American Sun
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djp73
- Posts: 11489
- Joined: 27 Nov 2018, 13:42
American Sun
Sara and Devin’s relationship is a metaphor for this whole chise
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Caesar
Topic author - Chise GOAT
- Posts: 13814
- Joined: 27 Nov 2018, 10:47
American Sun
Why are putting groomed her in quotation marks
Also, she didn't set the play for buddy to get killed (Junebug). It just so happened that Trell did order him to be killed.Would she even need to sacrifice her family? Caine's not going to believe anything Maria says. She could tell Caine it's raining while they are physically standing outside in the rain and he'd pull out his phone to check the weather.redsox907 wrote: ↑23 Jan 2026, 11:28Junebug, whom she got murked to keep Ramon quiet about her slurping dick and telling Caine. She also took a beating to set that one up, willing to sacrifice herself to keep her secret safe. Is she willing to sacrifice her familia?
Jordan too deep in the honeypot now, he already nearly lost it once. His homie saying he saw her with some hood dude ain't gonna change his mind
Devin definitely hiding something, he moving like someone trying to get the job done before he gets found out.
A hood dude with a driver* which means a hood dude with money. which means a hood dude with money that would buy the chick in his car things. a chick who was in his car who has a closet full of designer stuff. Are we saying the pum pum got that much power?
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Caesar
Topic author - Chise GOAT
- Posts: 13814
- Joined: 27 Nov 2018, 10:47
American Sun
Haesitatio Nulla
Trell lay on his back in Cass' bed, one arm bent behind his head, the other hand resting on his stomach. Morning light pushed through the blinds in pale stripes. The sheets twisted low across his hips. His breathing stayed even and slow while Cass moved around the room.
She pulled a sports bra over her head, adjusting the band under her breasts. Her feet made soft sounds on the carpet. The mattress still held the warmth where she'd been, the air carrying faint traces of sweat and her lotion.
Trell reached over to the nightstand. His fingers found the blunt and the lighter first try. He brought the blunt to his lips, thumbed the lighter, and sparked it. The flame ate the tip and caught. He took a pull, holding the smoke in his chest a beat before letting it roll out toward the ceiling.
Cass turned from the dresser, pulling a pair of jeans up her thighs. Her eyes cut to him. "Don't smoke that shit in here," she said. Her voice came sharp, the words clipped. "I don't want Lil' P smelling that when he get home."
Trell didn't answer. He took another pull, slower this time, eyes on the ceiling fan. The smoke drifted up lazy and spread thin. He blew it out through his nose.
"That lil' nigga daddy was a gangster," Trell said. He kept his tone easy. "And you still doing dirt. Being in this shit in that nigga blood." He paused, ashing on the side of the nightstand. "It's about time you put him on game anyway."
Cass sucked her teeth. She bent to grab a shirt from the chair, her movements quick and irritated. "Just because you were thugging at 16 doesn't mean every little Black boy need to be doing the same thing," she said.
Trell shifted against the headboard, the wood creaking under his weight. "They're gonna think he thugging anyway," he said. He brought the blunt back to his lips. "Might as well actually do it."
Cass straightened, pulling the shirt over her head. "When you got kids, then you can tell me how to raise mine."
Trell let the smoke sit in his lungs before he released it. "My sons for damn sure wouldn't be at no private school with white kids who hate them."
Cass didn't respond. She crossed to the mirror, fingers working through her hair. The silence between them stretched, heavy but familiar. Trell watched the smoke curl and twist. A car passed outside, bass thumping low enough to rattle the window frame once before it faded.
He took another pull, then rolled his head to look at her. "So," he said. He let the word hang, then continued. "Where you put the money and work you stole from me with Boogie?"
Cass's hands stilled in her hair. She turned her head just enough to catch his reflection in the mirror. "Nigga, who?" she asked. Her eyebrows lifted.
"Don't act stupid," Trell said. His voice stayed level. "You know what the fuck I'm talking about."
Cass turned around, one hip cocked against the dresser. She crossed her arms under her chest, the gesture pushing her breasts up.
"Do I look like a bitch that think so short term she'd hit a lick knowing that's the only one I'm gonna get?" she asked. Her head tilted, eyes narrowing. "I ain't get to where I am by thinking only one, two steps ahead."
Trell snorted a laugh through his nose. The sound came dry. He brought the blunt to his lips again. "You got to where you are by sucking and taking dick after Peanut found you at Visions," he said. The smoke curled out with the words.
Cass's jaw tightened. She uncrossed her arms, letting them fall to her sides. "I was only a bartender at Visions," she said. "You confusing me with that little Mexican bitch who be showing hole to every nigga from here to Chicago."
Trell just kept smoking, his eyes half-lidded, watching the smoke rise and break apart against the ceiling.
Cass pushed off the dresser, taking two steps closer to the bed.
"Nigga, I know where all your stash spots at," she said. Her voice came quieter now, but harder. "You ain't change nothing from what P was doing. If I wanted to, I could've been ran off on you." She paused, letting that sit. "And I for damn sure wouldn't be doing it with no nigga called Boogie. I fuck bosses, not cornerboys."
Trell's mouth curved at one corner. He turned his head on the pillow to look at her fully. "Is that right?" he asked.
"Yeah, nigga," Cass said. She moved to the foot of the bed, one hand on the mattress. "You know me better than that. It's like these bitches who be running to get divorced because they nigga cheating on them." She shook her head. "You might get a little alimony but you could just stay with his ass and have access to all his money. Same shit apply here."
Trell pulled himself up to sit, the sheets pooling around his waist. He swung his legs over the side of the bed, feet finding the carpet. His back flexed as he reached for his phones on the dresser. "You ain't got access to all my shit, though.”
Cass laughed. The sound came quick and sharp. "I could if I wanted it.”
Trell stood, the movement easy. He walked to the dresser, standing close enough that their arms almost touched. He picked up all three phones, checking the screens. "You think that lil' pussy got way more power than it do," he said.
Cass's head tilted back, chin lifting. "You keep coming back for it, nigga.”
Trell shook his head. He put the phones down and reached for his jeans draped over the chair.
Cars lined the lot in crooked rows. A bass line thumped from somewhere near the back. Someone shouted a name that got swallowed by engine noise and distance.
Trent shifted his bag higher on his shoulder, the zipper catching light. "Bro, I'm trying to go ball," he said. He glanced at the sky, squinting against the brightness. "It's finally starting to get dark later so we can get a few runs in."
Javi sucked his teeth. He waved his hand in a lazy arc, fingers cutting the air. "Man, ain't nobody trying to ball right now."
Saul's eyes tracked the cars as they walked. A Camry pulled out slow, brake lights flashing red before it turned toward the exit. He adjusted the strap again, feeling the pull across his collarbone.
"I might take the car and go see Ava if y'all going to ball."
Trent's hand shot out, palm up, fingers spread toward Javi. "Even more reason to go hoop.”
Javi opened his mouth to respond, but the words didn't come. His attention shifted past Saul's shoulder, eyes narrowing slightly.
"Saul!"
Saul turned his head. Zoe stood next to a black Tahoe parked across two spaces near the edge of the lot. The truck sat low and wide, chrome gleaming, windows tinted dark. She lifted her hand and waved him over, the motion quick and impatient.
Saul glanced at Trent, then Javi. Both of them had stopped walking, watching. He lifted one shoulder in a small shrug, then started toward her.
His shoes found the uneven spots in the pavement, the small dips and cracks that made his steps uneven. Zoe didn't move from where she stood. The Tahoe's engine idled low, a deep rumble.
