Page 35

I got the tattoo on the inside of my right bicep—my left side was still healing, still sore as hell from the bullet.

The design was simple: our baby’s original due date in roman numerals, just under a pair of soft angel wings, shaded with the same care I wish I’d been able to give them.

I didn’t cry. I sat there in silence, eyes forward, letting the pain of the needle drag every bit of emotion I’d been holding in, to the surface.

It was dark by the time I got back home. Egypt had already lit candles around the kitchen, the scent of her lemon pepper salmon hit me the second I walked through the door. She looked up from the stove, that tired but beautiful smile meeting me halfway.

“Hey,” she said softly, wiping her hands on a towel before coming over to greet me. She kissed my cheek, eyes searching mine. “You good?”

I nodded, placed my hand on her belly out of instinct. It was flat again, but I still felt connected to what used to be there. “Yeah, baby. Just needed some air.”

After dinner, we curled up on the couch in our usual spot, watching reruns of Suits on Netflix.

It was our chill time, time we spent not worrying about anything outside of our space.

After we finished watching the show, I showered, careful not to get the bandage wet.

When we got in the bed, I kept my arm out of reach, but Egypt noticed anyway.

“What’s that?” she asked, brushing her fingers along the edge of the gauze. “You hurt yourself again?”

“Nah,” I said, swallowing the lump forming in my throat. “Just...got somethin’.”

She sat up a little, brow raised in confusion. “You got a tattoo?”

I hesitated. Then nodded. “Yeah.”

She didn’t say nothing at first, just looked at me like she was trying to figure out if it was some dumbass idea or something deeper.

I pulled back the bandage slow and turned my arm toward her.

The second her eyes locked on it, she froze.

The silence was thick. Then I felt her fingertips ghost over the ink.

“Nas...” Her voice cracked.

“It’s the due date,” I said, keeping my voice low. “I didn’t wanna forget. I wanted...somethin’ to remind me of what we lost, but also what we had. Even if it was for a little while.”

Tears welled in her eyes, but she didn’t look away. She placed her hand flat on my chest. “You didn’t have to do this.”

“Yeah, I did,” I said, pulling her closer. “Because I love you, E. I love you more than I ever thought I could love somebody. And I know we been through some real ugly shit. But we still here.”

She leaned in, pressing her forehead to mine, her breath warm against my skin. “We are,” she whispered. “But it still hurts.”

“I know,” I said, letting my hand tangle in her curls. “And it’s gon’ hurt. But I’m right here. Ain’t goin’ nowhere.”

She kissed me then, slow and deep, tears still sliding down her cheeks. We didn’t say anything else. We didn’t need to. The tattoo was a promise. That even in our pain, I was in this—for her, for us, for what we’d lost... and what we still had left to build.

I should’ve been sleeping next to Egypt, holding her through the night like I’d done the last few weeks, but something kept nagging at me…Unfinished business. So, the next morning, after she left for a studio session with Averi, I called my driver and told him where I needed to be.

California State Prison.

After the two niggas he sent after me got caught, one of them snitched and told that it was in fact Nate who had sent them after me.

It was something I already knew but left it up to the police to figure out.

Not long after the nigga snitched, Nate was arrested.

It was the very least he deserved, I hoped and prayed that he got more.

I sat in the cold-ass visitation booth, palms flat on the table, jaw tight. Glass thick as hell in front of me, but it still couldn’t block the noise in my chest. The ache. The fuckin’ anger.

Then he walked in…Nate. That same smug ass walk he always had, like he ain’t done nothin’ wrong a day in his life.

But his eyes told a different story this time.

They looked tired, edges dull. Like time finally caught up with his bullshit.

He sat down, picked up the phone, and leaned back like we was just two niggas choppin’ it up.

“Damn,” he said with a crooked grin. “I ain’t think you’d actually show up.”

I picked up the phone slowly, staring through the glass like I could knock it down with just my eyes. “Yeah. Well. I had to look my big brother in the face before I told him he dead to me.”

