Page 63 of Tangled Hearts

Christian hadn’t touched his business in weeks.

The block still moved. Money still flowed.

But his hands weren’t in it right now. Hov made sure the machine stayed fed, like always.

Christian just sat in that cold-ass house with the curtains closed, phone face-down, and the Henny bottle half full, untouched.

Not because he was trying to sober up. He just didn’t have the energy to drink himself into another regret.

Noir blocked him on everything.

Instagram, TikTok, Snapchat, even the old number he used to hit when she was still sneaking to love him five years ago. She blocked the backup line too. The one she knew was his trap phone but always used when her pride wouldn’t let her dial the main one.

So now he sat in silence, scrolling her socials from a fake page, watching her smile in group pics like she wasn’t his girl. Like she didn’t fall asleep on his chest wearing his shirt, mumbling about dreams and destiny.

Then there was Destiny.

His daughter.

The one mistake that tore everything to shreds. The child he loved but barely saw. The child who looked like him and existed in a world where he wasn’t invited.

Chanta used to beg him to see her—she used to call him out about hiding his daughter.

He used to show up with baby shoes and gift bags, trying to prove something. But Chanta was vindictive. Cold in a way that made him realize just how fucked up the whole thing had been from the start.

She was missing in action ever since she tried to pull a gun on Noir. He knew she was scared about what he would do but the truth was, he couldn’t do shit. He wasn’t so cold blooded he’d kill the mother of his child even if she was causing havoc in his life.

So, now there was no Noir and no Destiny.

Christian sat up and grabbed his keys from the table.

The new whip had barely been touched. Black-on-black with pink flakes in the paint.

Seats still smelled like the dealership.

He’d picked it out for Noir, right after everything went left.

After Chanta went full psycho and slashed her tires, busted her windshield with a .

22 and keyed the word bitch into the hood.

Christian replaced the car. Paid in full. Detailed it. Even got a custom license plate frame with glitter around the edges and her name engraved on the inside of the key fob. He imagined her smile when she’d see it.

But she never showed up to get it.

Now it just sat.

He pressed the button and the engine purred to life. He didn’t know where he was driving until he got there.

The westside of Jade City wasn’t his stomping ground but he was known and respected because his drugs fed the feigns and laced the dope boys pockets.

Getting out the car, he looked both ways down the street.

When he walked up to the porch it brought back memories.

He took Noir to prom, took pictures on that porch after going back and forth with her mama about dating her baby.

Nakorea never played about Noir but gave in since she had turned eighteen that winter.

Nakorea’s house hadn’t changed. The curtains were still sheer. The screen door still squeaked and the wind chimes still danced when the breeze blew. He climbed the stairs slowly, hat low, eyes lower from the half blunt he smoked on the way over.

His knuckles rapped against the door twice.

Nakorea pulled the door open. She was still in her bonnet, and her housecoat was tied tight like she’d been waiting on the wrong person. Noir looked just like her mama. “Well damn. Thought you was the mailman.”

He cleared his throat. “Nah. I, uh… brought something.”

She stared. “For who?”

“Noir.”

“She ain’t here. But you knew that just like you know she doesn’t want it.” Her hands rested on her hips.

His thumb rubbed against the key in his palm. “I know. I just… feel like I owe her this.”

Nakorea stepped out onto the porch and looked past him toward the car parked at the curb. “That’s for her?”

He bobbed his head.

“You still tryna love her through your guilt, huh?”

He gritted his teeth. “I still love her. Ain’t nothing changed.”

Nakorea folded her arms and tilted her head. “You broke her. You know that?”

“I didn’t try to. That was never my intention.”

“But you did. Intent doesn’t clean up a mess.”

He looked down at his shoes. “I ain’t even touch Chanta after me and Noir got serious. That whole situation was dead. She just… showed up one night. Caught me at a weak-ass moment. I ain’t think. I ain’t protect the person I was supposed to.”

Nakorea pursed her lips. “And then had a baby. That’s what you left out.”

Christian blinked, a nervous chuckle came out. “I ain’t even know she was pregnant ‘til months later.”

“She did. Bet she did it on purpose too… but I’m a woman first so that was on you, Christian.”

“She won,” he muttered, eyes watering. “She took everything.”

Nakorea softened just enough to look human again. “She ain’t take nothin’ you didn’t hand over. You gave her the match. She just struck it.”

Christian looked up. “You talk to her?”

“Of course, boy. That’s my baby always. She ain’t here though. Said she’d be getting her own place soon.”

“She alright?”

Nakorea nodded. “Better than she was.”

He nodded too, “you think… she still love me?”

Nakorea studied him like a Bible verse she wasn’t sure she believed. “Maybe. But I don’t think she gon’ ever be a fool for you.”

His throat closed.

“She ain’t mad no more,” Nakorea added. “That’s what’s gon’ hurt you the most.”

“I didn’t want to lose her.”

