Page 16 of Before I Say I Don’t

Chapter Seven

ROMAN HILL

V acation looked good on me, but rest had never fit right.

The next morning, I was up before my alarm.

The penthouse I’d rented was all clean lines—white walls, floor-to-ceiling glass, furniture I had no intention of keeping, and a skyline that reminded me why I left and why I came back.

The city was already moving: delivery trucks grumbling, a bus exhaling at the corner, sneakers whispering over concrete.

I could’ve crashed at my folks’ place, but I needed my own space, even if I was just visiting.

I laid there a beat longer than usual, remembering the night before last— Kamira’s head on my chest, her phone flipped face down and the way silence felt useful for once.

I got up and hit the gym. That’s where I put things I couldn’t say.

I pulled iron until my shoulders burned, counted reps like prayers, and let sweat clean out the corners.

A trainer I knew from back in the day gave me the nod men give when talking would start an interview.

I nodded back, basically letting him know, I was there. I was good… keep it moving.

By eight o’clock, I was showered and walking toward Marlowe’s on the corner—because pancakes from a griddle just hit different. I wore a gray tee that didn’t hide the work and a black cap low enough to discourage conversation.

It didn’t work.

“Roman Hill?”

I looked up. It was Marcus Reed. I knew him from a distance, but the way he greeted me said he knew me a little better than I knew him. We’d crossed paths in law school—same classes, same late nights in the library, same grind. Last I heard, he was at the same firm as Kamira.

Marcus was dressed in a navy suit. He carried that aura lawyers pick up after too many twelve-hour days, too much coffee in his veins, and still not enough time.

“Marcus Reed, right?” I returned the greeting.

“Right, right. How you been, brother?” he said, offering his hand, then pulling me in for the quick back-slap.

“I’m good; no complaints,” I replied.

“What’s this? You back for good?”

“Nah. Sabbatical.”

His brows shot up. “So you’re still in the law game.

Good to hear. No offense. I only say that because you’d be surprised how many folks we went to school with just…

gave up. All that tuition, all those long hours, sleepless nights, and now they’re doing something completely different. Tech. Real estate. Hell, yoga studios.”

“Not me,” I said, shaking my head. “I’m actually just taking a month to remember how to breathe.”

He barked a laugh. “From what? The money? The courtroom? Or the women back where you stay?”

“All that,” I smirked, “except the money.”

“I feel you. You got time to chat? I’ve got about an hour to spare before court.”

I really wanted to eat my damn pancakes in peace, but Marcus didn’t look like he was about to take no for an answer.

“Yeah, I got time.”

We then grabbed a two-top by the window.

“So—you heard about your girl?” Marcus asked as soon as the waitress left, leaning in like he was breaking news.

“Which girl?” I kept it careful.

He smirked. “Kamira. You know she’s the hottest lawyer in Chicago—hell, the state. She landed that four-point-seven verdict two weeks ago. You could hear the defense crumbling like stale cookies.”

I let my mouth tilt just a little. “Oh, yeah, I heard.”

“The firm’s been riding that wave ever since,” Marcus continued, his tone shifting from gossip to business.

“Truth is, we’re expanding our white-collar and risk group.

Carter wants somebody who can walk into a boardroom and scare people politely.

Bloom wants somebody juries will trust if it ever goes that far. ”

“And you’re telling me this because…?”

“Because we could use a guy like you. We lost one of our big hittas to in-house last month. Partners are putting on their best poker faces, but behind the scenes? They’re scrambling.

You walk in with your West Coast shine, and that I don’t miss energy?

They’d back up a truck with commas on the check. ”

I smiled, slow. “Again, I’m on vacation.”

“A sabbatical,” he corrected. “And sabbaticals end. Where you landing after?”

I shrugged. “Haven’t decided. I might stay… might not.”

Marcus’s eyes narrowed like he was cross-examining me, then leaned in.

“Let me be blunt. This city needs lawyers like you. And selfishly? I want killers on our side, not more ‘circle-back’ boys who fold when the heat’s on.”

“Flattering,” I said.

He grinned. “We’re hungry. And we don’t hire people we don’t plan to feed.”

Marcus slid a card across the table.

“If you’re still around after this little sabbatical, call me. I’ll get you in front of Eleanor. Worst case? Free lunch and a compliment. Best case? You walk away with options.”

