Page 28 of My Only (My First, My Last)
He had a billiard table in his man cave, so coming here was usually just a way to get out of the house. The Green Room was where he hung with his friends… and had talks with me he didn’t want to have at home, where my mother might be within earshot.
And the second I saw him disappear inside without waiting for me, I knew this wasn’t about pool. It never was at The Green Room.
The scent of liquor and faint nicotine greeted me as I stepped inside.
The Green Room was an old-school billiard hall.
A spot where regulars came to unwind, talk shit, and play the game.
This was where my father brought me to have the birds and the bees conversation when I was thirteen. I got caught by a teacher making out with a girl in my junior high school’s stairwell and they were quick to phone my parents about it.
That talk my dad had with me at The Green Room, wasn’t G-rated at all.
This was also where he brought me when I failed my first major exam years later in high school.
And now?
Here we were again.
At eleven at night.
After he’d just caught me at Vernon’s with Harper.
I opened my mouth to start explaining, to tell him exactly what happened. But before I could get a single word out? He told me…
“Rack up.”
The instruction was short. Firm.
He was giving me a chance to talk.
But it would be on his terms.
So, I pulled the rack toward me.
Arranged the balls.
And the silence?
That shit was kicking my ass.
“Aight, Dad,” I said after a long moment, exhaling sharply once I was done racking up the balls. “Your silence is driving me crazy, for real.”
“ Hmph .”
That’s all he said.
“I know what this is about.” I leaned against the table, cue in hand. “And I promise you. What you saw tonight? It’s not what you think.”
He stood at the opposite end of the table, quietly chalking his cue stick as he watched me.
Not blinking. Not reacting.
Just watching.
“I was only there to get Ayla’s dessert,” I continued, my voice firmer now.
“ Hmm .” His gaze didn’t waver. “And when you brought the dessert home to your wife?” His accent thickened as he spoke. “And she asked you why you were there and who you were with…?”
He tilted his head slightly.
“Would you have left out the fact that you went to her favorite restaurant… with your co-worker?”
My stomach twisted.
Because the answer?
Was obvious.
I hadn’t even thought that far.
“Break,” he said through his teeth.
The single word cut through the air, instructing me to take the first shot.
I licked my lips, stepped forward, and got into position.
Angled the tip of my cue stick.
Steadied my bridge hand, just like he taught me.
Aimed for the apex of the white ball.
Took my shot… and missed everything.
Fuck.
Without a word, my father stepped up next.
Leaning forward, he lined up his shot, barely taking a second to adjust.
Then…
He sank a ball.
Effortlessly.
“You know,” he said casually, still focused on the table, “I like to give people the benefit of the doubt… but you’re making that real damn hard, son.”
I hate losing.
Always have.
It’s something my father actually loved about me.
He fostered my competitive nature as a kid.
Fed it. Encouraged its growth.
It’s the reason I even went after the Greene Gardens Project. The reason I dared to negotiate my compensation—and got exactly what I asked for.
Even when I wasn’t sure I could actually get it.
“I don’t like what I saw tonight.”
He didn’t look up as he spoke.
Just studied the table.
“You’re playing a dangerous game with your life, son. You know that?”
I wrinkled my brows. “What are you talking about? How?”
He took his next shot. Sank nothing this time.
Then lifted his eyes to me.
“I wasn’t doing anything wrong,” I said quickly, my grip tightening on my cue stick. “It’s like I told you, I was just picking up dessert for Ayla.”
The dim lighting.
The old-school billiard tables.
The neon sign near us buzzing softly.
All of it felt so damn heavy now.
Like he wasn’t just preparing for a game... he was preparing to whoop my ass.
Not physically.
But whoop my ass in a way that would stick with me for the rest of my damn life. I could just feel it.
“If I were Ayla’s father,” my dad said finally, voice low, steady, “and I walked into Vernon’s and saw you sitting across from that woman?”
His gaze sharpened.
“The first thing I’d think? Would not be ‘Oh, my son-in-law was just picking up dessert for my daughter.’ ”
He arched a brow.
“Do you think Ayla would see it that way, Hassani?” He asked. “That you weren’t doing anything wrong?”
“Dad, I was?—”
“Your go.”
The cut-off was swift.
I clenched my jaw.
Shoulders sagging in frustration.
But I did as told.
Got into position.
Held my cue stick steady.
Lined up another shot.
Struck the white ball…
And missed. Again.
“Fuck!” I barked before kissing my teeth.
My father chuckled at my reaction.
Then he circled the table with calm precision.
“You know what I don’t get, son?” he mused, chalking his cue stick.
He glanced at me.
“You got a damn good woman at home.”
