Shad sat in the back seat, watching through the gap between the front seats. The car was parked on a dark street two blocks from Boogie's apartment complex, engine off, windows cracked just enough to let the night air in without drawing attention.
Yola sat behind the wheel, eyes on the rearview mirror, tracking a car that rolled past slow before turning at the corner. He didn't say anything. Just watched and waited.
Ant finished taping the gun and set it in his lap. He reached down between his feet and picked up a takeout bag from Wing Stop, the paper already darkened with grease stains, the smell of lemon pepper and hot sauce filling the car. He held it back toward Shad without turning around.
Shad took the bag from him, the weight of it shifting in his hands. "What's this for?"
"Go up there and make sure no one got a ring camera. Just put the bag in front of someone's door."
Shad looked from Ant to Yola. Yola only shrugged, his expression flat and uninterested. Shad opened the back door and slid out, his sneakers hitting the pavement with a soft scuff. He shut the door quietly and started walking toward the apartment complex, the bag swinging slightly at his side.
Ant watched him go in the side mirror, then picked up the gun again, checking the magazine, the chamber one more time before sliding it into his waistband at the small of his back.
…
A blonde woman knelt on the floor in front of the couch where Boogie sat, his jeans open, head tilted back against the cushions. The TV was on, volume low, some movie playing that neither of them was watching.
She worked for a minute longer, then abruptly leaned back and stood up, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. "Hold on, baby. I gotta go get something out of my car."
Boogie nodded, eyes still half-closed. "Don't take too long."
She grabbed her keys from the counter and walked out the door, pulling it shut behind her. Her heels clicked down the breezeway toward the stairs.
Boogie waited a few seconds, then pushed himself up from the couch and walked to the kitchen. He pulled a bottle of vodka from the freezer and poured himself a shot, the liquid thick and cold in the glass. He downed it in one motion, the burn hitting the back of his throat and spreading through his chest. He set the glass down and exhaled hard through his nose.
A knock came at the door.
Boogie's eyebrow raised. He glanced at the door, confused. He crossed the studio and leaned forward to look through the peephole.
Ant stood on the other side, hands visible, posture relaxed.
Boogie unlocked the door and pulled it open, already reaching out to dap Ant up. "What up, homie? I ain't know you were dropping by."
Ant returned the dap, stepping inside as Boogie moved back to give him space. "Business don't take no days off." His voice was calm, conversational. "I need a stick. Something that ain't got bodies on it. You got one?"
Boogie nodded, already turning toward the TV stand. "Yeah, I got you."
He walked over and crouched down, opening the drawer underneath. He pulled out a pistol, checking it quickly before standing and handing it to Ant. "That one clean."
Ant took it, turning it over in his hands, checking the weight, the slide, the magazine. He nodded once, satisfied, then slid it into his waistband next to the other one.
He looked at Boogie. "You here alone?"
Boogie started to answer. "Nah. I got—"
Realization hit him like cold water. His face changed, eyes going wide, mouth opening to say something else. "Hold on, nigga. Let me tell you what happen. You ain't g—"
Ant drew the other gun from his waistband in one smooth motion and fired.
The first shot hit Boogie in the chest, high and center. The sound was deafening in the small space, the muzzle flash lighting up Boogie's face for a fraction of a second.
Boogie stumbled back, hands coming up instinctively, mouth open but no sound coming out.
Ant fired again. The second shot hit lower, chest again, punching through and sending Boogie back another step.
The third shot caught him in the neck. Blood sprayed across the wall behind him, dark and arterial. Boogie's legs gave out and he dropped, first to his knees, then forward onto his face. His body hit the floor with a heavy thud. Blood pooled underneath him almost immediately, spreading across the cheap laminate in a widening circle.
Ant stood there for a moment, gun still raised, watching. Boogie's body twitched once, a small involuntary movement, then went still.
Ant lowered the gun and reached into his hoodie pocket with his other hand. He pulled out a torn page from a Bible, the edges rough where it had been ripped from the binding. Psalm 41:9. He flicked it down onto Boogie's body. The paper landed on his back and stuck there, blood already soaking into it.
Ant turned and walked to the door, pulling his hand back into his sleeve so the fabric covered his fingers. He grabbed the doorknob through the cloth and pulled the door shut behind him, the latch clicking into place.
He walked down the breezeway at an unhurried pace, the gun already tucked back into his waistband next to the one from Boogie. His footsteps were even and measured.