"What's up?" Saul asked as he reached her.
Zoe didn't answer right away. She motioned toward the driver's side window with a tilt of her head, her hair shifting with the movement. Saul's eyes followed.
A man sat behind the wheel, one arm draped casual over the door frame through the open window. Two Styrofoam cups sat stacked in his hand, condensation beading on the white foam. He wore a fitted cap pulled low, the brim shadowing his face. Gold chains caught the light at his neck. He turned his head slow, taking Saul in from shoes to face.
Zoe crossed her arms. "Kay, this Saul," she said. "The guy I was telling you about."
Kayjuan's mouth curved into a smile. Diamond-encrusted grills flashed, catching the sun in small bursts of light. His eyes stayed on Saul, measuring. "You trying to get put on, lil' nigga?" he asked. The words came easy, almost lazy.
Saul shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "Not exactly.”
Zoe walked around the front of the Tahoe, her footsteps light. She pulled open the passenger door and climbed in, eyes already on her phone screen before she'd even settled into the seat
Kayjuan's eyebrows lifted. He brought the cups to his mouth and took a sip, then lowered it back to the door frame.
"Fuck does not exactly mean?" he asked. His tone stayed level, but something underneath it sharpened. "Either you is or you ain't."
Saul's fingers tightened on his backpack strap. He let go and dropped his hand to his side. "I'm just trying to be the middle man," he said. He paused, swallowed. "Between you and Ethan."
Kayjuan laughed. The sound came quick and sharp, more breath than humor. He shook his head once, the movement small. "Where you from?"
"The ninth ward," Saul said.
Kayjuan's eyes narrowed. He leaned forward slightly, forearm pressing against the door. The cups shifted in his hand but didn't spill.
"You cliqued up with any of them niggas out there?" he asked. His voice dropped lower, words coming slower. "Trying to get the drop on me?"
Saul's head moved side to side, the motion quick. "Nah.”
Kayjuan watched him for a beat longer. The engine rumbled. Somewhere across the lot a car door slammed. Voices rose and fell, indistinct. Kayjuan sat back, shoulders easing against the seat.
"Alright," he said. He brought the cup up again, took another sip. "I'll let you know." His eyes flicked over Saul once more, head to toe. "You look kinda green but that ain't no big deal for a little weed."
Saul nodded. "Yeah, alright.”
Kayjuan lifted his free hand and waved it in a lazy shooing motion, fingers flicking outward.
Saul took a step back. Then another. His heel caught on a crack in the pavement and he steadied himself without looking down. Kayjuan's hand dropped to the gear shift. The Tahoe's brake lights flashed once.
The engine's idle shifted, deepening. Kayjuan pulled his arm back inside, the cups disappearing with him. The window started to rise, glass sliding up smooth and quiet. Through the tint Saul could see Zoe's silhouette, still looking at her phone.
The Tahoe lurched forward. Tires barked against the asphalt as Kayjuan punched the gas. The truck shot across the lot, weaving between the rows of parked cars. It hit the exit without slowing, rocking slightly as it dropped off the curb onto the street. The bass from the stereo cut through the air for a second, then faded as the Tahoe disappeared around the corner.
Saul stood there, hand still loose at his side. The heat pressed down on his shoulders. Sweat had started to gather at the small of his back, dampening his shirt. He turned and walked back toward where Trent and Javi waited.
Neither of them said anything when he got close. Trent's eyes tracked from the empty spot where the Tahoe had been parked back to Saul's face. Javi shifted his backpack, the straps creaking.
Saul kept walking, moving past them toward his own car. His keys were already in his hand, though he didn't remember pulling them from his pocket. The metal was warm against his palm.
"Y'all still going to ball?" he asked over his shoulder.
Boogie rolled off Mireya and the mattress shifted under the change in weight. The air in the studio apartment sat heavy and still, afternoon light pushing through the blinds in thin stripes that cut across the tangled sheets. His breathing came slow and deep as he sat up, back finding the wall. Sweat cooled along Mireya's ribs and the hollow of her throat.
He leaned over the edge of the bed, arm stretching down to where his jeans sat in a crumpled pile on the floor. His fingers worked through the pockets, fabric rustling. He came back up with a small baggie of weed pinched between two fingers, a pack of rolling papers, and a lighter. He set them on the mattress beside his thigh.
Mireya reached for her phone on the nightstand. The screen lit up in her hand. Two texts from Jordan sat at the top of the notifications, preview lines cutting off mid-sentence. She swiped just enough to read the first one, thumb hovering over the keyboard. Her eyes flicked to Boogie's profile, the way his jaw worked as he concentrated.
She locked the screen and set the phone face down on her stomach.
Boogie bent forward and grabbed a glossy piece of junk mail from the floor, some bright flyer about car insurance. He folded it once, creased it with his thumbnail, then tore off a strip to use as a tray. The baggie crinkled when he opened it. The smell of weed drifted sharp and green into the room.
He picked through the bud with careful fingers, breaking it down over the folded paper. His movements stayed easy, practiced.
"You lucky I let you make me wear these jimmy hats," Boogie said. He didn't look up from the work. His mouth curved into a grin. "I'd been done knocked you up by now. A nigga swimmers strong and I make pretty babies."
Mireya laughed. The sound came light and bright, slipping out easy. She turned her head on the pillow to look at him, eyes soft, mouth pulling into a smile that showed teeth. "Sorry, papi," she said. "I like the way my body looks too much to get pregnant."
Boogie glanced down at her. His eyes traveled slow from her face to the curve of her waist and back up again. He licked the edge of the rolling paper, tongue dragging along the adhesive strip before he pressed it down to seal the blunt. "You ain't wrong," he said. The paper stuck and he smoothed it with his thumb. "You know you a bad bitch."
Mireya's phone buzzed against her skin. She felt the vibration first, then heard the low hum. Without lifting it, she reached down and tapped the side button to silence it. The buzzing stopped.
"The baddest bitch, baby," she said. Her smile didn't falter.
Boogie nodded, eyes still on the blunt as he twisted the end. He brought the lighter up, thumbed the wheel, and sparked the flame. The tip caught and glowed orange. He took a slow pull, cheeks hollowing, smoke curling into his lungs. He held it there a beat before exhaling up toward the ceiling. The smoke drifted and broke apart in the stale air.
He turned and held the blunt out to her, arm extended, the ember bright between his fingers.
Mireya lifted one hand and waved it off, fingers flicking in a lazy arc. "I'm good," she said.
Boogie shrugged and brought it back to his mouth. "You got time for me to smoke this so I can go for round two?" Smoke leaked out with the words.
Mireya's eyebrow lifted. She shifted onto her side, propping her head up on one hand. "You got round two money?"
Boogie laughed, the sound deep and easy. He tapped ash onto the junk mail. "C'mon, girl," he said. "You know I got it."
Mireya's phone started ringing. The sound cut sharp through the quiet, vibrating against the sheets. She reached down and silenced it again without looking at the screen. The ringing stopped mid-note.
Boogie took another pull from the blunt, eyes half-lidded, body relaxed against the wall. "You ever been to NYC?"
Mireya shook her head. Her hair shifted against the pillow, catching on the fabric.
"Yeah, me either," Boogie said. He looked at the blunt, turning it between his fingers, inspecting the burn. "Think I'm gonna take a little trip out there soon. Do that tourist shit, you know?"
Mireya's mouth curved. "You been stacking your paper?"
Boogie nodded. He brought the blunt to his lips again and pulled slow. When he spoke, smoke drifted out with the words.
