A very very unserious 4.8k word drabble following Smoke and Stack tryna get this money by tomorrow (w/ a dash of Smoke X Annie).
A/n ~ This was really just me practicing writing for the twin that give me problems (iykyk 🙄) while I watch Friday y’all lol. Also, I got some inspo from @thebumblebeesworld Silly of Me fic, cause I likeeeee that enemies to lovers energy and wanted to play w/ it a little bit lmao
C/w : Language, a lil enemies to lovers tease (but we don’t really get to the loving part 🌚), lightly edited for now (I really need a beta reader atp omg 😭😭)
“Look Daedae, we only security guards, okay? Ghetto security guards at that. We ain’t Cops, we ain’t America’s Most Wanted, NYPD Blue, none of that shit you watch.”
“We somethin’ like them.” - Friday After Next
—
“—usually calm. Make sure ain’t nobody fighting, stealing, or parking where they not supposed to be. That’s it and that’s all.”
“Why you look at me when you say that??”
“Because,” Delilah placed a hand on her hip. Pointed one long red fingernail across the counter at the 23 year old that was basically her nephew. “You act like God ain’t gave you no sense most days.”
“Awe it’s like that auntie?” Stack pulled his toothpick from his mouth, glint in his brown eyes playful, as a grin stretched across his face. One that was too damn big for Delilah’s liking.
“I’m not playing with you, boy.” Her eyes jumped from the right to the left. “Either of y’all.”
Smoke hadn’t been paying them any attention. The older Moore’s mind was elsewhere, focus split between the rent him and his brother were always short on and the french toast with blueberry compote Delilah placed in front of him 10 minutes prior. On another day, there wouldn’t be anything but crumbs left, but it was hard to have an appetite when money wasn’t right.
At her words, his fork paused, head coming up and eyes squinting in the corners like, ‘what she say fuck me for?’
“You heard me,” Delilah raised her brows pointedly. “None of that Smoke and Stack nonsense today. Y’all are Elias and Elijah. Security guards. Secure my plaza, get paid, and go home. That’s all y’all gotta do.”
That was all Smoke planned to do. It was easy money. Not the most money, but it’d add up all the same eventually.
“You know we got you auntie,” Stack was seated on the stool next to his twin, plate clean, hand moving in the air like he was waving Delilah off. “We gon’ have this bit- this place locked down. Ain’t nun’ movin’ witout us knowing about it. Ain’t that right, Smoke?”
Smoke glanced at him, “We gon’ sit in that booth and watch the parking lot, like we getting paid to.”
Stack waved him off next. “Auntie D —” He placed his hand over his heart. “We ready to die behind this shi– stuff.”
She couldn’t laugh at Elias, because all that did was encourage him, so Delilah shook her head instead, “You heard what I said Elias. Don’t be playin’ in my plaza, cause I will fire y’all, family or not. It’s bad enough I lost my last security guards.”
“You ain’t ever tell us what happened to them.” Smoke pushed his plate to the side, deciding he was done with breakfast. Then he checked the clock on the wall, like he wanted to make sure they were out of here before people started piling in.
Delilah paused her wiping down of the already clean counter. And then she continued. It happened so fast, anybody else would have missed the break in motion.
Smoke wasn’t anybody though.
“You ain’t ever ask,” Delilah glanced up at him and then back down. “And it don’t matter anyways. Like I said, watch the plaza, make the money, and go home.”
Smoke’s eyes narrowed, “Nah, what happened to the last —”
“Nigga come on,” Stack was sliding off his stool. “I ain’t get up at 9 in the morning to play 20 questions.”
“You didn’t get up at all,” Smoke frowned. “I had to drag you outta bed.”
“That ain’t the point,” Stack was already walking towards the door, only stopped to turn around after he’d reached it. “We got ‘dis auntie. Watch.” He saluted Delilah as if that was supposed to be reassuring and then used his back to push the glass open. “Chop chop nigga,” He clapped at his brother. “World ain’t gon’ save itself.”
A ding went off as the door closed behind him and Smoke frowned harder.
This was gon’ be a long ass day.
“Stop lookin’ like that,” Delilah brought him out of his thoughts, leaning forward over the counter and hitting his arm playfully. “It’s gon’ be fine. If anything it’ll be boring. Just…watch yo’ brother.”
He was gon’ do that anyways. Had been, since he could hold his head up damn near.
Smoke wiped his mouth, dropped the napkin on the plate, and stood up from the counter.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“And Elijah…” Delilah hesitated. Knew he wouldn’t like what she had to say, but tried anyways. “You know I don’t mind just giving y’all –”
“Nah, D —” Smoke’s words were sharp and he fixed his tone immediately, fingers twitching at his sides like he was irritated. With himself. Her. The situation. “Me and Stack ain’t lazy. We don’t mind workin’. And I’m gon’ make sure things run smooth today. You ain’t gotta worry.”
Delilah didn’t push. Never pushed. She just nodded her head and smiled softly. “I know you will, baby. I ain’t worried at all.”
Outside, Stack was busy ‘fixing’ his clothes. He’d already untucked the grey uniform shirt from his black pants and had seemingly pulled a sharpie out of his ass to cross out ‘Elias’ on his name tag and write ‘Stack’.
He’d moved on to undoing the first couple buttons of the shirt when Smoke stepped out of the diner.
“‘Bout time,” Stack started towards his brother. “Come here.” His hands reached for Smoke’s shirt then and the older Moore promptly stepped back, slapping the hell out of Stack’s hands in the process.
“Nigga, stop touching me.”
Stack screwed his face up, looking at his brother like Smoke was the one tripping. “I’m tryna help yo’ ass. She got us walking around in these stiff ass uniforms. You frowning like the world coming to an end. We gotta’ come better than that, we top flight security of the world now Smoke.”
“Only thing we securing is this months rent. Don’t nothing in this plaza require you to have all that energy.” Smoke was already walking past Stack, moving from in front of his aunties diner and across the parking lot.
Clarkdale’s “plaza” wasn’t anything more than 5 odd businesses with the same location. There were two clothing boutiques, Delilah’s diner, Slim’s music store, and a random ass gift shop that Smoke didn’t expect to stay open long because who was really stopping here for souvenirs?
As he headed for the security booth that looked more like a phone booth, the sun beat down on his back, that Mississippi heat unrelenting as always.
“‘Dat’s yo’ problem,” Stack followed behind his brother, easy swagger nothing like Smoke’s steady gait. “You ain’t got no vision. You need to be thinking big nigga.”
“And you jus’ need to think,” Smoke cut his eyes to the right. “We short on rent and you playin’.”
Stack shrugged, “Cause it’s gon’ work itself out. It always do.”
That was true. Odd jobs, a missed meal here and there, a little scheming on the side — whatever paid the bills, is what they did.
Hence the ‘stiff ass uniforms’ their late mothers best friend had them wearing. Smoke didn’t feel no particular way about the job — it was just another way to make ends meet. The only thing wearing on him, bothering him, was that his constant grind never quite produced enough.
“Besides,” Stack continued as they maneuvered around cars. “I already told you what we could be doing to make some real mo—”
“And I told you we wasn’t doing it.” Smoke stopped dead in the middle of the parking lot. “Stop bringing it up.”
Stack didn’t blink at the edge in his brothers tone. “I only brought it up, cause you stomping around, ‘bout to pop that damn vein that’s in the middle of yo’ forehead. I’m coo’ with being top flight.” Stack spread his arms wide. “Shit — this plaza need a nigga like me. Ima fuck around and get a key to the city the way ima have this bitch running.”
And he was so serious.
Smoke looked at his twin smirking and felt it — that same vein in the middle of his forehead throbbing again.
“Stack, we ain’t here to play no fuckin’ cops and robbers. We gon’ stay out the way and make this easy money.”
It was the only easy money Smoke would allow himself to entertain, because that shit Stack kept talking about? They wasn’t doing that. Was gon’ be better than that.
Stack shrugged, “If a nigga jump stupid in my aunties plaza, Ima have to show him somethin’ Smoke. I ‘ont care nothing ‘bout it getting out of hand. We run this shit now.”
Smoke squinted, “You hear yoself? You get a whistle around yo’ neck and go on a power trip.”
Stack blinked like he was saying ‘so’ and Smoke decided he was done with the conversation.
“You heard what I said Stack,” He gave his brother a look and then started walking again, “Come on.”
“Man I swear, niggas be born a few minutes early and think they the boss of errybody —” as Stack talked his shit, he made sure he was moving though, loud voice carrying through the air.
“– and we ain’t little no more! You ‘ont intimidate me, nigga! I’m top flight of the world, Smoke!”
“This boring. Ain’t nun top flight about this shit.”
Stack tugged at the collar of his shirt, shifting for what had to be the tenth time in the last ten minutes.
Next to him, Smoke snorted quietly, never taking his eyes off the legal pad he was currently scribbling on. It had been in the booth, along with a #2 pencil, and was probably intended for note taking. There were no ‘notes’ to take though, so Smoke was working on a budget instead.
“That’s how it’s gon’ stay.” The older Moore crossed out one number and replaced it with another as he spoke. “What chu’ think gon’ pop off at the gift shop, nigga? Just sit back.”
The plaza had woken up. Closed signs flipped to open, cars pulling in and out, the hum of conversation gradually getting louder and creeping through the booths window.
It had Stack restless and they’d only been ‘on duty’ for about an hour.
In the younger Moore’s defense, it wasn’t in his dna to sit still. To watch the world move around him and not be at the center of it. To stand by, waiting for something to happen. And that’s all this job was — a whole bunch of waiting. In a hot ass, cramped ass booth, that was barely big enough to fit the two metal chairs they were seated in.
Stack shifted again, “Man, if I knew all I was gon’ be doing was sitting here in silence wit’ yo’ ass —”
“It ain’t sitting in silence if you keep talking.” Smoke crossed out another number, brows furrowing in the middle.
Stack sucked his teeth, mumbled something that sounded like, “Yeah ight,” and then graced Smoke with three blissful beats of silence before —
Yeahhh, we finna set it off in this mufucka’ ya heard me?
Boosie’s voice came out of nowhere.
Correction. It came from Stack’s phone. The same phone that currently had Apple Music on display and it’s volume turned all the way up.
You wonna talk shit? You wonna run yo’ mouth? You want some gangsta’s front yo- motherfuckin’ hou–
Stack was bobbing his head, the whistle around his neck slapping against his chest as his arm bumped Smoke’s every other second. He had three blissful seconds of chaos before —
“Turn that shit off,” Smoke snapped, head turning in his direction. “Got that loud ass music all in my ear.”
Stack just grinned at first, shoulders jumping with the beat, southern drawl thick as he rapped.
“We’ll set this bitch off, yeah, set this bitch off!”
And then Smoke sat up.
And Stack stopped the music.
“Ight nigga, calm down.” Stack laughed as he held his hands up in surrender. “You need to lighten up damn. You don’t want me talk. Don’t wonna vibe out wit’ a nigga. What I’m ‘sposed to do?”
Smoke…Smoke had to take a deep, deep breath before he spoke again, lids closing and opening slowly, like he was gathering patience. “All you gotta do Stack, is Watch. The. Parking lot.”
So, Stack watched. Gaze focused on cars backing in and out and people moving from store to store for five whole minutes.
And then he spotted two specific people, two strangers in one car that made him sit up straight. That made that bored expression on his face completely transform.
“Awe shit,” Stack was already half way out his seat. “We got action!”
“What??” Smoke looked up from his budget in confusion. Was met with nothing but the sight of Stack’s back as his twin damn near speed walked out of the booth.
If Smoke was the type, he would have thrown his whole damn head back.
Instead, he let out a breath that sounded like it took every ounce of patience he had with it, mumbled “This nigga,” as he threw the legal pad down in front of him, and got up to follow behind his brother
“Aye, y’all can’t park right here.”
Annie was already parked. Had just pulled into the spot actually, when a loud voice coming from her left made her and Pearline look over.
Both girls blinked, Annie’s brow furrowing in the middle while Pearline’s whole head cocked.
It looked like…a security guard approaching them? One with a whistle around his neck, pants hanging low on his hips and a smirk on his face that screamed unserious.
“Excuse me?” Annie’s doors were off of her jeep today, so her voice and that incredulous tone reached Stack’s ears clearly.
“Y’all can’t park here,” He repeated himself as he stepped up to the side of the jeep.
“And who are you supposed to be exactly?”Pearline jumped in and Stack’s eyes darted over to her. Smirk on his face growing before his head jerked back, like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing.
“Now I know you see ‘dis,” He patted his chest, right over the crest in his shirt that was shaped like a badge. “I’m security, baby.”
Annie rolled her eyes. Could already tell he wasn’t securing a damn thing.
“Stack —” Another voice joined the conversation then. It was deep. Low. Sounded irritated. And it caught Annie’s attention immediately.
Her eyes left the fake ass rent-a-cop, to look over his shoulder instead. There was another ‘security guard’ approaching them and his uniform was fitted to his body. Shirt tucked in, buttons done up, pants sitting correctly on his frame.
He had brown skin, stiff shoulders, and thick brows that were pulled together in the middle. For a second, Annie felt like she wanted to take her thumb and smooth them out.
“Awe now you wonna patrol wit’ me??” Security guard one had glanced over his shoulder when he heard the voice. “Nigga I got this covered, I already let ‘em know they can’t park here.”