He reached the stairs and started down. Halfway to the bottom, he passed the blonde woman coming up. She had a small makeup bag in her hand. She glanced at him as they passed, the kind of look strangers give each other in apartment complexes at night, brief and indifferent.
Ant kept walking.
He made it to the bottom of the stairs and crossed the parking lot toward where Yola's car sat waiting, engine already running. He looked back over his shoulder as the woman reached the top of the stairs and turned toward Boogie's apartment.
He was almost to the car when he heard it. The scream. High and sharp and sudden, cutting through the night like a siren. It echoed in the breezeway, amplified by the concrete walls, carrying across the parking lot.
Ant opened the passenger door and climbed inside. He pulled the door shut and Yola put the car in drive, pulling out of the spot smoothly, no rush, just another car leaving an apartment complex at night.
The screaming continued behind them, getting quieter as they drove away.
~~~
Jaslene stood outside Mireya's apartment door, phone in hand, staring at the last text Mireya had sent her. Just "please come." Nothing else. No explanation. No context. Just those two things and then silence.
She'd been trying to call since then. Every call went straight to voicemail. Every text went unread, the blue checkmarks never appearing. The quiet on the other end felt wrong, dangerous in a way that made Jaslene's chest tight.
She knocked on the door, three sharp raps that echoed in the hallway. No answer. She waited then knocked again, harder this time. Still nothing. No movement. No sound from inside.
She reached down and tested the doorknob. It turned easily under her hand, unlocked. Her stomach dropped.
She pushed the door open slowly, the hinges creaking. The sound felt too loud in the quiet hallway.
The apartment was dark except for the light bleeding in from the hallway behind her, casting a long shadow across the floor. She stepped inside, eyes adjusting to the dimness, and found Mireya curled up on the floor in the middle of the living room. Knees pulled tight to her chest, face pressed into her arms, body shaking with quiet sobs that made her shoulders jerk.
Mireya's phone lay face-down on the floor a few feet away from her, screen dark.
Jaslene sighed, the sound sad and tired and full of ache. She closed the door behind her, the lock clicking into place, cutting off the hallway light and plunging them into near darkness. She crossed the room carefully, stepping around Mireya's phone, and sat down on the floor next to her.
"Nena, you gotta get off the floor."
She reached out to run her hand over Mireya's hair, the gesture automatic and tender.
Mireya flinched away violently, her whole body jerking back. "No me toques. Estoy jodidamente sucio."
Jaslene's hand froze in the air, then lowered slowly back to her lap. Her voice stayed soft, patient. "Mi amor, no. ¿Quieres irte a la cama?"
Mireya shook her head, the movement frantic. Her voice came out broken, desperate. "He can't find out. He can't fucking find out."
Jaslene's eyebrows pulled together. "Who can't? Jordan?"
Mireya didn't answer. She just kept crying, the sobs coming harder now, her whole body convulsing with them. Her face stayed buried in her arms, hidden from view.
Jaslene stood up, her knees protesting slightly from sitting on the hard floor. She moved around Mireya carefully, positioning herself so she could reach down and take Mireya's hands. Her fingers closed around Mireya's wrists gently, feeling the rapid pulse beneath the skin. She pulled gently, trying to coax her up.
Mireya resisted at first, her body dead weight, muscles locked, unwilling to move. Her hands stayed clenched into fists against her chest. But Jaslene kept pulling, kept murmuring soft encouragement in Spanish, her voice low and soothing, and eventually Mireya let herself be lifted. She unfolded slowly, joints stiff from hours on the floor. She stood on shaky legs, knees threatening to buckle, and Jaslene's arm immediately wrapped around her waist to steady her.
Jaslene guided her down the hall toward the bedroom, moving slowly, taking small careful steps. Mireya leaned heavily against her, barely holding herself upright, feet dragging slightly on the carpet. Her breathing was still uneven, hitching every few seconds with leftover sobs.
As they passed the refrigerator, Mireya's eyes drifted up. A picture was stuck to the side with a magnet, edges curling slightly from humidity. Camila on Caine's hip, his hand supporting her back, her little hand on his shoulder.
Mireya's lip began to tremble. Fresh tears spilled down her cheeks and she started sobbing again, the sound wrenching and broken, like something inside her had torn open all over again.
