Then came the call. It was French again, he had too much on his mind to let it all just sit there.
As soon as Aku answered the phone, French was back on his bullshit. “I really don’t like that nigga.”
She sighed. “You just told me that.”
French had a theory—a logic that supported why he didn’t like Malik when he’d just learned his name. “I know a wounded man when I see one. That nigga been carrying somethin’ for a long time. I don’t like it. I don’t trust it. He looked like he madepeace with being hurt and now he tryna hand that pain to my baby like a souvenir.”
“I’m grown, Daddy.”
“And I’m still your Daddy. I got every right to be watchin’ from a distance with my hand on the button. Don’t make me fly out there.”
“Don’t make me block you ‘cause this is gettin’ out of hand, French.” Aku loved him, but he needed to read her mood and understand her heart couldn’t handle the weight of his negative words. She knew the only way to calm her Daddy down was to get her Mama involved. Pulling the phone from her face, she sent Solar a text.
“You gon’ block your own Daddy over some hood nigga that’s a little smart with soft eyes?”
Aku blinked, holding her laughter in. “Soft what?”
“His eyes. They soft. That’s what makes him dangerous. I seen it before. That kind of man makes you think you the only one who ever touched the tender part of him. Then he fuck around and disappear ‘cause he scared of what you waking up inside him.”
“French!” Solar’s voice exploded through the phone.
“Aku, you called yo’ Mama on me?” French was shocked.
Snickering, but hurt on the inside Aku said, “Yup! Get him Mama cause he’s doing too much.”
Solar was still fussing which made French finally hang up the phone. Aku knew it wouldn’t be long before he was calling her back, still trying to rationalize why Malik wasn’t the one for her, even though she felt him in her chest.
She just stared at the phone like French had reached in and pulled something out her chest.
Noodle tilted her head. “He ain’t all wrong.”
“I hate y’all,” Aku muttered.
“I love us,” Niah countered, raising her smoothie like a glass of champagne.
They all tapped invisible drinks.
And Aku—heart cracked open, hands still busy, mind still buzzing—felt that familiar tug inside her again.
The kind of pull you only get when your soul’s still standing at somebody’s door, even after your feet walked away.
“Hey…” Noodle cuddled with Aku on the couch. Noodle could tell this was really hurting Aku because her fun and bright spirit wasn’t there. “This don’t feel like Devin.”
With tears in her eyes, Aku hugged Noodle tight. “It’s not, Noodle. I love him,” she cried.
Malik sat back on the couch with a rib brace digging into his side and a blanket draped across his lap. His face was healing, bruises had faded, cuts still red but scabbing up nice. The pain was still there, but it had settled into a quiet hum - the kind that curled around his ribs at night like a bitter secret.
His Mama had cleaned the house top to bottom and left gospel playing in the kitchen like it could baptize the walls and her son.
There was a double knock on the screen before it was pulled open.
Quesha came in first, holding the door open like she had somewhere else to be. “He wanted to see you,” she said, barely looking at Malik. “He been askin’.”
Slowly, Pharoah rolled in behind her - chin high, posture proud like his chair was a throne and not a reminder. His wheelchair glided smoothly across the tile ‘cause it knew the terrain. He looked good—skin rich, face clean, eyes steady witha slight smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth like life hadn’t defeated him, just taught him a different way to win.
Malik almost smiled, seeing him. “Y’all good?” he asked, sitting up with a grunt.
Pharoah nodded, already reaching for the vape hanging from his neck.