"Something like that," he said. He paused, eyes on the ceiling. "I be having a lot of time on my hands and niggas ain't got no problem parlaying when you got something worth talking about."
Mireya's smile widened. She reached out and ran her fingers along his forearm, nails dragging light over his skin. "You should give those guys my number, then," she said. Her voice dropped lower, warm and teasing. "Because I like extra money, too, papi."
Boogie's head turned. He looked at her, the corner of his mouth lifting.
"Shit," he said. "I think I'm gonna keep you to myself, love."
The phone rang again. This time Mireya grabbed it and turned it over. Jordan's name sat at the top of the screen, bright and insistent. Her thumb hovered over the decline button for half a second. Then she sat up, swinging her legs out of the bed. Her back faced Boogie now, shoulders bare, spine visible in the dim light.
She swiped to answer and brought the phone to her ear.
"Hey, baby," she said. Her voice shifted, softening in a different way, losing the edge it had carried a second ago. "Sorry I didn't answer, I'm with my aunt."
Jordan's voice came through tinny and small. "Your aunt?"
"You know," Mireya said. She kept her tone easy, casual. "My aunt Carmen."
Behind her, the mattress creaked. Boogie shifted, the movement small but present. She felt the heat of him before his arms came around her. One slid across her chest, the other settled low on her stomach. His mouth found the curve of her neck, lips pressing there, warm and slow.
Mireya tilted her head, moving the phone to her other ear, away from where Boogie's breath hit her skin.
"You said you'd swing by after class and then you disappeared so I was worried about you," Jordan said.
Mireya closed her eyes for a beat. When she opened them again, she stared at the wall across the apartment, at the window with its half-drawn blinds and the streak of light that made the dust in the air visible.
"Sorry," she said. "She called when I was on my way."
Boogie's hand moved against her stomach, fingers splaying wide. His mouth stayed at her neck, kissing the spot just below her ear. His voice dropped to a whisper, breath hot against her skin. "I want that round two, girl."
Mireya's jaw tightened. She shifted the phone tighter against her ear.
"Everything good?" Jordan asked.
"Yeah, yeah," Mireya said. She forced her voice to stay level, light, unbothered. "She just needed help with some paperwork she has to turn in tomorrow. Some immigration stuff."
Jordan let out a small sound. "Oh, shit," he said. "Well, I was just worried. Come by later?"
Mireya nodded even though he couldn't see it. "Yeah," she said. "I'll come by tonight before work."
"Alright," Jordan said. "Just let me know."
"Will do, baby," Mireya said.
She pulled the phone from her ear and tapped the red button. The call ended. For a moment she held the phone in her hand, screen still lit, Jordan's name fading as the call log updated. Then she let it drop. It hit the floor with a soft thud, screen going dark.
She sat there, Boogie's arms still wrapped around her, his mouth still moving against her neck. Her eyes stayed on the window. The light had shifted slightly, the stripe on the wall growing thinner as the afternoon moved forward. Outside, a car passed. Someone shouted something indistinct.
Mireya took a deep breath. Her chest expanded under Boogie's arm. She held the air in her lungs for a count, then let it out slow. When she turned her head, she was already smiling. The expression settled easy on her face.
Boogie pulled back just enough to look at her, eyebrows raised, waiting.
She turned in his arms, shifting her body until she faced him. Her hands came up to his chest, fingers spreading against his skin. The smile stayed fixed as she let him ease her back down onto the bed, his weight following her, the mattress dipping under them both.
Caine pushed through the door into the probation office. The air inside sat cooler than outside but carried that stale weight of paper and old coffee. Fluorescent lights hummed overhead. A box fan turned slow circles on top of a filing cabinet, pushing air that didn't go anywhere.
Bethel stood behind his desk in a pale yellow polo tucked neat into khaki golf pants. White shoes gleamed at his feet. His sunglasses sat on the desk next to a stack of folders. He glanced up when Caine walked in.
"Damn it, son," Bethel said. His voice came easy. "You got me getting close to my tee time being late."
Caine held his hands up, palms out. "I tried to tell them that I had some shit to attend to but you know how coaches get in spring.”
Bethel shook his head. He reached for a folder on the desk, fingers tapping the edge before he opened it and slid it across the surface toward Caine.
"Yeah, I remember back my day, we would do two a days all through spring," he said. He leaned his weight on the desk, eyes on the folder. "None of that stuff now where they have limits on how much you boys can practice. And they wonder why the world getting so soft."
Caine laughed. He stepped closer to the desk and leaned down, one hand braced on the wood. His eyes found the signature lines on the paperwork. "You sound like the old timer I work with at the church," he said. He picked up the pen sitting there and signed his name on the first line, the ink flowing smooth.
Bethel straightened, crossing his arms. "Charlie Booth, ain't it?" he asked. A small grin pulled at his mouth. "I missed playing against him by about eight years but you know y'all are fast regardless of who it is."
Caine snorted a laugh through his nose. He didn't look up from the paperwork, just kept signing on the next line.
Bethel watched him for a beat. "You said you got new tattoos?"
Caine nodded. He set the pen down and straightened up. His hands went to the sleeves of his hoodie, pulling his right arm free. The fabric bunched at his shoulder as he extended his arm across the desk.
Bethel shook his head, eyes tracking the fresh ink that wrapped around the full length of Caine’s arm.
"Now, why you ain't wait to do that until after you left?" he asked. He picked up his phone from the desk, thumb swiping the screen awake. "I gotta add this to your file now."
Caine shrugged, his shoulder lifting and falling. "Boredom.”
Bethel walked around the desk, phone still in hand. "Boredom is how y'all get in that trouble, too.”
He lifted the phone and aimed the camera at Caine's arm. The shutter sound clicked once, twice, three times. He reached out and grabbed Caine's wrist, turning it over so the underside of his forearm showed. More clicks. The camera caught the lines and shading from different angles.
Bethel gestured vaguely at the sleeve with his free hand, still holding the phone up. "Any of that gang related?" His tone stayed casual.
Caine shook his head. "Not that I'm aware of.”
Bethel lowered the phone and walked back around the desk. He dropped into his chair, the springs groaning under his weight. His fingers moved across the phone screen, tapping and swiping.
"Alright," he said. "I'm gonna put this in your file with the others." He looked up at Caine, eyebrows raised. "Try not to get no more doggone tattoos before you leave huh? I'm not trying to do all of this paperwork."
Caine pulled his arm back through the hoodie sleeve, adjusting the fabric. "I'll see what I can do.”
Bethel set the phone down and stood. He grabbed his sunglasses from the desk and hooked them on the collar of his polo.
"Alright, you're good to go," he said. He was already moving toward the door, keys jingling in his pocket. "I gotta get to the country club."
He pushed past Caine and out the door before Caine had even turned around. The door swung shut behind him, the frame rattling slightly.
Caine pulled his hoodie straight, tugging at the hem. He worked his left arm back through the sleeve and adjusted the hood at his neck.
Afternoon sun hit him full in the face. He squinted against the brightness. He turned right, heading toward where he'd parked his car down the block.
Two older women walked toward him on the sidewalk, purses tucked under their arms, steps slow and measured. Caine's eyes were still adjusting to the light. He didn't see them until he was almost on top of them.
His shoulder bumped the taller one, just enough to make contact. He stopped, stepping back.
"My bad," Caine said. He lifted one hand in apology. "Ain't see you."
He shifted to move around them, angling his body toward the street.
The taller woman looked up at him. Her eyes narrowed, then widened slightly in recognition. She turned her head to glance at the probation office behind him, then back to his face.