I picked it up and turned it once between my fingers. “I like options.”

“I figured you did,” he joked, with a look that carried more history than I asked for. “That’s why you left in the first place.”

I chuckled, easing back. “But again—I’m here on vacation, not for career negotiations or accidental life pivots over pancakes.”

Marcus smirked like he’d expected that pushback.

“Will you at least think about it?” he pressed, his tone casual but his eyes desperate.

I let the silence stretch just long enough to make it clear I wasn’t about to fold quick. Then I gave him the smallest nod.

“I’ll think on it.”

His smile spread, satisfied. “That’s all I ask.”

We ate while the city paraded past the window.

Two cops split a muffin and a rumor on the curb.

A nurse in scrubs sprinted across the crosswalk like her whole shift depended on green.

The waitress flirted with Marcus once and me twice—we both gave her nothing but a please and a thank you and left tips fat enough to buy her loyalty for the day.

We talked shop without names. Marcus ran through judges who cut side-eye at adverbs, and GCs who play lawyer until the budget shows up.

I told him about execs who treated “internal investigation” like a golf handicap, calling their buddy before they call counsel.

He told me which associates were worth their weight in briefs and which ones were just good at knowing partners’ coffee orders.

Marcus checked his watch, grabbed his briefcase, and pushed his chair back.

“I gotta get to the courthouse, but man, I enjoyed this.”

“Likewise,” I agreed.

By the time we stepped outside, the air smelled like exhaust and ambition.

“Again, it was really good seeing you, man. Hopefully, I’ll get that call that you’re considering staying.”

I smirked. “We’ll see… but don’t hold your breath.”

Marcus chuckled.

“But hey—check in on Kam while you’re here.” His tone softened. “She’s getting married, you know.”

“So I’ve heard,” I answered, careful not to mention I’d already seen her up close.

“You happen to know that fiancé of hers?”

I let a breath drag through my chest. “Actually, I do.” I kept it brief. “You know something she should?”

He shook his head. “Not much. Just… is he the man for her? I don’t know.”

“Why you say that?” I asked, trying to sound casual even as my ears sharpened.

Marcus’s mouth tightened. “He just doesn’t seem like her type.

It could be my instinct talking. But I’ll tell you what I do know—she’s been carrying that firm and planning that wedding damn near by herself.

I heard that last part through the grapevine.

Kam hides it well, but I see the cracks when she thinks nobody’s looking. ”

I side-eyed him. “How close are you two?”

He laughed, holding up his hand. “Not that close. Relax. I’m happily married.”

I nodded. “Congrats.”

“Preciate it. But nah, Kam’s like family.

We went out with her and the fiancé once—me and wifey.

Man didn’t give off a good vibe. Nothing concrete, just…

” Marcus searched for the word, then shook his head.

“You ever been around somebody who looks the part but doesn’t fill it? That. I just want what’s best for her.”

I swallowed down the response sitting on my tongue.

Me too, I thought. But I kept it tucked.

“Well, look, I gotta go. See you around. And even if you don’t plan on staying, you’ve got my number. Hit me up before you leave, and maybe you, me, Kam, and some of the old crew can grab drinks.”

I nodded. “I’ll do that.”

Marcus clapped my shoulder once more, then stepped off the curb, whistling for a taxi. A yellow cab slid to a stop, and he disappeared inside.

After he departed, I made my way down the block to Yusef’s barbershop, my longtime refuge for haircuts. As I pushed open the door, the familiar jingle of the bell announced my arrival, but Yusef’s voice called out even louder.

“Roman… is that you?” he inquired, sliding his glasses down his nose with a twinkle of recognition in his eye. “

“Yes, sir,” I replied, a smile breaking across my face.

“Well, I’ll be damned. Aye, y’all, look who decided to be local,” Yusef bellowed to the other patrons lounging in the chairs, their focus shifting toward me.

A couple of heads swiveled, and a chorus of “man, what’s up” rose over the hum of clippers.

I grinned. “You able to get me right?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Yusef said, patting the chair like it was waiting on me.

I settled into the chair, which creaked slightly as it spun me around to face the mirror. The reflection staring back at me was a tapestry of time—my features softened with age, especially around the eyes, yet somehow, beneath the surface, I was still handsome as fuck.