BOOKUCE.

The father-son duo rolls out the ring to collect themselves while the Twins celebrated their win, their titles held high above their heads. “Alina,” Paul calls from over the monitors. She turns to her boss, her eyebrows raised in curiosity. He peers over the top of the monitors, his face bathed in soft white light from the screen. Though his eyes were concealed by the reflections of light on his thin, squared frames, she could tell he was looking at her. “Are you the one interviewing Jimmy and Jey in a few?” He asks.

“No, Megan is.” She answers, teetering on her feet slightly as she watches him. Alina had a light load tonight, only having to cover the pre-show. “Do you need anything from me?” She asks, lifting a brow.

“No, you’re good.” He replies passively as Dominik and Rey tiredly came through the curtain. He tosses his headset on the table, standing to his feet to applaud the men for the well-fought battle. Alina steps to the side, allowing them space to get through the opening and the group of people standing around in the small room. “Good match tonight, fellas.” He says, putting his hand on Dominik’s shoulder.

“Thanks, Hunter.” The Mysterios mutter on their way through. 

“That’s what I’m talking about, baby!” Josh exclaims from the other side of the curtain. Alina turns her attention to the cloaked entrance, catching the twins pushing through it, their titles on their shoulders. The room broke out in applause for the champions, commending them for a good match. Josh makes his way over to Alina, shimming past people who stand in his way. 

“You did great out there,” Alina whispers at him. 

“Let’s go.” He replies, leaning down to kiss her. “Thank you, baby.” He says, reaching down to take her hand. “I’m hungry as hell. You want to get dinner tonight?” He asks, pulling her through the room.

“We ain’t going out?” Jim asks, moving down the hall towards the backstage area. Alina glanced up at Josh, waiting for an answer to the question his brother stole right out of her mouth. His face would briefly contort from sweat getting in his left eye. He lifts his hand, wiping at the corner of his eye. He then sighs heavily, shrugging his shoulders in the process. 

“Not even going to hold you, Uce, I’m tryna be lowkey tonight. Y’all are welcome to join us, though.” He tells him. 

“Might have to take you up on that offer,” Jon says, his hand on his stomach. Dinner and an early night? Don’t mind if he does.

“Before we do anything, y’all have an interview with Megan,” Alina informs them. “I’ma go find a restaurant to fit us in tonight.” She says, breaking off from the boys. The twins continued down the hall towards the interview set, their heads low. Jon, still stuck on Josh not being interested in partying for the first time in three years, glances over at his brother. 

“Everything good, brother?” He asks, prompting Josh to peer up at the path ahead.

“Yeah, just got a long week ahead of us.” He says. “I’m buying the house this week–I’ve been secretly planning that for a minute now without Lina knowing, and one of her friends is having a baby shower on Saturday, and she’s been stressed about that.”

“She still friends with them folks?” Jon asks, slightly grimacing in confusion. He shakes his head. “I don’t get it.” He says, getting a lip smack of disapproval from his twin. 

“They’re not all bad people,” Josh says.

“Man, says who?” Jon asks, lifting his eyebrow at the man. “She done been through hell with these folks and gonna keep going through it fucking with them, and then I gotta hear from you on me and Trin’s phones-.” Josh’s arms shoot out in front of Jon, stopping him from going any further. He turns to face him, his brows furrowed in confusion.

“Where’s all this coming from?” Josh asks. Silence fills the hallway between the brothers as they stare at each other. Jon lifts his hands, shaking his head.

“Look, I’m just saying.”

“I can’t make her stop fucking with them folks, Jon. Lina’s gonna do what she’s gonna do-.”

“Keep getting her feelings hurt?” He asks, confusion apparent on his face once more. “Man, if y’all like it, I love it.” He says, proceeding on down the hall, leaving Josh standing there. He watched after his brother, his eyes slightly wide in shock at Jon walking away from him and their conversation. Josh quickly marches after him.

“Jon!” He calls, his hand outstretched for his brother. “Ay,” He says, wrapping his hand around his brother’s forearm and pulling him to face him. “I can’t make her choose. I ain’t got it in me to do that to her.” Josh has never been the type of man to dictate his relationships. He had given Alina an ultimatum in their relationship once, and that was after the fight in Pensacola. He didn’t want to lose her then, and he doesn’t want to lose her now. Driving a wedge between her and her friends, the few she has left, wasn’t going to do anything but push her away from him, and that’s not what they need. He points his finger at his brother’s chest, briefly locking his gaze on it. “You wouldn’t do that to Trin.”

At the sound of his wife’s name, he’d move his brother’s finger from his chest, prompting his twin to look at him. “This ain’t about my wife, it’s about yours. If you wanna let her keep frolicking in a field of snakes, that’s on you. She’s gonna keep getting bit.” He says, continuing down the narrow hallway. Josh watches after his brother, a soft sigh leaving his lips at his parting words. 

As much as he didn’t want to admit it, Jon was right. Alina was only hurting herself by delaying the inevitable, and Josh would have to pick up the pieces after the damage was done. Slowly, he follows after his brother, his eyes averting to the ground as he does. How does he even approach a conversation like that with her? The moment he would suggest that she stop talking to them, she’d already be hollering, threatening to sleep in another room, and some more shit. He wasn’t interested in any of that…but that’s his girl, and if he plans to have a future with her, he’s got to be honest with her–that’s the least he can do.

The twins made it to the interview site, ridding their faces of any evidence of a verbal scuffle. Megan stood near a cameraman, rocking back and forth on her heels as she waited. The cameraman gently taps her arm, signalling toward the boys. She glances up at them, a wide, dazzling smile spreading across her face. “Hey, guys!” She exclaimed, waving slightly at them.

“What’s up, Meg?” They say in unison, their voices low.

“The Producers said that we don’t need anything too over the top–just a message for the locker room. Sounds good?” She asks, glancing between the pair. They nod in unison, glancing at each other before returning their attention to their interviewer. “Cool,” She says, turning to face the cameraman. She nods once at him, signalling for him to start the silent countdown. “I’m here with the SmackDown Tag Team Champions, Jimmy and Jey: The Usos. Guys, I’m sure you’ve got a big celebration going on tonight, so I’ll try not to keep you long and make this quick. We just saw you go up against and win a hard-fought battle against The Mysterios. What kind of statement does this win make to the SmackDown locker room?”

“What kind of statement? Nah, they saw what happened out there; that’s a big enough statement to me.” Jon says, glancing at his brother.

“We went out there and did what we said we’d do. That’s never changed.” Josh chimes in. 

“Won’t change either.”

“This is our show, Megan. Been our show! So, you might as well get comfortable with seeing the Bloodline.”

“Yeah, because we ain’t going nowhere.” Jon finishes, lifting his index finger to his chest. “Man, let’s go.” He says, elbowing Josh in the arm. The twins walk out of the frame, allowing Meghan to wrap up the brief interview. 

Megan turns to the boys, a heavy sigh leaving her small frame. “Thanks, you guys.” She says with a large smile.

“Yeah, no problem,” Josh says, slowly inching his way back down the hall he and his brother came from. His eyes were fixated upon the floor, his brows slightly furrowed in deep thought. Jon and Megan watched after him, confusion on her face and embarrassment on his. Quickly, he follows after his twin, catching up to his slow pace in no time. Silently, he watches him. 

“Look, man, I’m sorry if I overstepped. I just–.” 

“But you’re right, though.” Josh interrupts, lifting his head a little. “It’s just…Lina’s complicated. I’ma try to bring it up after the baby shower.” Hopefully, she’ll take it well, he thought. Nine times out of ten, she wouldn’t. Alina had known these people for a large chunk of her life. They had become her family away from her family, but recent events have started changing that for her. She shouldn’t have to force herself to be around people whom she doesn’t like, and vice versa, to spend time with what’s left of her friendships. 

The twins stop in front of the door to Josh’s locker room, their conversation concluding just before they made it. “It’ll all work out, Uce,” Jon assures him, holding up his hand to initiate a handshake. Josh clasped his hand with his brother’s, their hands moving through the quick motion of a dap up. Jon would snap his fingers at the release of his hand, pointing his index finger at him. “Ay, let me know the move tonight.” He reminds him, moving down the hall toward his locker room. 

“I’ll text you,” Josh promises.

Suddenly, the door opens behind him, warm white light pouring out of the room and into the hallway. Josh turns over his shoulder, his eyes finding Alina’s. “Our table will be ready at nine thirty.” She says, stepping aside to let him in. Josh’s eyes peered down at the ruched chocolate-brown dress Alina wore. The dress hugged her curves, bunched at the top of her hips, accentuating what didn’t need accentuating. The front of the dress plunged just below her breasts. A gold necklace, a small Cuban that Josh had gifted her one Christmas, hung at her neck. 

“You look good.” He compliments her as he steps into the room. The air smelled heavily of roses and jasmine thanks to the perfume Alina sprayed on her body before opening the door. He drops his title onto the couch next to his clothes, which she set out for him, to face the woman behind him. 

“Thank you.” She replies, closing the door behind him. She turns to face the man, finding his eyes still on her. “What?”

“When did you buy this?” He asks, glancing up at her once more.

“Last week.” She replies, moving around him to her suitcase.

“Hold on…” He purrs, wrapping an arm around her waist. Alina shoots him a stern glare, prompting Josh to pull back from her, confused. “What?”

“We don’t have time for this.” She says, reaching down to pull his hands from her body. Upon removal, he began his grumbling, his hands immediately going back to her hips. “You worried about the wrong thing.” She says, removing his hands again. “Go take a shower.” She says, proceeding to her suitcase. She leans down into it, grabbing the heels she planned to wear for the night.