“What chu’ talking about?” Security guard 2 reached them, still looking disgruntled, and not even sparing Annie and Pearline a glance. “This spot ain’t reserved. Nigga come on.” His eyes flicked to the jeep then, gaze jumping from Annie to Pearline and back again. “I’m sorry ‘bout him. Y’all can park here.”
His voice was completely flat. He truthfully didn’t sound apologetic and all.
And for whatever reason, Annie was intrigued.
Both girls spoke at once.
“Y’all brothers? Twins?” That was Pearline, leaning up in her seat, eyes jumping from one Moore to the next.
“How you work with the public, when you can’t manage to even sound sorry?” That was Annie. Lips quirked playfully, eyes focused on one Moore and one Moore alone.
Both brothers blinked, before Stack grinned wider, while that scowl on Smoke’s face? Deepened. While his eyes really focused in on Annie for the first time.
“Nah, baby,” Stack winked at Pearline. Watched her damn near melt into the seat. “We cousins.”
Smoke wasn’t saying shit. He was just looking. At dark skin and big curls and full lips. Looking at a solid build, that was sitting up high in that jeep. Looking at big eyes that felt like they could see through him.
He felt…hot. Like he wanted to fidget. And Elijah didn’t fidget.
“I’m Stack,” The younger Moore was still talking, because one glance at his brother had told him Smoke wasn’t gon’ be no help. “And this Smoke.” Stack moved a step closer to the car. “We keep eerbody safe around here and as fine as y’all is, I know y’all gon’ cause a commotion when y’all get out this jeep. I can’t allow no disruption like that beautiful’s. It’s dangerous. That’s why y’all gotta go.”
Pearline’s ass started giggling.
Smoke didn’t give Annie anything to laugh at though. He still hadn’t even responded to her question actually.
That smile that’d been on her lips lessened, one brow raising when she asked, “I got something on my face?”
Smoke frowned deeper and for a reason he couldn’t explain, that irritation Stack had been causing all morning grew. His fingers twitched at his sides, arms came up as he crossed them. Like he needed to ground himself or something.
“Nah.”
Annie’s brow rose higher at the word. At the one dry word and sharp glare being aimed her way.
Okay then.
She’d been intrigued, for like a minute, but she wasn’t in the habit of forcing conversation — nor did she appreciate him mugging her, like he was offended she’d even spoken to him at all.
Her lips pursed as she broke their stare, gaze drifting back to security guard number one.
Can’t get ‘em all girl. Shake it off. Finer niggas exist.
Stack was talking as Annie tuned back into the world around her.
“How ‘bout ‘dis,” Stack pulled his phone out. “We let y’all park here, but y’all give us y’all numbers, so if sumn happen, you can reach us.”
He was saying y’all, but really was just looking at Pearline.
“Promise we’ll come runnin’ to y’all rescue.”
Annie didn’t know if Pearline would hand her number over or not. Half of the time, her friend flirted just to flirt — not because she was actually interested in getting to know anybody.
What Annie did know was that she wouldn’t be handing over a damn thing. Not that Smoke wanted a number from her anyways.
When Annie’s lips pursed harder, it wasn’t due to the sting of rejection. It was because even though she’d looked away, his glare was still boring into the side of her head. She could feel it and it was starting to get on her nerves because the fuck was his problem?
As if he heard her thoughts, his voice suddenly rang out.
“You don’t gotta give him nothin’.”
All eyes went to Smoke. Stack frowning and opening his mouth, getting ready to rebuttal. Pearline blinking, like she’d just remembered there was another twin standing there. Annie’s head turning, stare locking with his for a long millisecond before he looked away and directed his gaze to Pearline.
Annie found it funny how that glare suddenly lessened. How his mouth opened and magically created more than one word now that he wasn’t looking at her.
Clearly I did something to him in the past life. Fuck it. Not my problem.
That’s what Annie told herself as irritation thrummed in her chest.
Meanwhile, Smoke was reaching for his brother as he spoke, keeping his eyes on the girl in the passenger seat.
Forcing his eyes to stay on the girl in the passenger seat. Because the one in the drivers seat? He ain’t like her.
Ain’t like how she talked to him all casual and soft when he walked up. How she pressed him, when he didn’t respond. ‘Cause strangers didn’t do that with Smoke; joke, press, hell — make conversation at all really. Most people gave him a wide berth and reserved the talking for Stack.
He ain’t like how she looked at him either; like she was curious. Like she already knew some shit about him he’d never revealed.
And he definitely ain’t like when she looked away from him — like she was writing him off. How most people did.
Smoke decided right then and there, that he ain’t like nothing ‘bout her. She, whoeva’ she was, made him feel too fuckin’ big for his skin and he was ready to get back to the booth.
Where he would have been in the first place, if not for Stack.
When Smoke continued speaking it was abrupt and short. Voice still flat as he looked at Pearline —
“He sorry ‘bout holdin’ you up. Enjoy ‘da plaza.”
And then he turned. Hand wrapped firmly around Stack’s shoulder to pull his brother with him and gaze pointedly not looking back at that baby blue jeep in the process.
Even if some part of him, deep deep down, felt like he wanted to.
“Damn Smoke, let me go! She like me! Aye — I’m tryna do my job and secure some shit and you fuckin’ it up! Ima write yo’ ass up for insubordination!”
Stack’s voice travelled across the parking lot as Annie and Pearline watched the brothers retreat.
The older Moore had Stack gripped up tight, long gait bringing both of them towards a small booth Annie had never paid much attention to.
He wasn’t rushing away, but he didn’t slow down. Nor did he bother responding to Stack.
Annie’s lips twisted, the annoyance she’d felt in her chest curling up and settling in as she watched them.
He hadn’t looked over his shoulder once. Hadn’t spared her them a glance after he cut into the conversation and then retreated.
He was…rude. Annie didn’t like that. Ain’t like him.
Ain’t like how he’d managed to capture her attention without trying.
Ain’t like that he didn’t do anything with it when he had it. That he hadn’t bothered to throw more than one word in her direction, like he was to good to talk to her or something. Too good to be polite.
And she definitely ain’t like how he looked at her. Face frowned up. Eyes unreadable, like she’d committed some offense against him she knew nothing about.
Yeah. She ain’t like nothing about him actually.
“They were coo’.”
Pearline’s words had Annie pulling her eyes away from the security guards to look over at her best friend incredulously.
“Uh no. They weren’t.”
Pearline had pulled the visor down to touch up her gloss. Was currently popping her lips together as her gaze darted towards Annie and then back to the small mirror. “Well my twin was. He was cute too — in a goofy fuckboy kinda way.”
She said it like that made sense, popping her lips once more before shutting the visor and giving Annie her full attention. “Yours a little rude though. How he gon’ pull my man away before he could get my number?”
“Pearline —” Annie said it like ‘please stop playing’ “—you were not about to give that boy yo’ number.”
“And was.” Pearline crossed her arms, charms from the bracelet wrapped around her wrist jingling in time with the movement. “Security guards need love too, Annie. Besides — he look like he can eat the fuck outta some pus-”
“Alright.” Annie stopped her before she got started. “Give that man yo’ number if you want to.”
“And you need to give his brother yours. Then we can double date.” Her friends eyes lit up before Annie snuffed that light right on out.
“It ain’t gon’ ever happen.” She shook her head. Nose wrinkling. Eyes almost drifting back across the lot before she caught herself. “Like you said, he’s rude. Can’t speak, but was lookin’ at me like he wanted to fight or something —”
“Or like he wanted to fuck.”
“That literally wouldn’t be any better Pearline,” Annie’s voice was dry. Skin a little hot. “You do whateva’ you want with the rent-a-cop, but don’t include me.”
“Mmhm,” Pearline watched as Annie gathered her purse, like she was ready to get out of the car and end this conversation. “You ain’t gotta front. I saw you looking at him, friend.”
“Lapse in judgment,” Annie’s response was quick. A little too quick, maybe. “I don’t like nothing that’s mean and you already know that.”
It was true. She didn’t do rude. Nonchalant. Or disrespectful. And she’d decided Smoke was all of that.
“Now let’s go, before ain’t nothing good left in here.”
Just like that, Pearline switched gears, remembering the reason they’d come out in the first place. The summer sale at D Lady’s Boutique. The name could use some work but the clothes? All sizes, all styles, and the prices hit every time.
“Awe shit, you right.” Pearline damn near jumped down from the jeep. “Let’s go, because I need them shoes I saw on their site, and I will sling a hoe for ‘em.”
Annie was only too glad that they were finally directing their attention away from any and everything security related.
“So, what if that was my future wife? How you gon’ sleep at night, knowing you fucked that up?”
“She wasn’t yo’ future nothin’ Stack.”
Smoke was back in the booth, arms crossed, lips pinched, stare directed straight out at the parking lot.
He was doing his job. Watching. And if a lot of that watching was directed towards D Lady’s boutique, so the fuck what?
“You ‘ont know that, though,” Stack insisted, leaning in like he was really proving a point.
“I do know that.” Smoke cut his eyes sharply to the side. “Didn’t you meet yo’ future wife already last week? Wasn’t one of yo’ future wives tryna’ key our car yesterday?”
Stack frowned, “You always wonna bring up old shit.”
Smoke didn’t respond. Just directed his gaze back across the parking lot.
He’d seen her hop out the jeep and go into the shop 15 minutes ago and Smoke thought it was stupid — how she left her car open and unattended like that. If it came with doors, fuck was the point of taking them off?
He added it to the list of shit he didn’t like about her — the one he’d been silently compiling in his head.
“You know what I think?”
“Don’t care.”
“I think you jus’ hatin’ nigga,” Stack continued anyways. “My smooth ass was ‘bout to get ‘dat number, while you was fumblin’.”
Smoke blinked at his brother. And then turned forward again.
“You ain’t gotta lie, Smoke.” Stack was grinning now. “I think she was fuckin’ wit’ you, actually.”
Smoke grunted, eyes narrowing just barely in the corners.
He didn’t care who was or wasn’t ‘fuckin’ wit’ him’. Wasn’t concerned with most of the trivial shit other 23 year olds were. Since he’d been a teen, the older Moore had only three priorities: staying alive, keeping his brother alive, and making enough money so him and Stack didn’t end up somewhere out on their asses.
His twin hustled with him, always. Understood the grind to a certain extent, but Stack wasn’t the oldest. Ain’t feel the weight of responsibility like Smoke did. Ain’t understand how nothing could derail Elijah from his mission.
He was focused.
How you work with the public, when you can’t manage to even sound sorry?
Smoke’s jaw clenched. Not hard. Just enough.
I got something on my face?
He shifted his weight. Blamed the movement on the hard ass chair he was sitting in.
“So you ‘ont like her? The thick one?”
The older Moore’s face didn’t change. That didn’t mean he couldn’t feel the irritation crawling under his skin at Stack’s words.
“I don’t know her. Don’t wonna know her. Seem like she got a attitude problem anyways.” Smoke felt like he was talking too much, so he shut up.
“Man that girl ain’t have no attitude,” Stack smacked his lips. “She was tryna flirt wit’ yo’ uptight ass. But whateva’, stay sleep if you want to, ima get her friend regardless. That’s wifey nigga, I’m telling you.”
Smoke just shook his head, stare still on that jeep, mind flashing back to when she’d looked away from him. Like she was dismissing him. Like she couldn’t be bothered.
She probably stuck up as fuck.
Smoke added it to his list of dislikes, right along with her eyes, her mouth, her clear lack of awareness when it came to safety, and the way she’d made him feel.
Slow. Awkward.
His jaw clenched again.
“On a serious note though,” Smoke looked over as Stack started speaking. Was almost grateful for the distraction, until Stack kept speaking. “Listen to ‘dis and tell me if this shit hot or not. I been working on it for like…the past three minutes.”
The younger Moore sat up in his seat, shoulder hitting Smoke’s in the process. And then he started banging on the ‘desk’ in front of them, whistle slapping against his chest, head nodding along with the beat he was creating as his mouth opened.
“Me and my brotha’ bitch,
We top flight for sho’ —”
It was loud. The sigh Smoke let out through his nose.
“— but he gotta get some game
Cause he, scarin’ the hoesss, ”
Smoke’s eyes closed, the same vein from earlier throbbing on que.
Stack just grinned at his brother’s reaction, nodding his head harder and rapping louder to his beat.
“I just met my future wife and we gon’ be couple goalsss,
Smoke can’t relate, cause my brotha’ a lil slowwww…”
*picture the scene fading to black*
A/n ~ If you made it to the end, I hope you enjoyeddd! I think this is the first thing I’ve written where I actually really like my execution of Smoke lmao so yay for me ☺️ Anywaysss, Happy Thursdayyyyy 🫶🏾 my results on the poll will determine what I drop next 👀
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UP THE PRICE (MY LADY)
michael b. jordan x wunmi m.
PART ONE
next masterlist
cw: sexual content, spanking, jealous!michael
summary: a year after the unfortunate leak, rumors are still flooding around about who michael has locked down. to the public it’s still a mystery that they want to solve, and behind closed doors things are moving exactly how he wanted them to.
notes: i haven't updated in a while. so sorry y'all. i got a new job at the beginning of may and i've been trying to get used to this schedule. i've just been busy a lot more, but enjoy.
