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Keisha had moved to the front seat by the time I got back from helping Angel to her door. She sat stiff, arms crossed, lips pursed in a tight, bitter line. She hated me right now, and honestly? I understood why. I just couldn’t bring myself to care. My head was still with Angel. I knew women—knew the signs—and Angel was turned on. Her heavy breathing, the way her nipples strained against her dress, her hazel eyes gone dark like storm clouds. She had wanted me to stay.

I’d already decided. Keisha was getting dropped off. I was going back. I’d grab some coffee for Angel to clear her head. We were going to talk. We were both going to get what we wanted, and this time I wasn’t letting her pull back.

Angel was mine now. I’d claimed her in my head already, and yeah, maybe that shit sounded crazy, but I didn’t care. I’d officially settled with the fact that she was under my skin, and I wasn’t even trying to shake her loose anymore.

Keisha sat there quiet the whole ride, arms crossed, face screwed up, until I pulled up in front of her duplex. Then she snapped, turning to me like she’d been holding it in the whole ride and couldn’t wait to get it off her chest.

“What?” I asked, staring her down, already irritated.

“Why you so fucking disrespectful, Cassius? Rubbing that fat bitch in my face, opening doors for her like she’s somebody. Why you treat me like shit when I do so much for you?”

The second she called Angel out of her name, I was done. Whatever little respect I had for her? Gone.

“Get the fuck out of my car,” I barked. “And don’t start crying, ‘cause I don’t give a fuck about a hoe’s tears. I pay your ass for everything you do for me, and I pay you well. Maybe after sucking my dick, if you’d turn down the money I offer you, I’d treat your hoe ass better.”

I leaned over and popped her door open. “Get out.”

She moved slow, on purpose, just to piss me off. Almost fell getting out, too, but straightened up quick, slamming the door so hard it rocked the car. I couldn’t help but laugh. She was a clown, and I wasn’t about to let her fuck with my mood.

“Fuck you, Cassius. Don’t call me anymore, you depressed, sad-ass, crazy fuck-ass little boy.”

Her words hit harder than I wanted them to. For a second, I just sat there, stuck, because hearing them twice—first from Angel, now Keisha—made them impossible to ignore. I felt a gnawing sense of unease settling into my gut. Keisha was still screaming threats and insults as I drove away, but her words echoed in my mind, bouncing around like they were trying to find a place to settle.

Was that really how people saw me? Depressed, sad, crazy? The words stung because deep down, I knew there was truth in them.

Not wanting to think about it anymore, I did what I usually did, shoving it into the back of my mind like an inconvenient memory.

I hit a U-turn on the empty streets, heading back to where I’d just come from, Angel’s building entry card still in my pocket. I drove through the McDonald’s drive-thru for coffee. I needed Angel sober.

I got all the way to Angel’s floor but couldn’t force myself to knock on her door. Was I really ready to prove Naomi wrong? Could I really change my whole lifestyle? Be a better man for Angel? The thought gnawed at me like a hungry pit bull.

I answered my own question. “No, you’re going to fuck it up,” I muttered to myself, running a hand over my face. I opened the door leading to the stairs and stepped inside. I pulled out my phone and called Jonas.

He answered on the first ring.

“You think I’m sad?” I asked him right out of the gate.

“Man, what? Are you calling me at two o’clock in the morning to ask me this?” Jonas groaned, sleep heavy in his voice.

“Man, just answer the question,” I insisted, rubbing my temples.

He yawned into the phone, then cleared his throat before answering. “Yes. You were never a joy-filled motherfucker in the first place. But after what happened to your parents, you were never the same. Naomi tried to tell you to get help, but your brain only holds onto information you want to hear. You think the strip club and throwing money at strippers is the same as a mental health facility.”

“Damn, that’s hard to hear.” I cleared my throat, my voice shaky.

“This is about Angel, huh?” Jonas’s tone softened.

In the background, I heard Naomi say, “What about my friend?”

Jonas mock-whispered, “She got my boy thinking about turning his life around.”

Naomi gave an exaggerated sigh. “Tell him I’m going to slap the shit out of him if he does her wrong.”

Jonas rebutted, “That ain’t none of your business.”

“It is because I brought him into her life,” Naomi raised her voice.

I hung up. The conversation was too much to handle. I ignored Jonas calling back. I stood looking down the staircase, coffee in one hand. I could walk away, and Angel would never know I was there. Sliding my phone into my pocket, I left the staircase, walked down seven doors, raised my fist, and knocked on Angel’s door.

I could be better for her.