That wiped the grin off real quick. He leaned forward. “Nas, I ain’t mean for shit to go down like that?—”

“You aimed at my girl,” I cut him off, my voice low but seething.

“They said ‘Nate sends his regards’ right before she almost got a fuckin’ bullet in her head.

” That shut him up. “You know what happened after that?” I kept going, words like broken glass in my throat.

“She lost the baby. The one she was carrying. Our baby. My kid, your niece or nephew. You killed my fuckin’ child, Nate. ”

His mouth opened slightly like he ain’t know what to say. He blinked fast, real fast, then whispered, “She was pregnant?”

“She was,” I said, voice cracking. “We heard the heartbeat that day. Had the fuckin’ ultrasound picture in my hand when I got shot.

You know what that feel like, nigga? You know what it’s like to bleed out on the fuckin’ sidewalk, watchin’ the woman you love scream over you while holdin’ your baby’s ultrasound picture? ”

He ran a hand down his face. “Damn, Nasseem... I ain’t know. I swear to God, I ain’t know she was pregnant.”

“That’s the problem with you, Nate,” I snapped, leaning into the glass. “You never fuckin’ know. You don’t think. You don’t care. It’s always about what you need, what you want, who you can use.”

He dropped his head. “I was in deep, Nas. After I got out… my old connect, the one from back in Dallas, he was on my head. Told me I owed him for the weight I lost before I got locked up. I ain't have it. I ain’t have shit. Nigga was threatening me, saying he’d kill me if I ain’t get right.

Then he had the bright idea of asking you to throw your fight so he could make some money off it.

I knew you wasn’t gon’ be wit’ it, but I had to try.

I had to get you to see reason, that shit didn’t work.

It used to be easier to convince you to do shit like that for me, but nothing I did or said worked.

He was pressuring me and I was desperate. ”

“So, you thought sending some randoms to rob me was gon’ solve your problem?” I barked. “You thought possibly killing me or Egypt was worth it?”

“I ain’t tell them to shoot nobody,” he said, trying to sound sincere. “They was just supposed to scare you. Get what they needed; that’s it. I never wanted you hurt.”

“You never wanted?” I laughed, bitter. “You wanted me to throw a fight. You tried to guilt me into it. When that ain’t work, you went behind my back and set me up.

That was always your fuckin’ problem. You never saw me as your brother.

Just your way out.” He was quiet. “I woulda helped you,” I said, softer now.

“If you’d come to me real, told me what was up, I woulda paid that debt off for you.

No questions and no strings. But you never wanted my help.

You wanted control. Just like when we was kids.

You always been mad that I ended up bein’ the one who made it out. ”

He looked at me, eyes finally watering. “You don’t get it. You was always everybody’s favorite. Mama’s, the block’s. Hell, you even had Creed. Me? I was just the nigga who took the charge. Sat in that cell for eight fuckin’ years while you was out livin’ life. You owe me?—”

“I don’t owe you shit!” I slammed my palm on the glass, making the CO in the corner look our way. “I ain’t tell you to take that charge. You did that shit tryna play martyr, tryna look like a real nigga. But you been rotten inside for years. And now? You get to rot for real.”

He sniffed, silent for just a second before he looked up at me, eyes narrowed. “That’s what you think of me man? After everything we been through, after all my life I spent takin’ care of yo ass? If that’s what you think of me nigga, then what you doin’ here?”

“I came here to tell you this face to face. You ain’t my brother no more.

You just some nigga I used to know. I hope you sit in here every day thinkin’ about what you lost. What you killed.

My kid, my peace. Your own damn freedom.

” I paused, then looked him dead in his watery eyes.

“You don’t exist to me anymore. So don’t expect letters.

Don’t expect money. Don’t expect a damn thing from me, you hear me? We’re done.”

Then I hung up the phone, stood up, and walked out without another word.