“You act like I was bout to tell you to take it off.” He argues, snatching up his towel that was draped over the back of a chair. He spares her one final glance before heading for the bathroom. “You don’t even have underwear on.” He mutters, slapping her ass on his way by. Alina shot straight up, instantly shoving Josh into the bathroom. “Watch out.” He laughs, stumbling into the bathroom.

–––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

Dinner instead of the club was definitely the right move for the Twins and their dates. The night was relaxed, filled with soft music, food, good conversation, and their laughter; a pleasant alternative to their normal. 

“So how’s the house hunting going?” Trinity asks, setting her fork on her plate. They had just finished dinner, opening them up to having more conversation without a mouthful of food. Alina glances up at Josh next to her before fixing her gaze upon Trin once more. They hadn’t really discussed houses since Tasha had come over that one night. It wasn’t on purpose; they don’t think, they just haven’t had much time to think about it. 

That was a month ago, though.

“It’s going well.” She lies, nodding as she speaks. “We narrowed it down to five–.” She glances at Josh again. “Five houses?” He nods passively, his eyes going to his brother. Jon peers over at him at the same time, a silent conversation happening with just glares. “Yeah, five houses. There hasn’t been much else movement on that, though.” She finishes. “I told him he needed to hurry up and make a decision. Those houses won’t be on the market forever. He doesn’t wanna listen to me though.”

“I listen to you.” He says, glancing over at her. “Would help if you helped me choose.” He mutters.

“You’re not helping him?” Jon asked. “Ain’t this y’all’s house?” He asks, putting Alina in the hot seat about her choice not to help him. She parts her lips slightly, a nearly inaudible squeak coming from her mouth at the question.

“W-Well,” She starts, peering down at her plate. “I mean,” She pauses as she ponders her words. She could feel everyone’s eyes on her, waiting for her explanation as to why she was avoiding being part of his homebuying process. “This is technically his house. We aren’t married–.”

“Yet,” Jon adds, making Alina glance up at him. Beneath the table, she began to tap her right foot out of nervousness. Her brows furrow slightly as she shakes her head at the man. Where was this all coming from all of a sudden? 

“Right, I just don’t want him to make any decisions like this one with me in mind before–.”

“He already did when he moved to Atlanta,” Jon says, confusion apparent in his voice. “It’s too late for all that.” He finishes. Alina grows silent once more, her eyes not moving from Jon’s. He’d watch her back, his brows slightly raised. His words had caught her off guard, rendering her speechless. Her chest was filled with a mix of emotions: confusion, anxiety, anger…things that made her uncomfortable. 

“You know what, Jon,” She starts, adjusting in her seat to face him. “I didn’t even know he was doing it until he told me. Josh had already made up his mind. I asked him if he was sure he wanted to do this, and he said yes.” She says, her voice slightly raised. “And so I adjusted. When he stopped going home, I adjusted. These are things that are happening on his time, not mine, by the way, and yet, I adjusted. I haven’t had a relationship this serious since my ex-fiancé. I have never known a love this intense, ever, but I am adjusting; not at his pace, but at my own, and he knows that.” She says. “I’ve never been one to throw caution to the wind, and you know that.” She says, pointing her finger at him. “So, I’m sorry that I’m being protective over my heart. It’s almost like the shit’s been broken before.”

Jon leans forward, his hand outstretched toward his brother. “But what does that have to do with my brother, though?” He asks, his eyes wide and brows knitted closely in confusion.

“Nothing! It has nothing to do with him and everything to do with me.” Alina says loudly. At Alina raising her voice, Josh sits up, a heavy sigh leaving his lips. Here she goes with all this damn hollering, he thought. He turns his attention towards her, his hand finding the top of her thigh. “We,” she points aggressively between her and Josh, “have already talked about this. I am working through my issues, through my traumas, but that shit doesn’t happen overnight, and it damn sure doesn’t happen in 6 months. So, you can get the fuck off of me.” 

“Alright, y’all, let’s talk about something else.” Trin chimes in. The atmosphere for dinner had shifted from light and romantic to tense and uncomfortable. 

“Nah, I want to go,” Alina says, scooting out of her seat. “Because if I sit here any longer, you finna hate my ass.” She says with a giggle. 

Josh’s grip on Alina’s thigh tightens, keeping her sitting down. She glances down at his hand and then up at his face, finding his dark eyes staring back at her. “You need to calm your ass down.” He whispers to her. A small scoff could be heard coming from Alina as she pushes his hand off her leg, continuing to scoot out of the booth. His eyes, still fixated on the spot where Alina sat last, would shift up to his brother, who was watching after Alina.

“I got her. Let me out.” Trin says, tapping his side. Slowly, he moves out of the booth, letting his wife chase after Alina. He drops back into the booth, lifting his hips to take his wallet out of his back pocket. If dinner wasn’t over, it for sure was now. Josh slowly relaxes in his seat, his hands clasped in his lap.

“Look, I’m sorry,” Jon says, cutting through the silence after several moments. “She’s just...”

“You’re good,” Josh says lowly, averting his gaze from his brother. “She’ll be alright.” He adds, reaching for his glass. He takes a slow sip of his drink. It wasn’t the truth; they both knew that, but she would eventually. “You ain’t have to press her like that, though.” He adds, putting his glass on the table. “She got enough bullshit going on.” 

“I understand that, I do, but–.” Josh sucks his teeth at his brother, his top lip curled in annoyance. 

“Man, but nothing,” He snaps. “You don’t know everything that goes on behind closed doors. We've had our talk, and she’s been talking to somebody. We’re fine, she’s fine. That’s all that matters.” Josh was hoping that his brother would allow him to leave it at that, but he’s been on one all day and expected very little of him at this point. 

“Alright,” Jon replies, lifting his hands at his brother. “My bad.” He finishes.

“You’re damn right you're bad. She’s gonna be mad as hell the rest of the night. You better hope she talks to your ass come next week.” He points, removing his credit card from the back of his phone. Jon looks up past Josh, prompting him to turn to see what he was looking at. Trinity was on her way back towards the table, with no Alina in tow. 

“Where’s Lina?” Jon asked, looking behind her.

“She’s not coming back in.” She answers, getting a scoff from her brother-in-law.

“Shit, I could’ve told you that,” Josh mutters, shooting a glare in his brother’s direction. The night was over the moment she started raising her voice, and nothing was going to convince her otherwise. “Find the waitress so we can get out of here.” He says to Trinity, who turned and waved down their waitress for the night. 

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Sabrina’s pov

The door closes with a solid thud, the kind that echoes in a parking garage and makes everything feel final.

I sit there for a second with my hands still on the steering wheel, engine off, keys dangling from the ignition. My reflection stares back at me in the windshield—same face, same body, same life… technically. But it doesn’t feel that way anymore.

Let’s be real.

When will I ever be offered a million dollars again?

Not a sweepstakes. Not a lottery. Not some vague promise tied to “exposure.”

A real number. Typed into a real contract. Signed with my real name.

I lean back against the headrest and let out a slow breath, one I didn’t realize I’d been holding since I walked out of that building.

I’m not broke.

That’s the thing people always assume first.

I pay my bills on time. I have a savings account that isn’t embarrassing. I don’t flinch when my car needs maintenance or when groceries cost more than they should. I’ve built a life that works. Quiet. Steady. Mine.

But I also know what it feels like to want more and still be realistic enough to admit how far away it can feel.

A house doesn’t just fall into your lap. Security doesn’t magically happen because you work hard. And comfort can disappear faster than people like to admit.

This—this contract—doesn’t make me rich.

It gives me breathing room. It gives me options. It gives me a future that doesn’t rely on hope alone.

My mama raised me to never need a man. She drilled that into me the same way she drilled in manners and self-respect. You take care of yourself first. You don’t wait around to be chosen. You don’t let love—or money—make you stupid.

But she also raised me to be smart.

And turning down a million dollars just to prove I don’t need it would be stupid.

I glance down at my phone when the screen lights up again, the glow cutting through the dim garage. 

His contact information is now saved in my phone.

Still open. Like my phone is waiting for me to do something about it.

Josh Fatu.

I don’t remember the exact moment it was added. Probably during the meeting. Probably while I was focused on clauses and timelines and signatures. But there it is now, added in with people I actually talk to, people I actually know. 

I’m aware of how strange it is to have direct access to someone whose life has been loud and public long before it brushed up against mine.

He has my number too—or he will once he’s done with whatever shoot he’s on today. That’s what Brooke said. 

I lock my phone and set it face down on the passenger seat.

I don’t know when I’ll use that number. Or if I ever will.

And I’m okay with that.

Last night, though? Last night I wasn’t so calm.

I went home and did what anyone with sense would do before tying themselves to a headline—I looked everything up.

Not just the articles. Not just the headlines designed to get clicks.

Everything.

The timeline. The screenshots. The think pieces. The comments that spiraled faster than facts ever do. I read what people said about him, and I read what they said about the girl, and I noticed how quickly blame gets assigned when nuance is inconvenient.

From what I can tell, he didn’t do what they’re accusing him of. There’s literally no proof, only a picture she posted—like some other fans did.

The only thing he did was put himself in the same room as her. Of course he didn’t know this would happen but by now you would think he would know he isn’t just any type of man, and people like her are always lurking around. He should’ve been smarter. 

Once people get a hold of something and can make a story of it and run with it, they will. 

I don’t know this man but from this incident and the others I’ve heard about it shows his carelessness. 

He’s gotten too comfortable, too used to things blowing over. 

If this were a regular man, his life would already be in pieces.

That part sticks with me.

I don’t think he’s dangerous. I don’t think he’s evil. I don’t think he’s some misunderstood saint either. I think he’s a man who’s been insulated by money and fame long enough to forget how close the ground really is.