October 2026
Wunmi's house looked like a storm had completely wrecked it. Drawers were pulled open, clothes spread all over the place, shoes were kicked off in random directions, and couch cushions had been tossed aside. Even the kitchen had things out of place, which never happened.
Wunmi stood in the middle of the living room with her phone pressed between her ear and shoulder while she dug through yet another bag for what felt like the hundredth time.
“I don’t understand,” she muttered tightly. “I don’t lose things like this.”
On the other end, Michael was quiet for a second, listening to the sound of things shifting and falling in the background.
“Hey, slow down,” he said, calmer than she felt. "You’re tearing the whole place up.”
She let out a sharp exhale, dropping the bag onto the floor before moving to the next thing.
“I already did tear the whole place up,” she shot back, her accent heavily slipping through. “It’s gone, Michael. I’ve looked everywhere.”
He leaned back in his chair on set, phone pressed to his ear, eyes tracking the movement around him. He ignored the faint sound of someone calling for him to be ready in a few minutes.
“It’s not gone, you just misplaced it, baby,” he said steadily.
Wunmi laughed, but there was no humor in it. She yanked open a drawer, rifling through it quickly.
“The one time I take it off and it goes missing,” she said, her voice starting to crack.
Michael’s jaw tightened slightly at that.
“When did you take it off?”
She paused, thinking, her movements slowing for a second.
“The night I washed my hair. I didn’t want it slipping off or getting caught, so I put it—” She stopped, her brows pulling together. “I put it on the counter I think.”
Her hands moved faster again, more frantic now that she was second-guessing herself.
“Wunmi, stop moving for second,” he said firmly.
She didn’t.
“I can’t stop,” she snapped, moving into the living room and dropping to her knees to check under the couch again. “It’s not here.”
He exhaled slowly through his nose, trying to stay patient.
“Aye, listen to me,” he called. "It's fine we'll find it and if we don't—"
Her movements slowed just a little.
“I don’t want another one,” she cut in quickly, sitting back on her heels, her chest rising and falling. “You paid too much money for this one, Michael.”
He shook his head, a small frown forming.
“I don’t care about that.”
“Well, I do,” she said immediately, pushing herself up and started to pace. “And it’s not even just that. You—you really thought about it and took the time to pick it out.”
He rubbed his hand over his mouth, leaning forward slightly.
“And I’ll easily do it again,” he said.
She huffed under her breath, shaking her head like he just wasn’t getting it.
“That’s not the point,” she murmured.
On his end, someone tapped his shoulder lightly. He nodded without looking at them, waving them off for a second.
“Give me a minute.”
He turned his attention fully back to her.
“Alright, listen. You probably left it at my place,” he said.
Wunmi stopped pacing immediately.
“…No, I didn’t.”
“You might’ve,” he pressed. “Think about it. Last time you were here—”
“That was a week ago,” she cut in, frustration creeping back in. “And I didn’t take it off there.”
He paused, tilting his head slightly.
“You sure?”
“Yes, I’m sure,” she said. “Why would I take it off there and not put it back on?”
He shrugged even though she couldn’t see it.
“I don’t know. You do a lot when you’re over here.”
That earned him a small, irritated huff.
“Michael,” she warned.
He let out a quiet breath, easing back a little.
“Alright, alright. All I’m saying is it’s somewhere. It didn’t just disappear.”
She didn’t respond right away. Instead, she turned slowly, looking over the mess of her home again. The reality of it hit her and her eyes started to burn.
“I don't like not having it on,” she admitted softly.
“Hey, don't do that,” Michael said gently.
She pressed her lips together, blinking a few times as she crouched down again, picking up a pillow just to check under it as if she hadn’t already done that ten times before.
“I just—” she started, her voice wobbling slightly. “You were so thoughtful with it. And now I’ve just lost it and you're being far too calm.”
“Because you're doing enough panicking for the both of us, baby. I'm not going to say it again but you didn't lose it, you just misplaced it." he said.
She didn’t argue, but she didn’t agree either.
“Michael—”
“I’m serious,” he cut in. “You don’t need to stress yourself out like this. It’s not worth it.”
She let out a long breath, some of the tension leaving her shoulders, but not all of it.
On his end, someone called out for him again. He closed his eyes briefly, exhaling.
“I gotta go,” he told her.
Wunmi nodded even though he couldn’t see it, her fingers fidgeting with the edge of a blanket.
“…Okay.”
He didn’t hang up right away.
“You good?” he asked.
She hesitated.
“…I’ll be fine.”
He didn’t fully believe that.
“Stop tearing your house up and take a break. I'll look for it when I get back. And if we can't find it then I'll get you another one,” he spoke lightly.
“Okay,” she said finally, even though it wasn’t fully okay.
“Alright,” he replied.
“…Be careful. I love you,” she added quietly.
“I love you too.”
The call ended and wunmi stood there in the middle of the mess. Her eyes drifted back down to her bare finger. It just felt so wrong.
She swallowed, pressing her lips together before letting out a slow breath. Her gaze moved around the room one more time, then she shook her head slightly, stepping over a pile of clothes as she moved toward the couch. She sank down into it, exhaustion finally catching up to her.
Wunmi sat there for a while, staring at nothing. Her mind tried to retrace every step she’d taken over the last few days. She pressed her lips together, then pushed herself up from the couch with a quiet exhale.
If she wasn’t going to find it right now, then she at least wasn’t going to keep living in the middle of a disaster. So she started with the living room. She picked things up and put them back into place. Every now and then her eyes would flick down to her hand out of habit, but each time it annoyed her.
She cleaned the kitchen next. Then moved to her bedroom. She was haflway through folding her thrown around clothes when her phone rang from somewhere behind her. She paused, listening for a second before turning and spotting it on the bed. She was able to that it was her good friend Danielle Brooks calling her.
Wunmi blinked, then walked over, picking it up and answering as she sat down on the edge of the mattress.
“Hello?”
“Wunmi!” Danielle’s voice came through bright and warm, full of energy. “Girl, where have you been?”
A small smile pulled at Wunmi’s mouth instantly.
“I’ve been around. You're the one that's been busy,” she said lightly, tucking one leg under herself.
“Okay, that’s fair,” Danielle laughed. “But still. I feel like I haven’t seen you seen you in forever.”
“Same,” Wunmi admitted, her voice softening just a little.
“So what you doing today?” Danielle asked.
Wunmi glanced around her half-clean room
“Nothing, really. Just at home,” she said.
“Perfect. That means you can come out to lunch with me,” Danielle replied immediately.
Wunmi huffed out a quiet laugh.
“You didn't even ask me!”
“Why would I? And I'm not taking no for an answer, so don't say it,” Danielle said.
Wunmi shook her head, smiling despite herself. “I wasn’t going to say no.”
“Good, because I already have the reservations made,” Danielle said. “So you're definitely coming?”
Wunmi hesitated for half a second, her thumb brushed lightly over her ring finger without thinking.
“I’ll come,” she said.
“I'll send you the address because I’m already on the way there, so don’t take forever.”
Wunmi laughed softly. “I won’t.”
“Alright, I’ll see you in a bit.”
“Okay.”
The call ended and Wunmi immediately got to work.
She stood in front of her closet for a minute, scanning her options before deciding on something simple. Once she was dressed, she moved to the mirror, smoothing her hands over her outfit, adjusting small things here and there.
Her gaze lifted to her reflection then dropped. Her bare hand came up slightly.
“…It’s fine,” she murmured to herself.
She reached for her shades, sliding them on before grabbing her purse. The sun hit her with a warmth as soon as she stepped outside. She locked her door, adjusted her bag on her shoulder, then headed to her car.
During the entire drive, Wunmi had the music on low playing softly in the background with er fingers tapping lightly against the steering wheel.
Eventually she pulled up to the restauraunt. She parked, grabbed her purse, and stepped out, adjusting her shades slightly as she made her way inside. The place was lively but not overwhelming. Soft chatter filled the air, the clink of glasses and silverware blending into the background. She approached the host stand, offering a small smile.
“Hello.”
“Hi,” the hostess greeted warmly. “Do you have a reservation?”
“Yes. I believe it's under Danielle Brooks?”
The hostess nodded immediately, grabbing a menu. “Right this way.”
Wunmi followed her through the restaurant, weaving past tables and people until they reached the patio doors. Danielle sat at one of the tables, sunglasses perched on the top of her face, her posture relaxed as she scrolled through her phone. She looked up just in time, her expression breaking into a wide smile as she stood up.
“Wunmi!”
They closed the distance quickly, wrapping each other in a warm hug.
“Hey,” Wunmi laughed softly against her shoulder.
“Hey, stranger,” Danielle teased, squeezing her a little tighter before pulling back to look at her.
They both took a second, really taking each other in.
“It’s been too long,” Danielle said.
“It has,” Wunmi agreed.
Danielle shook her head, smiling. “You look good.”
“So do you,” Wunmi replied easily.
They both laughed, that easy, familiar energy settling right back into place like no time had passed at all.
“Come on,” Danielle said, gesturing toward the table as they sat back down.
Wunmi slid into her seat, setting her purse down beside her, her shades still on as she leaned back slightly.
Their server approached not too long after they sat down, a polite smile on her face as she glanced between them.
“Hi, ladies. Can I start you off with something to drink?”
Danielle didn’t even look at the menu.
“Yeah, I’ll do a margarita,” she said easily, handing it back.
The server nodded, then turned to Wunmi.
“And for you?”
Wunmi glanced down briefly, then back up. “I’ll have a French 75.”
“Perfect. I’ll be right back with those.”
They both murmured a quick thank you before the server stepped away. The second she was out of earshot, Danielle leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on the table.
“Okay, now talk to me. What's been going on with you?,” she said, eyes narrowing playfully.
Wunmi smiled, shaking her head a little as she settled back in her chair.
“Just work and life like always,” she said.
Danielle hummed like she halfway believed her, her gaze drifting casually as she listened. Her eyes dropped right to Wunmi’s hands that were resting on the table.
Wunmi didn’t even realize what Danielle was looking at until she felt her reach across the table.
Danielle grabbed her hand, lifting it, her face twisting in confusion.
“Wait, where's your ring?”
Wunmi’s stomach dropped. She let out a slow sigh, her shoulders sinking just a little.
“I lost it.”
Danielle’s head snapped up.
“Already?!” she gasped.
Wunmi let out another breath, this one heavier, her lips pressing together as she looked down at their hands.
“I’ve been looking for it for days, and I don't know where it is,” she admitted, sounding almost hurt.
“Oh, baby…” she murmured, still holding her hand.
“I turned my whole house upside down to look for it. I don't understand how I lost it…” she trailed off.
Danielle squeezed her hand gently.
“What did Michael say?”
Wunmi let out a small, humorless huff.
“He told me to calm down and we'd find it,” she said. “Or he’d just get me another one if we couldn’t.”
Danielle’s brows lifted slightly. “And you didn’t like that.”
“No,” Wunmi said immediately, shaking her head. “I don’t want another one.”
Danielle nodded slowly, understanding settling in her expression.
“Mm, I get it,” she said gently. “I lost mine before.”
Wunmi blinked, looking up at her.
“You did?”
“Mhm,” Danielle nodded. “Thought I was about to pass out when I realized it too. Tore my whole house up just like you.”
Wunmi let out a small breath, something easing in her chest just a little. “Did you find it?”
Danielle smiled. “I did. It was in the most random place too. You're gonna find it, so don't stress yourself out too much.”
Right then, their server returned with their drinks, carefully placing them down in front of them.
“Margarita for you, and a French 75 for you ,” she said, setting Wunmi’s glass down gently. “Are you ladies ready to order?”
Danielle picked up her drink, taking a quick sip before nodding.
“Yes please."
They both grabbed their menus again, scanning over them briefly as they placed their orders. Danielle confidently went first, while Wunmi took a second longer. The server nodded, jotting everything down. Once she walked away again, Danielle leaned back in her chair, lifting her glass slightly.
They clinked their glasses together and fell right back into conversation. They talked about everything. From work to people to random stories. Danielle filled her in on things she had missed, little industry gossip here and there that made Wunmi laugh and shake her head. Wunmi shared her own updates of things she hadn’t realized she needed to talk about until she was saying them out loud.
Time moved quickly and they hardly even noticed. Their food came and went, plates slowly clearing as they kept talking.
Danielle tilted her head slightly, a knowing look on her face.
“So,” she started, dragging the word out just a little. “How’s wedding planning going?”
Wunmi let out a soft laugh immediately, shaking her head as she set her fork down.
"It’s…a lot.”
“I know it is,” Danielle grinned.
“It’s not even the planning itself, it's the timing,” Wunmi continued.
She reached for her glass, taking a small sip before continuing.
“Michael’s been filming, so everything has to work around his schedule. And when he does have time, it’s like we have to squeeze in ten different things at once. It’s just a lot of back and forth. All of the calls and meetings. where we have to make decisions so quick because we don't know when the next free window is,” Wunmi said.
“So do y’all have a date yet?”
Wunmi picked up her glass and took a small sip.
“Not officially, but we've been looking at spring time or maybe early summer,” she said. “But we’ve been looking at spring. Maybe early summer. I really want May, but that's only if everything lines up properly.”
Danielle raised a brow. “Oh, that's soon soon.”
Wunmi gave a small nod, setting her glass back down. her fingers brushed along the stem of her glass. All of it felt too real.
