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LENNOX

T he sound of my favorite playlist streamed softly from the speaker on my vanity as I leaned forward to put the finishing touches on my makeup.

A swipe of crimson lipstick, a dab of gloss in the center for that pop—it was perfect.

Tonight, I was determined to look and feel my best. I adjusted the straps of my sleek black dress and smoothed the fabric over my hips.

“This is going to be a great night,” I said aloud to myself, forcing conviction into my voice as I slipped on my heels.

I was determined to make this date work, even if my reasons for accepting it were.

. . selfish. Jevon had been persistent, polite, and attentive—everything a woman should want.

And yet, the thought of tonight wasn’t thrilling because of him.

It was thrilling because it was a chance to shove my thoughts of Omir aside.

He’d been haunting me. It was like the universe was trying to rub salt in a wound I refused to acknowledge was even there.

I grabbed my clutch and coat, glancing at my reflection one last time in the hallway mirror before heading for the door. But as I reached for the knob, the sound of breaking news from my muted TV stopped me.

I turned back, remote in hand, and increased the volume. The image on the screen was Omir’s jazz club, instantly recognizable with its glowing marquee and classic design. The Velvet Note. Yellow police tape cordoned off the entrance, and an all-too-familiar pit formed in my stomach.

. . . last night’s tragic shooting at the popular jazz club in Arbor Hills,” the reporter was saying, her tone somber. “The victim has been identified as twenty-nine-year-old O’Shea Harper, the younger brother of the club’s owner. The investigation is ongoing, and the motive remains unclear. . .”

I gasped, my hand flying to my chest. “Oh my God,” I murmured, staring at the screen. I stood frozen, the world tilting just slightly. My heart ached for Omir, knowing how much he must be hurting. My thoughts raced. Should I reach out? Would he even want to hear from me?

“This isn’t your business, Lennox,” I muttered to myself, shaking my head. “ You wanted to keep things casual. You walked away.”

Still, I couldn’t shake the image of Omir’s face from my mind. Before I could decide, my phone buzzed, and Jevon’s name lit up the screen. I answered with a shaky, “Hello?”

“I’m downstairs,” he said warmly. “Take your time. No rush.”

I forced a smile he couldn’t see. “Thanks. I’ll be right down.”

After hanging up, I hesitated, glancing back at the TV. The reporter was still detailing the aftermath of the shooting, but I couldn’t make myself listen anymore. Instead, I pulled up Sherelle’s number and fired off a quick text: Is everything okay with Omir?

Her response came almost immediately: Why don’t you reach out to him yourself and stop being childish?

I groaned, clutching my phone. “Thanks, Sherelle. Really helpful,” I muttered sarcastically. But she wasn’t wrong.

I grabbed my coat, stuffing my phone into my clutch as I left my apartment and stepped into the brisk night air. Jevon’s Mercedes was parked just outside, its headlights glowing warmly. He stepped out as I approached, a gentlemanly move that made me smile despite myself.

“You look stunning,” he said, his eyes wide with appreciation.

“Thank you,” I replied, forcing warmth into my voice. “You clean up nicely too.” I mean, he did look good in his button down and slacks.

He grinned, opening the passenger door for me. “Shall we?”

During dinner, we talked about everything from work to music to favorite movies. But I only half-listened. My mind was back on Omir, on the shooting, on the pain that must be consuming him. I needed something to take my mind off everything, so I reluctantly invited Jevon back to my place.

We stumbled into my apartment, his hands gripping my waist as his lips moved fervently against mine. My clutch dropped to the floor, forgotten, and my coat slipped from my shoulders. His cologne filled my senses, warm and spicy, but I couldn’t lose myself in it. Not really.

I wanted to. God, I wanted to feel something—anything—that wasn’t this dull ache in my chest. Jevon trailed kisses along my jawline and whispered, “You’re so beautiful, Lennox. I’ve wanted this for so fucking long.”

I responded with a shallow sigh, running my fingers over his head and pulling him closer. Maybe if I just let myself go, I’d forget. Maybe if I gave into this, I’d stop feeling so empty.

We made our way to the couch, and Jevon gently lowered me onto the cushions.

His lips found mine again, his hands exploring the curve of my waist. I tried to focus on the moment, on him, on the way his hands felt.

But it wasn’t enough. And then it hit me like a brick wall. I didn’t want this. I didn’t want him.

“Wait,” I said, my voice shaky as I pushed against his chest.

He pulled back slightly, his brow furrowed. “What’s wrong?”

“I—I can’t,” I stammered, sitting up and pulling my dress back into place. “I thought I could, but. . . I can’t do this.”

His confusion quickly shifted to irritation. “Lennox, we’ve been dancing around this for months. You said yes to tonight. You invited me in. And now you’re just. . . stopping?”

“It’s not about you,” I said, my voice strained. “You’re amazing. Really. I just. . . I’m not in the right headspace for this.”

He scoffed, running a hand through his hair.

“Not in the right headspace? So what was tonight? A distraction from something else? Someone else?” His words stung because they were true.

I looked away, unable to meet his eyes. Jevon stood, grabbing his coat from the floor.

“You know, Lennox, I thought you were different. But you’re just as closed off as everyone says you are. ”

“That’s not fair,” I shot back, standing as well. “I didn’t mean for this to happen.”

“Yeah, well, it did.” He opened the door, his voice cold. “Good night.”

The door slammed shut behind him, leaving me alone in the silence of my apartment. I stood there for a moment, my heart pounding in my chest, anger and guilt warring inside me.

I sank, sighing as I reached for my phone to distract myself, but it buzzed in my hand before I could open anything. My brother’s name lit up the screen.

“Yes, Lawrence?” I said, trying to sound normal.

There was a long pause before he finally spoke. “Len. . .” His voice was tight, strained.

My stomach dropped. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s Dad,” he said, his voice breaking. “He collapsed tonight. We’re all at the hospital.”

The phone nearly slipped from my hand as his words registered. “What? Oh my God. Is-is he. . . is he okay?”

“They’re doing everything they can,” Derrick said. “But it’s bad, Lennox. You need to come home.”

“I’ll be right there,” I said immediately, my voice trembling. “I’ll book the first flight out.”

Tears welled in my eyes as I whispered into the empty room, “What else can go wrong?” I didn’t have an answer. Only a gnawing sense of regret and the urgent need to be with my family.