And I am not here to fix that.

That’s another thing I made peace with before I picked up that pen today.

This isn’t love. This isn’t saving him. This isn’t me softening a grown man into maturity.

This is a contract. This is time. This is optics.

And if I’m being honest with myself, that clarity is the only reason I could sign my name without my hand shaking.

The first payment will hit in a few days. Just knowing that makes something tight settle low in my chest—not excitement, not fear. Awareness.

This is real now.

I start the car, the engine humming to life beneath me, and ease out of the parking spot. As I pull toward the exit, I catch one last glimpse of the building in my rearview mirror.

Nothing looks different.

But everything is.

And as I merge back into traffic, I know exactly how I’m moving forward.

Slowly, with my eyes open, and on my terms. 

Josh’s pov

The house is too quiet when I get home.

I toss my keys on the counter and kick my shoes off by the door, the echo of it all bouncing back at me. The shoot ran longer than it was supposed to. They always do. By the time I’m alone again, the noise is gone and all that’s left is my own head.

I check my phone.

Missed messages stack up faster than I expected.

Caleb. Brooke. Jon.

I tap Brooke’s name first.

She signed. Contract and NDA.

That’s it.

No hype. No reassurance. Just confirmation.

I sit down on the edge of the couch, elbows on my knees, phone hanging loose in my hand. I knew she was going to sign. You don’t bring a lawyer, ask the questions she asked, and walk away undecided if you’re not seriously considering it.

Still… knowing it’s done makes something settle heavy in my chest.

This is real now, the only real thing about this whole situation.

I don’t like fake shit. Never have.

I’ve spent my whole career trying to be me and stay me. I made a promise to myself that I wasn’t gonna let the money or fame go to my head or change me, or make me blinded to what people really wanted. And now here I am, agreeing to a fake ass relationship because some girl I don’t know lied on me. 

That’s the part that keeps pissing me off. 

Brooke’s typing bubble pops up again.

I sent you her contact info. Add her when you get a chance. No pressure.

I save the number.

Sabrina James.

I stare at the name longer than I should.

I’m not about to text her.

Why would I?

I wouldn’t even know where to start. How do you text your fake girlfriend? Some random woman getting paid a milli to clean up my image for a year.

I lock my phone.

Then unlock it again.

Curiosity wins before pride can stop it.

I open Instagram and search her name. Her profile comes up immediately—public, simple, nothing flashy. No bio trying to sell shit. No blue check fantasies.

I scroll.

And immediately realize how wrong my assumptions were.

Her posts are normal. Like… actually normal.

Outfits styled in ways that make sense. Jeans, boots, sweaters, jackets. Things people really wear. Captions talking about affordability, comfort, confidence without sounding preachy. She’s not chasing trends—she’s explaining how to work with what you already have.

You don’t need designer to look put together.

That sticks out to me for some reason.

I keep scrolling.

Pictures with friends. Family. Group shots at birthdays, cookouts, holidays. Smiles that look real. Not forced.

What I don’t see is just as loud.

No ex-boyfriend soft launches. No mystery man arm cropped out of photos. No “my person” captions. No breadcrumb trail of a past relationship.

Not that it’s my business—but I notice it anyway.

She doesn’t look like someone waiting to be discovered.

She looks like someone who already has a life.

Like my people from back home. 

I set the phone down and lean back, staring up at the ceiling. I never thought I’d be here. Never thought I’d need a contract to prove I wasn’t the monster the internet decided I was.

And I definitely never thought the woman tied to it would be like her.

Not flashy. Not thirsty. Not chasing this world.

If this were an Instagram model or somebody trying to climb, I’d know how to handle it. I’ve been around that energy long enough to recognize the rules. But this?

This feels unfamiliar.

I still haven’t talked to my mom about any of this.

I know she’s seen some shit but I’ve been dodging the conversation, pretending I just need time. I can’t hide it forever. Eventually she’s going to ask about it, and she’s definitely gonna ask about this when she finds out about it.

And when she does, I don’t know what I’ll say.

I hear my phone buzz again.

Jon.

Of course.

I answer before he can call.

Jon: You alive? Me: Barely.

The reply comes quick.

Jon: What the hell you got going on since you not gonna say shit?

I sigh and type back.

Me: Just kno it ain’t true, and my team handling it.

There’s a pause.

Then:

Jon: That aint a answer.

I rub the back of my neck.

Me: My name jus got thrown in some shit

That one takes a second longer for him to reply to.

Jon: It always does.

I smirk despite myself. Me: They bout to have me in a fake relationship to try to clear this up.

Dots appear immediately.

Jon: Man what? Jon: See if u knew how to act, you wouldn’t have to do this bullshit.

I snort. Typical Jon. No sugar. No sympathy.

Me: I didn’t do shit tho. Jon: Doesn’t matter  Jon: Yo ass was there and you kno ppl be ready to pounce for attention. Jon: You think regular dudes get second chances like this?

I don’t answer right away.

He’s not wrong.

Jon: She cool at least? Me: I guess Me: She seems… normal.

Jon’s response comes fast.

Jon: That’s prolly what yo ass needs

I stare at the words longer than I should.

I don’t know how this is supposed to go. Don’t know what she expects from me or how much space to give her. I don’t know how to move through this without turning it into something it’s not—or accidentally disrespecting someone who clearly didn’t come into this blind.

All I know is this isn’t like anything I’ve dealt with before.

And that somehow makes it harder.

I swipe out of me and Jon’s thread and pull up her contact, then swipe out of it and set my phone face down on the table.

I’ll wait and see what happens.

For once in my life, waiting feels like the smarter move.

The smell of coffee hits me once Brooke opens the door.

“Hey,” she says as I step inside.

“Hey,” I say back. Like this is normal.

She leads me into her kitchen, the afternoon light spilling across the counters. Her home is really nice, but not overly luxurious. It looks lived-in.

She’s dressed casually today, but still put together. Her hair is pulled back into a low ponytail.

“You want anything to drink?” she asks, opening the fridge. “I have water, juice, soda, wine…” She trails off, looking at me over her shoulder.

“Water is fine,” I say, sitting down at the island in the middle of her kitchen.

She hands me a bottle as she takes a seat across from me.

“So,” she starts, “today’s pretty low-key. You’ll meet your media trainer, and one of my friends who’s a stylist will be stopping by.”

I nod slowly. “Okay.”

“You’ll get your measurements and stuff taken, talk about your style, and your trainer will briefly walk you through how to move, how to respond if you’re ever asked questions at an event—stuff like that. Nothing intense.”

Nothing intense.

A week ago, I signed a contract worth a million dollars.

My version of intense has shifted.

Brooke studies my face for a second, like she’s checking in without wanting to make it obvious.

“There’s also something else we need to talk about,” she says.

“Okay,” I reply, taking a sip of my water.

“We’re thinking the cleanest way to introduce you and Josh publicly is a soft launch.”

“A soft launch,” I repeat.

“Candids—you know, paparazzi pics,” she clarifies. “Nothing official. No statements yet.”

I straighten a little. “So… we’re just going somewhere paparazzi already hang out?”

Brooke shakes her head. “No. They’ll be tipped off. Anonymously.”

The words hang in the air.

I blink. Once. Twice.

“…Wow,” I say before I can stop myself. “People actually do that?”

She laughs.

“Sometimes,” she says. “Not all the time. But when you need them to, they don’t have a problem popping up.”

I’ve heard people say it before. Online. Always half-joking, half-conspiracy.

Hearing it said out loud like it’s part of a normal plan hits different.

“They’d get pictures of you two out shopping or going to dinner,” Brooke continues. “Something low-key. It reads natural. That way, when people start asking questions, we already control the narrative.”

Control.

She tells me the story of how Josh and I supposedly met. A mutual acquaintance—most likely her, if it ever gets out that we’re related—had a small gathering. We met there, both of us wanting to keep the relationship private since it’s still new and I’m not in the industry. We’ve been taking things slow, seeing each other quietly for about two months, you know… before the whole incident happened.

That way they can say, yeah, he wasn’t even at the party long—he left early to go see his girlfriend, and maybe even get a clip of him leaving.

We talk about how, for now, I can just keep posting and living my life like usual. And if things get too much, I can always turn my comments off.

Before I can ask any more questions, the doorbell rings.

“That’ll be them,” Brooke says.

The trainer arrives first, calm and friendly, followed shortly by the stylist—Brooke’s friend—with a warm smile and professional energy. They settle in like this isn’t their first time walking someone through the beginning of a very public life.

The trainer talks to me like a person, not a project.

Don’t look directly at the paparazzi. Don’t react if they call your name. Keep moving.

Then she pauses.

“But if you’re ever at an event and someone asks you a question, you don’t need to freeze. You don’t want to come off rude or stiff.”

I nod, listening more closely now.

“Be yourself,” she says. “Warm. Short answers. Pivot back to Josh. You’re there to support him—that’s enough.”

It doesn't seem too hard.

The stylist takes my measurements next, talking about looks the same way I talk about work outfits—practical, thoughtful, unfussy. She mentions dinners, appearances, maybe events down the line.

“Josh is covering all of this,” she adds casually.

Good—because I was definitely going to ask that.

When they leave, the house settles again.

Just me and Brooke.

“Let’s go sit on the patio,” she says.

I grab my drink—this time wine, because why the fuck not—and follow her outside.

We sit and talk for a few minutes before I can feel the conversation shifting.

“I know this is a lot,” she says, leaning back in her chair. “I can only imagine what’s going through your head. But we really do appreciate you doing this.”

I nod. “Yeah, it’s something. But as long as we’re both comfortable, I feel like this can happen without any problems.”