"You're that boy who works at Pastor Hadden's church, ain't you?" she asked.
Caine nodded. "Yeah, that's me.”
Mrs. Wilcox's eyes narrowed further. She looked past his shoulder again at Bethel's office, the sign still visible above the door. "So, what business do you have with Mr. Bethel?"
Caine's eyebrow lifted. His head tilted slightly. "You think that anyone of your business?"
Mrs. Wilcox's chin came up. Her mouth pressed into a thin line. "It is when you're around my daughter at the church.”
Caine's mouth curved at one corner. "On campus, too," he said. He paused, letting that sit. "Hannah, right?"
Mrs. Wilcox's face tightened. "You stay away from my child," she said. Her voice rose slightly, carrying across the empty sidewalk. "We have enough crime in our little town with what happens on that campus. I don't need it in my house."
Caine held his hands up again, palms out, the gesture easy. "She ain't my type.”
The other older lady, shorter and rounder, shifted her weight. She looked at Caine, then at Mrs. Wilcox.
"He thinks he's funny," she said. Her tone was flat, disapproving.
Caine snorted a laugh. He stepped fully around them now, moving past Mrs. Wilcox's shoulder and onto the clear stretch of sidewalk beyond. "Y'all have a blessed day.".
His voice carried back over his shoulder as he kept walking, not looking back to see their reactions.
Laney sat on the sofa with her legs tucked under her, one arm draped along the armrest. The TV played low, some late night show with canned. The boys had all gone to bed an hour ago, the sounds of running water and whispered arguments fading to nothing as they settled into sleep.
She didn't know where Tommy was. She didn't care.
Her phone buzzed on the cushion beside her thigh. She picked it up, screen lighting her face in the dim room. A text from Caine sat at the top. She read it, the corner of her mouth pulling up.
Bethel told me I should go get more tattoos. You should come with me next time so you can get a full sleeve.
She laughed once, soft through her nose. Her thumbs moved across the keyboard, the quiet tap-tap the only sound besides the TV.
It ain't easy to hide no sleeve.
The response came back fast.
Then don't hide it.
Laney rolled her eyes. Her finger found the emoji keyboard and she sent back the rolling eyes face, then set the phone down on her lap. The TV kept playing. Someone on screen said something meant to be funny and the audience laughed on cue.
Footsteps came from the hallway. Soft, hesitant, the kind that belonged to small feet trying not to make noise. Laney's head turned toward the sound.
Hunter peeked around the corner, one hand on the doorframe, pajamas rumpled at the collar. His hair stuck up on one side where he'd been lying on it.
"What's wrong, baby?" Laney asked. Her voice came gentle, the edges soft.
Hunter stepped into the room, bare feet making no sound on the carpet. "I couldn't go to sleep”
Laney shifted, making room on the sofa beside her. "You wanna come sit here with me until you fall asleep then?"
Hunter nodded. He crossed the room and climbed up onto the cushion next to her, settling in close. Laney moved so he could lay his head against her side, her arm coming around to hold him there. Her hand found his hair, fingers running through it slow and absent, smoothing the cowlick that never wanted to lay flat.
They sat in silence for a while. The TV murmured. A car passed outside, headlights sweeping across the curtains. Hunter's breathing evened out, his small chest rising and falling against her ribs.
Then he shifted, tilting his head back to look up at her.
"Mama, can I ask you something?" he asked. His voice came small, careful.
Laney looked down at him, her hand still in his hair. "Of course, you can."
Hunter's eyes went to the TV, then back to her face, then back to the TV. He chewed on his bottom lip. Then he looked at her again, eyes wide and serious.
"Are you and daddy mad at each other?" he asked.
Laney's hand stilled. She felt the question settle in her chest, heavy and sharp. "Why you think that?" Her voice stayed soft, but something underneath it tightened.
Hunter's shoulder lifted and fell in a small shrug. "'Cause y'all always seem mad when y'all around each other," he said. He picked at a loose thread on his pajama pants. "Knox and Braxton said nothing's different."
Laney's mouth pulled into a sad smile. She resumed stroking his hair, fingers gentle against his scalp.
"Grown ups just get that way sometimes, baby," she said. "When you dealin' with everythin' adults have to. Your daddy has a stressful job, you know? Protectin' us all from all the bad guys 'round the world."
Hunter nodded, the movement small against her side. "Yeah, I know.”
Laney's thumb traced a line along his temple. "I want you to know that it don't mean that either of us don't love you.”
Hunter went stiff. His whole body tensed, pulling away from her just slightly. His face blanched, color draining from his cheeks.
Laney's hand stopped. She looked down at him, eyebrows pulling together. "What's wrong?".
Hunter's eyes had gone wide, shiny in the TV light. "My friend Willie said if you say that it means you getting a divorce." His voice cracked on the last word.
Laney shook her head. She brought her hand down from his hair to cup his cheek, palm warm against his skin.
"Sweet boy," she said. Her voice came soft, steady. "Me and your daddy ain't gettin' a divorce 'cause we not seein' eye to eye right now. Your Pawpaw Franklin and Mawmaw Marianne have been married for more than 40 years. They ain't always nice to each other but bein' with someone don't mean bein' perfect all the time."
Hunter was quiet for a beat. His eyes searched her face, looking for something he didn't have words for yet. "But Grandma Sunny isn't married to Grandpa anymore."
Laney resisted the urge to roll her eyes at the mention of her mother-in-law. She kept her hand on his cheek, thumb brushing once across his skin. "Well, that's somethin' totally different that you won't understand until you older." She tucked a piece of his hair behind his ear. "But you don't need to worry about me and your daddy."
Hunter nodded. His body relaxed again, settling back into her side. He laid his head against her ribs, one small hand coming up to rest on her arm. The TV played on. The house settled around them, old wood creaking as the temperature dropped outside.
A few moments passed. Laney's fingers moved through his hair again, the motion automatic, soothing for both of them.
Hunter looked up again. "Can I ask you something else?"
Laney glanced down, eyebrows raised. "Yeah, baby," she said. "What is it?"
Hunter's mouth pulled into the beginning of a smile. "Can I have some ice cream?"
Laney laughed. The sound came real and light, breaking the heaviness that had settled in the room. She nodded, her hand ruffling his hair.
"Yeah," she said. "But don't tell your brothers you got any."
Hunter's face split into a wide grin. He pushed off the sofa and jumped down, feet hitting the carpet. Then he took off toward the kitchen, his walk turning into a speed walk, arms pumping at his sides as he tried to move fast without actually running.
Trell lay on his back in Cass' bed, one arm bent behind his head, the other hand resting on his stomach. Morning light pushed through the blinds in pale stripes. The sheets twisted low across his hips. His breathing stayed even and slow while Cass moved around the room.
She pulled a sports bra over her head, adjusting the band under her breasts. Her feet made soft sounds on the carpet. The mattress still held the warmth where she'd been, the air carrying faint traces of sweat and her lotion.
Trell reached over to the nightstand. His fingers found the blunt and the lighter first try. He brought the blunt to his lips, thumbed the lighter, and sparked it. The flame ate the tip and caught. He took a pull, holding the smoke in his chest a beat before letting it roll out toward the ceiling.
Cass turned from the dresser, pulling a pair of jeans up her thighs. Her eyes cut to him. "Don't smoke that shit in here," she said. Her voice came sharp, the words clipped. "I don't want Lil' P smelling that when he get home."
Trell didn't answer. He took another pull, slower this time, eyes on the ceiling fan. The smoke drifted up lazy and spread thin. He blew it out through his nose.
