Page 15 of The Impact (Parachutes #3)

“You have a collect call from the New York Department of Corrections. An inmate in the New York State Prison by the name of… it’s me, nigga… wishes to speak with you. Do you accept the charges?”

Munch had his lawyer transfer him Upstate, with New York being one of the last four states to offer conjugal visits for married inmates.

It wasn’t hard. Technically, Munch had murdered Chris in Staten Island, and that was the murder Shells detailed to The Feds that had Munch serving 15 years.

Pleading to Victor’s murder didn’t lengthen the sentence; only absolved Vin. So, Vin showed his gratitude.

Initially, Munch was housed at Great Meadow, a prison so vile—with the highest inmate suicide rate—it made Rikers look like cake.

Munch didn’t give a fuck: he thrived in chaos.

But they had achieved too much success for his right hand to unnecessarily adapt to those conditions.

Vin put a judge’s son through college to get Munch moved to Otisville.

It was the least Vin could do; let Munch serve his bid as cush as Capone.

“Yes,” Vin accepted. Delayed, Munch’s voice broke the car’s silence.

“’Sup, nigga?”

“Shit,” Vin lied the black man lie. “Shit” or “ain’t shit” or “ain’t nothing” were all lies muttered off to deflect questions regarding their mental state, even while carrying the world’s big-ass weight on their back.

It was how Vin had been raised. All he knew, in fact.

When he was in prison, his grandmother or father would ask how he was holding up in there.

He’d tell them he was good, instead of the obvious.

Which was , how the fuck do you think I am?

I just watched a kid climb the walls like Spider-Man, trying to escape five niggas with ready-made blades but he still caught at least a hundred stab wounds.

The guard paid to protect him? The same one who slid them the weapons.

If good was the sun, Vin was on Neptune.

“How’s business?” Munch led with that, and Vin knew why. His marriage was up in smoke.

“Smooth” Vin squinted at the sun glare, blowing through a yellow light.

“Damn. You can at least make me feel important, mothafucka. A nigga been gone for three months and business just smooth as ever, huh?”

“You know shit would be moving better if you were here, sensitive mothafucka,” Vin snickered. “But I’m maintaining it. Which you already should know as well.”

“The kids?”

“Straight.” Vin gulped after. Because…

“…Tahli?”

He stretched his mouth to crack his jaw, lenses watering without his permission. Today it was her eyes. Yesterday had been her laugh. Last week, all Vin could think about was her knees. Brown and soft with a moon-shaped scar from her childhood.

“I would assume good knowing Tahli,” Vin replied carefully. His other half had been connected to him for the better part of his life, but now he no longer had access to her happiness or lack thereof. No longer had permission to guarantee that happiness.

“So ain’t shit change?”

“Fuck is supposed to change, Munch? Don’t aggravate me, nigga.”

“You. Or at least make her think that,” Munch’s fucked-up logic countered.

“Look…” Vin prepared to put it to rest, so he could stop stomaching through the intolerable talk of his marital status.

“I did it. Nigga, I begged. I spilled my guts. Tahli don’t wanna hear that shit.

I even paid Dave Hollister’s ass 25K, and you know that mothafucka got me on that price.

I haven’t looked at another bitch in 12 years, but it doesn’t matter.

With Tahli it’s not about the now. It’s about what’s already done.

The principle. And I lied to her for too long.

If I thought it was the slightest possibility of her getting past this shit, I would’ve been fessed up. I always fucking knew what was coming.”

Didn’t stop it from being outrageously intolerable.

“Fuck it, then,” Munch grumbled. “It ain’t my shit.

That’s your shit. I got my own shit. Speaking of my shit…

Wynter and Ky love that fucking house. Why you gotta make me look bad, nigga?

” Munch joked. Vin knew Munch appreciated the way Vin looked out for his family; the new home purchased near the prison in example. “You coming to the wedding, right?”

Vin kissed his teeth. Poor Wynter and her impending jail house wedding.

But if that’s what she settled for, she wouldn’t get an inch more out of Munch.

Tahli had standards. Standards that grew Vin as a man.

And the last thing Vin wanted to do was witness a marriage on the heels of the demise of his.

“Yeah, I’ll be there.”

“Cool. We get two witnesses each. So, it’s you and Ky for me. Wynter asked her moms and her bitch-ass sister.” Munch carried on about Wynter’s sister trying to suck his dick ten years ago, but Vin couldn’t hear it.

“Let me…Let me hit you back.”

“What?” Munch squawked.

“I said let me hit you back.”

