Page 17

I lean back inthe leather armchair, fingers picking at the hem of my dress. I don’t wanna talk about any of this, but King seems to think it might help. It always makes me uneasy when the past bumps up against my present.

“Have you ever heard of Big Ray?” I ask.

He nods like the question was ridiculous. “I’m a hip hop fan, baby girl. Of course I know of Big Ray Lovelace. Your father.”

I nod.

“You’re hip hop royalty,” he adds.

I lift a shoulder. “A lotta good it did me.” I take a deep breath. “Have you heard of Dime?”

“Brett’s daddy? Only recently when I did a deep dive on him.”

“Well, he and my dad started Black Lace Records back in ‘96. Right after Outkast accepted their Source award and Andre said—“

“The South got something to say,” King finishes, grinning like he’s proud to know that quote. “That was a cultural reset, right there.”

I smile despite the circumstances. “Yes. That speech propelled them into action. Southern artists were sick of being overlooked. It was perfect timing.”

My eyes flicker over to the framed photo in front of me. Brett and Dime. My husband and my father-in-law.

“They were visionaries,” I continued. “Even though they didn’t always see eye to eye.”

A beat of silence passes. My eyes blur a little as I stare at the light pouring through the blinds, lost in the hum of a memory.

Bass rattling. Men talking and laughing. The lingering aroma of weed smoke, incense, and fast food that seemed to cling to the walls at Black Lace Studios. I see the flashing red light over the booth, hear the poetry lacing a track. My sister Ebony and I used to run around playing tag up and down the narrow hallways while Daddy handled business behind closed doors. Sometimes we’d fall asleep on the old couches while legendary voices made platinum records right beside us.

“Sable,” King says softly, snapping me out of my fog. “When did you meet Brett?”

I roll my eyes. “He was always around,” I say. “Parties. Album releases. Cookouts at our family’s house in Decatur or his family’s house in Buckhead. Our people were thick as thieves back then.”

I pause, swallowing the lump in my throat.

“Brett was eleven years older than me. I think I was just an annoying little kid to him. He never looked twice at me. Not until after my dad died. I had just turned seventeen.”

King leans back slowly, his face twisted into a frown. “I’m sorry. How did your dad…”

“They said it was a car accident,” I mumble. “But…”

“But what?”

I shake my head quickly. “It’s nothing. Just…I don’t know. I always felt like something wasn’t right. Maybe the timing.The circumstances. Dime handled everything for us because my mother was too traumatized. I don’t know. Something just never sat right with me.”

He watches me carefully, but he doesn’t press. “So Brett started noticing you?”

I nod. “It started out with him comforting me. Taking care of me. Helping with paperwork, finances, the estate. But looking back? I know it was grooming. I was just too young to see it for what it was.

King’s jaw flexes.

“We started messing around,” I admit. “But it was always so hard to reconcile the protective, big brother role and…whatever he saw me as. His lover? His conquest? I don’t know. He had my mind all twisted.”

King is silent. Disgust flickers in the expression on his face, but he schools it quickly.

“We got married in Italy,” I say. “At a villa in Vernazza. It was beautiful,” I say, almost to myself. “It felt like love.”

“What changed?” he asks, his voice low.

“My cousin Dash got killed,” I say, the words tumbling out before I can stop them. “Gang-related.”