Wunmi smiled faintly, her fingers brushing along the stem of her glass. The idea of it felt real when she said it out loud like that.
Danielle studied her for a second, then asked, “Are y’all planning to go public before then?”
Wunmi shrugged, her expression easy.
“I don’t really care about that right now. It's not at the top of my list,” she said. “Michael said he’d rather wait until after we get married.”
Danielle hummed, like she was considering that, then a small smirk crept onto her face.
“Mm. Maybe he’s just trying to get his last little bit of fun in ebfore everybody really backs off,” she said casually.
Wunmi didn’t even hesitate to say, “I’m not worried about that.”
“Not even a little bit?”
Wunmi shook her head, leaning back into her seat.
“He's already learned his lesson,” she said simply.
That made Danielle laugh.
“Okay, I hear you,” she said, holding her hands up.
Wunmi just gave a small unbothered smile.
They stayed for a little longer just talking. Eventually their plates were cleared and their dreams were long finisehed.
Danielle glanced around, then back at Wunmi.
“You ready?”
Wunmi nodded. “Yeah.”
Danielle lifted her hand slightly, catching their server’s attention as she passed by.
“Whenever you get a chance, can we get the check?”
The server nodded with a polite smile.
“Of course.”
She disappeared for a moment, and Wunmi reached for her purse. It didn't take long for the server to come back. She didn't set anything on the table. Instead she gave the two women a careful look.
“Actually, your check has already been taken care of,” she said.
Wunmi frowned slightly. “By who?”
The server gave a small, knowing smile, then subtly angled her head toward the inside of the restaurant.
“The gentleman over there.”
Both Wunmi and Danielle turned, their gazes following the direction she’d indicated.
Inside, a small group of men sat at a table not too far from the patio doors. It took a second to even figure out which one she meant until they watched as one of the men leaned back slightly, his attention already on them.
His face wasn’t fully clear from where they were. The lighting inside hit at an angle, shadowing part of it, and he had on a hat that didn’t help. Wunmi narrowed her eyes just a little, trying to place him.
They both turned back toward the server.
“Well…tell him thank you,” Danielle said, still sounding unsure.
“Of course,” the server replied before she walked away.
Wunmi and Danielle exchanged a look. Then they both glanced back toward the table, but the moment had already shifted. The man wasn’t as clearly visible anymore, someone else moving in front of him briefly, the angle changing just enough to make it harder to get a good look.
Danielle leaned closer.
“Do you know him?”
“I don’t—” Wunmi started, then stopped, her eyes narrowing again slightly. “I mean, I can’t see him properly.”
They sat there for another moment, trying to piece it together, but neither of them could land on anything. And then the patio door opened. The man from inside stepped out into the sunlight, moving with an easy confidence. As he got closer, the shadows fell away from his face and Wunmi's breath caught.
Her eyes widened almost immediately in recognition. She quickly turned her head toward Danielle, surprise flickering across her face.
“What? Who is that?” Danielle asked under her breath.
Wunmi didn’t answer. She just looked back at the man as he closed the distance to their table.
“Ladies,” he greeted smoothly as he reached the table.
Danielle straightened slightly, already smiling out of politeness.
“Hi,” she said. “Thank you for paying for us. You didn’t have to do that.”
He waved it off with a small shrug.
“It’s nothing. I figured I'd use it as an excuse to come say hello. Hope you don't mind,” he said.
Danielle glanced at Wunmi briefly before looking back at him.
“No, not at all. That was relaly nice of you,” she said.
Wunmi hadn’t said a word. She kept her posture composed, but her gaze had shifted off to the side for a moment, like she needed a second to collect herself before fully engaging. Because standing in front of her was someone she hadn't seen in literal years. And wasn't expecting to see again.
Tyree Lawson had been someone she had been seeing before Michael even came into the picture. They hadn’t ended badly. They just ended. The distance, timing, and their careers pulled them in opposite directions. He got traded, she picked up a new acting job, and their lives moved on.
But she remembered him. And judging by the way he was looking at her now, he remembered her just as well.
His attention shifted fully to her, a slow smile pulling at his mouth.
“Hi.”
Wunmi cleared her throat softly, finally looking at him.
“Hello.”
The formality of it made his brows lift immediately. A small, amused crease formed between them as he tilted his head.
“Why you acting like you don’t know me?”
Danielle’s eyes flicked between them instantly.
Wunmi exhaled quietly, then extended her hand out.
“Hi,” she said a little less stiff.
He reached out and took it, his grip warm. His thumb brushed lightly across the back of her hand.
“How you been?” he asked.
Wunmi gave him a sharp look and he caught the meaning of it immediately. He smirked.
“I’ve been fine,” she said while pulling her hand back. “Very busy, but fine.”
“I see that. You been everywhere lately,” he nodded, leaning back slightly so he could take her in properly. “I didn’t get to tell you before, but I saw Sinners.”
Wunmi’s expression shifted just a little.
“And?” she asked.
“I liked it a lot. You did your thing in that,” he said. "I'm proud of you."
“Thank you,” she said softly. “I appreciate that.”
There was a brief pause before she shifted the focus.
“What are you doing out here? Didn't the season start?” she asked.
He nodded once. “Yeah, it did. I’ve just got some business to handle out here before I head back.”
Wunmi’s brows lifted slightly. “What business?”
“I started a winery.” A small smile tugged at his mouth.
“Congratulations. That's big,” her tone was more warm and animated now.
“Thank you. The grand opening's coming up soon,” he paused. "You should come."
Wunmi looked at him, and for a split second she let whatever was in the air sink into her. She became a little too soft and a little too open.
“I would have to see, but I think it should be fine,” she said.
Danielle sat back in her chair, watching the exchange unfold with quiet interest. Her gaze moved between them. It wasn’t hard to read the situation. There was clearly history there and it hadn't fully gone away.
He was satisfied with that answer.
“I’ll send you the details.”
“Okay,” Wunmi said.
There was another small pause before he glanced between them, stepping back just slightly.
“I won’t hold you any longer,” he added. “Just wanted to say hello.”
Wunmi nodded, pushing her chair back as she stood.
“Yeah, of course.”
She stepped around the table, closing the small distance between them. And they hugged.
This time their contact wasn't awkward. In fact it was easy and familiar. His arms wrapped around her firmly, pulling her in. They slid a little lower than they probably should have.
Wunmi inhaled softly at the contact, her body reacting before her mind could catch up. He’d always been built strong and solid. Her hands rested against him briefly, her fingers pressing lightly against his back. She let out a quiet hum without meaning to.
He dipped his head slightly, pressing a quick kiss to her cheek before pulling back, his hands lingering at her waist for just a second longer.
“Good seeing you,” he murmured.
“You too,” she replied.
He gave Danielle a quick nod before turning and heading back inside.
Nobody noticed the the camera lens across the street taking pictures of them.
Wunmi sat back down, adjusting her bag at her side, and Danielle was staring at her hard. Wunmi didn’t meet her eyes right away. She just reached for her shades instead and slid them back up.
“What?” she casually asked.
Danielle leaned back, crossing her arms loosely.
“You might not be worried about Michael with other women, but he should probably be a little worried about you,” she said pointedly.
Wunmi let out a quiet hum, not denying it, but not feeding into it either. She grabbed her purse, standing up.
“You ready?” she asked simply.
Danielle stared at her for a second longer, then shook her head with a small laugh as she stood too.
“Yeah, I'm ready,” she said.
A few days had passed, and the ring still hadn’t turned up.
Wunmi had stopped tearing her house apart, but the absence hadn’t gotten any easier. If anything, it got worse. Every time she reached for things or rested her hand on her lap she was reminded of it not being there.
She was leisurely stretched out across her couch when Michael called, one leg tucked under her, and her sketchbook open beside her with loose pages scattered around it.
“Hey,” she answered, tucking the phone between her ear and shoulder as she absentmindedly flipped through one of the pages.
“Hey baby,” Michael’s voice came through low and tired. “You find it yet?”
She let out a small sigh. “…No.”
There was a brief pause on his end.
“It's fine.”
Wunmi frowned slightly, her fingers coming up to rub over her bare ring finger.
“It doesn’t feel fine,” she muttered. “My finger feels weird without it.”
That earned a quiet exhale from him, something close to a soft chuckle.
“You'll be okay. It's not permanent,” he said.
She hummed under breath, shifting a little on the couch.
“So how are you feeling about everything?” sheasked while glancing down at her sketchbook.
“About what?” he asked.
“The wedding,” she said.
There was a small pause.
“I’m good,” he answered. “Why? You not?”
“I am,” she said quickly. “It's just that there’s a lot to keep up with.”
Her hand moved across the page, tracing over one of the rough designs she’d started.
“And don’t forget we have that meeting next week with the planner coming up,” she added.
“Yeah, I remember,” he said.
She sat up a bit to reach for a pencil.
“I’ve been trying to get a head start on my dress too,” she continued. “I started sketching some ideas, but I don't know how I feel about any of them.”
On the other end, Michael was half-listening when his phone buzzed. He pulled it away from his ear just enough to glance down at the notification to see that it was a text from his publicist.
How do you want to handle this?
A twitter link followed.
His brows pulled together as he tapped it. The page loaded and his eyes instantly went to the caption.
Academy nominee Wunmi Mosaku and Dallas Cowboys defensive lineman Tyree Lawson seen pretty close at lunch.
Michael blinked once. Then he looked down at the photos. There were multiple pictures of Wunmi and Tyree hugging. His arms wrapped low around her waist and his cheek pressed against hers. There was even a picture where his lips were pressed against her cheek.
Michael was utterly confused and tense all at once.
“Aye, what is this?”
His voice cut her off mid-sentence.
“What are you talking about?”
Instead of answering, he sent the link to her. And at the exact same time, her phone buzzed against her ear. She pulled it away to see that it was a text from her own publicist.
We need to get in front of this.
Her stomach dropped. And as soon as the tweet loaded she felt her whole breath evaporate.
“Oh my God.”
Her eyes widened as she scrolled through the photos, her chest tightening.
On the other end, Michael said nothing he just waited. His silence made her pulse stutter.
“Okay, wait. When I went out with Danielle the other day someone paid for our meal. It was him,” she said quickly. "Then he came over to our table."
“Y’all look pretty close.”
The way he said it was too controlled.
Wunmi exhaled, already feeling that dangerous shift in him.
“Do you remember the guy I told you about that came before you?” she asked.
There was a beat. Then Michael hummed.
She swallowed. “That’s him.”
He remembered the conversation and the way she described how serious it could've been and how much she liked him before things fell apart. And now he was looking at pictures of that same man with his hands on her like that.
“So then what,” Michael said slowly.
Wunmi shifted on the couch, her fingers tightening slightly around her phone.
“It wasn’t like that, baby,” she said. “He just paid for our food and came to say hi. That’s it.”
Michael let out a quiet breath through his nose.
“That don’t look like just saying hi.”
Wunmi frowned, her chest tightening.
“I didn’t know what to do. It caught me off guard,” she said.
He shook his head, even though she couldn’t see it.
“You didn’t know what to do?” he echoed.
She heard the edge in his voice.
“I mean—no,” she said, her tone softening. “I wasn’t expecting to see him. And he just came up—”
“And you hugging him like that?” Michael cut in.
Her lips parted, then pressed together again.
“He did all of that,” she said, quieter now.
“That don’t change what it look like.”
Wunmi exhaled, her shoulders sinking slightly.
“It wasn’t anything. You're making it more than it was,” she insisted.
Michael didn’t respond right away because then he realized something that made this all that much worse.
“And you ain’t have your ring on. Did you at least tell him you were engaged?”
Wunmi froze. She didn't answer right away which made Michael grunt in frustration.
"Oluwunmi…"
“…No,” she admitted softly. Her voice had dropped to a whisper.
Michael let out another low, frustrated grunt, dragging a hand down his face.
“Aight,” he said. "It's cool."
Wunmi sat up straight.
“It’s not—Michael, listen—”
“I said it’s cool,” he repeated.
But it didn’t sound like it was at all.
“I’ll see you later.”
Her brows pulled together immediately. And she went to ask him what he meant by that, but the line had already gone dead. She pulled the phone away from her ear, staring at the screen for a second, confusion settling in just as fast as the panic. He wasn’t supposed to be back for another two days. So really what did he mean?
The rest of the day blurred together.
Her phone stayed in her hand. If she wasn’t on a call, she was answering a text. If she wasn’t answering a text, she was reading something she wished she hadn’t.
Her publicist called her once. Then again. Then a third time, looping her into another call but this time with Michael’s publicist.
Wunmi pressed her lips together, pacing slowly through her living room as she listened, her free hand resting against her forehead.
“It wasn’t like that,” she said for what felt like the tenth time. “He came up to us and I didn’t even know he was there until—”
“We understand that, but perception matters far more than intent right now,” her publicist cut in gently.
Wunmi closed her eyes as she took that statement in because of course it did.
They talked through options of what to do. If she wanted to make a statement and the timing of it, or if she would want to stay silent. By the time that call ended, her head was pounding. And of course, it didn’t stop there.
Danielle called her as well.
“Girl, are you okay?” she asked immediately.
“I’m fine,” Wunmi said, even though she wasn’t.
Danielle sighed. “I didn’t even notice anybody out there taking pictures like that.”