“Yeah it can, people do this all the time. But I definitely want to make sure you’re comfortable.” She turns more toward me. “I know we’re not close, but I wouldn’t bring you into this blind or without having your back. Close or not, you’re blood. And as a woman coming into this, I’m not going to steer you wrong.”

I meet her eyes.

“I hear you.”

I do.

But trust is something that shows up over time. Not something I sign for—and not something I give just because we’re blood.

Brooke’s been a part of this industry for a while now. She knows Josh better than she knows me. He’s part of the reason she’s living like this.

She’ll have to prove herself before I trust her just because she says so.

Sabrina's pov

By the time Friday rolls around, I’ve already changed my outfit twice.

Not because I’m trying to impress him—at least that’s what I tell myself—but because this feels different. This isn’t a meeting or a contract signing or someone explaining what my role is supposed to be. This is the first time Josh and I will actually be alone together. No buffer. No third party. Just us.

I stand in my bedroom staring at myself in the mirror, tugging absently at the hem of my shirt. Shorts, fitted tee, Converse. Simple. Comfortable. I don’t want to look like I’m trying to be anyone else. I already agreed to enough pretending.

My braids are out and my bob is back. I kind of miss being able to pull it up into a ponytail. I don’t know why but I feel like it would ground me in this moment. 

My phone buzzes.

Josh: I’m outside

My stomach flips before I can stop it.

I grab my bag, lock the door behind me, and head for the elevator. The ride down feels longer than it should, my reflection staring back at me in the mirrored walls. I take a breath as the doors open.

He’s already out of the car when I step outside.

A black Range Rover sits at the curb, engine running. Josh leans casually against the driver’s side door, dressed down in sweats, a white tee, Jordans on his feet. Tattoos visible on his arms and creeping up his neck. He looks…

You know what, I’m not even going to go there.

That’s not what this is about.

“Hey,” he says, straightening when he sees me.

“Hey.”

There’s a brief pause. Not awkward exactly—just aware.

He opens the passenger door for me. “You good?”

“Yeah,” I say, sliding into the seat. “Just… first-day jitters, I guess.”

He smiles slightly as he closes the door and gets behind the wheel. Once we pull away from the curb, the silence stretches for a few seconds too long.

Josh exhales. “Okay. This is awkward.”

I laugh before I can stop myself. “Was hoping you didn’t notice.”

“Yeah,” he says, shaking his head. “Hard not to.”

That breaks something open.

“I was trying not to overthink it,” I admit.

“Overthinking is kinda unavoidable,” he says. “But we’ll figure it out.”

The ride eases after that. He asks if I’m cool with hitting the mall first—he has a few more stops to make before we grab food later. I tell him that’s fine.

It really doesn’t matter to me. I’m just here to make him look good.

At the mall, we don’t make it ten steps before a group of teenage boys recognizes him.

“Yo—Josh!” one of them calls out, eyes wide.

Josh turns easily, smiling. “What’s up?”

They rush over, phones already out.

“Can we get a picture?” “Bro, I was just watchin’ your last game.” “Is that your girl?”

Josh glances at me briefly, then back at them. “Yeah,” he says with an easy smile.

Something about how casually he says it settles my nerves more than I expect.

He takes pictures, signs a couple autographs, jokes with them like he’s got time. When they thank him, he tells them to stay in school and keep working hard.

Inside the store, I browse while Josh has one of the workers—and some guy who came out of nowhere—following him around, basically grabbing whatever Josh points out.

I don’t really need anything, but I stop when I see a cute pair of sneakers.

“You want them?” I hear behind me.

I glance over my shoulder and see Josh standing there, watching me.

“No,” I say, shaking my head. “I’m just looking.”

He nods, then looks back at the sneakers. “Whatever you want, just let him know.” He tilts his head toward the guy who’s been following him around. “I got you.”

I nod and turn back to the wall. Again, I don’t need anything.

I step outside the store while Josh goes to pay, noticing a few more fans coming up to him.

When he’s done, he meets me at the front—empty-handed.

I frown. “Where’s your bags?”

He smirks, sliding his hands into his pockets. “I got a personal shopper. He took the stuff out to the car.”

“Oh,” I say, nodding. Must be nice.

We check out a few other stores, talking about nothing important. Music. Dallas heat. How weird malls feel now compared to when we were kids.

When we leave, I notice a crowd gathered near the front—cameras raised.

I tense instinctively.

Josh leans slightly toward me, sliding his arm lightly behind my back. “Relax,” he murmurs. “Just focus on me.”

I do.

“Say whatever you want,” he adds quietly. “You can cuss me out for all I care.”

I laugh, and he smiles down at me like that was exactly what he was aiming for.

The flashes follow us all the way to his car. When we pull out of the parking lot, I notice an SUV on our tail.

“That’s my bodyguard,” Josh says.

At least we won’t be alone in this.

By the time we make it to the restaurant, things have slowed down a lot. Josh’s bodyguard definitely came in handy, because the paparazzi followed us to every stop once we left the mall.

His bodyguard sits not too far from us while we eat and talk.

“So what do you actually do?” Josh asks. “Brooke told me you work in tech.”

“I’m a quality assurance analyst.”

He gives me a blank look, so I smile and explain.

“Basically, I test software and apps for bugs, write reports, work with developers—boring stuff.”

“You must be really smart,” he says.

I shrug. “I mean, I guess when it comes to this stuff.”

“You always been into that?”

I shake my head. “I took a coding class in high school, but it was a bit much for me. My teacher used to talk about all the tech jobs you could get without knowing how to code and how well they paid. When I got to college, I started trying to figure out what I actually wanted to do. I knew I wanted a good-paying job, but I also wanted to stay in the background, so my research just kind of led me here.”

Josh watches me for a second before asking, “You like it?”

“Yeah. I don’t hate it. I work three days in the office, two at home. I make good money, so I can’t complain.”

“But is it what you really want to be doing?” he asks. “I saw your fashion posts.”

That catches me off guard.

“You were on my Instagram?”

He leans back and takes a sip of his drink before answering. “I mean, yeah. I had to see who I’d be hanging around for a year. Don’t act like you didn’t look me up.”

I raise a brow. “I didn’t have to look you up. You seem to pop up every time I unlock my phone.”

He licks his lips and nods.

Guess he doesn’t have much to say to that.

We switch topics—what made him choose football over other sports. How his mom made him and his twin brother pick something to keep them busy. I didn’t even know he had a twin. 

“Can I ask you something?” he says while we wait for the check.

“Yeah?” I say, thrown off by his tone.

“What made you sign the contract?” he asks. “You seem happy with your life.”

I think for a second before answering. “I am happy with my life. But I also know this could help me get to where I want to be.”

“And where’s that?”

“Being debt-free. Owning my own home one day. Having a safety net. Being able to help my mom.”

He watches me again, like he wasn’t expecting that. He opens his mouth to say something but the waiter comes back with the check. 

The ride back to my apartment is comfortable—not forced. His bodyguard follows us just in case the paparazzi decide to pop back up.

When he pulls up outside my building, he gets out first and walks around to my side. That’s when I notice the bag in his hand.

“Here,” he says, handing it to me.

“Don’t tell me you got me those sneakers.”

He shrugs. “Open it.”

I do, shaking my head at the pink, white, and green Air Max I was looking at in the store.

“You didn’t have to get me anything,” I say, smiling despite myself.

“I know,” he replies. “But I wanted to.”

“Thanks,” I say, looking back at the sneakers.

“No problem.”

He walks me inside, stopping near the elevators. Before I get on, I turn back to him.

“How did you even know my size?” I ask.

“Texted Brooke,” he says with a shrug. “Figured she might know.”

I shake my head, smiling. “Thanks again. You really didn’t have to do this.”

“I know,” he says. “But you’re being forced to hang around me, so why not?”

“I’m already being paid for that,” I say dryly.

“Yeah,” he smirks, “but how I look out shopping with my million-dollar girlfriend and she don’t have nothin’ to show for it?”

I roll my eyes.

He bites his bottom lip to keep from smiling and takes a step back. “Aight. You better go inside—because in a lil bit, your pictures bout to be all over when you unlock your phone.”

I sigh.

Yeah. I forgot about that part.

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She’s had the wind knocked out of her body a total of two times in her life, a broken arm and sprained ankle once, but somehow this hurt more than those. Perhaps she’s just being dramatic, but Vanessa couldn’t help but feel like her world was ending. Life, as she’s always known it, was changing, forcing her to get with the times and adapt to what’s to come. Hm, gotta love those random storms. 

Nessa could never see herself being a mother, being directly responsible for another life, terrified her. It’s not that she didn’t think she was capable of being a good one—she’s sure she can be that, but the idea of failing that child outweighed the positive. She’s failed enough people in her life, her Mom and Dad being at the top of that list. To add a child to that? She wouldn’t be able to live with herself. 

“Miss Browning?” The doctor calls. Her name sounded distant, behind a wall almost. Her eyes were fixated on the door to the room she was in, unblinking. “Miss Browning?” She calls again, only to be met with the same silence as before. Vanessa gently chewed on the nail on her thumb, slipping deeper and deeper into a dissociation. It’s been a common occurrence since she found out last week.

“Nessa,” Isabel calls, her hand gently nudging at her friend’s shoulder. Nessa cut her eyes in Isabel’s direction, an unreadable expression on her face. There’s a look of concern on Isabel’s face as she watches her poor friend come back to Earth. “Dr. Cloud.” She says softly, pointing in the direction of the OBGYN, who silently watches her. 

Slowly, she averts her gaze to the doctor, her lips briefly pressing into a thin line. Vanessa’s shoulders lift as she draws in a long breath, a deep exhale following. “I’m sorry.” 