"That lil' nigga daddy was a gangster," Trell said. He kept his tone easy. "And you still doing dirt. Being in this shit in that nigga blood." He paused, ashing on the side of the nightstand. "It's about time you put him on game anyway."
Cass sucked her teeth. She bent to grab a shirt from the chair, her movements quick and irritated. "Just because you were thugging at 16 doesn't mean every little Black boy need to be doing the same thing," she said.
Trell shifted against the headboard, the wood creaking under his weight. "They're gonna think he thugging anyway," he said. He brought the blunt back to his lips. "Might as well actually do it."
Cass straightened, pulling the shirt over her head. "When you got kids, then you can tell me how to raise mine."
Trell let the smoke sit in his lungs before he released it. "My sons for damn sure wouldn't be at no private school with white kids who hate them."
Cass didn't respond. She crossed to the mirror, fingers working through her hair. The silence between them stretched, heavy but familiar. Trell watched the smoke curl and twist. A car passed outside, bass thumping low enough to rattle the window frame once before it faded.
He took another pull, then rolled his head to look at her. "So," he said. He let the word hang, then continued. "Where you put the money and work you stole from me with Boogie?"
Cass's hands stilled in her hair. She turned her head just enough to catch his reflection in the mirror. "Nigga, who?" she asked. Her eyebrows lifted.
"Don't act stupid," Trell said. His voice stayed level. "You know what the fuck I'm talking about."
Cass turned around, one hip cocked against the dresser. She crossed her arms under her chest, the gesture pushing her breasts up.
"Do I look like a bitch that think so short term she'd hit a lick knowing that's the only one I'm gonna get?" she asked. Her head tilted, eyes narrowing. "I ain't get to where I am by thinking only one, two steps ahead."
Trell snorted a laugh through his nose. The sound came dry. He brought the blunt to his lips again. "You got to where you are by sucking and taking dick after Peanut found you at Visions," he said. The smoke curled out with the words.
Cass's jaw tightened. She uncrossed her arms, letting them fall to her sides. "I was only a bartender at Visions," she said. "You confusing me with that little Mexican bitch who be showing hole to every nigga from here to Chicago."
Trell just kept smoking, his eyes half-lidded, watching the smoke rise and break apart against the ceiling.
Cass pushed off the dresser, taking two steps closer to the bed.
"Nigga, I know where all your stash spots at," she said. Her voice came quieter now, but harder. "You ain't change nothing from what P was doing. If I wanted to, I could've been ran off on you." She paused, letting that sit. "And I for damn sure wouldn't be doing it with no nigga called Boogie. I fuck bosses, not cornerboys."
Trell's mouth curved at one corner. He turned his head on the pillow to look at her fully. "Is that right?" he asked.
"Yeah, nigga," Cass said. She moved to the foot of the bed, one hand on the mattress. "You know me better than that. It's like these bitches who be running to get divorced because they nigga cheating on them." She shook her head. "You might get a little alimony but you could just stay with his ass and have access to all his money. Same shit apply here."
Trell pulled himself up to sit, the sheets pooling around his waist. He swung his legs over the side of the bed, feet finding the carpet. His back flexed as he reached for his phones on the dresser. "You ain't got access to all my shit, though.”
Cass laughed. The sound came quick and sharp. "I could if I wanted it.”
Trell stood, the movement easy. He walked to the dresser, standing close enough that their arms almost touched. He picked up all three phones, checking the screens. "You think that lil' pussy got way more power than it do," he said.
Cass's head tilted back, chin lifting. "You keep coming back for it, nigga.”
Trell shook his head. He put the phones down and reached for his jeans draped over the chair.
~~~
The sun sat heavy on the parking lot, heat rising off the asphalt in slow waves. Saul's backpack strap dug into his shoulder as he walked, thumb hooked under the nylon to ease the weight. Javi and Trent fell in step beside him, their shoes scraping on the pavement. The school doors banged open behind them, voices spilling out in a rush before fading back into the building's hum.Cars lined the lot in crooked rows. A bass line thumped from somewhere near the back. Someone shouted a name that got swallowed by engine noise and distance.
Trent shifted his bag higher on his shoulder, the zipper catching light. "Bro, I'm trying to go ball," he said. He glanced at the sky, squinting against the brightness. "It's finally starting to get dark later so we can get a few runs in."
Javi sucked his teeth. He waved his hand in a lazy arc, fingers cutting the air. "Man, ain't nobody trying to ball right now."
Saul's eyes tracked the cars as they walked. A Camry pulled out slow, brake lights flashing red before it turned toward the exit. He adjusted the strap again, feeling the pull across his collarbone.
"I might take the car and go see Ava if y'all going to ball."
Trent's hand shot out, palm up, fingers spread toward Javi. "Even more reason to go hoop.”
Javi opened his mouth to respond, but the words didn't come. His attention shifted past Saul's shoulder, eyes narrowing slightly.
"Saul!"
Saul turned his head. Zoe stood next to a black Tahoe parked across two spaces near the edge of the lot. The truck sat low and wide, chrome gleaming, windows tinted dark. She lifted her hand and waved him over, the motion quick and impatient.
Saul glanced at Trent, then Javi. Both of them had stopped walking, watching. He lifted one shoulder in a small shrug, then started toward her.
His shoes found the uneven spots in the pavement, the small dips and cracks that made his steps uneven. Zoe didn't move from where she stood. The Tahoe's engine idled low, a deep rumble.
"What's up?" Saul asked as he reached her.
Zoe didn't answer right away. She motioned toward the driver's side window with a tilt of her head, her hair shifting with the movement. Saul's eyes followed.
A man sat behind the wheel, one arm draped casual over the door frame through the open window. Two Styrofoam cups sat stacked in his hand, condensation beading on the white foam. He wore a fitted cap pulled low, the brim shadowing his face. Gold chains caught the light at his neck. He turned his head slow, taking Saul in from shoes to face.
Zoe crossed her arms. "Kay, this Saul," she said. "The guy I was telling you about."
Kayjuan's mouth curved into a smile. Diamond-encrusted grills flashed, catching the sun in small bursts of light. His eyes stayed on Saul, measuring. "You trying to get put on, lil' nigga?" he asked. The words came easy, almost lazy.
Saul shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "Not exactly.”
Zoe walked around the front of the Tahoe, her footsteps light. She pulled open the passenger door and climbed in, eyes already on her phone screen before she'd even settled into the seat
Kayjuan's eyebrows lifted. He brought the cups to his mouth and took a sip, then lowered it back to the door frame.
"Fuck does not exactly mean?" he asked. His tone stayed level, but something underneath it sharpened. "Either you is or you ain't."
Saul's fingers tightened on his backpack strap. He let go and dropped his hand to his side. "I'm just trying to be the middle man," he said. He paused, swallowed. "Between you and Ethan."
Kayjuan laughed. The sound came quick and sharp, more breath than humor. He shook his head once, the movement small. "Where you from?"
"The ninth ward," Saul said.
Kayjuan's eyes narrowed. He leaned forward slightly, forearm pressing against the door. The cups shifted in his hand but didn't spill.
"You cliqued up with any of them niggas out there?" he asked. His voice dropped lower, words coming slower. "Trying to get the drop on me?"
Saul's head moved side to side, the motion quick. "Nah.”
Kayjuan watched him for a beat longer. The engine rumbled. Somewhere across the lot a car door slammed. Voices rose and fell, indistinct. Kayjuan sat back, shoulders easing against the seat.