“Me either,” Wunmi muttered, dropping down onto her couch again.
“You talked to Michael?”
“I did and let's just say it didn't go too well. He hung up on me.”
“Okay, well, that's not ideal,” she said slowly.
Wunmi huffed a small, humorless breath. “No, it’s not.”
After that the calls just kept coming. From close friends to family. And they were all asking questions that she didn't really feel like answering. The only person who hadn't was Michael. And not for lack of trying on her part either.
Every time she tried to call him, it went unanswered. Every text was stuck on delivered. She even checked his location at one point, but it was off.
When evening came, her energy was completely drained.
She sat curled up on her couch, her phone resting in her lap as she stared at the screen. The tweet was still circulating, but with more comments and opinions. More people were inserting themselves into something they didn’t understand.
Her thumb hovered over Michael’s name for the fiftieth time that day. She still had nothing from him. Her chest tightened, and she swallowed hard, blinking a few times as that familiar pressure started building behind her eyes. All of this was getting to her.
She slowly moved through her nighttime routine. The house fell still the moment she turned the lights off ready to curl up and hide from the world.
She grabbed her phone one last time, glancing at it, and still nothing. Wunmi let out a quiet breath and set it down on the table. She had started to head to her bedroom when there was a knock on her door.
It was far too late for anyone to just be showing up. So she stood still for second to listen. But then another louder and more insistent knock came.
Her heart picked up slightly as she walked toward the door with cautious steps.
“Who is it?” she called out.
No verbal answer, only another knock.
She hesitated for half a second before unlocking the door and pulling it open. And her breath caught when she saw Michael standing there with a hood pulled over his head and hands tucked into his pockets.
“Michael—” she gasped in relief. “Baby, I am so—”
“Come on,” he cut in firmly. He left no room for disagreeament.
When she didn't move, Michael stared at her harder.
“Let's go,” he repeated, stepping slightly to the side and holding the door open wider.
Her breath hitched. It was something about the look in her eye that made her really not want to argue with him. She simply turned and went to grab her phone and purse off of the table. She walked past him, his presence heavy as she went by.
He stepped out right after her, pulling the door shut and locking it without a word. Wunmi looked back slightly to watch him. He slipped by her to lead the way.
Once he got to the car, Michael pulled the passenger door open for her to get into. She climbed in with her heart beating faster than normal. The door shut and a second later, he was in the driver’s seat, starting the engine.
The silence inside the car was thick during the drive.
Wunmi glanced at him. His hands were tight on the wheel and eyes forward. She opened her mouth then closed it. Whatever she was about to say didn’t feel like it would go right, so she stayed quiet.
The drive only lasted about fifteen minutes, but it felt much longer.
As soon as they pulled into his driveway, he was out of the car almost immediately, coming around to her side and opening her door before she could even reach for it.
She stepped out, watching him carefully. He led the way inside, unlocking the front door and holding it open for her. She stepped into the house, instantly being met with a comfortable familiarity. He closed the door behind them, locking it again before moving past her.
“Where were you when you took it off?” he asked roughly.
Wunmi blinked, trying to keep up.
“I was washing my hair, but that was back at my—”
She could hardly answer before he turned and headed straight for the stairs. Wunmi followed quickly behind him.
“Michael—” She called for him as they swiftly moved up the stairs.
She knew she hadn’t taken her ring off here, so she didn’t argue. At this point, she didn’t have the energy to push back on anything. Not after the day she’d had. So she just followed him into the bathroom and watched him as he immediately got to work.
He moved around the space like a man on a mission, opening drawers, shifting bottles, checking along the edges of the counter and behind things that hadn’t been touched in days. His movements were completely focused yet annoyed.
Wunmi stood in the doorway for a second before stepping in, her arms folding loosely over her chest as she watched him.
“Michael…” she started softly.
He didn’t even look at her. Instead, he crouched down instead, checking along the base of the cabinets, his fingers running along the small spaces.
Wunmi swallowed. Then slowly, she moved further in, kneeling down on the opposite side, her movements much more hesitant. She checked places she knew didn’t make sense. Behind containers and inside small trays and corners that didn’t hold anything. She wasn’t really expecting to find it, but she helped anyway.
The only sounds in the room were the soft shifting of items and Michael’s quiet, frustrated exhales every few minutes. He was getting irritated and she could not only hear it but see it as well. His shoulders were tight and his jaw flexed every time he searched and came up empty-handed.
Enough time passed for the silence between them to stretch and fill the room.
Michael was crouched low near the side of the counter, his fingers reaching into a narrow gap between the cabinet and the wall. His face was scrunched together when he pulled his hand back. And there it was in his fingers. The ring.
Wunmi let out a relieved exhale, “Oh thank God.”
Michael stood up, holding it between his fingers as he wiped it off against the side of his shirt, inspecting it briefly. Then he looked at her.
“Come here.” His voice was steady.
Wunmi carefully pushed herself up and walked over to him. He held his hand out. She reached for it, her fingers slipping into his automatically. He lifted the ring slightly between them, his gaze flicking from it to her.
“You better not lose it again.”
Wunmi’s lips parted slightly, and she nodded, her voice soft, “I won’t.”
He slid it back onto her finger, the cool metal settling into place.
Wunmi exhaled shakily, her shoulders dropping just a little as she looked down at it. Relief flooded her instantly.
Michael’s expression softened as he took her hand again, bringing it up and pressing a kiss to it. Then he stepped closer and wrapped his arm around her waist, pulling her into him. He pushed his lips onto hers and she melted into the kiss almost immediately. Her hands came up to rest agaisnt his chest before sliding up around his neck.
The tension from earlier simmered.
She pulled back just a little, her forehead brushing against his as she looked at him.
“I’m sorry for not really telling you,” she said softly.
“It’s alright. I get it,” he said after a second. “I guess this is my payback.”
Wunmi frowned faintly.
“Payback? For what?”
He looked at her, something protective settling back into his expression.
“I don’t like nobody thinking they can come up and be that comfortable with you,” he said. “Especially not somebody you had something with.”
Her breath caught slightly.
“I didn’t—”
“I know. But I'm saying,” he said firmly. "I'm protective over what's mine."
His hand pressed lightly against her waist.
“And I don’t want you going out without your ring so we don't have this problem again,” he added.
Wunmi nodded slowly, her fingers tightening slightly against him.
“Okay.”
He leaned in again, kissing her slower this time.
Her arms wrapped around him fully now, holding him close as she lifted her hand slightly behind his head. The ring caught the light. She smiled softly against his lips.
“I really did miss it,” she murmured.
Michael let out a quiet breath against her skin, his lips trailing from her jaw down to her neck, pressing a few soft kisses there.
Her eyes fluttered closed, her grip tightening just a little. After a moment, she pulled back slightly, catching her breath.
“What are you doing back already? I thought you weren't coming back for two more days,” she asked.
Michael looked at her for a second, then shrugged lightly.
“I had to come handle my business.”
Wunmi bit her lip, her gaze dropping for a second.
“I really am sorry, Michael,” she said again.
He shook his head, stepping back just enough to look at her fully.
“It’s fine,” he said. “I’m tired.”
He moved past her, already pulling his hoodie off as he headed toward the bedroom.
Wunmi followed, watching him as he stripped down to his boxers.
They both slipped into bed without much more conversation. Wunmi settled in beside him, her hand resting against his chest, her thumb brushing lightly over the ring.
December 2026
Michael had finally wrapped filming for Miami Vice, which meant he was home more, but somehow, that hadn’t made life any less hectic. Now they had wedding stress and awards and press season.
Wunmi had already picked up several nominations. Her name was floating in conversations again. All of the hype was starting to stack on top of everything else.
The wedding planning had been intense. They officially had their date, the venue was picked, and invitations had been sent. That should've made things easier, but it didn't.
Now it was all about the details. They still had to lock a lot of things in while coordinating their schedules around two careers that clearly weren't slowing down. It was a lot.
And Michael had been on her more than usual. He was always touching her or near her. Especially after the whole Tyree thing. Even though they had moved past it, something about it had stuck with him.
They were on the couch with the TV playing something neither of them was fully paying attention to.
Wunmi sat sideways, her legs draped across Michael’s lap and her back resting against the arm of the couch. Her phone was in her hand, thumbs moving as she typed.
Michael’s hand rested on her calf, absentmindedly sliding down to her ankle before coming back up again. His other hand lifted her foot slightly, thumb pressing into the arch, working it gently.
Wunmi exhaled softly at the pressure, not even looking up from her phone.
“Mm,” she hummed.
Michael glanced at her.
“Who you texting?”
“I'm just updating the bridesmaids,” she said while typing.
“About what?”
“The dates that we agreed on for our trips. And the fittings."
Michael shook his head slightly, a quiet breath leaving him.
“This is still so crazy to me,” he muttered.
Wunmi glanced at him briefly, a small smile pulling at her lips.
“What is?”
“The fact that we're getting married.”
“I’m excited,” Wunmi's smile softened.
Michael smiled back at her, then went back to rubbing her foot.
She returned her attention to her phone. And just then a new text came in from an unknown number. Her brows pulled together in confusion as she opened it.
The first message was a picture of an invitation. Then there was a text right under it.
Can’t wait to see you.
Wunmi was utterly confused, until she scrolled up slightly, looked at the number again, then back at the image. That was when it all clicked.
“Oh.”
Michael’s hand paused slightly against her foot.
“What?”
Wunmi’s lips pressed together as she read it again.
“I just got an invitation,” she said.
“To what?”
She hesitated for a second.
“Tyree’s winery opening.”
Michael’s hand stilled completely.
“No.”
It was an immediate rejection that took Wunmi aback.
“You didn’t even let me explain.”
“Didn't have to,” he said as he leaned back against the couch.
Wunmi let out a small breath, sitting up a little.
“He just sent it to me and I don't even have his number,” she added.
“I don’t care. You're not going,” Michael said. His hand dropped from her foot, resting on her leg instead, his fingers tapping once against her skin.
Wunmi frowned, “Baby—”
“You're not going,” he repeated.
She shifted, pulling one of her legs in so she could turn toward him more.
“But I kind of want to go.”
Michael’s eyes snapped to her. “Why?”
Wunmi blinked at his tone, then exhaled.
“I don’t know,” she admitted. “It just doesn't feel like a big deal. It's a grand opening, so we'll be in public. And it's not like I'm sneaking off somewhere with him.”
Michael stared at her completely unmoved.
“That’s not the point, baby.”
"Then what is the point?" Wunmi tilted her head slightly.
“I don’t trust him.”
Wunmi’s brows lifted slightly.
“It sounds like you don’t trust me?”
“That's not what I said. I trust you,” he said immediately.
“Then—”
“I don’t trust him,” he repeated, slower this time. “And I don’t like the idea of you going somewhere he invited you to like that.”
Wunmi sighed softly, her shoulders dropping a little.
“It’s not like I have feelings for him. Whatever was there is gone,” she said.
Michael’s gaze stayed on her.
“That doesn’t mean it’s gone for him. Especially after how them pictures looked. Now he's inviting you out. I don't like that,” he said.
“I’d be wearing my ring,” she said quietly.
Michael let out a short breath, shaking his head, “That don’t stop nothing if somebody don’t care.”
Wunmi studied him for a second.
“So what? I just don't go?” she asked softly.
“Not unless I’m there,” he said.
Wunmi leaned back against the couch again, thinking.
“I don’t even know if you can go. You might have press,” she said.
“Then you not going,” he replied without hesitation.
She let out a quiet huff, somewhere between frustration and understanding.
“Michael…”
He reached for her leg again, pulling it back across his lap, his hand sliding up her thigh before settling there.
“I’m serious. I'm not about to have a repeat of that,” he said.
Wunmi looked at him, really looked at him this time, and she saw the tension still in his body. So she decided to concede.
“Okay,” she said after a second.
Michael’s shoulders relaxed a bit, his thumb moving against her leg.
The following weekend came quicker than Wunmi was honestly ready for. Between wedding meetings, awards conversations, and Michael attached to her to her body every second, the days just blurred together. Yet she still found time to get ready for unplanned events.
Music was playing lowly from downstairs while Michael moved around the room getting dressed.
Wunmi sat at her vanity in their bedroom, one leg crossed over the other as she leaned closer to the mirror. She had gotten her hair done a few days ago. It was in soft, full curls that fell around her shoulders. Her makeup was simple, especially since she didn't feel like going through her glam team.
She dabbed lightly beneath one eye when she heard Michael’s footsteps getting closer. A second later, he appeared in the mirror behind her with a hoodie on and cologne loud. He glanced at her reflection immediately.
“I’m about to head out,” he said.
Wunmi hummed softly. “Okay.”
But then his eyes narrowed, because she was clearly getting ready too.
“Where you going?”
Wunmi kept her expression neutral as she reached for her gloss.
“Out.”
Michael leaned one shoulder against the doorway, "Out where?"
"Just out," she shrugged.
His eyes stayed on her through the mirror for another second longer than necessary. He was clearly suspicious and she could feel it. But after a moment, he pushed off the doorway and walked over behind her instead. His hands settled warmly onto her shoulders, thumbs pressing lightly into the muscles there.
Wunmi relaxed under the touch.
“You look pretty,” he murmured.
A small smile pulled at her lips, “Thank you.”
His hands slid down slowly before he leaned down toward her face.
