Page 17

T he lights hit me hard, blinding and hot, but I fed off the heat like it was oxygen.

The bass from the speakers vibrated through the floor, matching the rhythm of my hips as I moved across the stage as if I owned it.

And I did at that moment, for every eye in the room was on me, and every dollar in the air was because of me.

However, as I danced, what usually had me on a natural high had me feeling off. My body was moving through the motions, but my spirit was somewhere else entirely.

The crowd was loud, the music was perfect, and the money was flying, but none of it hit the same. Usually, I felt electric, powerful, and untouchable. The way the lights caught my skin, the way the bass synced with my heartbeat, the way the crowd fed off every turn of my hips—the club was mine.

Tonight, I didn’t want it, though. It felt like a performance I wasn’t even in. I was watching myself from a distance, trying to remember why this ever made me feel alive in the first place, but deep down, I knew what was missing.

He was missing.

He wasn’t there in his usual spot, smoking his cigar with his eyes locked on me like I was the only thing worth watching in the room.

That quiet intensity of his always lit something in me, even when we were at odds.

But now, all I felt was the echo of that space he used to fill.

No amount of stage lights or these wrinkled-up bills could replace it.

Snapping back to reality, I hit the last spin slowly and let my back arch.

My heels clicked hard against the polished stage as I dropped low and gave them one final look over my shoulder.

I walked off that stage like it owed me something.

My exit echoed down the narrow hallway that led backstage.

The buzz of the club faded behind me, replaced by the murmur of dancers talking and laughing, music muffled behind the walls.

I headed straight toward the dressing room, needing space to breathe and shake off whatever cloud was sitting heavy on my chest. But I didn’t even make it through the door before I spotted Bambi. She was posted up against the wall next to my area. It was evident she’d been waiting for me.

“You swear you the shit,” she said, her eyes beaming with envy.

I stopped mid-step, letting my eyes trail over her without emotion. “I see that ass-whipping ain’t do nothing to stop that mouth. All that hateration doesn’t look good on you, sis!” I cackled. “There’s only one Storm in this bitch. You’re just a fake runner up.”

“Psst! Please. Ain’t nobody hating on you. Why would I? I done fucked both your niggas. I say… we’re close to being sister wives.”

I raised an eyebrow, then smiled like she just told me a bedtime story. “Aw, that’s cute. You want a medal? A T-shirt? Sounds like you out here handing out that stretched-out pussy like Pokémon cards. Bitch, you for the streets.”

Bambi sucked her teeth and took a step forward, but I didn’t flinch and instead continued with my read.

“You think screwing niggas I been with makes you the winner? Nah, sweetheart. It makes you desperate. See… when a man loves a woman, no amount of backseat hookups or drunk decisions can erase her from his heart. That’s why you’re standing here mad, and I’m still the one with the crown.

You got five seconds to walk away, Bambi,” I said coolly, adjusting my robe.

“Because if you say the wrong thing next, we gon’ repeat history.

And this time, ain’t nobody here to break that shit up. ”

She stood there frozen, jaw tight, nails twitching like she wanted to swing but knew better. Kissing her teeth, she turned on her heels and left the dressing room.

The encounter ensured it was definitely time for me to go. This day had already been on my nerves, and Bambi throwing out that little flex like she won a damn prize was the nail in the coffin.

I knew about her and Bo fucking. That wasn’t new to me. But hearing her say it out loud, with that smug little smirk on her face like she was proud of being a chapter he barely remembered, that shit made me pause. I played it cool when she was standing in front of me, but inside, something cracked.

The wild part was that her bragging about Josh didn’t even faze me.

That nigga is a hoe—a mistake I already made peace with.

He was a storm I’d survived. But, Bo? That was something else entirely.

He was the one person I couldn’t lie to myself about.

So, hearing her say what I already knew stung a little deeper.

I freshened up before slipping into some black leggings, an oversized hoodie, and my favorite slides.

My body was tired, but my mind was exhausted.

On my way out, I made sure to stop by the front and collect my cash from the bouncer, who handed me my duffel bag and nodded his head as I slipped out the front entrance.

I stepped out into the night, the cool air hitting me like a reminder that I was back in the real world.

I yawned as I pulled my keys from my pocket.