"Alright," he said. He brought the cup up again, took another sip. "I'll let you know." His eyes flicked over Saul once more, head to toe. "You look kinda green but that ain't no big deal for a little weed."
Saul nodded. "Yeah, alright.”
Kayjuan lifted his free hand and waved it in a lazy shooing motion, fingers flicking outward.
Saul took a step back. Then another. His heel caught on a crack in the pavement and he steadied himself without looking down. Kayjuan's hand dropped to the gear shift. The Tahoe's brake lights flashed once.
The engine's idle shifted, deepening. Kayjuan pulled his arm back inside, the cups disappearing with him. The window started to rise, glass sliding up smooth and quiet. Through the tint Saul could see Zoe's silhouette, still looking at her phone.
The Tahoe lurched forward. Tires barked against the asphalt as Kayjuan punched the gas. The truck shot across the lot, weaving between the rows of parked cars. It hit the exit without slowing, rocking slightly as it dropped off the curb onto the street. The bass from the stereo cut through the air for a second, then faded as the Tahoe disappeared around the corner.
Saul stood there, hand still loose at his side. The heat pressed down on his shoulders. Sweat had started to gather at the small of his back, dampening his shirt. He turned and walked back toward where Trent and Javi waited.
Neither of them said anything when he got close. Trent's eyes tracked from the empty spot where the Tahoe had been parked back to Saul's face. Javi shifted his backpack, the straps creaking.
Saul kept walking, moving past them toward his own car. His keys were already in his hand, though he didn't remember pulling them from his pocket. The metal was warm against his palm.
"Y'all still going to ball?" he asked over his shoulder.
~~~
Boogie rolled off Mireya and the mattress shifted under the change in weight. The air in the studio apartment sat heavy and still, afternoon light pushing through the blinds in thin stripes that cut across the tangled sheets. His breathing came slow and deep as he sat up, back finding the wall. Sweat cooled along Mireya's ribs and the hollow of her throat.
He leaned over the edge of the bed, arm stretching down to where his jeans sat in a crumpled pile on the floor. His fingers worked through the pockets, fabric rustling. He came back up with a small baggie of weed pinched between two fingers, a pack of rolling papers, and a lighter. He set them on the mattress beside his thigh.
Mireya reached for her phone on the nightstand. The screen lit up in her hand. Two texts from Jordan sat at the top of the notifications, preview lines cutting off mid-sentence. She swiped just enough to read the first one, thumb hovering over the keyboard. Her eyes flicked to Boogie's profile, the way his jaw worked as he concentrated.
She locked the screen and set the phone face down on her stomach.
Boogie bent forward and grabbed a glossy piece of junk mail from the floor, some bright flyer about car insurance. He folded it once, creased it with his thumbnail, then tore off a strip to use as a tray. The baggie crinkled when he opened it. The smell of weed drifted sharp and green into the room.
He picked through the bud with careful fingers, breaking it down over the folded paper. His movements stayed easy, practiced.
"You lucky I let you make me wear these jimmy hats," Boogie said. He didn't look up from the work. His mouth curved into a grin. "I'd been done knocked you up by now. A nigga swimmers strong and I make pretty babies."
Mireya laughed. The sound came light and bright, slipping out easy. She turned her head on the pillow to look at him, eyes soft, mouth pulling into a smile that showed teeth. "Sorry, papi," she said. "I like the way my body looks too much to get pregnant."
Boogie glanced down at her. His eyes traveled slow from her face to the curve of her waist and back up again. He licked the edge of the rolling paper, tongue dragging along the adhesive strip before he pressed it down to seal the blunt. "You ain't wrong," he said. The paper stuck and he smoothed it with his thumb. "You know you a bad bitch."
Mireya's phone buzzed against her skin. She felt the vibration first, then heard the low hum. Without lifting it, she reached down and tapped the side button to silence it. The buzzing stopped.
"The baddest bitch, baby," she said. Her smile didn't falter.
Boogie nodded, eyes still on the blunt as he twisted the end. He brought the lighter up, thumbed the wheel, and sparked the flame. The tip caught and glowed orange. He took a slow pull, cheeks hollowing, smoke curling into his lungs. He held it there a beat before exhaling up toward the ceiling. The smoke drifted and broke apart in the stale air.
He turned and held the blunt out to her, arm extended, the ember bright between his fingers.
Mireya lifted one hand and waved it off, fingers flicking in a lazy arc. "I'm good," she said.
Boogie shrugged and brought it back to his mouth. "You got time for me to smoke this so I can go for round two?" Smoke leaked out with the words.
Mireya's eyebrow lifted. She shifted onto her side, propping her head up on one hand. "You got round two money?"
Boogie laughed, the sound deep and easy. He tapped ash onto the junk mail. "C'mon, girl," he said. "You know I got it."
Mireya's phone started ringing. The sound cut sharp through the quiet, vibrating against the sheets. She reached down and silenced it again without looking at the screen. The ringing stopped mid-note.
Boogie took another pull from the blunt, eyes half-lidded, body relaxed against the wall. "You ever been to NYC?"
Mireya shook her head. Her hair shifted against the pillow, catching on the fabric.
"Yeah, me either," Boogie said. He looked at the blunt, turning it between his fingers, inspecting the burn. "Think I'm gonna take a little trip out there soon. Do that tourist shit, you know?"
Mireya's mouth curved. "You been stacking your paper?"
Boogie nodded. He brought the blunt to his lips again and pulled slow. When he spoke, smoke drifted out with the words.
"Something like that," he said. He paused, eyes on the ceiling. "I be having a lot of time on my hands and niggas ain't got no problem parlaying when you got something worth talking about."
Mireya's smile widened. She reached out and ran her fingers along his forearm, nails dragging light over his skin. "You should give those guys my number, then," she said. Her voice dropped lower, warm and teasing. "Because I like extra money, too, papi."
Boogie's head turned. He looked at her, the corner of his mouth lifting.
"Shit," he said. "I think I'm gonna keep you to myself, love."
The phone rang again. This time Mireya grabbed it and turned it over. Jordan's name sat at the top of the screen, bright and insistent. Her thumb hovered over the decline button for half a second. Then she sat up, swinging her legs out of the bed. Her back faced Boogie now, shoulders bare, spine visible in the dim light.
She swiped to answer and brought the phone to her ear.
"Hey, baby," she said. Her voice shifted, softening in a different way, losing the edge it had carried a second ago. "Sorry I didn't answer, I'm with my aunt."
Jordan's voice came through tinny and small. "Your aunt?"
"You know," Mireya said. She kept her tone easy, casual. "My aunt Carmen."
Behind her, the mattress creaked. Boogie shifted, the movement small but present. She felt the heat of him before his arms came around her. One slid across her chest, the other settled low on her stomach. His mouth found the curve of her neck, lips pressing there, warm and slow.
Mireya tilted her head, moving the phone to her other ear, away from where Boogie's breath hit her skin.
"You said you'd swing by after class and then you disappeared so I was worried about you," Jordan said.
Mireya closed her eyes for a beat. When she opened them again, she stared at the wall across the apartment, at the window with its half-drawn blinds and the streak of light that made the dust in the air visible.
"Sorry," she said. "She called when I was on my way."
Boogie's hand moved against her stomach, fingers splaying wide. His mouth stayed at her neck, kissing the spot just below her ear. His voice dropped to a whisper, breath hot against her skin. "I want that round two, girl."
Mireya's jaw tightened. She shifted the phone tighter against her ear.
"Everything good?" Jordan asked.
