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SERENITY

T he moment my phone rang and I saw Creed’s name, I just knew. I knew it wasn’t good. I knew it was happening. He’d texted me earlier to tell me he was on his way to Dallas, and he would keep me posted. So yeah, I knew what was coming before I answered the call.

The second I answered, the pain in his voice shattered something inside me. “He’s gone.”

I didn't hesitate. Not for a second.

“I’m on my way.”

I rushed out of the restaurant bathroom, my heart pounding in my chest, my hands shaky as I grabbed my clutch and coat. Iman’s eyes narrowed when he saw me moving with urgency.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, immediately concerned.

I opened my mouth, but my voice felt stuck, my mind still wrapped around the weight of Creed’s words. Finally, I forced it out. “Creed needs me. His grandfather just passed.”

Iman’s expression shifted instantly. Not sympathy, not understanding, more like annoyance.

“Serenity,” he sighed, setting down his fork and leaning back. “Creed is a grown man. He’ll be okay.”

My brows lifted, eyes locking on his like I had to have heard him wrong. “What?”

He sighed again, this time heavier, and I could tell he was choosing his words carefully. “I get that you and Creed share a child, and I get that y’all have history, but you about to run out on our date for him? That’s crazy baby.”

I blinked, my mind scrambling to process the audacity. “Did you not just hear what I said? His grandfather just passed, Iman. That man raised him.”

“I get that,” he said, voice flat. “But it’s not your responsibility to drop everything and run to him whenever he needs you. He’s not your man, Serenity.”

“No, but he is my family.”

“Please don’t leave.”

I stared at him, my breath catching. Because the truth was—I didn’t care. I didn’t care that Creed wasn’t my man. I didn’t care how it looked. I didn’t care if it was crazy or stupid or wrong. He needed me. That was all that mattered.

I shook my head. “I can’t do this with you right now.”

“Serenity—”

“I have to go.” And I did, before he could stop me, I left. I didn’t walk. I didn’t stroll. I ran.

I barely remembered getting back to the house, grabbing a small bag, waking Ms. June, and getting the kids together. I only remembered the urgency. The overwhelming need to get to him.

A few hours later, I was stepping off the jet in Dallas, the warm night air thick against my skin. My eyes immediately scanned the small airstrip, searching— Then I saw him. Standing there, dressed in all black, hands in his pockets, his eyes dark and hollow.

My heart cracked wide open. I barely registered Ms. June herding the kids toward the waiting car. I barely registered anything except him. And then—he was moving.

I didn’t wait. I ran to him, arms wrapping tight around his waist, his face falling into the crook of my neck as he finally—finally—let himself break.

He didn’t just cry. He collapsed into me.

His body shook, hands gripping me like I was the only solid thing in his world.

I closed my eyes, one hand cradling the back of his head, the other tightening around his waist.

“I got you,” I whispered, over and over, voice thick with my own emotion. He held on to me like I was his lifeline. Maybe because, in that moment, I was.

A few days later, we had Papa Joe’s service. The service was beautiful, bittersweet, and heavy. Joseph Monroe was a great man, and it showed in the people who came to honor him.

Creed was stoic, standing at the podium, speaking about the man who raised him with a voice that held so much love and pain it was impossible not to feel it.

“I never thought I’d be standing up here, not today and definitely not this soon.

And I damn sure never thought I’d have to say goodbye to the man who raised me, the man who taught me how to be a man, how to stand tall, how to carry the weight of this life and still smile through it.

Joseph Monroe wasn’t just my grandfather.

He was my first coach—on and off the court.

He was my first protector, my first teacher, my first role model. Hell, he was my first best friend.”

I watched and listened as Creed tried to keep it together. I wanted to go up there to be with him, but I knew he needed to do this part on his own.

So, I listened to him continue. “Y’all, this man had a way with words, I swear.

He could tell you about yourself without even raising his voice.

Could make you rethink your whole life with just one look.

I know I got that look plenty of times growing up.

He was kind, but stern. Wise, but never arrogant.

He had this quiet strength about him that made you wanna be better, do better—just to make him proud.