“You didn’t lose her. You let her walk away.”

He stepped back, pulling the key fob from his pocket, and placed it on the porch rail.

“I’ll leave it here.”

Nakorea looked at him like she’d already planned to put it in the trash. “She don’t need nothing from you and you can’t buy her.”

“I know,” he whispered. “I just need her to know I tried.”

Nakorea looked him up and down, then she let out a breath that wasn’t quite pity, but damn sure wasn’t pride either. She leaned her weight into the doorframe, arms folding across her chest like she was about to drop a sermon.

“You think you the only one that ever tried?” she asked, brows raised.

“Boy, lemme tell you something. My baby been moving since the day she could walk. She don’t do all that stand-still-and-figure-it-out shit.

She doesn’t freeze for time. She doesn’t wait on clarity.

She just keeps going and whatever she need gon’ catch up with her eventually. ”

Christian rubbed his hands together.

“That’s why she never liked school,” she kept going. “Why she didn’t go to no damn college like Knycole. I used to think it meant she was lost… but she just knew who she was early. She never needed a campus or a classroom to teach her how to survive.”

He swallowed, hanging onto her every word.

“She loved you, Christian. Deep. Hard. Too damn much if you ask me. But my daughter not gon’ beg a man to be the person she already saw in him. She gives you the blueprint, then leaves you to decide if you gon’ build something.”

“I was scared,” he admitted. “Didn’t know if I could be all the shit she said I could be. If I could make all her dreams come true.”

Nakorea snorted. “Baby, the ones who love you right always make you question if you’re enough. That’s how you know it’s real.”

Christian stared at the porch rail. The fob glinted under the porch light like it was mocking him.

“You know what I wish?” Nakorea asked a rhetorical question.

He gulped knowing Nakorea was going to give it to him real raw. Noir always joked how real her mama was. Now, he was witnessing it for himself.

“I wish you woulda told her that before you gave somebody else a baby.”

All Christian could do was nod. Nakorea was telling him right and he knew it.

She wasn’t yelling. And she wasn’t judging his situation.

Still every word she said cut because it was true.

Maybe that’s what hurt the most—knowing she was still being kind, even while she reminded him just how bad he messed up.

Nakorea sighed and shook her head. “But even if you had, I think it still woulda broke her. My daughter got this big-ass heart… but once it shatters? She doesn’t pick up the pieces. She sweeps ‘em up and tosses ‘em. Starts over with a brand-new heart built from scratch.”

He nibbled on his lip, thinking… knowing that was his Noir. Heart big but she knew her worth.

“Some women glue they self back together. Not her. She pours gas on it and dares the world to hand her a match.”

The screen door creaked as she stepped out fully, bare feet tapping against the old wood like her spirit couldn’t sit still either. “You think that car gon’ fix what you broke?”

He shook his head. “Nah. But maybe she’ll see it and remember that I saw her. That I wanted to make her life easier. That I ain’t never stop lovin’ her.”

Nakorea looked at him. She respected the honesty but still didn’t let it change a thing.

“She’ll see it,” she said. “But don’t get your hopes up, baby. My daughter doesn’t drive in circles. She moves forward. Always.”

Christian pressed his tongue to the inside of his cheek, fighting the ache behind his ribs.

Nakorea placed a hand on his shoulder. “You’re still young. You’re still breathing. You can still grow. But stop tryin’ to grow for her. Do it for you.”

He nodded, respect in his eyes and heart.

“And while you at it,” she added, letting her hand fall, “go see about your daughter. That little girl didn’t ask to be proof of your worst mistake.”

That landed harder than he expected.

His lips parted but nothing coming out.

“Go head,” Nakorea told him, “before I invite you in and make you eat. You always been a skinny lil thing.”

Christian chuckled under his breath, shoulders relaxing just enough to remember what it felt like to be cared for. “I miss her,” he said, more to himself than her.

Nakorea turned back toward the door. “Then become a man worthy of missing. And stop dropping gifts like that’s gon’ earn you forgiveness.”

She stepped inside without another word and let the door click softly behind her.

Christian stood there for a minute. Then two. Watching the door. The porch. The car.

It was true—Noir didn’t need anything from him. But he needed to give her something. Not the car. Not apologies. Just… a version of himself he didn’t hate right now.

The streetlights buzzed turning off as the sun came all the way up. He walked back toward the car, ears ringing with every word Nakorea threw at him like stones he deserved. He slid into the driver’s seat, rested both hands on the wheel, and looked at the house one more time.

He thought love was grand gestures.

Explosive energy.

Undeniable chemistry.

But real love was quiet mornings. Unanswered calls. Unsent texts. A woman choosing herself after years of choosing you. A new car in a driveway she didn’t live at no more.

He leaned his head back and whispered her name once. Just to feel it in the air. “Noir.”

He wasn’t mad at her for leaving.

He was mad at himself for making her go.