Jaslene tightened her grip and kept moving, pulling Mireya past the kitchen and into the bedroom. The room was dark, unmade bed visible in the dim light from the hallway. Jaslene led her to the bed and gently laid her down, easing her onto the mattress like she might break.
Mireya curled up immediately, knees to chest, arms wrapped around herself, making herself as small as possible. The sobs continued, muffled now by the pillow her face was pressed into.
Jaslene kicked off her shoes, the soft thud as they hit the floor barely audible over Mireya's crying. She climbed onto the bed and lay down next to her, the mattress dipping under her weight.
Mireya immediately pressed against her, shifting closer, laying her head on Jaslene's chest. Her body molded to Jaslene's side, seeking comfort, seeking warmth, seeking anything that wasn't the cold terror that had consumed her for hours.
Mireya's voice was small, thick with tears. "I can't go to work tonight."
Jaslene's hand came up to stroke Mireya's hair, fingers moving through the strands in slow, soothing motions. "We're not going anywhere, nena."
Mireya's breath hitched. "Tenía razón."
Jaslene's hand paused for a moment, then continued its gentle movement through Mireya's hair. "Who was right?"
Mireya shook her head, the movement small and defeated. She turned her face into Jaslene's shirt, pressing harder. Her arm stretched across Jaslene's stomach, hand fisting in the fabric of her shirt and pulling, trying to bring her closer even though there was no space left between them.
Jaslene's voice was soft, steady. "No voy a ir a ningún lado. No te preocupe."
She kept running her hand over Mireya's hair, the rhythm constant and gentle. Mireya cried into her chest, the tears soaking through the thin fabric, her breath coming in shaky gasps.
Mireya's voice came out desperate, panicked, the words tumbling over each other. "He can't find out. He can't. He never can."
Jaslene looked down at her, her expression heartbreaking in its sadness. She kept stroking her hair and said quietly, "I know, nena."
~~~
Caine stood in his kitchen, washing a couple of dishes in the sink. The water ran warm over his hands as he scrubbed a plate clean, then set it in the dish rack. He dried his hands on a towel and turned his attention to the boxes lined up against the wall. A few had shifted out of alignment. He moved them back into place, the edges forming a perfect line again.
A knock came at the door.
Caine raised his eyebrow and pulled his phone from his pocket, checking the time. 11:45 p.m. He set the phone down on the counter and walked to the drawer next to the stove, pulling it open. The gun sat, black metal gleaming under the kitchen light. He left the drawer open and waited.
His phone buzzed on the counter. He picked it up and saw a text from Laney. "It's me."
He walked to the door and leaned forward to look through the peephole. Laney stood outside, arms wrapped tightly around her body, head down, staring at the concrete. Even through the distortion of the lens he could see something was wrong.
Caine unlocked the door and pulled it open.
Laney looked up.
Rage coursed through him, hot and immediate. Her left eye was swollen, the skin around it already turning purple-black. Her lip was split, dried blood crusted at the corner of her mouth. Bruises marked her arms where fingers had gripped too hard.
He stepped outside, his hand going to the small of her back, gentle despite the fury burning in his chest. He ushered her inside and closed the door behind them, the lock clicking into place.
His voice came out through clenched teeth, barely controlled. "Who the fuck did that to you?"
Laney opened her mouth. Nothing came out. She tried again, her breath hitching, words catching in her throat.
Caine took a deep breath and walked back to the kitchen drawer. He grabbed the gun and returned to her, movements smooth and deliberate. He squatted down so he was closer to eye level with her, the gun held loose in his right hand. His left hand came up to her face, gently cupping her cheek. His thumb moved carefully under the bruise beneath her eye, barely touching.
"Tell me who it was, Laney. I'm gonna go deal with them."
Laney's eyes dropped to the gun, then came back up to his face. "I—It—I."
Caine moved the gun behind his leg, shifting his body to block her view of it. "Was it Tommy?"
Laney shook her head, the movement small and jerky.
Caine's eyebrows pulled together. "Then who was it?"
Laney's voice came out barely above a whisper. "My daddy. 'Cause Rylee was shoutin' 'bout us."
Caine sighed, the sound heavy with frustration. He ran his hand through his dreads, jaw working. He couldn't go kick an old man's ass. Couldn't shoot a preacher, no matter how much he wanted to in this moment.
He tucked the gun into his waistband and took Laney's hand, leading her to the sofa. He sat her down gently and then positioned himself on the coffee table in front of her, hands resting on the sides of her knees.