And that laugh. Man… if you ever got him to laugh, that deep, belly-shaking real laugh, you knew you were doing something right.

I remember when I was a kid, trying to act grown, telling him I was gonna be a millionaire one day, buy him a big house, fancy cars, make sure he had everything he ever wanted.

And you know what he said? He looked me dead in my eyes and said, "Boy, I already got everything I want—my family, my peace, and a plate of hot food waiting on me. What else I need?" That was him. A simple man who loved his family, loved his life, and never asked for more than what his two hands could build. I still remember the last conversation we had. He told me, "Don’t take life for granted, Creed. You’re blessed. Don’t be so busy looking ahead that you forget to appreciate what’s right in front of you.

" I didn’t know it then, but he was saying goodbye.

And as much as it hurts to stand here; as much as I wish I had just one more day to sit with him on the porch and to hear him tell one more story or to to get one more piece of advice…

I know he’s at peace. And I know it’s my turn now—to carry everything he gave me and pass it down to my kids.

To be the man he always knew I could be.

I love you, Pops. And I promise you, I’ll make you proud. Rest easy.”

When it was over, they honored Joseph’s final wish—he was cremated, his ashes kept in a small wooden box until the family could figure out what to do with them.

Naseem was there, quiet and respectful, but I knew he was hurting just as much as Creed was. Joseph was a father figure to him too.

Creed didn’t say much that day. He barely even looked at me. But when I walked over and slid my hand into his, he squeezed back. And that was enough. For now.

A week after the funeral, I was standing in my kitchen staring at Iman who had come over to talk. I had left the kids with Creed as I knew he needed extra time with them. They were helping to keep his spirits up and that’s all I wanted.

This was the first time Iman and I had really talked since I left that night. I felt the weight of my decision to leave instead of staying, weighing heavy on both of us.

"You’ve been quiet," I murmured.

“I had a lot to think about.”

I frowned. “What does that mean?”

There was a long pause before he asked; “Are you still in love with Creed?”

I froze. The question hit like a punch to the gut, like I should’ve been expecting it, but somehow—I wasn’t.

Still, I didn’t answer right away. Because what was I supposed to say?

What was I supposed to tell a man I had been trying to build something with when he was asking about a love that had never left?

“Serenity,” he said, tone sharper, “answer the question.”

My mouth went dry.

I could’ve lied. I could’ve said something reassuring. But I was tired of lying to myself. I took a deep breath, heart pounding, and finally whispered?—

“I’ll always love him,” I said, my voice even, but my heart pounding in my chest. The weight of my own words settled around us like thick fog.

Iman stood up tall in front of me, staring at me like he was studying me, trying to find the lie in my face. But there was none. I held his gaze, unapologetic. I watched the realization dawn on him. The understanding. And finally, the resignation.

He exhaled sharply, shaking his head with a soft, humorless chuckle. “Damn, Serenity.”

I swallowed. “I’m sorry.”

“No, you’re not.” I opened my mouth, but he cut me off with a look. “You’re not sorry for loving him,” he clarified, voice calm. “And you shouldn’t be.”

I sighed, running a hand down my face. “I?—”

He shook his head. “It’s fine, Serenity. I get it now. I was always going to be second place, wasn’t I?” I bit my lip, silent. Because what could I say to that? We both knew the answer. He exhaled again, standing up from his seat. “You know, I really did like you.”

I smiled sadly. “I liked you too.”

“Not enough.” I blinked as his words hit. I felt a sting in my chest because I knew he was right.

“Iman, I?—”

“Don’t,” he interrupted. “You don’t owe me an explanation.

I already have one.” His lips curled into a small, sad smile.

“I appreciate your honesty. Really, I do,” he said.

“But I’m not the type of man to settle for second place.

I won’t compete with Creed. I won’t lose to him.

And let’s be real…” He tilted his head, looking at me with a knowing smirk.

“I already did.” I looked down, speechless.

The truth hurt. He grabbed his keys off the counter and took one last glance at me.

“Good luck, Serenity.” Then he walked out.

Just like that, whatever we were, ended. And I… I felt nothing but relief.