Page 48

. . .

Malik trekked out of his car on a mission. He was at Pharoah’s house to get some things straightened. He’d allowed a lot too long. But when it came to Aku, it was time for him to put muthafuckas in their place.

He didn’t knock this time. Instead, he used his key to walk right in. Yes, Malik paid the bills and kept food in the house, but he always knocked on the door because it wasn’t his home.

Inside the house, his eyes bounced around before he made his way to Quesha’s room.

Malik’s jaw tightened before he even stepped into the room. The weight of years sat on his shoulders, and each step toward Quesha felt like walking through fire he thought had long burned out.

She was posted by the window, eyes darting out like she knew what was coming.

“You put your hands on Aku, cuh?” Malik’s voice hit like thunder.

Quesha turned around slowly. She was a pretty girl even with her air tied up and face puffy like she’d been crying all day but still trying to act unbothered. “She swung first.”

“I don’t give a fuck who swung first,” he barked. “You tried to break her with words... With whatever the fuck pain you still carrying from us. What the fuck you say to her?”

Quesha’s chin lifted. “I told her the truth. That you killed for me. That your clean-ass love story ain’t built on nothing but dirt.”

That hit him deep. But Malik didn’t flinch.

“You say that to her like I’m proud of that shit?” His voice cracked. “Like I sleep good at night knowing what the fuck I had to do? You think I wanted to take that man’s life?”

Quesha’s arms wrapped around herself. “You didn’t have to, Malik. You did that for you. Not for me. Not for Pharaoh. Not for Jules. You did that because you needed to feel like a man again after what happened. You was hurting and lost and angry. So, you made a choice.”

Malik’s buttery face twisted. “You called me crying. Face leaking, voice shaking—talkin’ ‘bout how he beat you so bad you pissed blood. You forgot that part? You forget what you looked like when I showed up?”

Quesha gulped.

“You ain’t just get a black eye, Quesha,” Malik added stepping closer. “You was folded in the corner tryna hold your jaw together. I was eighteen fuckin’ years old. And I did what the fuck I thought I was supposed to.” His hand landed against his chest with a thud.

Tears welled in her eyes. “And look what it cost.”

Malik’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Yea... I know what it cost.”

He turned toward Pharaoh, who had been quiet in the doorway, sitting still in his wheelchair. His face was unreadable, but his eyes held something ancient.

“Pharaoh,” Malik rasped, voice thinned by guilt. “I shoulda protected you. I shoulda been smarter. I shoulda—” It was like Malik was reliving that tragic day and he was brave enough to really talk about it… To really hold the blame.

“I… forgave… you the day… it happened,” Pharaoh confessed, cutting through the noise. His tone was calm. “When… they lifted Jules’ body… and I couldn’t feel my legs… I was mad… at the world. But not at you.”

Malik’s lip trembled.

“I’ve… watched… you lose… yourself… cuh,” Pharaoh continued, pushing his chair forward.

“And… I watched… you keep… showing up. For… me. For Quesha... For Bren... You… gave her money when you didn’t have it.

Bought… diapers… when you… was… skippin’ meals.

We… all got… blood on…” He did his best to rewet his drying lips.

“…our hands… but you… the… only one… who tried… to wash it off… every… damn …day.”

Quesha turned her back to them, shoulders shaking because she felt bad for trying to ruin Malik’s new life even if it didn’t include her.

“You really told Aku I killed for you?” Malik said again, softer this time. “Like that was something to flex?”

She spun around, tears streaking her cheeks. “No. I told her because she needed to understand what she got. She needed to understand that loving you means knowing you got ghosts. And some of them still live in this fuckin’ house.”

“That ain’t your place,” he snapped. “You don’t get to bring up my ghosts and hand ‘em to my girl like a welcome gift.”

“I was angry,” she admitted. “Jealous. Bitter. All that shit. I don’t know why you loving her made me feel like I never mattered. I told myself I was over it. But then I saw how she looked at you—how you let her hold pieces of you I had to fight to get a glimpse of—and it just…” She broke.

“I’m raising that little girl without Troy,” she sobbed. “I lie to her face every time she asks what happened to her daddy. ‘He gone, baby. He just gone.’ But he ain’t just gone, Malik. You made him gone.”

Malik looked away unable to stare into her face from guilt.

He no longer wanted to hold that because Crescent raised them to take accountability for the blood on their hands.

Troy made a decision. Quesha made and decision.

And he made a decision that left Bren half before she took her first breath but that wasn’t on him.