“It’s fine.” The doctor says, offering her a sympathetic smile. “This is a common reaction to becoming a new mother, especially when it’s unexpected. I’ve had a fair share of patients who reacted the same way throughout the years. It doesn’t last long.” She says, placing her hand on Nessa’s shoulder. She’d give it a gentle squeeze, the fine lines around her eyes becoming more defined as her smile grew. “Ready to see your baby, Mama?” She asks, tilting her head to the side. 

The six words from the middle-aged doctor cause Nessa’s mouth to go dry briefly before quickly filling with saliva. Oh no…, she thought, her hand moving to her mouth. Nausea washed over her, sending her off the doctor’s table. “I’m sorry—Mmf!” She chokes out as she doubles over the trash bin in the corner. Isabel and Dr. Cloud both watched after her in silence.

Isabel grimaces at the sight of her sickly friend before turning her attention toward the doctor. “Nerves.” She explains, laughing nervously at the situation. 

“Should I put in an order for anti-nausea medication?”

“Oh, that would be lovely,” Isabel answers, her grimace becoming a large smile. 

Of all the symptoms Nessa could get while pregnant, she was plagued with nausea. It left her hot, miserable, and exhausted. Her sides ached from her abdominal muscles flexing from all the heaving she did, leaving her hugging a heating pad by the end of the day. Vanessa straightens up from the trash bin, a shaky moan leaving her lips. “All better?” Dr. Cloud asks from behind her.

“No, I’m pregnant.” She huffs, wiping at her mouth. The poor girl’s been hugging the toilet in her apartment at odd hours of the day and night since last week. It was starting to prevent her from working, eating, and getting a proper amount of rest. 

“We’ll get a prescription of anti-nausea medication put in for you to alleviate some of that sickness, okay?” Dr. Cloud promises her. Vanessa glances over her shoulder at the doctor just as she turns away from the pregnant woman and her deeply concerned friend. She pulls the ultrasound machine on wheels to the tableside, powering it on in the process. “It’s quite rare for morning sickness to go on the entirety of the pregnancy. I think you’ll be fine in about a week or so.” She assures her, grabbing a white tube of ultrasound gel from the basket beneath the machine. “I think nausea is one of the easier symptoms of pregnancy to deal with.” She shares, reaching behind the table to interact with the remote attached to it to recline it. “Some mothers lose their hair, or even teeth—.”

“Please don’t finish that sentence,” Vanessa says, peering up at the doctor from behind her lashes. The last thing she needed to hear was that she could wake up spitting out teeth, all because she got pregnant. 

“Very well.” The doctor says, holding up the tube of gel. She flashes Vanessa a grin, her brows lifting slightly. “Ready?” She asks. This was her favorite part of working with new mothers; they always came into the office incredibly nervous, but left with a renewed confidence in themselves. Nessa looks over at Isabel for reassurance, which her friend acknowledges with a grab of her hand and a gentle smile. 

Isabel felt for Nessa. She didn’t quite understand how she felt in this moment because she had her entire family, as well as Alex’s, behind her for her pregnancy. Nessa had no one. No mother, no father, not even the guy that did this to her. Joe. That was a situation that worried her deeply. Where the hell was Joe, and why hadn’t Nessa spoken to him? Every time Isabel tried to bring it up over the last week, she was avoidant of the topic, muttering dismissive words at her each time the subject was brought up. 

Nessa looks to the doctor, a heavy sigh leaving her frame. Slowly, she pulls up her shirt, exposing her soft abdomen. “Let’s get this over with.” She says, her voice gently shaking. The Doctor nods, hovering the tube of gel over her stomach.

“It’s a little cool…” She warns as she squeezes, not giving the pregnant woman enough time to brace herself for what’s to come. Vanessa’s stomach retracts at the iciness of the gel, goosebumps quickly rising across her skin. Doctor Cloud trades out the gel for the ultrasound wand, pressing it down onto the gel on Nessa’s stomach. The screen next to her displays the imaging of her uterus, but nothing has been seen just yet. “Hmm…”

“What?” Vanessa says quickly, her eyes not leaving the screen. “What do you see?”

“Nothing, yet.” The doctor responds, moving the wand slowly to the left of her stomach. “They—.”

“They?” She interrupts.

“Well, yes, we don’t know the sex of the fetus just yet.” She then points at the screen, her finger circling a spot. “You see this?” She asks. “This is the embryonic sac. There’s only one in there—.”

“So no twins?” Nessa asks, interrupting once more. Doctor Cloud drops her head briefly, laughing softly at the woman on the doctor’s table. “What’s funny?” She asks, louder than before. Isabel squeezes her friend’s hand, reminding her to be calm. 

“No, there are no twins, Miss Browning.” She finally answers, moving the wand to beneath her belly button. The screen now changes, showing a baby: Nessa’s baby. “Ah,” She gasps, a bright smile spreading across her face. “There’s your baby, mama.” Vanessa’s eyes widened in size as she took in the sight of the tiny human on the screen. Chills took over her body once again, causing her to adjust on the table. She didn’t know what to make of the image just yet.

Isabel leans forward into Nessa’s side, her eyes full of light at the screen. “Oh, Nessa!” She exclaims quietly from her side. “You see it?”

“Yeah,” She whispers, her eyes never leaving the screen. That was in her. Growing. A child. She was growing a child. Suddenly, a pulsating sound fills the room, causing Vanessa to blink from her trance. “Is that the…” She drifts off, looking down at the doctor for confirmation. She nods, moving the wand across her stomach to the right.

“She’s got a strong heart.” She informs the room after a few moments of silence and studying the screen.

“She?” Vanessa asks, peering back up at the screen. Doctor Cloud leaned towards the screen once more, her finger elongated as she spoke.

“Looks to be.” She says, dropping her hand to her lap, and turning her attention back to Vanessa. “Congratulations,” She says. “It’s a girl.” 

“Oh, Susie is gonna love this!” Isabel exclaims. Her and Alex’s daughter, Susannah, was turning two years old soon. Her Tía Nessie giving her a new friend would be the best birthday gift. Upon the announcement, Isabel mentally began planning outings for the pair of mothers and their kids. “They’re going to have so many playdates! Matching outfits—.”

“Izzy,” Nessa calls, her voice soft, distant almost. 

“Qué?” She answers, shrinking back into her seat when she hears nothing from her entranced friend. “Sorry.” She whispers, glancing up at the screen once more. Silently, she does a little dance in her seat—overjoyed for her long-time friend.

A printing sound is heard coming from the ultrasound machine, joining the quick heartbeat of the baby on the screen. The doctor glances down at the freshly printed string of images in her hand before passing them off to Vanessa. “Should I print off a copy for the father?” She asks, reminding Nessa of the abnormally large elephant that’s been following her around since finding out she was pregnant. 

She’s had a very long and thought-out text message sitting in the drafts of their messages apologizing for randomly popping up unannounced after a few months of silence, apologizing for, and explaining why she randomly left in the middle of the night. She assured him that it was nothing that he did that made her run, but herself, and that she was working on it. When it came time to tell him she was pregnant, she found herself unable to finish typing out the message, which is why it’s still a draft and nothing more. Something about dropping that kind of news in a text message just felt so…

The fronts of her brows twitch at the question, her lips slightly twisting to the left. Isabel watched the side of her head, her breathing paused as she waited for an answer—the right answer. Surely, seeing that baby on that screen would change Nessa’s mind about keeping Joe in the dark. Slowly, she shook her head. Isabel releases the breath she was holding, her shoulders dropping at her friend’s non-verbal response. “No,” She answers. “He’s not around.”

“I’ll take a copy!” Isabel exclaims, her hand extended for her copy of the ultrasound. She was passed a copy of the images, her eyes studying the baby girl. “Oh, she has your head.” She says, holding the picture up for Nessa to see. 

———————————————————————————

The drive back to Isabel’s house was quiet, filled with tension thick enough to cut with a knife. She would glance over at Nessa in the passenger seat every few moments, only to find the woman still gazing at the pictures in her lap. “Penny for your thoughts?” She asks, her eyes returning to the road. A heavy sigh could be heard from the passenger seat at the question, but an answer never came.

Vanessa’s eyes remained fixated on the pictures for a moment longer before switching to the busy road ahead of them as she tried to figure out how to answer the question. “I really fucked up, didn’t I?” She asks, prompting Izzy to glance briefly at her. It was a question that had been on repeat for days. 

“No,” She starts, shaking her head. “No, of course not.” Isabel’s answer has been the same each time the question was asked. Part of Nessa wanted her best friend to be honest with her and tell her that she fucked up, but she knew it wasn’t coming—mostly because what Nessa thought was a lie to make her feel better was truly the truth. 

“You can be honest,” She whispers. “S’not going to hurt my feelings if you are. I know I did.” Silence filled the car again as Isabel pondered her response. Her pink lips would open and close, her brows furrowing as she silently huffed at her words.

“Did you forget how Susie got here? It happens, it happened. Now all you can do is focus on making sure that baby girl knows she’s loved and safe.” Isabel explains, glancing over her. “And you know Alex and I will be here every step of the way—you are not alone.” She assures her. 

“I know that—.”

“Then what is it, huh?” She asks, turning onto the road leading to her home. Nessa grows silent again, the silence becoming a louder response than words could ever be. “Then why don’t you tell him? Save yourself all of this guilt.”