“Wait—” she laughed softly, turning her head slightly. “You’re gonna mess up my lip gloss.”
“I don’t care.”
Before she could protest again, his hand tilted her chin toward him and he kissed her anyway. It was only a soft quick one, but it was annoyingly affectionate.
When they pulled apart, Michael looked entirely too satisfied with himself. His hands lingered on her shoulders a second longer before he straightened back up.
“You got my card?”
“Why would I need your card?”
“Just in case.”
“I’m not going to need it.”
Michael reached over and picked up her purse from the vanity chair anyway, unzipping it and slipping the black card inside.
Wunmi rolled her eyes softly but didn’t argue.
He leaned down one more time, brushing his lips briefly against the top of her head this time.
“Text me when you get where you going.”
“Okay.”
He squeezed her shoulder once before finally heading out of the room.
Wunmi waited until she heard the front door downstairs close, then she exhaled. She walked over to her closet to get her dress for the evening. The dress was all-black, but it hugged her body absolutely perfectly.
She stepped into it carefully, pulling it up slowly, and adjusting it into place. Then she turned toward the mirror to look at herself. And honestly she looked a little too good.
She knew that Michael would hate to see her looking this good and going there. Which was exactly why she hadn't told him where she was going. She knew how her man would react, but she also knew that if she didn't go Tyree would only push harder. He was the kind of man that liked the chase. He only got more interested when someone pulled away.
Wunmi slipped on her heels, then sprayed perfume lightly along her neck and wrists. She grabbed her purse and headed downstairs.
When she made it outside the air was cooler than it had been earlier in the week. Her heels clicked softly against the driveway as she walked toward her car. Once inside, she checked herself quickly in the mirror, then started the engine.
The drive was long enough to give her time to think. Streetlights blurred past as her fingers tapped lightly against the steering wheel.
Her thoughts swirled with a mix of Michael and Tyree. All she could really think about is if they got caught again just like how they got caught at the restaraunt. Her hand tightened on the wheel and her ring caught the passing lights immediately. She was just glad that she had it on this time.
The venue was on the other side of town, so she ran into some thick traffic. By the time she finally pulled up it was packed. A line of cars stretched down the block. Dozens of blacked-out vehicles rolled forward one after another as valet attendants moved quickly to get them in and out.
Wunmi slowed as she pulled up, immediately spotting the entrance ahead glowing warm against the night. The building itself was gorgeous with modern architecture, dark wood accents, and huge windows revealing pieces of the event happening inside.
Before she could even fully put the car in park, a valet attendant was already stepping forward and opening her door.
“Good evening, ma’am.”
Wunmi gave him a polite smile as she grabbed her purse and phone.
“Thank you.”
The cool evening air brushing against her skin as she stepped out carefully in her heels. A few heads turned as she straightened up fully, smoothing a hand lightly over her dress before handing over her keys.
“Enjoy your evening,” the valet said.
Wunmi nodded softly before making her way toward the entrance.
As soon as she entered into the venue, the more impressed she became because it was beautiful. The lighting was dim with warm gold tones bouncing off dark interiors and polished surfaces. Music floated through the air low enough for conversation, and the entire place smelled faintly of wood and wine.
Before she could get too lost in the beauty of her surroundings, she remembered something important that she was supposed to do. Wunmi reached into her purse and pulled her phone out knowing she needed to say something before he found out another way.
Her fingers moved quickly over the screen.
I know you’re going to be mad but I’m at Tyree’s event. I’m going to let him know that I’m engaged.
She stared at the message for a quick second, then turned her phone completely off. Beccause she knew the second that he saw it, he was going to call her and she honestly didn't feel like dealing with that right now.
She slipped the phone back into her purse and exhaled slowly, squaring her shoulders before continuing further inside.
A server approached her with a tray of wine glasses.
“Would you like one?”
Wunmi glanced down briefly before taking one carefully by the stem.
“Thank you.”
She took a small sip, eyes moving around the room. A few familiar faces caught her attention here and there. Some even greeted her once they noticed her.
She smiled politely through all of the exchanges, stopping for quick conversations here and there and accepting compliments. She was also being very aware of her surroundings, because if she wasn't things could very well become a problem.
She lifted the wine glass to her lips again, taking another small sip as she continued walking through the venue. She took her time moving through the different rooms.
Every section flowed into the next seamlessly. There were private tasting areas, lounge spaces, and long wooden tables filled with bottles and small plates. The lighting stayed dim and warm throughout the entire building, giving everything this intimate feel.
She found herself near one of the display areas where rows of massive wine barrels lined the wall with engraved plaques beneath them. Wunmi lifted her glass for another sip, leaning slightly to read one of the plaques when a hand slid around her waist. Her body instantly tensed up.
She turned quickly, only to come face to face with Tyree. And he was smiling down at her.
“I’m glad you made it,” he said.
His voice was smooth and easy over the music.
Wunmi recovered quickly, giving him a small smile back.
“This place is gorgeous,” she admitted honestly, glancing around again briefly. “Like really gorgeous.”
Tyree chuckled softly, “Appreciate it.”
She lifted her glass slightly, “And the wine’s good too.”
That made him grin wider.
“Alright now, don’t gas me too much.”
Wunmi laughed softly. But then she remembered his hand that was still resting against her waist. Her eyes flicked downward briefly before she subtly stepped sideways out of his hold. The movement was smooth enough not to make a scene, but still he noticed.
Tyree’s brows pulled together as his eyes moved over her slowly.
“You look real good tonight,” he said.
“Thank you.”
He stepped toward her even more. He lifted his arm like he was about to settle it around her waist once more, but Wunmi moved before he could.
“Watch yourself,” she said lightly.
Tyree paused. Confused amusement spread across his face.
“What? Why you acting like this?” he laughed.
Wunmi didn’t verbally answer. Instead, she lifted her left hand up between them. The ring caught the warm lighting, sparkling beautifully against her skin.
Tyree’s eyes dropped to it and he looked genuinely surprised. But his expression smoothed back over.
“When that happen?” he asked.
Wunmi took another sip of her wine before answering casually, “He proposed in August.”
His brows shot up again.
“August, huh?”
She nodded.
“You ain’t have that on at lunch.”
“I lost it and got in so much trouble because of what happened,” she admitted and pointed lightly at him with her glass. “I should’ve told you then that I was happily engaged. Maybe pictures of us wouldn't have ended up all over the internet,” she said.
He briefly glanced away like he was thinking. Then he looked back at her with a dangerously confident smirk on his face.
“I guess I gotta try harder to get you to come over to the best side," he said.
Irritation immediately flashed across Wunmi's face. It was so fast Tyree almost missed it.
“I’m already on the best side,” she said plainly. “And it can’t get any better than my man.”
Tyree sucked his teeth, unconvinced.
“Yeah okay,” he muttered.
Wunmi stared at him for another second before taking another sip from her glass.
Tyree looked at her ring one more time before nodding once.
“You enjoy yourself." he said. Then his mouth curved up. “I’ll be talking to you soon.”
Wunmi narrowed her eyes at that, but she didn’t respond. She just nodded once and watched him walk away through the crowd.
The second he disappeared, she exhaled quietly.
“…Jesus Christ.”
Her fingers tightened slightly around the stem of the glass. Now she understood exactly why Michael didn’t want her there. Tyree wasn’t outright disrespectful, but he also clearly wasn’t backing down just because she had a ring on.
After that exchange, she stayed there for about another hour or so. She mingled with people and sampled more wine. But the longer she stayed, the more aware she became of the pit forming in her stomach. Eventually she had to go home where she knew Michael was waiting for her.
She handed off her empty wine glass and headed toward the exit, she already knew she was in a whole lot of trouble.
After an entire drive of Wunmi's stomach twisting knots, she finally pulled into Michael's garage. When she parked the car she noticed that Michael's car wasn't there. She hadn't seen it out front either. Relief washed over her.
She grabbed her purse and stepped out of the car, her heels echoing softly through the garage before she headed inside.
The house was completely dark. A little too dark.
Wunmi paused just inside the doorway, listening carefully. A small breath escaped her. The tension in her shoulders loosened.
She locked the door behind her and kept the lights off, moving quietly through the house before heading upstairs. The bedroom was dark too. That eased her nerves even more because it meant he hadn't even stepped foot in the home.
She set her purse down carefully and headed toward the closet, ready to get out of the dress and wash the night off her.
The closet light was dim as she slipped her heels off first with a relieved sigh. Then her jewelry. Then her dress. She wrapped her robe tight around her body and tied it securely at the waist. Her hair fell softly around her shoulders as she pushed the closet door back open and stepped into the bedroom. She casually reached toward the wall and flipped the light on.
Her breath stopped.
Michael was sitting in the corner chair near the window. Legs spread, body leaned back, arms resting on the arm of the chair, and face blank. The light caught him good, and he was just watching her.
Wunmi physically jumped, her hand flying to her chest.
“Oh my God,” she gasped. “You scared me.”
Her heart slammed against her ribs as she stared at him.
There had been absolutely no sign he was home. His car wasn't around, he made no sound, there was absolutely nothing.
Michael didn’t answer. He just looked at her, giving her a completely unreadable look. His silence somehow made her even more nervous.
Wunmi swallowed hard, trying to recover.
“Hi,” she said softly, attempting a small smile as she bit lightly at her lip.
Still nothing.
The room suddenly felt very warm, very quiet.
Wunmi shifted her weight under his stare.
Slowly, Michael lifted two fingers and crooked them toward himself. He had no words for her, only the simple gesture.
Wunmi’s breath hitched and her stomach tightened, but she obeyed. Her bare feet slowly moved across the carpet until she stood directly in front of him between his spread legs.
Michael leaned back in the chair, his hands settling on her thighs, fingers gripping the thick flesh through the soft fabric of her robe.
“Anything you wanna say?” he finally asked calmly.
Wunmi swallowed. Her fingers twisted lightly together at her sides.
“I’d be lying if I said I was sorry,” she admitted quietly.
Michael’s face tightened and he gave a stiff nod.
The room stayed silent for another long second.
“Get on the bed.”
Wunmi’s eyes widened and her stomach dropped. She knew exactly what kind of mood he was in. And there had only been maybe three times where she had gotten herself in enough trouble to see this side of him.
Wunmi's pulse blared in her ears as she turned toward the bed. She climbed onto the mattress slowly, knees first, then hands, positioning herself on all fours with her back arched just enough to present herself to him.
Michael rose from the chair without a sound. His footsteps were heavy as he approached the bed. He placed one hand between her shoulder blades and pressed down firmly, forcing her upper body to lay flat against the cool sheets. Her cheek pressed into the fabric, arms stretching out in front of her.
"Stay down," he commanded, voice low.
A soft whimper escaped her lips, her body trembling under the weight of his palm. She was completely at his mercy.
"You're gonna count each one," Michael said, his tone leaving no room for argument. "And I'm not telling you when it stops."
Wunmi braced herself, fingers curling into the sheets, muscles tensing as she waited for the first hit.
He gathered the hem of her robe and pushed it up over her lower back, exposing her completely. His fingers hooked into the thin straps of her panties next, tugging them up hard and wedging the fabric tight between her cheeks like a makeshift thong. The pull made her gasp, the material pinching her skin, leaving her bare and framed for him.
She had no idea what was going to happen. Her nerves were all over the place.
Then it came. A sharp smack landed on her left cheek. The hit stung like fire and jolted her entire body. It caught her so off guard that her mind blanked, and no words came out of her mouth.
Michael grunted disapprovingly. His hands clamped onto both large cheeks, gripping hard enough to make her wince.
"Count."
"One," she whispered shakily.
The next hit came down harder than the first, the force snapping her hips forward an inch across the bed.
"Two," she managed, sucking in a breath.
"Why'd you go when I told you not to?" he demanded, one hand kneading her flesh roughly.
Wunmi drew a shaky breath, her voice soft against the mattress. "I needed to. If I didn't he'd be all over me."
Michael's eyes narrowed as he processed her words. Without warning, he delivered two quick hits— one on each cheek—the slaps echoing through the room.
She whimpered, body jerking with the double sting, heat spreading fast.
"Three...four," she counted while clinging to the sheets.
"You're in so much trouble," Michael growled, his palm hovering for a beat before delivering the fifth smack, firmly across the center of her right cheek. The heat built, layering over the previous stings.
"Five," she counted, hips twitching involuntarily.
"And you're gonna make it up to Daddy," he added, his voice dropping as the sixth hit landed on the left cheek.
Another groan came from her and her thighs pressed together against the growing ache. "Six."
He didn't pause. The seventh hit was quick and the eighth followed just as quickly. Then the ninth and tenth were all rapid-fire, alternating cheeks. Each one made her skin tingle. The sensations twisted into a mix of pain and pleasure that had her toes curling and breath hitching.
She winced with the seventh, whimpered through the eighth, gasped on the ninth, and let out a shaky whine on the tenth. Her entire backside was throbbing and aching, but somehow that made it more intoxicating.
"You had enough?" Michael's hand rested on her warm skin, rubbing slow circles.
Wunmi nodded frantically, her cheek still pressed to the bed, tears at the corners of her eyes from the intensity.
"I'm sorry," she whispered, voice breaking softly.
He hummed a low, skeptical sound rumbling from his chest as he shook his head.
"Nah. I don't think you are yet." His fingers tightened on her hip. "Don't move."
