Page 5 of Before I Should Leave

The rain hadn’t let up.

It was coming down in sheets now, heavy and dramatic like a soundtrack.

We inched forward.

Barely.

Just enough to feel like we weren’t completely stuck.

The music had shifted to a H.E.R.

joint low in the background.

Real smooth. Real intentional. She was singing about time slipping through fingers, and I hated how on-the-nose it felt.

I was staring at my phone screen, inbox open, but none of the emails were registering.

Just a blur of deadlines, confirmations, and one from a brand rep I didn’t have the patience to answer.

My eyes kept drifting to the windshield and Diesel’s reflection in it.

Calm.

Still.

Fine as hell.

One hand still on the wheel like it belonged there, like it was the only thing in his life he needed to control.

Then, his phone lit up on the dash. He glanced at it, then at me in the mirror.

“You mind if I take this?”

he asked, voice low.

I shook my head, casually like I didn’t care.

“Go ahead.”

He answered with a.

“Yeah, baby?”

The change in his tone was immediate. Softer. Still deep, but laced with something warmer, gentler. Intimate in a way that didn’t feel performative. I went back to pretending to read my screen, but every word was drowned out by his voice. Not what he said, but how he said it.

“I know. I was tryna get to you by eight, but the airport run ran long. Yeah, I know, baby. I’m sorry. Sleep tight. You'll see me first thing in the mornin’, aight?”

My chest tightened. There was no reason for it to. No reason for the twist in my gut or the way my throat suddenly felt dry. He kept his voice even but full of care. He didn’t rush off the call or try to code-switch for my sake. It was real. And I didn’t know why it made me feel so… left out.

I heard a fain.

“Love you too”

before he hung up and slid the phone back into its cradle. I kept my eyes on my phone for another beat, fingers frozen over the screen. Then, casually, I asked.

“So… how long have y’all been together?”

There was a pause. Not long. But long enough to feel it. Then that smirk returned. Subtle. Knowing.

“Seven years.”

I blinked.

“Oh—wow. That’s… that’s solid.”

“Mmm,”

he murmured. “It is.”

I nodded, swallowing.

“That’s rare. You don’t hear that much these days.”

He glanced at me through the rearview again.

“You sound surprised.”

“I’m not,”

I lied.

“Just… impressed. That kind of commitment takes… a lot.”

“Yeah,”

he said simply. “It does.”

I didn’t know what else to say. My thoughts were scrambling, and I hated that I even asked. Hated the way I was suddenly caught between curiosity and straight-up minding my business. I was about to pivot the conversation when he reached for his phone again.

“Lemme show you somethin’,”

he said, unlocking it with a swipe and angling the screen toward me. It was his lock screen. A photo of a little girl—maybe five or six—smiling big with thick curls pulled into two puffballs, a missing tooth front and center, and deep brown skin that looked like royalty.

“Her name’s Draya,”

he said with a small smile.

“My daughter. She’s with our Nanny at the moment.”

I stared at the picture longer than I meant to, my heart doing something I couldn’t name.

“She’s beautiful,”

I said softly.

“Like… ridiculously cute.”

“‘Ppreciate that. My twin, for real."

“Yeah. She’s got your nose and eyes.”

He nodded.

“And her mama’s mouth. Whole lotta opinions already.”

I smiled, even as something tight lingered in my chest.

“So you and her mom still together?”

He looked at me then. A full turn of his head. Not just through the mirror. “Nah,”

he said.

“Haven’t been since Draya was 'bout two.”

I blinked.

“But… you said seven years.”

“I did. Seven years since I became her father,”

he said, then paused before adding.

“That’s the most important relationship I got.”

The words sat heavy between us. Not in a sad way. Not bitter either. Just… honest. I didn’t realize how long I was holding eye contact until a car horn startled us from the next lane.

Diesel looked forward again, easing off the brake as traffic crawled a few feet forward. The wipers swiped again, music still humming low, and I exhaled.

Somewhere betwee.

“yeah, baby”

an.

“her name’s Draya,”

this ride turned into something else.

Something that felt too damn close to intimacy.

To understanding.

And I didn’t know what to do with that. So I sat back and watched the rain like it could drown the feeling forming in my chest.