“Izzy…”

“Tu espíritu está roto! I know it because I know you, Nessa!” She exclaims, her hands tapping the top of her steering wheel. Isabel has never been one to question Vanessa’s thought process on things. She trusted that she knew what she was doing and understood the consequences of her actions, but this here was where she drew the line. There was much more at stake now. “You want me to be honest? I’m being honest.” She says, pulling into the driveway of her two-story home. The sound of the car shifting into park and the motor shutting off with the twist of a key makes the silence within the car louder than ever before. “You’re treating this guy like he’s an axe murderer when the reality is that you snuck out of his bed before the sun came up.”

“The reality was that he was only in town for the night. Meaning he was going to be gone in the morning anyway. So I beat him to it.” She shrugs. 

Isabel’s brows furrow tight together, almost connecting in the center of her forehead, her wrinkles much more defined now than ever. She pulls her mouth back in shock, her top lip twitching at the formation. She was baffled by what she just heard. Slowly, Isabel turns to face Vanessa in the passenger seat. “What kind of fucking logic is that!?” She exclaims, making Vanessa glance at her from the corner of her eye. She points at the woman, her left eye twitching. “Ooh…OOOH!” She shouts, grabbing her purse from the floor next to Vanessa’s legs. Under her breath, she’s muttering profanities in her native tongue, too quick for Vanessa to understand. 

Quickly, she exits the car, slamming the door behind her. Nessa flinches at the sound, sitting there in the silence of the vehicle for a moment. She watched as Isabel marched through the grass and up the steps to her front door before vanishing inside. Alex briefly glances up at his wife from the TV as she storms through the house. “Hey, honey.” He greets, offering her a small wave as she passes by. He then notices the speed at which she moved, the wind that chased after her, gently tussling papers he had sprawled across their coffee table. “Uh oh, what’s wrong?” He asks, his eyes darting to the front door as Vanessa enters the house. Nessa peers over at her best friend before settling on Alex. “How was the doctor?”

“Fine,” Isabel says, answering for her friend. “The baby is healthy.” She says with crossed arms. Alex looks between the two.

“Then why do you look like you need a cigarette?”

“Because I do, Alex!” She exclaims, marching to the kitchen. 

“Then let’s do that quietly, yeah? I just got Susie to go to bed.” He says in a slightly elevated tone. He then looks at Nessa again. “Who pissed her off?” He asks.

“Who else?” She answers, her tone dripping with sarcasm.

“Not me.” He responds. “So it had to be you.” He points. Nessa squints at him, her lips pressed into a thin line while she nods.

“Alex, where are my cigarettes!” She exclaims from the kitchen. The sound of rummaging could be heard from the living room as she sifts through their junk drawer. It was where she hid them. It was a nasty habit, but a guilty pleasure of hers. Alex’s mouth would form a small ‘o’ at the question, fully realizing what his wife was asking for. 

“We threw them out, remember? You said you wanted to quit last month.” The drawer slams shut from the kitchen as she stomps toward the living room once more. “Babe, the child.” He reminds her, pointing to the second floor. Vanessa stops in front of the TV, glancing angrily between the two people before her. She tapped her right foot, her right hand resting on her hip. The sound of a bell rings on TV, followed by music, causing Alex’s ears to perk up at the sound. He leans to the left, and then to the right, his eyes trying to find the television. He knew not to ask his wife to move; she’d turn around and unplug the television at the request.

“Do you have too much pride?” She asks. “Is that why you won’t do it?” Isabel moves from in front of the television, prompting Alex to emit a soft hum of excitement. “You’d rather raise a baby alone than reach out to her father, who is ONE phone call away, might I add. You can literally call the man. His number is in your phone, Nessa! What sense does this make?” She asks. 

“I’m the last person he’d want to hear from,” Vanessa answers, getting a loud scoff from her friend. “It’s true. We hooked up. I snuck out of the house before he woke up, and deaded our point of contact. He leaves the city, goes God knows where, and continues to live his life as he did before he met me.” For all she knows, he could be in a relationship currently, or everything he told her that night was a lie, and he was actually married. That wasn’t a can of worms she was interested in opening, honestly.

“So, it is a pride thing?”

“No.” She answers.

“Then what is it?” Isabel asks.

“Unfortunate circumstance.” Isabel’s shoulders drop at her words, her anger quickly subsiding. Her pity was back in full force again. “It happens, right?” Vanessa says, repeating what her friend told her in the car with a sad grin.

“I tried to help you. I tried to, I tried to give you an opportunity!” A familiar voice says from the television. Vanessa peers up at the television, her mouth dropping open slightly. Her sudden suspicion was quickly confirmed as she watched.

“Oh my God.” She says.

“What—?” Isabel asks, turning to face the television. Her eyes widen at the screen, instantly recognizing the man in front of her. “Nessa, isn’t that—?”

“Joe.” He stood in the center of the ring in a fitted grey sweatsuit, a microphone in hand and a fierce scowl on his face. The man across from him had just finished a match, his breathing heavy, his stance cautious. Joe calmly threatens the man, sealing his words with a chuck of his mic at the chest of the smaller man. Alex glances over at the two women silently fixated on the television, before clearing his throat. He knew exactly who they were staring at. The man on screen was huge with women. 

“So that’s Roman Reigns,” He starts. “He’s the bad guy on this show.”

“Roman who?” Isabel asks, her eyes not leaving the screen.

“The big Samoan guy with the man bun—that’s Roman Reigns and the guy next to him is...” He explains further. She points at the screen, turning to her husband. His eyes meet her, his brows slightly furrowing. “What?” He asks.

“That’s Joe.” She corrects.

“Joe who?” He asks. Isabel points to Vanessa, prompting Alex to look at her. She was still watching the television, watching him. Realization suddenly hits Alex, causing him to shout at the connection. “That’s Joe? The guy from the bar? Her…?” Isabel silently nods. “Holy shit.” 

Vanessa expected never to see Joe again, but here he was filling the space around her with his full-toned voice once more. He had left this out about himself, or maybe he didn’t, and she drunkenly picked and chose what she wanted to know about him that night. He was well-known, beloved—or, judging by the loud boos, hated by everyone. A man, purposely shrouded in mystery, was no longer one phone call away, but now also a Google search. Everything he had left out about him was at her fingertips. 

“Ness,” Isabel calls, prompting her friend to look up at her. “If this isn’t a sign from God, I don’t know what is.” She says, gesturing at the TV. “If you don’t want to call him, we can just go to him. It’s probably better if you did that anyway.” She suggests, hoping that her friend will have a change of heart now that she’s seeing the man she swore was gone forever and would never want to see her again—that part could still be true though. None of this changed the fact that she did what she did, and was she interested in subjecting herself to being berated in person? Absolutely not. Now, that was her pride talking. 

“I don’t have the finances for that right now.” She says, looking at the television once more. Joe was now attacking the man who once stood across the ring from him with two other men. She would assume these were his cousins he spoke of.

“They’re in Tulsa next week.” Alex cuts in. He had his laptop open, his small square-shaped glasses sitting on the tip of his nose. “Arrangements can be made.” He says, pounding away at his keyboard. Alex and Isabel had the resources to do whatever pleased, thanks to Alex’s architectural job. This was definitely nothing to them, but too much to Nessa.

Vanessa sits up, shaking her head at what she is hearing. “Y’all, that isn’t necessary.”

“Look at it this way, Ness,” Alex says, peering over at her from the top of his frames. “You get to tell the man he’s going to be a dad, and I get to acknowledge my Tribal Chief—We all win.” He says, lifting his index finger to the sky. A grin spreads across his face as he poses, but the woman across from him watches in confusion, unsure of what it was he was talking about. “It’s Roman’s—er, Joe’s thing. He’s the Tribal Chief…” He drifts off, slowly sucking in a breath. “Never mind.” He mutters, returning his attention to his laptop. 

So much for an unfortunate circumstance.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

She did too much last night, she can admit that now, and just like he said she would, she felt terrible. Her eyes would find the ceiling as she let out a sigh. There was no point in hiding in this room all day. This was his home just as much as it was hers; having to talk to him was inevitable. She rises in bed, her hands pressed firmly into the mattress beneath her. She hung her head tiredly as she forced herself to move from the bed. Her joints softly popped as she stretched quietly in the center of the room, her arms high above her head. “Mm,” she hums, relaxing once more as she walks over to her dresser. She opens the top drawer, grabbing one of Josh’s shirts from the top of the stack. 

She pulls the shirt over her head, now covering her bare chest. She pivots in her spot, her eyes now finding the closed door to the rest of the house. She could hear the television downstairs, the sound of gunshots and loud bangs ringing out throughout the home. He was playing the game, and from the sounds of it, he was online with friends. She pivots again, this time for the bathroom. Alina enters the room, making her way over to the sinks.

Alina peers up at her appearance, taking in the sight of dark, tired eyes. Her hair, thanks to her bonnet leaving her in her sleep, stood wildly on her head. She looks away, reaching over to grab her toothbrush from the cup on the counter. She turns the water on, quickly wetting the soft-bristled instrument. With her other hand, she snatches up the toothpaste lying on the counter, squeezing out its contents onto the toothbrush. Quickly, she goes through the process of brushing her teeth, finishing off the task by washing her face. 

She exits the bathroom now, making her way to the door of their bedroom. She grabs the handle, allowing all the commotion downstairs to pour into the room as she opens the door. “Nah, I saw a medpack over on the east side of the board.” He says into his headset. “Over by the–um, yeah, over there.” 

When Alina comes down the stairs, she finds Josh in just his boxers on the couch. His legs were crossed at the ankles and propped onto the table. He peers up at her from the corner of his eye before promptly returning to his game. He grows quiet now, his mouth slightly twisted. His brows furrowed, the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes more defined now. Though he was unsure of what version of Alina he was going to get this morning, it was obvious he still felt some way about what transpired last night. “Morning,” Alina says softly. 