When I looked up, I was shocked to see Bo, dressed in an all-black sweatsuit, leaning against his truck with a hoodie on and his arms crossed like he’d been posted there for hours.

His head was down at first, but when he heard the door click shut behind me, his eyes lifted and locked on mine.

I slowed to a stop just a few feet from him, eyes scanning every inch like I was trying to memorize him all over again.

Weeks had passed since I’d seen Bo, but my heart didn’t get the memo.

My heart rate kicked up the moment his eyes met mine—steady, familiar, and full of that quiet intensity that always made the rest of the world fall away.

“Hey,” I said softly because I didn’t trust myself to say more than that.

“Come take a ride with me,” he said, already opening the passenger door as if it wasn’t a request.

I blinked, hesitant. “What about my car? I’m not leaving it out here.”

Before he could answer, a tall, lean dude walked out from the shadows. I tensed, but Bo stayed calm.

“Give him your keys.” Bo nodded toward the guy. “He’s cool. He’s gonna take your car to your mama’s spot.”

I narrowed my eyes, skeptical. I didn’t know this man from a can of paint. But Bo didn’t do random folks. If he trusted him, it meant something, so I figured I could trust him too.

Still, I hesitated before asking, “He got a name?”

“Marcus,” Bo said. “He’s cool, O.” Bo let out a low chuckle. He knew I didn’t play about my car.

Marcus gave me a respectful nod, hands in his pockets, waiting. Something about his energy told me he wasn’t here for games.

With a small sigh, I handed my keys over. “If you wreck my shit… I fight niggas.”

Bo smirked a little. “Girl, you ain’t fighting nobody. Get your ass in the truck.”

“Nigga, I beat your little girlfriend’s ass.” I smirked, and he chuckled. “Stop playing like a bitch ain’t got them hands.”

I climbed into the truck, the door shutting with a heavy thud behind me. The moment Bo settled into the seat beside me, the tension shifted, but I’d be damned if it didn’t feel good to be near him. I missed him, even though I knew the feeling wasn’t mutual. Well, at least I don’t think it was.

The engine rumbled to life, and just like that, we were riding out of the parking lot and into the night.

The ride was quiet until Bo put on some music.

When “You All I Need To Get By” by Marvin Gaye & Tammi Terrell played throughout the truck, I turned to him, unable to hide my smile.

Bo, at thirty-two, was an old soul through and through.

He would listen to some new-age R&B sometimes, but if it wasn’t classic soul or old-school R&B, he didn’t really fuck with it, and I loved that about him.

It reminded me of home—of Saturdays with Al Green spilling out of my parents’ speakers or Teddy Pendergrass crooning through the living room as if he belonged there.

As Marvin’s voice warmed the car, I couldn’t help myself.

When Tammi Terrell’s part came in, I leaned back, closed my eyes for a second, then turned toward Bo with a grin and started to sing.

Soft at first, then louder, matching Tammi’s every note.

I hit every note to the best of my ability, hoping to pour a little sweetness into the space between us.

Bo glanced at me, the corner of his mouth tugging into that slow, crooked smile of his. “You know you can’t sing, right?” He chuckled.

I cackled, tapping him on the shoulder and I kept going, undeterred, throwing in a little shimmy for good measure. The car swayed ever so slightly as Bo laughed, shaking his head.

“I swear, O… you got no shame,” he said, eyes flicking between the road and me.

“None,” I agreed proudly. “You should be grateful. Most people gotta pay to hear a performance like this.”

“Oh, is that what this is? A performance?”

I leaned in closer, still singing, deliberately off-key now, and pointed at him like I was on stage. “A masterpiece, thank you very much.”

Bo snorted. “More like a disasterpiece.”

“Whatever, negro. Don’t be asking me to do a duet either. I don’t come cheap.” I playfully rolled my eyes.

For a second, it was as if the weeks hadn’t passed—as if nothing had changed.

The tone between us softened, familiar in a way that made my chest ache.

I looked at Bo, really looking at him, and before I even realized what I was doing, I reached over the console and rubbed his beard the way I used to.

“You are all I need to get by, Big Bo,” I said, my voice low and steady, even as my heart tumbled in my chest. “I miss you, baby. I miss us,” I confessed, my voice cracking.