Wunmi stayed where she was with her forehead pressed to the sheets and ass raised high as the door to the closet clicked shut behind him. Her mind raced, trying to figure out what he was grabbing. Her breath came in shallow pants and she squeezed her eyes shut.
Then she heard the low hum starting up from somewhere behind her.
Her eyes flew open and a whimper slipped out, "Michael..."
She felt the cool, buzzing head of the vibrator wand press directly against her clit through the wedged fabric of her panties. Her whole body jumped forward on the bed, a startled yelp escaping her as pleasure shot through her like lightning.
"Hold it," he ordered.
Wunmi reached back with one trembling hand, fingers wrapping around the handle. She held it lightly, the vibrations teased her. Still it was too much.
Without giving her a warning, Michael covered her hand with his and pressed down hard. The wand felt intense against her clit. A deep moan tore from her throat, hips pushed back involuntarily.
His free hand landed a hard smack on her already tender cheeks. He kept going, each sharp spank jiggling her body and mixing with the pleasure of the wand.
She moaned loudly, head dropping to the mattress. She could feel herself dripping wet, slickness coating her inner thighs from earlier and now. The wand hummed against her clit, every pulse matching perfectly with the hits of his palm on her ass.
Wunmi felt herself starting to reach that edge quickly. Her body tensed up, mouth dropping open in a silent gasp. Her free hand clutched the sheets in a death grip while her legs trembled. She clenched and pulsed around nothing.
Michael noticed it right away, his rhythm never faltering.
"You better not come," he warned her.
She shook her head, biting her lip hard to fight it. She knew he wanted her to give him the excuse for more punishment, but holding back felt impossible. The pressure was getting worse with every second.
Her body moved on it's own, and her hand pressed wand harder against her clit.Consistent needy moans fell from her lip as she started to grind against the vibrations. She could feel herself right there, she was so close.
Michale snatched the wand from her grip, the sudden absence making a frustrated sound fall from her lips.
"You don't get to come," he stated flatly, tossing it aside.
Wunmi whimpered as every nerve in her body was screaming for release.
Michael gave her two final smacks to each cheek. Then his palms rubbed slow, drawing a soft sigh from her. Then he grabbed her hips and yanked her back toward him, pulling until her lower body pressed against his.
Wunmi felt his straining through his pants, making her throb even more. She couldn't help but to rub against him in a silent plea to be filled.
"I'm not fucking you tonight," he said firmly as his hand cracked down once more on her ass. He stepped away, leaving her empty and wanting.
Wunmi whimpered, fully collapsing onto the bed. She shifted onto her side.
A while later, Michael slid into bed behind her. He held her close, draping one arm possessively over her waist.
For the next three days, Wunmi was denied orgasm after orgasm by Michael. Every time Tyree called or texted, it put her further into trouble.
The first morning, Michael had her on top of the kitchen counter, vibrator pressed against her clit. She was gasping, thighs shaking, and so close her vision blurred. That was until her phone lit up with a "good morning" text from Tyree. Michael instantly snatched the vibrator away, leaving her desperate whining.
One afternoon, after doing some errands for the wedding, Tyree called her as they were getting intside of the car. She ignored it, but Michael noticed.
He slid his hand between her legs, and pushed his fingers so deep into her. He curled them just right and stroked her so good. She rocked against his palm, moans filling the car as she worked her way up. Then he pulled away. He built her back up, only to deny her again. And again for a third time. Each denial left her more wrrecked than the last.
And after three days of torture, Michael finally decided she'd earned a reward.
They were in bed. Him sat up against the headboard, legs spread wide with kneeling between them. Her lips were wrapped around his thick length as she took him deep down her throat.
Michael groaned as his hand gripped the back of her head, fingers tangled in her hair to guide her further down, hold there, then back up.
She moaned around him, the vibrations pulling more groans from him.
They were so lost in the moment. Her tongue eagerly swirled around him as she sucked him up. And his eyes couldn't move away from the beautiful sight in front of him. That was until her phone broke the moment by ringing so loud on the nightstand.
Almost instinctively, Wunmi tried to lift her head to check, but Michael's grip tightened. He pushed her head firmly back down onto his dick, keeping her mouth full.
He snatched the phone with his free hand, glancing at the screen. Tyree's name flashed across the screen. Instantly, Michael was annoyed. The ringing stopped only to start up again seconds later.
Wunmi took Michael's brief distraction as opportunity, so she slid him out of her mouth with a soft pop and peered at the screen. She was just as frustrated as her fiancé was and couldn't help but to release the most aggravated sound along with a quick roll of her eyes.
"Just decline it," she urged.
He met her eyes. "Nah. Talk to your little boyfriend."
Before she could protest, he swiped to answer and held the phone out to her.
Wunmi's eyes went wide, panic flickering as she stared at him, trying to understand the challenge in his eyes.
"Michael—" she started, but Tyree's voice cut through.
"Wunmi?"
Michael raised an eyebrow expectantly.
She grabbed the phone with shaky fingers, putting it on speaker.
"Hello?" she said timidly, heart pounding as she knelt between his legs.
Tyree's voice came through the phone, "Hey, gorgeous. What you doing?"
Wunmi shot a quick glance at Michael, biting her lip hard.
"Um...just laying in bed," she murmured.
"Cool. I, uh, just wanted to give you a call so we could talk. It's been a while," Tyree easily replied.
"Mhm, it has," she managed, her free hand fidgeted against Michael's thigh.
Tyree started talking about how the football season was going for him, but Michael took that as his chance. He practically manhandled her. His hands gripped her hips and spun her around to face the end of the bed. He shoved her body down so that her face was buried in the sheets and her ass was in the air.
She gasped at the sudden shift in positions.
"You okay?" Tyree asked.
"I'm fine…" Wunmi swallowed. Her voice shaky as she steadied herself. "
Michael gave her ass a light smack. Wunmi bit her lip hard to stifle the gasp.
He gripped her big, round cheeks in both hands, kneading the soft flesh, spreading her wide. One finger slowly trailed through her dripping wetness, parting her folds, and she let out a breathy sigh.
Tyree kept talking through the speaker, "…I really been thinking about a lot lately and I just gotta say…"
But Wunmi barely registered it. She could only focus on the man behind her and his heated touch. Michael's fingers had found her clit, circling it with teasing pressure, then dipped low to her soaked entrance, sliding a little inside before pulling back out.
She fought to stay quiet, body tensing up, but Tyree pressed on, obliviously.
"You still there? Tell me what you up to this weekend?" It was clear he was expecting a response.
Wunmi opened her mouth to answer Tyree's question, but Michael chose that exact moment to slide deep inside her, filling her completely in one smooth thrust. She clamped down around him, stunned to silence.
He pressed one hand firm between her shoulder blades, pinning her chest flush to the bed, and leaned forward until his lips brushed her ear.
"Answer him," he whispered sending shivers down her spine.
"Uh... n-nothing really," she managed to get out.
Michael gave her a few quick love taps to her inner thigh before pulling back up onto his knees. His gaze dropped to where their bodies joined, watching intently as he slid out slowly, then thrust back in deep.
A quiet, breathy moan escaped her lips. Wunmi moved the phone away from her mouth for a second, sucking in air.
Michael started with a few slow strokes to ease them both into the rhythm, letting her feel every thick inch stretching her. He built it gradually until his pace turned consistent, her ass bouncing softly against his pelvis.
Wunmi put the phone on mute just in time to release her moans. With each bounce a needy cry spilled out.
"You should come out this way soon. When are you free?" Tyree's voice came through the speaker.
She barely processed it. Her mind was wiped blank by Michael fucking her so good, hitting that spot over and over. Nothing existed but her man. All she could think about was the grip of his hands on her hips.
Wunmi took the phone off mute just long enough to gasp out, "I don't know when," before putting it right back on as another loud moan tore free.
"...we could hit this spot I know downtown, grab drinks, see where the night goes..."
Michael smacked her ass hard then, the hit echoing.
She blurted out, "Oh baby," followed by a deep, throaty moan that she couldn't hold back.
He kept one hand planted firm on her jiggling cheek to control the pace.
When he drove especially deep, she moaned out a shaky "Okay". Her free hand shot back, grabbing his forearm tight as he kept fucking her.
Michael ramped up the speed and depth, pounding into her harder, chasing that release for both of them.
Wunmi tried to take it all—she really did—arching back to meet him, but it really overwhelmed her.
"Okay, Michael, okay," she gasped as he went a little deeper than necessary, nailing that spot right next to her cervix.
"What you keep saying okay for?" He smacked her ass , growling, "Like, come on."
He pushed his hips forward, bouncing her roughly on him, urging her to move on her own. She did, but only just enough, rolling her hips back hesitantly.
"You want me to stop?" he demanded.
"No," she moaned out desperately. At this point she'd completely forgotten about the phone in her hand.
Just then Tyree's voice came through loud and clear. "...whoever that fiance of yours is ain't watching you right. Imma come get you for real."
Michael's face twisted up into a scowl, annoyance built up in him. He leaned down over her back, roughly thrusting in in deeper.
"Michael—Michael—fuck," Wunmi moaned his name over and over.
"Looks like Daddy's gonna have to put a baby in you so they know this pussy's mine," he growled against her ear.
"It's yours. I promise."
"Take it off mute so he can hear how good i'm fucking you," he ordered.
Her hand shook as she obeyed, pressing the button on the screen.
The second the phone came off mute, Michael picked up his thrusts. Driving into her so quick and rough it made her ass bounce loud off of his pelvis. The sound of her soaked pussy filled the room.
Wunmi moaned into the sheets, her cries muffled against the fabric, but Michael wasn't having it. He gripped her hair tight, yanking her head up until her back arched deeper.
"Who this pussy get wet for?" he demanded.
"You, Daddy," she gasped.
Tyree's voice came out sounding confused. "Wunmi? What the—?"
Both of them ignored him completely.
Michael smacked her ass again. Then snatched the phone from her weakened grip and held it so Tyree could hear every moan and every slick sound of her taking him.
"Tell him not to call you anymore," Michael said, pressing the phone right to her mouth.
She moaned through the words. "Don't call me anymore."
Michael hung up then tossed the phone across the bed to thud against the pillows.
"Good girl," Michael murmured, palm rubbing soothing circles over her tender ass. "You wanna come?"
"Yes, Daddy," she whimpered. Her body was already right there. She needed this.
"You did so good with your punishment," he praised, grinding against her walls.
Wunmi felt herself clenching hard as her stomach tightened. "Can I come? Please?"
"Yeah, come for me," one of his hands slid around to rub her clit.
She crumbled almost immediately. Her orgasm crashed through her. She cried out his name as her walls pulsed around him and she soaked the sheets.
Michael kept going, chasing his own release now, groans turning guttural as pleasure tightened in his gut.
"You gonna let me put a baby in you?" his voice was rough as he thrusted harder.
Wunmi moaned, nodding into the bed.
They'd had plenty of conversations about babies. They agreed to wait until at least after the wedding, but it was clear that tonight his possessiveness had him acting different. And she melted under it.
Michael thrusted a few more times before he finally released inside her. He held there, pushing deep, feeling her pulse around him. He pulled out slowly.
Wunmi collapsed forward, breathing heavy, chest heaving as aftershocks rippled through her.
"Don't go near that man again," he said firmly, hand stroking her back. "Block him."
Wunmi nodded weakly, turning her head to meet his eyes. "Okay, baby. I'm sorry."
Late January 2027
Now, into the new year, their lives were completely overtaken. Every day belonged to somebody else. There was barely any room left for themselves in between it all.
Michael had officially started press for The Thomas Crown Affair, and his schedule had exploded. Interviews, photoshoots, appearances, magazine covers. It felt endless. Most of it was alongside Adria Arjona, which only fueled certain online conversations even more.
Meanwhile, Wunmi was deep in awards season.
The Social Reckoning had become a big conversation piece of the year, and her performance had the people talking. Every week brought another event, another panel, and another rumor about if she would end up nominated again or not.
And through all of that, they were less than four months away from getting married. May was practically right around the corner.
Earlier in the month they had finally sat down with both of their publicists to figure out how exactly they were going to reveal the relationship publicly without it becoming a circus before the wedding. The final decision had been simple. Michael would handle most of it.
Strategically, it made the most sense.
Wunmi’s team wanted all attention during awards season to stay centered on her work, not her relationship. So Michael had agreed to slowly start opening the door publicly while still keeping things vague enough to maintain some control.
He actually preferred it that way. Mostly because he was tired of hiding her.
After over a year of rumors, especially after the leaked audio, Michael was exhausted from pretending. And since she was his fiancée now, he wanted to share that with the world.
Still timing mattered…a lot. Everything had to be controlled carefully. And unfortunately, control was the one thing their schedules weren’t allowing them to have right now.
Most days they weren’t even in the same city.
There had been recent stretches where they only saw each other through FaceTime screens and blurry airport selfies. Sometimes one of them was waking up while the other was heading to sleep.
It irritated both of them more than they admitted. Especially Michael. He had been so clingy with her, and now he barely even got the chance to breathe in her direction.
Their conversations had slowly become reduced to logistics. Things like wedding updates and travel plans. They hardly talked about things of substance. It wasn't intentional though. It was just all they had time for.
One night, Wunmi was sitting in her London hotel suite while Michael was back in New York finishing another round of press. She had kicked her heels off and was curled sideways across the bed, exhaustion written all over her face as she held her phone up during their FaceTime call.