She sounded calm, small even, as if she felt guilty for what she did last night and was trying to test the waters. Was it safe for her to be down here? She didn’t know just yet, but she was determined to find out. “Morning.” He replies, his attention still fixed upon the television. His mouth relaxes, but his brows remain furrowed, his eyes still in defined squints. Just as she was curious, he was too. Was she going to pretend nothing happened, or was she going to address what happened? Josh hoped it was the latter. 

She turns her attention towards it, watching as his avatar runs through a desolate warzone. She rocked on her feet once as she watched. Josh peers over at her, shaking his head at her, confusion apparent on his face. What was this ease-in she was trying to do? “Are you winning?” She asks, looking back at him. Quickly, his eyes return to the screen. He nods briefly, but doesn’t give her a verbal response. The conversation was dry, just as she expected it to be. Though she didn’t expect her confidence in them working their differences out easily to drop, the longer she stood there, the more it did. The chatter that filled the room before she entered it was now gone, quickly being replaced by suffocating silence. She averts her gaze to the floor. “Okay,” she whispers to herself, bringing her attention back up to him again. 

For not a second longer than the last, he glances up at her again, their eyes locking for only a moment. Her stare, as it always did, would send chills through him. “Did you get it?” He asks one of his teammates, adjusting his mic on his headset. “Good.” He replies.

Finally mustering up the courage, Alina walks over to the couch, forcing Josh to acknowledge her fully. She attempts to climb into his lap, only to be stopped by his hand on her abdomen. “Mm, mm,” He hums, shaking his head. “Move.” He commands, his eyes shifting up to hers again. His fingers would gently press into her, forcing her backward. “Move.” He repeats, returning to his game. He wasn’t interested in whatever it was she was trying to do if it didn’t involve talking about what happened last night. 

She takes a few steps back, slightly nodding at his rejection. Sadness washed over her like the shadow from a passing cloud over the sun, filling her with a heaviness she attempted to push to the back of her mind. “Okay,” She whispers again, glancing over at the television. She deserves that. She deserves the cold shoulder he’s giving her. She wraps her arms around herself, her palms running over her forearms once. Her lips parted slightly as she pondered her next words, but they were stuck in her throat and refused to come out. Instead, she’d let out a sigh. She felt stupid standing here in front of him like this. Quickly blinking away stinging tears, Alina drops her head slightly, turning to make her way back upstairs. 

“Don’t go back upstairs.” He warns her, forcing her to stop in her tracks. Josh knew that if she went back up there, she wouldn’t come back out the rest of the day. Even if he was upset with her right now, he still didn’t want her isolating herself. Alina lets out another breath, her shoulders dropping as her head falls back. Tears fill her eyes once more, blurring her vision. She squeezes the tears free of her eyes, reaching up to wipe them away with the knuckles of her index fingers.

“I’m not about to stand in front of you–”

“Then sit your ass down.” He interrupts, gesturing to all the open spots around the room. “Room big as hell, and you trying to be on me.”

Alina turns to look at him, her brows slightly furrowed. “Because I want my man?” 

“You didn’t last night.” He retorts, causing her brows to push closer together. Of course, he was going to throw her behavior last night back in her face. Something about that remark makes her scoff slightly and shake her head in what appeared on the surface as disbelief. Alina’s patience had run out. She looks around the room before marching down the hall towards her office. Josh remained on the couch, shaking his head at the woman as he watched her storm off. 

“Ay, you good?” Joe asks from the other side of the headset. His cousin didn’t bother turning off his headset during the entire trade of words between him and his girl, revealing to him and everyone else in their party that there was yet again trouble in paradise. Joe made a mental note to bring it back up later on when they weren’t playing the game.

“Yeah…” He says into his headset, resuming his playthrough. Alina enters her office, shifting around the boxes that hid her router in the corner of the room. She reaches over a box, her hand wrapping around the power cable to the router. She yanks the cord out of the wall, disconnecting the internet in the house. If he wasn’t going to pay her any mind willingly, then she was going to force him to.

In the living room, the game freezes, and an internet connection error appears on the screen. Josh smacks his lips as he reads the error message. Alina had disconnected the WiFi. “This fucking—.” Josh hisses, tossing his headset and controller to the side. “Alina!” He exclaims, jumping to his feet. At the sound of his shouts and quick stomps, she drops the cord, turning to make her way out of the room, meeting him in the hallway. “Ay, you done lost your damn mind.” He says, pointing his finger at her.

“Nah, you’ve lost your damn mind!” She shouts back, shoving his hand out of her face. “I’m not about to beg you to fucking talk to me,” She starts. “And I’m not about to let you treat me like an inconvenience to teach me a lesson. If you want me to leave you alone, I can do that, but you’re not going to push me away. Say that shit.” Josh runs his hands over the top of his head, pulling down the sides of his face. He was not trying to argue with this woman first thing in the morning, and had hoped she wouldn’t have come downstairs on that time, but here they were picking up where they left off last night.

“You just got done talking crazy to me last night, and you thought I was just going to let you be all up under me? Girl, we didn’t even sleep in the same room, and that was my choice!” He exclaims, moving around her to go to her office. “Nobody’s trying to argue with your ass this morning. Go find something else to do.” He says with a wave of his hand as he vanishes around the corner.

Alina watches as he sidesteps her and enters her office, his disinterest in her making her emotional once more. Slowly, she follows him into the room, watching as he moves around the boxes of his stuff that fill the room. “I’m sorry, okay?” She says, staring at his back. “I’m sorry for how I acted, but I’m not going to say I didn’t mean anything that I said last night because I did, that’s how I feel.” She says, fighting the lump growing in her throat. Josh doesn’t answer her; he is more focused on tossing boxes to the side without a care for what was in them. His silence and tossing of things didn’t help her feel any more sure of herself. She slowly shakes her right leg from left to right as she waits for something, anything from him. “Can you say something?” She asks.

“Like what?” He asks, every trace of irritation gone from his voice, replaced with hints of exhaustion. “I’m not trying to argue with you. You want me to prove you right, for what? What do we get out of that besides hurt?” He asks. “You’re not going to find any satisfaction in that shit, and you know that.” Josh finds the plug to the router, leaning down more to push the plug back into the outlet it was once connected to. He huffs slightly, slowly standing up straight. He turns around, now moving to exit the room.

There was truth to what Josh was saying, and part of Alina hated that he knew her well enough to know she wouldn’t like the problem she was trying to find with him. He was not perfect by any stretch of imagination, a man riddled with flaws he unashamedly displays every day, but none of them were ones he shared with people who’ve hurt the cracked woman in front of him. He could assure her every day he wasn’t like Theo, like Tasha—hell, like any person that has come and gone in her life, but that will never be enough for her. Perhaps one day it will be, but today? Not a chance.

Alina stood in the doorway, blocking him from exiting the room. Her eyes were fixated on his chest as her vision, though, gradually became blurry with tears the longer she stood there unblinking. “You gotta talk to someone, Lina, this ain’t healthy,” Josh informs her. “I mean this shit from a place of love, baby, I do.” The last month of their relationship has been a learning experience for Josh. Ever since Theo came back into the picture, attempting to dig up skeletons, the air had been tense around the pair. He reignited her insecurities around serious relationships, robbing her of the ability to feel safe in her healthiest relationship.

“I know.” She says, her eyes shifting from his chest down to the floor. The tears that were threatening to fall finally fell, prompting the woman to wipe her face. Her traumas were beginning to destroy her relationship, eating away at her sanity like the parasite it was. Alina was so sure she was fine… All those years of ‘healing’ she’d done were undone in a month, making her feel like she never did any healing to begin with—maybe she never did, and this was the wake-up call she needed to realize that. 

She felt many things in this moment: regret for how she had treated Josh, anger towards Theo for causing her this pain, and heartbreak for Tasha abandoning her in the midst of all this happening. It was overstimulating. Josh watched the woman in front of him falter at the admission that she needed help. Her soft pants were almost inaudible. Her body trembled as she fought back a sob that threatened to break free. She so desperately wanted to cry, but couldn’t. 

Hesistantly, Josh places his hands on either side of her face, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to the top of her head. “I’m not going anywhere.” He assures her in a low voice against her hair. “And I’m not trying to fix you, that’s not my place, that’s yours. I just want to love you, if you’ll let me.” Alina wraps her hands around his wrists, tightly holding onto him as if he’d flee the scene if she let go. She looks up at him, her eyes wet from tears. His thumbs swipe across her undereye area, ridding her of any falling tears. “You ‘gon let me love you?” He asks, getting an instant nod from the woman. 

He leans in, pressing two kisses to her lips before letting go of her. “Man, if you unplug that damn wifi again while we still in this house, knowing all them boxes are in there, we ‘gon be in here fighting.” He says, getting a chuckle out of her. "You laughing and I'm being forreal." He mutters, leaning in to press another kiss to her lips.

Alina hums at his kiss, her hands resting on his chest. Her fingernails lightly trail down the front of his abdomen, causing him to let out a breathy laugh at her. “Talk to me like you got some sense next time, and I won’t.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He says, giving the woman one last kiss. "Now, move so I can get back to the game." He says, walking her backward so he can get out of the crowded room. Alina's fingers close around the band of his underwear, keeping him near her. "Watch out now." He says, removing her hands from his body. "You got Joe being nosy in my phone." 

"Can we redo last night?" Alina asks, pulling her wrists from his grasp. She then takes his hands into hers and places them on her backside. Instinctively, his large hands would curve around her ass, his fingers cupping the bottom side. He hums at her proposal, his teeth gently sinking into his lips as he listens to her. "I'll cook dinner, I'll even dress up." She proposes. "I just want to make it up to you." She says, wrapping her arms around him.

