Page 49

49

Ace

The Ashford garage smells like stale oil, cardboard, and mildew. I don’t see how Raya put this motherfucker on the market in this condition, but I didn’t ask questions.

The movers are sweating, but I barely hear them over the thoughts banging around in my head. There’s so much shit to do and not a lot of time to do it in.

I point to a group of boxes stacked against the wall. “Take those three, but you can leave that one on the left.”

Raya’s orders.

She’s upstairs right now, but I hear her talking, her voice digging through the floorboards. She’s like a drill sergeant with this shit. It’s kinda cute, though.

I lean against a shelf, catching my breath for a second. Her father’s tools are crammed into it. All that shit is going to the dump.

We had a funeral for his ass. I held Raya’s hand through it, playing my part while she played hers. Tori, too. We had to do it. It would have been suspicious if we didn’t. Every time the preacher said something about what a loving man he was, Raya tensed up. It wasn’t easy for her to watch people celebrate his life.

She felt bad when Faith showed up. That sweet girl actually shed some tears for that man, but it’s understandable. He was a client, and she didn’t know he was a piece of shit. After the service, I slipped her an envelope with a little bonus in it. Our way of thanking her for her kindness.

Faith’s too good for this world. I hope she lands okay.

Once the house sells, Raya and Tori are splitting the proceeds. My future wife has already earmarked her share—it’s for tuition. Spelman tuition, to be exact. Spelman .

I almost choked when she first told me. I love her, but Spelman? With a GED? Look, I wanna believe in her, I really do. But that school is competitive. And real talk, the women on that campus would trigger the fuck out of Raya. I wouldn’t wish that on her, and, well, I wouldn’t wish her on them. It’s just better for all involved if she sets her sights elsewhere.

But wherever she goes, I’m happy she’s gonna finish. I support her in her dreams and her delusions.

My phone buzzes.

Jovan

I’ll be there. I prefer just being a guest, honestly

Bron

Yeah, same here. I don’t really feel like I know her well enough to be in it, kwim? But I support you

Titus

Fuck them. I’m with you

I blow out a sigh. The wedding’s in a few weeks and these niggas…whatever. I can’t think about that shit right now.

“What about these?” one of the movers asks, pointing to two boxes in the corner.

“Lemme check.”

I flip the top of the first box open and find a bunch of framed pictures. I don’t recognize anybody directly, but I see Raya in their faces. I think she’d want to keep these.

“Go ahead and grab this one,” I say, topping it off with some packing tape.

I open the other one, finding stacks and stacks of notebooks, all different colors with spines of varying thickness. Sheer curiosity overtakes me and I select a green one, flipping it open.

My eyes narrow as I read. Every page lists a name, followed by details. Height, weight, eye color, relationship type—and a bulleted list of offenses.

Some are unforgivable. Cheated. Pushed me. Stole from me. But most are petty as hell. Took too long to text me back. Didn’t like my Instagram post. Didn’t tell me he liked my hair after I got it done. Talked to that Terrica bitch. Took too long to answer the phone.

What the fuck is this?

I grab a second notebook. Same story, different names. I flip through quicker now, hoping to find some evidence that these are stories or poems or something, anything other than books full of grievances and grudges.

And I wonder if my name is in any of these notebooks, my crimes cataloged, my sins tallied like sales on a receipt.

I put the books back like I found them and flip the lid closed.

Because it doesn’t matter what Raya had to do to cope with her pain. That’s over with. She’s safe with me now, and she knows that.

I put that box to the side.

I’m picking up another box along the wall when something catches my eye.

There’s a dusty skateboard propped against the wall. My stomach drops as I set the box down and reach for the board. My mind rewinds, frame by frame, back to that night, and that grainy security video of my sister’s car burning—and the blurred figure rolling away on four small wheels.

I pick it up, my heart thudding against my chest, turning the board over in my hands like there might be a confession scrawled on it somewhere.

No dice.

“What are you doing?”

Raya’s voice cuts through the noise in my head. I look up, and there she is, watching me from the doorway.

“You skate?” I ask, casual as I can.

“No,” she says too quickly. “That was my brother’s.”

I nod, but I don’t believe her.

She smiles. “I’m all done upstairs.”

I swallow hard. “Cool. We’re almost done out here.”

She disappears back inside, and I set the board down on the garage floor, watching it like it might come alive. This is a conversation for another time. Maybe later tonight. Maybe tomorrow.

Or maybe…

Maybe she’s telling the truth. Whoever that was on the video was pretty skilled. I have to believe I would know if my fiancée was out here on some Tony Hawk type shit.

Nah.

I’m too in my head. Overthinking.

I’m relieved to be wrong about this.

Time to get back to business.

But I make a mental note…

Call Tori later.