“This nigga talking outrageous. How the fuck you gonna hit me back and I’m in this bitch-”

Vin ended the call abruptly; no consideration to how ridiculous he’d sounded. The sight before him obscured his thinking.

He shut off his car, eyes locked on the pearl-white Mercedes that complemented his metallic black one. He sat in that stupor for a time he didn’t count, then sighed out a breath trapped in his rib cage.

Slowly stepping out of the car, Vin took the walkway. Savored unlocking the door, taking in the familiarity. Coming home to this house when it wasn’t empty. That car in the driveway. The aroma of her cooking filling his nostrils.

When he opened the door, music greeted him. Loud and decipherable.

You used to sit over there… that was your favorite chair…

A tune that sounded like it belonged to another time.

Vin shut the door behind him, too afraid to step fully inside and break the dream. But his eyes missed her. Fingers tingled with anticipation for her velvet skin. His heart ran laps, sensing its counterpart, eager to reunite.

She was dancing in the living room, slowly and fluidly, using a wine glass from the China cabinet as a microphone. Swaying those hips that guaranteed twenty pounds in either direction would always look good on her. But to Vin, a hundred pounds wouldn’t change shit.

What a treat to reach beyond the superficial shit with someone and still want to stay there with them. What a loss to have to pack up and go back to the starting line without them.

He selfishly stole the moment, unsure when he would witness her in such a sexy and untamed form again.

“You used to sit over there!” She belted along with the track, pointing at Vin’s favorite chair as the song ironically stated the same. In leggings and a sweatshirt, Tahli captivated him as if it were their wedding day.

Vin was blessed with Tahli’s back for a few more bars before she spun…and shrieked.

“Vin!”

With a hand to her busty chest, she stumbled over a box and almost tumbled. But he was there. She writhed from his grasp, still visibly shaken up.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Tahli heaved, smoothing the locs already pulled back in a hair tie. Baby love’s face was bare and clean. A fucking dream.

“Hello?” She stressed, still so angry, while his eyes only roamed over her. Vin wondered if that understandable bitterness would ever vanish. “I swear to God, this better not be one of your fucking games, Vin. What are you doing here?”

His eyes skirted around the mess of a room, and his heart shattered. His baby love was leaving him. She was taking pieces of their life with her.

“I live here,” he finally found the jocularity to say.

“Yes. But you’re supposed to be in Charlotte.”

“Am I?” He tossed his keys on the small glass table with his thrashing heart and boiling blood.

Wanted to grab her and shove his tongue down her throat. Squeeze the breath out of her body until she was a sleeping beauty he could carry up to the bed and handcuff to it. He briefly pondered the circumstances of that and forced his feet to remain planted.

“Stop fucking playing, Dalvin!”

“I’m in Charlotte next week, Tahli.”

“I told you I wanted to come get my things. I told you I wanted to get them when you wouldn’t be home. You said it was fine because you’d be in Charlotte next Wednesday. So here I am. And miraculously, here you are.”

“Right. Next Wednesday. I said I’d be gone next Wednesday.”

“No! We spoke Sunday. Next Wednesday is the next Wednesday coming up.”

“No, smart-ass. This Wednesday is the Wednesday coming up. Next Wednesday is…” Vin tapped his temple. “Next Wednesday.”

Her little mouth buttoned. She was so fucking divine.

“You were always bad with that,” he gave a weak smile, fiddling with a picture frame on top of newspaper. Dali’s first Christmas photo. The others were already wrapped. Their wedding photo was the only one left behind.

“No, you were always bad with it. I was right and you were wrong,” she looked him in the eyes to stress, and Vin knew it meant much more than this and next Wednesday. He scraped his teeth over his lip.

“I guess we got divorce on lock. Already fighting.” The nastiness of the words soured his expression. “Can you believe that, baby love? We’re divorced.” Vin toyed with the picture frame some more, hoping it would suck them inside and trap them.

“This shit’s still not processing,” he muttered to her like the best friend she was. “This has to be the most unnatural shit I’ve ever experienced.”

Delayed, he heard her sigh out.

“I’ll come back next Wednesday,” Tahli rushed past him, sweet-scented air in her wake. Vanilla cashmere lotion, pear body oil, and Michael Malul perfume. His wicked heart knew it.

“Tahli, wait.” Vin was on her ass.

“Get the fuck off of me, Dalvin.”

He released his panicked grip but blocked her from the doorway.

“Move, Vin.”

Stepping closer, he framed his hands around her face without touching her. Took her in as quickly as he could.