"Tell me what happened."
Laney took a shaky breath. "Rylee found that lighter here. Must've seen me leavin' another day or somethin'. She blew up. Said everythin' in front my family. Daddy," she stopped, snorting a laugh that had a sob caught in it, gesturing to her face. "Well, daddy ain't really like what he was hearin'."
Caine's hands tightened slightly on her knees. "You want to stay here tonight?"
Laney shrugged, then shook her head, then nodded, all the movements running together. "I don't fuckin' know what to do, Caine. I ain't had to worry 'bout no shit like this since I was 16, 17." She leaned forward, hissing in pain when her ribs protested the movement. "I cain't go home to the boys lookin' like this. How am I gonna tell them grandpa beat the shit out of mommy 'cause mommy was bad?"
Caine shook his head, reaching for her hands. He took them in his, thumbs rubbing slow circles on the backs of her hands. "Tell me what you need me to do, Laney."
Laney's voice cracked. "I don't even fuckin' know. I'm just so fuckin' glad my sons didn't see this."
Caine sat in silence for a moment, his thumbs continuing their movement over her hands. Tears fell down her face silently, tracking through the dried blood at the corner of her mouth.
Then Caine spoke. "You drove here, right?"
Laney nodded.
"I can give you an excuse to tell your sons."
Laney looked up, bloodshot eyes staring at him. "How?"
Caine held her gaze. "Do you trust me?"
Laney nodded. "I trust you."
…
The winding country road stretched dark and empty in both directions, trees crowding close on either side. Laney pulled her van to a stop on the shoulder and Caine's car pulled up behind her, headlights cutting through the darkness.
He got out and walked to her side of the van, opening the door for her and helping her down. She stood on the gravel shoulder, looking down the road where her headlights illuminated the asphalt and the curve ahead.
"Caine, we cain't do this. This is fuckin' crazy. What am I gonna tell the insurance?"
Caine pointed down the road to a curve just before where they stood. "You were upset and tired driving, misjudged that curve, started to spin, overcorrect and hit the tree." He pointed to the row of trees lining the road, their trunks dark against the night sky.
Laney's voice went higher, uncertain. "You think they gonna believe that?"
Caine's tone stayed level. "It's not like you saying you crashed your car and don't look fucked up. I'm driving you to the hospital after, remember?"
Laney ran her hand through her hair, cringing when her fingers found the tender spot where her father had dragged her by it. Her scalp still burned.
Caine stepped in front of her, blocking her view of the van. "Look. Your options are this, or trying to explain to your sons what actually happened. Or worse, you don't tell them shit and they start talking about it at school and then one of their friends says that Tommy probably did this to you. None of the options we got are good. At least you can control this."
Laney stared at him for a long moment, then nodded. "Alright."
Caine walked to the side of the road and bent down, picking up a rock about the size of his fist. He came back and handed her his keys. "Drive back to the top of the curve in my car."
Laney took the keys, metal cold against her palm, and walked to his car. She got in and started the engine, pulling a U-turn and going back up the road slowly until she was at the top of the curve. She put it in park and waited, watching through the windshield.
Caine walked to the driver's side of the van and climbed in. He adjusted the seat, pressed down on the brake, and positioned the rock carefully on the gas pedal. The engine revved loud, too high. He shifted the rock, adjusting the pressure until the RPMs dropped to something that would move the van forward at a reasonable speed without screaming down the road.
Satisfied, he leaned out of the open door, keeping his foot on the brake. He looked back once to make sure Laney was clear, then released the brake and jumped away from the van in one smooth motion.
The tires screeched as the van lurched forward, accelerating down the road. Caine watched it go, tracking its path. It hit the curve and the steering wheel, left on its own, didn't correct. The van went straight, tires leaving the asphalt. It hit the guardrail with a metallic crunch, the impact sending it sliding sideways. The passenger side caught the slight embankment and the van tipped, slamming into a tree.
The sound of the crash echoed through the quiet night. Glass shattered. Metal crumpled. The airbags deployed with twin explosions, white powder and smoke billowing out through the broken windows.
Laney walked up next to him, her hand pressed to her side, holding her ribs. They both stood there on the shoulder, staring at the wreckage. The van's headlights were still on, one pointing up into the trees, the other shattered.
They looked at each other. Neither of them said a word.
#writingcraft
We shall see
On Easter Sunday, too.