"Yeah, yeah," Mireya said. She forced her voice to stay level, light, unbothered. "She just needed help with some paperwork she has to turn in tomorrow. Some immigration stuff."
Jordan let out a small sound. "Oh, shit," he said. "Well, I was just worried. Come by later?"
Mireya nodded even though he couldn't see it. "Yeah," she said. "I'll come by tonight before work."
"Alright," Jordan said. "Just let me know."
"Will do, baby," Mireya said.
She pulled the phone from her ear and tapped the red button. The call ended. For a moment she held the phone in her hand, screen still lit, Jordan's name fading as the call log updated. Then she let it drop. It hit the floor with a soft thud, screen going dark.
She sat there, Boogie's arms still wrapped around her, his mouth still moving against her neck. Her eyes stayed on the window. The light had shifted slightly, the stripe on the wall growing thinner as the afternoon moved forward. Outside, a car passed. Someone shouted something indistinct.
Mireya took a deep breath. Her chest expanded under Boogie's arm. She held the air in her lungs for a count, then let it out slow. When she turned her head, she was already smiling. The expression settled easy on her face.
Boogie pulled back just enough to look at her, eyebrows raised, waiting.
She turned in his arms, shifting her body until she faced him. Her hands came up to his chest, fingers spreading against his skin. The smile stayed fixed as she let him ease her back down onto the bed, his weight following her, the mattress dipping under them both.
~~~
Caine pushed through the door into the probation office. The air inside sat cooler than outside but carried that stale weight of paper and old coffee. Fluorescent lights hummed overhead. A box fan turned slow circles on top of a filing cabinet, pushing air that didn't go anywhere.
Bethel stood behind his desk in a pale yellow polo tucked neat into khaki golf pants. White shoes gleamed at his feet. His sunglasses sat on the desk next to a stack of folders. He glanced up when Caine walked in.
"Damn it, son," Bethel said. His voice came easy. "You got me getting close to my tee time being late."
Caine held his hands up, palms out. "I tried to tell them that I had some shit to attend to but you know how coaches get in spring.”
Bethel shook his head. He reached for a folder on the desk, fingers tapping the edge before he opened it and slid it across the surface toward Caine.
"Yeah, I remember back my day, we would do two a days all through spring," he said. He leaned his weight on the desk, eyes on the folder. "None of that stuff now where they have limits on how much you boys can practice. And they wonder why the world getting so soft."
Caine laughed. He stepped closer to the desk and leaned down, one hand braced on the wood. His eyes found the signature lines on the paperwork. "You sound like the old timer I work with at the church," he said. He picked up the pen sitting there and signed his name on the first line, the ink flowing smooth.
Bethel straightened, crossing his arms. "Charlie Booth, ain't it?" he asked. A small grin pulled at his mouth. "I missed playing against him by about eight years but you know y'all are fast regardless of who it is."
Caine snorted a laugh through his nose. He didn't look up from the paperwork, just kept signing on the next line.
Bethel watched him for a beat. "You said you got new tattoos?"
Caine nodded. He set the pen down and straightened up. His hands went to the sleeves of his hoodie, pulling his right arm free. The fabric bunched at his shoulder as he extended his arm across the desk.
Bethel shook his head, eyes tracking the fresh ink that wrapped around the full length of Caine’s arm.
"Now, why you ain't wait to do that until after you left?" he asked. He picked up his phone from the desk, thumb swiping the screen awake. "I gotta add this to your file now."
Caine shrugged, his shoulder lifting and falling. "Boredom.”
Bethel walked around the desk, phone still in hand. "Boredom is how y'all get in that trouble, too.”
He lifted the phone and aimed the camera at Caine's arm. The shutter sound clicked once, twice, three times. He reached out and grabbed Caine's wrist, turning it over so the underside of his forearm showed. More clicks. The camera caught the lines and shading from different angles.
Bethel gestured vaguely at the sleeve with his free hand, still holding the phone up. "Any of that gang related?" His tone stayed casual.
Caine shook his head. "Not that I'm aware of.”
Bethel lowered the phone and walked back around the desk. He dropped into his chair, the springs groaning under his weight. His fingers moved across the phone screen, tapping and swiping.
"Alright," he said. "I'm gonna put this in your file with the others." He looked up at Caine, eyebrows raised. "Try not to get no more doggone tattoos before you leave huh? I'm not trying to do all of this paperwork."
Caine pulled his arm back through the hoodie sleeve, adjusting the fabric. "I'll see what I can do.”
Bethel set the phone down and stood. He grabbed his sunglasses from the desk and hooked them on the collar of his polo.
"Alright, you're good to go," he said. He was already moving toward the door, keys jingling in his pocket. "I gotta get to the country club."
He pushed past Caine and out the door before Caine had even turned around. The door swung shut behind him, the frame rattling slightly.
Caine pulled his hoodie straight, tugging at the hem. He worked his left arm back through the sleeve and adjusted the hood at his neck.
Afternoon sun hit him full in the face. He squinted against the brightness. He turned right, heading toward where he'd parked his car down the block.
Two older women walked toward him on the sidewalk, purses tucked under their arms, steps slow and measured. Caine's eyes were still adjusting to the light. He didn't see them until he was almost on top of them.
His shoulder bumped the taller one, just enough to make contact. He stopped, stepping back.
"My bad," Caine said. He lifted one hand in apology. "Ain't see you."
He shifted to move around them, angling his body toward the street.
The taller woman looked up at him. Her eyes narrowed, then widened slightly in recognition. She turned her head to glance at the probation office behind him, then back to his face.
"You're that boy who works at Pastor Hadden's church, ain't you?" she asked.
Caine nodded. "Yeah, that's me.”
Mrs. Wilcox's eyes narrowed further. She looked past his shoulder again at Bethel's office, the sign still visible above the door. "So, what business do you have with Mr. Bethel?"
Caine's eyebrow lifted. His head tilted slightly. "You think that anyone of your business?"
Mrs. Wilcox's chin came up. Her mouth pressed into a thin line. "It is when you're around my daughter at the church.”
Caine's mouth curved at one corner. "On campus, too," he said. He paused, letting that sit. "Hannah, right?"
Mrs. Wilcox's face tightened. "You stay away from my child," she said. Her voice rose slightly, carrying across the empty sidewalk. "We have enough crime in our little town with what happens on that campus. I don't need it in my house."
Caine held his hands up again, palms out, the gesture easy. "She ain't my type.”
The other older lady, shorter and rounder, shifted her weight. She looked at Caine, then at Mrs. Wilcox.
"He thinks he's funny," she said. Her tone was flat, disapproving.
Caine snorted a laugh. He stepped fully around them now, moving past Mrs. Wilcox's shoulder and onto the clear stretch of sidewalk beyond. "Y'all have a blessed day.".
His voice carried back over his shoulder as he kept walking, not looking back to see their reactions.
~~~
Laney sat on the sofa with her legs tucked under her, one arm draped along the armrest. The TV played low, some late night show with canned. The boys had all gone to bed an hour ago, the sounds of running water and whispered arguments fading to nothing as they settled into sleep.
She didn't know where Tommy was. She didn't care.
Her phone buzzed on the cushion beside her thigh. She picked it up, screen lighting her face in the dim room. A text from Caine sat at the top. She read it, the corner of her mouth pulling up.
Bethel told me I should go get more tattoos. You should come with me next time so you can get a full sleeve.
She laughed once, soft through her nose. Her thumbs moved across the keyboard, the quiet tap-tap the only sound besides the TV.
It ain't easy to hide no sleeve.
The response came back fast.
Then don't hide it.