"We can do dinner," He says, nodding at her. He glances up as he ponders his next words. "Butt naked," He starts, peering down at her again. "You can cook butt naked."

"Alright," Alina says, removing his hands from her body. She shoots him a playful glare.

"What?" He says, pulling his head back at her in shock at her reaction. "You said you was trying to make it up to me. I'm trying to have an appetizer, dinner, and dessert all at the same time. Come on, girl..." He mutters, his hands reattaching to Alina's body. She lets out a slight gasp as she leans forward to get his hands off of her again. "What 'chu doing?" He asks, leaning with her. He pressed her into the wall, pinning her so she couldn't wrestle him. A laugh leaves his lips as they fight over his hands on her body.

"Joshu--ahh!" Alina squeals as he pulls his right hand out of her grasp and wraps her in his arms. He hoists her up and over his shoulders, winning their little fight.

"You knew damn well you wasn't bout to win that shit." He says, walking towards the living room. "You can have an apron," He continues with his outlandish request. "You know, so you don't burn the goods."

"Boy, put me down!" She exclaims.

"You acting like I'm not going to be butt naked too. This is a team effort." He continues. Alina reaches down, pinching the man in his side. "Lina, what the hell!" He flinches, dropping her onto the couch. She lands with another squeal, laughing when she hits the couch. Josh glances down at his side, his hand rubbing the rapidly reddening spot. "That's how you feel?" He asks, looking at her.

Josh reaches down for a pillow at the end of the couch. Alina peers at the pillow he grabs and back to him. "Joshua Samuel Fatu, you better not!" She warns. 

"Yeah, hush all that shit up." He says, swinging the pillow. It collides with her face and shoulder, causing her to let out a scream as she tries to dodge him.

"I can't stand you..." She breathes between laughs.

"You'll live."

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

dinners almost finished when you reach for your phone, showing him your screen. “i was thinking about posting this, what d’ya think?”

the screen shows a candid photo from earlier — before you’d left the house, you were attempting to take pictures of yourself in the full-body length mirror, when jey snuck up from behind you and swept you off your feet. in the midst of giggling and pleas for him to put you down, your finger was still on the camera button.

and somewhere in all of the blurry and indistinct pictures, was a picture that made your heart melt. you were in jeys arms, laughing aloud as he pressed a kiss to your cheek.

and now it sat in your instagram drafts, waiting to be posted with the caption, ‘365 days <3’ with “baby” by summer walker as the song choice. it was so cute. finally showing his face after a year of soft launches, sneaky frames and dodging the burning question everyone kept dropping in your story replies.

but when you saw jey freeze, suddenly it wasn’t that cute anymore.

it’s the kinda freeze that tightens his jaw, sets his eyes down low and whatnot. you watch him as he drags a hand down his beard, “damn.”

his eyes flickered to you then back to the screen. “you really ‘boutta post that?”

you blink, a bit taken aback from his response. “i mean… yeah? it’s our one year y’know…” you try your best to emphasize the ‘one year’ as subtly as you can.

his mouth presses into a flat line before he nods, slow and awkward almost. “mm. i hear you, ‘m just not tryna… pop out yet, you know? i’on’ think i’m ready for allat.”

“right. yeah, totally.” it comes out flatter than you wanted it to, but you give him a small smile in hopes he doesn’t realize it did.

but your smile feels brittle. it felt like something inside you cracked, but you pretend like it’s fine because he didn’t mean to hurt you. he’s just being private… careful. that’s how he’s always been, and you knew that going in.

but something inside you cracked anyways. because it’s been a year. one full year of the no face pics, random posts of you at waffle house, photos of flowers without the sender himself. meanwhile he hasn’t posted anything. hell, he’s never even hinted to being in a relationship.

yet he knows your family, and you know his. most of his co-workers have grown to know you as well, always teasing you about how lovestruck he can be.

but now, in this moment, the first time you try to make things semi-official, it ends with his discomfort and your pulse racing with embarrassment.

you quietly close the photo and lock your photo, letting the rest of the night crawl by.

your laughs don’t quite reach your eyes. your eyes tell jey that your mind is elsewhere. his hand rest on yours out of habit, not heat. to you, the food tastes like nothing. the dessert, a formality.

he doesn’t notice, or at least that’s what you think. but he doesn’t say anything.

you go home in silence, both exhausted from pretending.

you wake up the next morning to find he’s already awake, clocking in for his morning workout. the rooms empty, but you feel the overwhelming presence of last nights embarrassment lingering.

you sit on the edge of the bed, still wrapped in his shirt, staring at the draft sitting in your instagram. your finger hovers over the picture — you and him, blissed out, private but happy. a year of being his in every way, except in the one that says i’m proud to love her out loud.

and now you feel stupid.

you feel like the girl that’s convenient but not quite claimable. the girl he’ll bring around certain people — never the world. like someone to kiss behind closed doors, but never hold hands with in daylight.

it sinks deeper than embarrassment — it hits where your self-worth lives. makes you question if you’re good enough, or if there’s something about you he’s trying to hide.

you don’t cry. you don’t lash out. you just go quiet. the kind of quiet that raises walls you don’t mean to build.

it’s been four days since the dinner.

four days of short answers and long silences.

you’re not giving him attitude. you’re not yelling. hell, you’re anything but mad. and most importantly, you’re not you. not with him.

you’re still sweet. still polite. you still make him waffles in the morning, still pick up his favorite snack on the way home, even laugh a little when he says something funny.

but your eyes don’t linger on him the way they used to.

your arms don’t reach for him in the night.

and when he kisses you goodbye before leaving, you turn your cheek ever so slightly — but it’s enough to leave a stinging pain in his chest for the rest of the day.

jey hates it. he hates all of it. he hates walking into his own house, feeling like a stranger to the one person that’s made ever made it feel like home.

he’s tried the little things — cleaning up after dinner, even though he hates washing the dishes. and he’ll put on the shared playlist you made on your third date. he went and bought those expensive-ass chocolate covered strawberries you only get when you’re upset.

but you still give him a light smile, muttering “thanks.”

and then you go back to doing whatever you were doing.

he’s losing it. and he knows it’s his fault.

later that night, you were sat on your shared bed. legs tucked under you, quietly scrolling through your timeline as a cartoon plays in the background. he walks in, freshly showered, an old usos tee thrown over his shoulder, and he just watches you for a second.

you don’t look up.

he feels his chest tighten.

he slowly climbs into bed, like maybe if he moves gently enough, you won’t pull further away.

“baby.”

you hum.

“you mad at me?”

you shrug. “not mad. just… processing.”

he wishes you were a hothead like him. maybe if you screamed the words, they wouldn’t sting so bad. maybe it’d just be noise to him. but the calm, soft and distant tone in your voice slices clean through him.

“i messed up,” he says, voice low. “i know i did.”

you still don’t look up. “mhm, i know.”

“i ain’t mean to make you feel like ‘m ashamed of you. or us. ‘m just… used to keepin’ my life on lock, y’know? used to thinkin’ i gotta keep things quiet to keep ‘em safe.”

“i didn’t ask you to make it loud,” you say, finally setting your phone down. “i just wanted to feel seen. that’s all. just seen. just chosen. not hidden away like a secret.”

your voice wobbles a little at the end, and he notices. it makes his heart crack.

“i know mama, i know you did. and i’m sorry. i ain’t mean to make you feel like you wasn’t enough. ‘cause you are, baby you’re more than enough.”

you exhale slowly, your lips pressed into a thin line like you’re tired of talking about it. like the thoughts you’ve been fighting alone have already drained you.

“called my publicist. told ‘em next time i do press, they can stop pretendin’ i’m single. and that ‘m gon’ pop out soon.”

you glance at him, surprised. “really?”

he nods. “i ain’t doin’ this half-assed no more,” he murmurs, reaching for your hand. “not if it’s gon’ cost me the one person who saw me ‘fore the world even cared.”

you let him hold your hand, but your fingers are still limp in his.

“y’ain’t gotta forgive me right now,” he mutters, a little broken. “i’ll wait. i’ll earn it back, ma.”

your eyes soften, a faint smile forming on your face. you swallow hard, an attempt to stay strong. to protect the heart that felt so rejected a few days ago.

but you miss him.

it’s hard not to, especially when he’s giving you that look. the one that tells you you’re his, in every aspect and in every way.

you close your eyes and rest your head on his shoulder, his arm circling your body to hold you tight. “i’m sorry, baby. i’on’t ever wanna feel like that again. felt like i was a guest in the one place i feel safe.”

he presses a light kiss into your hair. “and i’on’t ever want you to feel like that again. i promise t’make you feel seen. t’show you off as my queen.”

you both laugh at that, lightly hitting him in the chest.

then you look up at him, finally seeing the desperation in his eyes. the regret. the want.

so you give him the first genuine smile you’ve had in a while, before meeting his lips with your own.

“you’re a real pain in my ass y’know,” you say as you pull away, resting your forehead on his. he only laughs, before pecking your cheek.

an hour later and you found yourself curled into him, face tucked in his neck as his hand traces hearts on your back while the other scrolls through his phone.

a minute later, your phone buzzes.

@uceyjucey mentioned you in their story.

you look up at him confused before slowly opening the notification.

it’s the picture.

he had asked you a little bit ago to send it to him, though you didn’t think too much of it. you figured it was just another photo to keep for memories.

you stared at your screen. he’d picked ‘my boo’ by usher and alicia keys for his song, and captioned the picture with

‘Mine. 🖤’

you don’t say anything, and neither does he. instead you set your phone down, curling into him tighter as he does the same. but there was a mutual agreement in the air — that the world would finally see you, as his.