His stare hardened.
“And yet? You’re out here entertaining someone who ain’t your wife.”
My pulse ticked faster.
I clenched my teeth.
It was bad enough I was losing this game, which I absolutely hated.
But now?
Now he was accusing me of something I didn’t even do.
“But you know...” My father laughed to himself, shaking his head. “You always did love admirers.”
He leaned against the pool table, rolling the cue stick in his palm.
“The girls used to flock to you—from the time you were building blocks in kindergarten to the days you were running track in high school and college.” He smirked. “But I let it be.”
His eyes shifted up to mine.
“Because you were young. And I knew you didn’t need to be concerned with settling down with any of these likkle girls.”
His smirk faded.
“And that’s why I told you hell no when you said you were interested in Ayla.”
My jaw clenched.
I looked away, shaking my head.
I hated when he reminded me of that.
When he made me go against what I wanted.
What I finally have now.
He nodded to himself, ignoring my reaction.
“Because I knew that girl was a good girl,” he continued. “And although I knew my son was a good guy…?” His voice dipped lower and he lifted his gaze. “You were nowhere near ready to keep a girl like her smiling all the time.”
A sharp laugh.
“No, son. It would've taken just one girl with sweet-smelling perfume to turn your head so fast?—”
He snapped his fingers.
“—it would’ve spun off like a bottle cap.”
“Dad.” I exhaled sharply.
I met his gaze, squaring my shoulders.
“You know I wouldn’t cheat on Ayla, right?”
His eyes narrowed.
A heavy, wordless glare.
I gritted my teeth.
“You know that , right?”
My father finally spoke.
“What I know …”
He leaned over the table, lined up his cue stick. Took his shot. Pocketed a solid ball. Then straightened up again.
“…is that tonight?” His voice was calm. “You looked like a man who could be mistaken for someone else’s husband.”
“What?!” The bass in my voice came harder than expected, echoing around us.
“Yes.” He walked around the table, lining up another shot. “You say you’d never cheat?—”
Another swift strike. Another ball sunk.
“—then why put yourself in a position for it to happen?”
I guffawed. “You’re overreacting right now.”
“No.” He finally looked up at me. “ You’re just lying to yourself.”
A beat.
“And worse…” His expression darkened. “You’re lying to your wife .”
My fists curled at my sides.
“I would never cheat on Ayla,” I repeated, teeth gritted. “ Never . I’d have to die first.”
“Then stop putting yourself in positions where you have to go back on your fucking word,” he roared.
I took a breath.
Stepped back.
My chest was rising and falling now.
Everything around us muted.
All I could hear was my father’s words, bouncing off the walls of my head.
He sucked his teeth loudly then leaned over the table again.
Another shot. Another ball sunk.
I exhaled. Loudly.
Annoyed.
Frustrated.
Defeated.
“I know what it’s like, yuh know,” he finally spoke again.
He lined up another shot.
“Before I started working at the bakery in Long Island City? You know where I was working.” He glanced up at me. “You think I don’t know about the women who like to get too friendly at work?”
I opened my mouth. “Dad?—”
“I knew them,” he cut me off. “ Plenty of them. I’m your father, aren’t I?”
He took his shot.
“But I ain’t never put myself in situations that would make your mother suspicious at a work event.”
Another ball rolled—but didn’t sink.
“Didn’t create situations where my female co-workers would even think I saw them as anything more than what they were. Co-workers.”
His eyes flicked up.
“Because no matter how much control you think you have?”
He tapped his cue stick twice against the table.
“A woman has ten times more than you and always will.”
I swallowed hard.
I wanted to argue.
Say that his experience wasn’t mine.
That Harper wasn’t even a factor like that.
But fuck…
It didn’t feel that way anymore.
And I hated that my father could see it before I could.
“Let me be very clear when I say these next few words to you, bwoy .”
My father didn’t look at me.
Just circled the table.
Like a shark.
“When I talk?”
He finally stopped.
Lifted his gaze.
“I mean every word I say. Because I say that shit with conviction, you listening?”
My throat felt tight.
I didn’t move.
Didn’t blink.
Didn’t breathe.
“So when I said, on your wedding day, that Ayla was officially my daughter on paper?”
He tilted his head.
“But she had always been my daughter before then?”
His gaze pinned me in place.
“I wasn’t talking for show.”
He lifted his cue stick and pointed it directly at me.
“ Yuh hearing me?”
I swallowed. Hard.
“Because she became my daughter when her father didn’t come home on September 11, 2001. You gettin’ it?”
The room felt thicker.
My lungs felt tighter.
I could hear my father’s inhales and exhales now.
And I knew…
So could he.