Laney rolled her eyes. Her finger found the emoji keyboard and she sent back the rolling eyes face, then set the phone down on her lap. The TV kept playing. Someone on screen said something meant to be funny and the audience laughed on cue.
Footsteps came from the hallway. Soft, hesitant, the kind that belonged to small feet trying not to make noise. Laney's head turned toward the sound.
Hunter peeked around the corner, one hand on the doorframe, pajamas rumpled at the collar. His hair stuck up on one side where he'd been lying on it.
"What's wrong, baby?" Laney asked. Her voice came gentle, the edges soft.
Hunter stepped into the room, bare feet making no sound on the carpet. "I couldn't go to sleep”
Laney shifted, making room on the sofa beside her. "You wanna come sit here with me until you fall asleep then?"
Hunter nodded. He crossed the room and climbed up onto the cushion next to her, settling in close. Laney moved so he could lay his head against her side, her arm coming around to hold him there. Her hand found his hair, fingers running through it slow and absent, smoothing the cowlick that never wanted to lay flat.
They sat in silence for a while. The TV murmured. A car passed outside, headlights sweeping across the curtains. Hunter's breathing evened out, his small chest rising and falling against her ribs.
Then he shifted, tilting his head back to look up at her.
"Mama, can I ask you something?" he asked. His voice came small, careful.
Laney looked down at him, her hand still in his hair. "Of course, you can."
Hunter's eyes went to the TV, then back to her face, then back to the TV. He chewed on his bottom lip. Then he looked at her again, eyes wide and serious.
"Are you and daddy mad at each other?" he asked.
Laney's hand stilled. She felt the question settle in her chest, heavy and sharp. "Why you think that?" Her voice stayed soft, but something underneath it tightened.
Hunter's shoulder lifted and fell in a small shrug. "'Cause y'all always seem mad when y'all around each other," he said. He picked at a loose thread on his pajama pants. "Knox and Braxton said nothing's different."
Laney's mouth pulled into a sad smile. She resumed stroking his hair, fingers gentle against his scalp.
"Grown ups just get that way sometimes, baby," she said. "When you dealin' with everythin' adults have to. Your daddy has a stressful job, you know? Protectin' us all from all the bad guys 'round the world."
Hunter nodded, the movement small against her side. "Yeah, I know.”
Laney's thumb traced a line along his temple. "I want you to know that it don't mean that either of us don't love you.”
Hunter went stiff. His whole body tensed, pulling away from her just slightly. His face blanched, color draining from his cheeks.
Laney's hand stopped. She looked down at him, eyebrows pulling together. "What's wrong?".
Hunter's eyes had gone wide, shiny in the TV light. "My friend Willie said if you say that it means you getting a divorce." His voice cracked on the last word.
Laney shook her head. She brought her hand down from his hair to cup his cheek, palm warm against his skin.
"Sweet boy," she said. Her voice came soft, steady. "Me and your daddy ain't gettin' a divorce 'cause we not seein' eye to eye right now. Your Pawpaw Franklin and Mawmaw Marianne have been married for more than 40 years. They ain't always nice to each other but bein' with someone don't mean bein' perfect all the time."
Hunter was quiet for a beat. His eyes searched her face, looking for something he didn't have words for yet. "But Grandma Sunny isn't married to Grandpa anymore."
Laney resisted the urge to roll her eyes at the mention of her mother-in-law. She kept her hand on his cheek, thumb brushing once across his skin. "Well, that's somethin' totally different that you won't understand until you older." She tucked a piece of his hair behind his ear. "But you don't need to worry about me and your daddy."
Hunter nodded. His body relaxed again, settling back into her side. He laid his head against her ribs, one small hand coming up to rest on her arm. The TV played on. The house settled around them, old wood creaking as the temperature dropped outside.
A few moments passed. Laney's fingers moved through his hair again, the motion automatic, soothing for both of them.
Hunter looked up again. "Can I ask you something else?"
Laney glanced down, eyebrows raised. "Yeah, baby," she said. "What is it?"
Hunter's mouth pulled into the beginning of a smile. "Can I have some ice cream?"
Laney laughed. The sound came real and light, breaking the heaviness that had settled in the room. She nodded, her hand ruffling his hair.
"Yeah," she said. "But don't tell your brothers you got any."
Hunter's face split into a wide grin. He pushed off the sofa and jumped down, feet hitting the carpet. Then he took off toward the kitchen, his walk turning into a speed walk, arms pumping at his sides as he tried to move fast without actually running.
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Soapy
- Posts: 13694
- Joined: 27 Nov 2018, 18:42
American Sun
I get why she's with Trell (she's a whore)
I get why she's with Jordan (actual relationship)
I get why she's sometimes with Caine (co-parent)
I don't get the Boogie angle tbh
I get why she's with Jordan (actual relationship)
I get why she's sometimes with Caine (co-parent)
I don't get the Boogie angle tbh
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djp73
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djp73
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Soapy
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wasn't she already messing with him before that which is why he asked?
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Captain Canada
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redsox907
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so Boogie was one of her first regulars when she decided to slurp, iirc he was the actual first one (Leo aside)
Trell brings it up that he needs her to get info from him and I don't remember where, but he's told her to keep getting it. So that's the Boogie angle, she just fucking for info.
At some point, Jordan gotta notice shit. Like, no pussy is THAT good
Still think Cass was involved. Her logic is sound, but also. She didn't hit every spot, just one. Maybe she wasn't DIRECTLY involved with Boogie. Just gave the info to someone else to link up with Boogie (like the other girl palling around with her).
Got a feeling Mrs. Wilcox is the one that's going to blow the whistle finally. She been popping up too much
Trell brings it up that he needs her to get info from him and I don't remember where, but he's told her to keep getting it. So that's the Boogie angle, she just fucking for info.
At some point, Jordan gotta notice shit. Like, no pussy is THAT good
Still think Cass was involved. Her logic is sound, but also. She didn't hit every spot, just one. Maybe she wasn't DIRECTLY involved with Boogie. Just gave the info to someone else to link up with Boogie (like the other girl palling around with her).
Got a feeling Mrs. Wilcox is the one that's going to blow the whistle finally. She been popping up too much
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Caesar
Topic author - Chise GOAT
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Captain Canada wrote: ↑26 Jan 2026, 10:46It's purely a transactional thing as far as I understand. Just does it for the money and she's lowkey a mole for Trell
She's not "with" Boogie. He's just her most regular client, and as Sox said, her first when she started hooking. Add in that he happened to work for Trell and now Trell wants info from him, that's the angle, because he freely gives it to her after getting his nut. So she only fucks him because it's a guaranteed source of income and Trell needs her to keep doing it.redsox907 wrote: ↑26 Jan 2026, 12:37so Boogie was one of her first regulars when she decided to slurp, iirc he was the actual first one (Leo aside)
Trell brings it up that he needs her to get info from him and I don't remember where, but he's told her to keep getting it. So that's the Boogie angle, she just fucking for info.
You gonna be the one to claim a Mexican chick's aunt ain't undocumented?! Her excuses are always rock solid.redsox907 wrote: ↑26 Jan 2026, 12:37At some point, Jordan gotta notice shit. Like, no pussy is THAT good
Still think Cass was involved. Her logic is sound, but also. She didn't hit every spot, just one. Maybe she wasn't DIRECTLY involved with Boogie. Just gave the info to someone else to link up with Boogie (like the other girl palling around with her).
Got a feeling Mrs. Wilcox is the one that's going to blow the whistle finally. She been popping up too much
Maybe or maybe