That was on Crescent and the colors people wanted to die for.

His fists balled so tight, his knuckles turned white.

“Troy… made… himself… gone,” Pharaoh interjected, sucking in a gust of air. “He pulled… the… trigger… the moment… he pulled… up with… them niggas… And… Jules? He… ain’t never… coming back…either.”

The room filled with a thick silence that would cling to their bones for the rest of their lives.

“Every day, I think about Jules. About how we laughed that morning and by sundown, he was gone. I think about Pharaoh, how I used to hoop with him, now I just help him roll over in his sleep. I think about you, Quesha… and how one night— one fuckin’ night —changed every fuckin’ thing. ” Malik paused.

“I ain’t come here to make peace with the past. I came here to make sure you never bring that shit to my woman again. I don’t owe you love, Quesha. But I’ll always owe you the truth.”

She looked at him with hollow, glassy eyes. “Do you hate me?”

Malik’s shoulders dropped. “Nah. I hate what we became. I hate what we lost. I hate that we all still bleeding from a wound we never cleaned.”

Malik turned toward Pharaoh. “You sure you forgave me?”

Pharaoh nodded, slow and solid. “The… moment… I saw how…much it… broke… you.”

Malik’s head dropped. “I love you, cuh. You know that?”

Pharaoh’s lips curled. “I know… weak ass… nigga.”

Malik gave one last look at Quesha. “Don’t make me choose between my past and my future again. Next time, I won’t come talkin’.”

He turned to leave.

“Tell her I’m sorry,” Quesha whispered. “Tell her… I just wanted to hurt you the way I still hurt.”

Malik didn’t respond. He just walked out the room, with Pharaoh wheeling behind him, and the weight of that night finally starting to lift.

The sun was beginning to sag behind the rooftops when Malik finally picked up his phone.

He’d spent a couple hours chopping it up with Pharaoh before she slipped out to head home.

Crescent was humming outside his window.

Kids still hooped in the street like it wasn’t the middle of a school week.

But inside Malik’s chest, everything felt unsettled while settling at the same time.

He sat on the edge of his bed for a second, phone in hand, and thumb hovering over her name.

Aku picked up on the second ring.

“Hey,” she hummed softly the smile on her face reflected in her voice.

“Pull up,” Malik murmured, rubbing a hand down his face. “You busy?”

She paused. “No… I’ll be there in ten.”

Aku didn’t know why her hands were shaking.

Maybe it was the nerves, maybe it was the baby growing in her belly that she hadn’t told him about yet.

Her lip tugged between her teeth as she pulled into Crescent and parked behind Malik’s black chevy.

Her Jeep still smelled like vanilla and her hair laid in a sleek low spiky pony.

Malik was already outside waiting. Leaning on the four-wheeler, eyes on her like he’d been counting every second.

“Damn,” he said when she got out. “You ain’t even try to come looking regular.”

“Why would I?” Aku teased, heart tripping as she walked to him. “You like me regular?”

“Nah,” he smirked, pulling her close. “But you know I love you either way.”

He kissed her slow and soft. Taking in a long, deep breath of her.

They didn’t say much for a few beats. Just stood there under the purpling sky, letting their bodies memorize each other again just in case they needed to find each other in the next lifetime.

“You good?” she finally asked, brushing her thumb across his brow.

Malik nodded. “Handled it.”

“Handled what?” Her eyes lifted.

He pulled her by the hips into him. “When it comes to you, I’ll handle everything. That’s all you need to know.”

“Okay,” she smiled loving the security she felt with him.

“You wanna ride with me?” he asked.

Aku grinned. “I ain’t tryna die, Malik.”

“Girl, you safe with me. Come on.”

The four-wheeler peeled through Crescent like Malik owned every square inch.

And he kinda did. Every corner they passed, somebody was waving or nodding.

He held the handlebars with ease, back straight, head high.

Aku sat behind him, arms around his waist, chin on his shoulder with her phone in her hand.

She pressed play on Journey by Shae Universe, and the mood shifted instantly.

Malik laughed. “You stay tryna make shit poetic.”

“It’s called a vibe,” she shouted over the wind, eyes tight from the huge smile on her face.

The beat melted into the sound of engines, and Aku felt herself soften against him.

His scent. The air. The baby moving low in her belly, like it knew it was wrapped in something safe tonight.

Malik rode like he had a point to prove, like he was showing the block that she was his now.

His girl. His future. Ain’t no hiding it.