Page 37

Malik drifted in and out. Felt like his soul was floating above him, watching his Mama cry and his Pops lose his composure in ways he ain’t never seen.

Then he thought about the beautiful life he wanted to give Aku…prayed that God gave her a real one. One who knew when to get out and how to be hard, dirty, and her safety.

When the ambulance finally pulled up, it wasn’t no urgency…no sirens. Just two EMTs with clipboards and tired eyes like they’d already decided he’d live—or die—and that it wasn’t their problem either way.

“Took y’all long enough!” Myesa snapped.

“Ma’am, we had a four-car pile-up on Figueroa?—”

“Fuck a pile-up, cuh!” Anthony barked, that Crip shit coming out of him. “My son been dyin’ in my driveway!”

They loaded him in slowly. Malik winced as they strapped him down, pain licking every inch of his body like fire.

Myesa climbed in with him, refusing to sit still. She held his hand the whole ride, whispering prayers and promises.

Anthony stood in the driveway with blood on his knees.

Gran Betty wiped at her cheeks, whispering something about they always tryin’ to take the good ones.

Inside the ambulance, Malik blinked up at the ceiling. Sirens were howling now. The pain was alive, but so was he…for now. He was tired…so tired.

And all he could think, through the noise and the hurt and the weight on his chest, was how the fuck do I tell Aku?

The backyard was lit up like a private summer festival—fairy lights strung through tall palms, old school rap humming low through surround speakers, and the smell of grilled jerk chicken and honey cornbread floating in the air like a family tradition.

The pool glowed blue behind them, untouched because nobody had brought swimwear, but everybody kept threatening to jump in.

Aku stood barefoot in the grass, a glass of mango lemonade in her hand, her gold toe rings catching the sunset.

The night had started with her family planning a “welcome home” dinner, but like everything with them—it turned into a block party dressed up in Black excellence.

Her people didn’t do small. They were loud. They were rooted. They were everything.

Solar had on a velvet wrap dress and was dancing with French in the center of the lawn like she was still 22 and high off the fact that she’d bagged the finest, slickest nigga in the city.

French wore a linen shirt halfway open and kept whispering in her ear like they ain’t been married twenty-plus years and had three kids already.

Frenchy and Apollo were on joke time as usual, running the card table and talking big trash while Kiyah sat nearby, recording them for a TikTok she promised was going viral.

“Aye! Frenchy!” Aku called, “You ever gon’ stop cheatin’?”

“I don’t cheat,” he called back with a grin. “I just win aggressively.”

“Boy, please,” Apollo added. “You stole fifty dollars out Mama purse last week to cover ya L’s.”

Solar spun around mid-dance and pointed. “I was wonderin’ why I was short at the hair store. I thought I was trippin’.”

“Oh, now he quiet,” Aku laughed, shaking her head.

In the corner by the fire pit, the icons were chillin’.

Luna looked like Grammy gold in a silk two-piece with her curls up in a goddess bun, earrings as big as her legacy.

Javen sat beside her in designer joggers and a fitted cap pulled low, rubbing her feet like he didn’t used to truck 300-pound linebackers for a living.

Qamar was pouring up champagne, arm around his Siasia, whose camera hung from her neck like always, ready to catch every soft moment.

Tiny sat curled up under Mav’s arm, legs crossed, skin glowing like money and melanin.

Little Lunar leaned against the grill, nodding to whatever song was playing and laughing at something Kamari said while chewing on a rib.

“I’m just sayin’,” Aku said, dipping her head closer to Ahvi, “you been looking glowy . Your titties sittin’ different. You pregnant?”

Ahvi almost choked on her lemonade. “Girl, no! Damn!”

Aku cracked up. “Don’t ‘girl’ me. I’m tryna sync our belly bumps. We supposed to be pregnant together!”

Ahvi shook her head, smiling. “You tryna make a mom group or a rap group?”

“I’m tryna raise a legacy, hoe,” Aku giggled. “Kamari need cousins. Malik got me lookin’ at strollers and shit.”

“If I pop up pregnant right now, Lunar gon’ faint. That man already paranoid every time I cough. Plus, I’m finally livin’ and just want to run my restaurant and fuck my man. Kamari already be blockin’.”

Tiny looked up from her glass and chimed in, “Let that man think it’s food poisoning. Then hit him with the stick like ‘Surprise!’ I need another grandbaby.”

Siasia added, “I told Qamar I was pregnant by sending him a Pinterest board.”

Qamar groaned, “Still not over that shit.”

Everyone cracked up.

Just as Aku leaned into the conversation to ask Ahvi what kind of vitamins she was taking, her phone started ringing.

She looked down…Malik.

She stepped away, smile fading fast, and answered. “Hey?—”

But it wasn’t Malik’s voice…

It was Zaire - panicked…breathless. “Yo—it’s me. It’s Z. Malik’s in the hospital. Some niggas jumped him…bad.”

The world came to a screeching halt. Her ears popped and her smile fell.

“What?”

“He’s at St. Mercy on Crenshaw. He unconscious, but they say he breathing. I ain’t wanna scare you but… they fucked him up, Aku. They did him dirty.”

Her breath caught - mouth open but no words came out.

She turned fast—almost dizzy. “Mama!” she screamed out. “Mama?—!”

Solar and French snapped to attention, rushing toward her.

“What? What’s wrong?” Solar asked, grabbing her arms.

Aku’s eyes were wide and full of panic. Her lips trembled before she could speak. “It’s Malik… he’s in the hospital. He got jumped. Mama, I—I gotta go. I gotta?—”

“What?!” French bellowed, his voice shaking the air. “This that shit!” he fussed ready to school Aku on all the reasons she ain’t need no nigga in the streets.

“Daddy, no—” Aku sobbed, grabbing his wrist. “Not now - please.”

French froze. His heart hurt seeing his baby was clearly in love with a man he ain’t approve of.

She wasn’t his little girl with jokes in her mouth anymore. She was trembling. Her hands wouldn’t stop shaking. Her heart was bleeding through her eyes, and he saw it.

Solar pulled her close, arms strong and soft at once. “We’ll get you on the jet now. You hear me? Just breathe, baby.”

“You don’t need to be out there…this probably some gang shit and I’ll end this whole world behind my baby,” French fussed, already seeing red.

“Daddy, please,” Aku whispered again, voice cracking. “Just let me go - Please. I don’t want it to be worse. I just need to be there.”

Tiny grabbed her purse. “I’ll call the pilot.”

Qamar was already on the phone, snapping out directions. Luna rubbed her back, whispering something about protection and prayer. Javen pulled French aside, speaking low and tight, calming the fire that was already roaring in his chest.

Solar took charge. “We gon’ get you there - fast. You don’t gotta explain nothin’. Just know we got you.”

Aku nodded, sobbing now.

And French, who never let anything slide, never backed down from a threat…looked at his daughter—his heartbeat—and stepped back.

His voice came out rough. “Call me the minute you get there.”

“I will Daddy,” she cried, hugging him tight, crying into his chest.

As the family pulled together like the village they’d always been, Aku ran inside to grab her things. Her heart was screaming, stomach twisted, praying to whoever was listening that Malik would still be there when she touched down.

Because she wasn’t ready to lose him, when she’d just got him. “Uncle Lunar, I need you to tell God to save him for me,” she whispered in the air knowing even in death, her Uncle wouldn’t let her down.

The beeping of the machines wasn’t alarming. Just a steady reminder that he was still here, still breathing, and still in pain.

Malik sat up slow in the hospital bed, with his shirt off, chest wrapped in white gauze, and his ribs bruised purple.

One arm rested on the railing, the IV in his hand tugging every time he shifted.

He had a swollen lip and a scrape along his jaw, but nothing looked as bad as it felt.

He’d already told the nurse to stop asking about his pain level. It didn’t matter.

He’d felt worse, both physically and emotionally.

His Mama sat beside him. Her lips were tight as her leg bounced nonstop.

Anthony leaned against the wall, arms crossed, face set in stone.

Gran Betty was in the corner chair, fanning herself with a folded church program like she’d been summoned from the South just to lay hands on him.

Even though she hadn’t been inside a church house since God knows when.

If Malik wasn’t in so much pain, he would’ve asked where the hell she got the church program from.

“I swear, boy,” Gran Betty huffed, “I ain’t gon’ keep flyin’ up out my bed just to come down to no hospital room. You too big for this foolishness.” As long as he was okay, she was going to talk her shit.

Malik nodded. “I know, Granny.”

“You do?” she snapped. “’Cause you was bleedin’ last time. Now this time they done cracked your ribs like a rack of ribs. You either cursed or dumb.”

Myesa couldn’t help but to snicker. Her Mama was something else.

“I said I know.”

His dad didn’t say anything at first, just watched him. “Was it them red flags again?”

Malik sighed. “I ain’t tryna talk about it.”

“You need to talk about it,” his mama said. “You lucky it was just fists. Coulda been worse.”

“They tried to strip his chain,” Zaire said from the doorway. He and two other homeboys had pulled up with snacks and a liquor store bouquet of fake-ass flowers. “He ain’t let ‘em.”

Malik didn’t remember none of that, because they could’ve got that shit as far as he was concerned.