Michael was sitting in the backseat of an SUV, chain sitting against a black thermal shirt, one hand rubbing tiredly over his jaw while traffic lights flashed outside the window behind him.
“You look tired,” Wunmi murmured softly.
Michael looked at her through the screen.
“I am tired.”
She smiled faintly, “Poor baby.”
“I’m serious,” he muttered. “I done answered the same damn questions all day. I’m over it. ‘How was it working together?’ ‘Did y’all have chemistry?’”
"Well, did you?" Wunmi grinned.
"Don't start," Michael gave her a flat look through the screen.
She giggled softly, resting her cheek against the pillow, “I was just asking.”
Michael shook his head, but his expression softened while looking at her. God, he missed her. He always had this thought during the day, along with the constant irritation that she wasn't there..
“When do I see you again?” he asked suddenly.
Wunmi sighed dramatically.
“Um…” She reached for her planner nearby. “I think…after the BAFTAS?” she started slowly, flipping through pages.
Michael stared at her.
“That’s not for another week, babe.”
“I know.”
“A whole week?”
Wunmi laughed softly at his expression.
“You’ll survive.”
Michael looked unconvinced.
“You say that now,” he said. “Then you gon’ start crying the longer we're apart.”
“I do not cry.”
“You absolutely do.”
Wunmi sucked her teeth softly, “Whatever.”
Michael smiled for the first time during the call, the tiredness easing slightly from his face.
The conversation naturally shifted to the wedding. And despite how exhausted they both were, those conversations kept them intertwined.
Everywhere Michael went there were cameras waiting for him. Going form film festival to awards gala to museum benefit to private dinners. Tonight wasn't any different.
The carpet outside the event was packed shoulder to shoulder with photographers and journalists.
Michael stepped out of the SUV with his black suit perfectly tailored to his body. Confidence radiated off of him without him even trying.
He adjusted the cuff of his jacket before looking up with a calm and controlled expression.
His publicist walked beside him briefly while fixing the front of his jacket.
“She approved it,” she murmured quietly.
Michael glanced at her.
“Yeah?”
She nodded.
His mouth twitched slightly.
“Aight,” he nodded.
He moved down the carpet, stopping for photos, greeting people, and shaking hands. As he approached the press line, he relaxed himself.
Interview after interview rolled by. They asked him the typical questions about directing, balancing acting and filmmaking. Michael answered each question like he had prepped for it.
Then he reached one platform in particular.
A Black woman stood there holding the microphone, smiling brightly as he approached.
“Michael B. Jordan!” she grinned. “You look good tonight.”
Michael laughed, “Thank you.”
“Everybody's talking about your film already. But what was it like stepping into directing mode again?” she started.
“It was challenging,” he admitted. “But I think I’m at a point now where I trust myself more creatively. I know how I wanna tell stories now. And honestly, I learned a lot from the last few years. Working with different directors, producing more, it changed how I look at filmmaking.”
The interviewer nodded along.
“And you can tell,” she said. “Especially after the year you had last year. Mr. Oscar winner. How has life changed since then? Because it feels like the world has not stopped talking about you.”
Michael laughed softly.
“It's definitely gotten more chaotic,” he admitted. “But I try to stay grounded and keep moving forward.”
The interviewer tilted her head slightly.
“So what does moving forward look like for you now? More directing? Less acting?”
Michael paused for a second.
“Well…” he started slowly, “where I’m at now in my life and career I'm focused on celebrating my wins. And I got some pretty big ones that I need to make room for.”
A tiny smirk pulled at the corner of his mouth.
"As you should," The interviewer smiled.
“I wanna spend more time focused on my family. So there’s definitely a chance I slow down a little," he said honestly. "My fiancée and I have both been incredibly busy with all that's going on in our careers and now wedding planning. But I've been trying to figure out how to even get to the point of slowing down."
The interviewer looked stunned.
“Wow, um…when—”
Michael stepped back with the biggest smirk trying to break across his face.
“You have good one,” he laughed.
“Michael!”
He pointed at her playfully, “Appreciate you though.”
Then before she could ask another question, he walked off down the carpet looking satisfied with himself. He made his way inside, barely even slowing down as he reached for his phone that was in his pocket. There was only one person he wanted to talk to right now.
He tapped Wunmi’s contact immediately. The phone rang a few times before she answered.
“Hello?”
Her voice was thick with sleep.
Michael’s face melted.
“Hey baby.”
There was rustling on the other end followed by a small sleepy hum.
“What time is it?” she murmured.
Michael smiled to himself as he ducked into a quieter hallway away from the crowd.
He leaned back against the wall, listening to her breathing through the phone.
“I can’t wait for all this to be over,” she admitted sleepily.
Michael chuckled under his breath, “Me too.”
There was a quiet pause before Wunmi spoke again.
“Did you do it?”
Michael’s grin spread, “Yeah.”
He could practically hear her smiling through the phone even though she barely made a sound. Just a quiet little hum.
Michael shook his head fondly.
“That’s it?” he laughed quietly. “That’s all I get?”
“You woke me up,” she mumbled.
“You're supposed to be excited.”
“I am excited. I'm just sleepy, Mike,” she said.
Michael could picture her perfectly. She was probably curled up in a hotel robe, hair wrapped up, and half asleep with the phone pressed against her face. He missed her so much.
“You gon’ be at the honoring next week?” he asked after a moment.
There was a pause. Then Wunmi sighed.
“…Baby. It's next week with the BAFTAs and my team scheduled a bunch of press here,” she reminded him.
“Damn," He briefly closed his eyes. "So when will I see you again?”
“A week and a half maybe,” she said quietly.
Michael dragged a hand over his face dramatically.
“That's so long”
Wunmi laughed tiredly.
“You’ll survive.”
“That’s what you keep saying.”
“Because you will.”
Michael shook his head with a smile.
“Barely.”
There was another comfortable silence between them.
“Imma let you sleep.”
“Okay.”
“I love you.”
“I love you too.”
“And I miss you so much.”
Wunmi exhaled softly through the phone.
“I miss you too,” she whispered. “I’m sorry I couldn’t come.”
Michael’s expression softened even more.
“Don’t apologize. I’m just being needy.”
That earned another sleepy laugh from her.
“Very needy.”
“Mhm.”
“I still love you though.”
“You better.”
Wunmi smiled against her pillow.
“Goodnight, Michael.”
“Goodnight, baby.”
end notes: so this was actually a looottt longer, but because tumblr has a limit on how many blocks you can do, i have to break it up into more parts than i was planning. so the next update will be sooner than expected, it'll just be after my american dream update.
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taglist: @lilbitt @lizbehave @andtheniws @tonichildsdaughterduh @cinnamonsonnyangel @shamansha @caramelplug @bananajoeclone
@rolemodelshit @brownskincheyenne @mmbee675 @xeebop@adultinginheels @tlt731
lol i’ve just seriously gone down a sinners rabbit hole and came across your lovely fics! apparently wunmi calls michael bro/her brother? but he never says it back lmfaooo. i was wondering if you could do a fic about this? cause i’m tickled by this
okay anon idk if this is what you meant, but i managed to do something light while I work on these next few updates.
sidenote, also, anyone can send requests and i'll try my best to see if I can get to them. it might take some time but i'll get there.
Wunmi had always tried to be careful. Especially after that day in his trailer.
She tried not to think about it anymore. But it seemed that moment lived inside of her.
And now there was someone else in the picture.
He was a steady, consistent man who always made time for her. He preferred to show up rather than to supply her with hopes and dreams. He was uncomplicated in the ways Michael had never been.
So when flowers arrived, she immediately knew who they were from.
They were white lilies and deep green stems, graceful and beautiful without being too showy. Which was exactly Michael’s taste.
The note attached was simple: Congratulations on the nominations. So proud of you.
A smile graced her face before she could stop it. Not thinking much about it, she pulled out her phone and snapped a quick picture for her Instagram story.
Thank you brother for the flowers! @/michaelbjordan
And just after she posted it, her phone vibrated. She looked at it and her stomach dropped.
Don’t ever call me that again.
Suddenly, the distance she had been maintaining felt like a joke she was the only one taking seriously.
Across the room, her boyfriend was talking about dinner plans, scrolling through something on his phone, completely unaware of what was happening right under his nose.
Wunmi kept her face neutral and voice steady.
She didn’t reply to Michael because replying meant acknowledging that he still had access to her attention in a way no one else did. And he knew it.
The next morning’s interview was supposed to be simple.
Michael arrived first looking so relaxed with an easy smile. He turned his charm up to the max. The room easily fitting around him.
Wunmi arrived five minutes later and if anyone was truly paying attention they noticed the shift between them.
The interviewer started with simple questions about their characters and on screen chemistry. Nothing that they weren't used to at this point.
Michael answered steadily, and Wunmi followed, just as composed. But every time their answers overlapped, it felt like the real words between them were being held back.
At one point, the interviewer stated, “You two have such an interesting dynamic off-screen too. You seem very comfortable with each other.”
It should’ve been harmless, but it felt like the first domino to fall.
Michael looked at Wunmi long enough to not be obvious to everyone else but her.
“I think we just understand each other well,” he said smoothly.
Wunmi gave a small smile. But her fingers tightened in her lap.
“Yeah, we do,” she agreed.
Because understanding, in their case, was the danger zone.
And Michael was very aware that the line she kept drawing wasn’t disappearing. He just didn't care.
The interview ended and the cameras stopped rolling, but neither of them left the room right away. The crew filtered out until it was just the two of them.
Michael stood near the edge of the set, loosening his cuffs. Wunmi stayed seated for a little longer, face calm and collected, showing no signs of disturbance. Except her eyes wouldn’t stop tracking him.
Finally, she stood up.
“You did that on purpose,” she said.
Michael didn’t look surprised. “Did what?”
“The way you looked at me. Don't pretend like you didn't know what you were doing,” she gestured vaguely, voice tight.
He fully turned toward her.
“I only answered a question.”
“Oh please. You tried to control everything with that one response.”
A small, humorless smile flickered at his mouth. “And you didn’t?”
Wunmi exhaled through her nose, stepping closer without meaning to. But she stopped herself from going further, knowing how things could get if they got too close.
“No, I didn't. I've always been very clear with you Michael,” she said carefully. "I have a boyfriend. I am not doing whatever this is with you. So I set some simple boundaries.”
“Simple boundaries huh?” Michael tilted his head. "None of this is simple and you know it. You're just avoiding it."
“That’s not fair.”
“The truth hurts, don't it?”
Wunmi laughed once, short and sharp. “So what am I supposed to say to you then?”
Michael’s gaze held hers without blinking.
“Start with calling me by my name,” he said. "Because I think you're not really ready to deal with what, who, I truly am to you. You try to slap a label on me as if that will change what you feel for me…and it won't."
Wunmi shook her head immediately. “Don’t psychoanalyze me.”
“You love me.”
“Don’t,” she warned.
Yet Michael didn’t stop.
“And I love you,” he added.
Wunmi’s voice came out rougher than intended. “That doesn’t mean anything.”
“I was never your 'brother' and you know it,” he said.
“And what do you want me to do with that, Michael?”
His jaw tightened, frustration bleeding through the restraint he’d been holding.
“I want you to stop running from me. From us, baby.”
Wunmi looked away just for a second. When she looked back, her voice was quiet, but firm. She was intent on keeping as much control as she could.
“I'm not going to lose control of my life because of feelings,” she said. “Not again.”
“Wunmi, baby, I'm not asking you to give up control you already don't have,” he said. "We know what we are, and it's clear, but you just don't like what it is."
Wunmi was laying against her pillow, phone tilted just low enough that the glow didn’t fill the whole room. Her boyfriend was beside her, one arm tucked behind his head, scrolling on his own phone.
She was scrolling through Instagram when Michael’s post popped up. It was a picture of him during the press day. Her fingers moved to type before she fully thought anything out.
Looking good brother 🔥🔥
Even with their conversation earlier, her comment was simple and yet said everything. She scrolled on trying not to think too much about it.
Ten minutes passed of aimless scrolling and tapping. Then she got a message.
Keep playing with me and see what happens.
Her eyebrows pulled together immediately.
She turned her head slightly, as she texted back.
What are you talking about?
Within seconds a screenshot in their messages appeared. It was her own comment that she had just made.
We just talked about this.
Wunmi exhaled through her nose. She was more annoyed now than anything else. She shifted slightly under the covers.
Boundaries. Remember?
Yeah okay
That was what Wunmi thought was the end of it.
Three dots appeared. Then disappeared. Then reappeared again.
Her grip tightened on the phone as she could tell he was trying to hold back fromsaying something else, but she didn't know what.
Her boyfriend shifted slightly beside her, “You okay?”
“Yeah, just work stuff,” she said too fast.
Just then another message came through. But it wasn't a text. It was a picture. A picture that made every bone in her body freeze up.
Michael was there, legs spread, shorts pulled down as he held himself. The thickness and how hard he was, was displayed boldly. And she could feel every bit of confidence radiating through the phone. He didn't care who she was around or who her attention was on because he knew she would stop just for him.
Her breath caught as she immediately angled her phone away, turning the brightness down.
“Babe, you good?”
She didn’t look up.
“I'm fine. It was nothing,” she said, softer now.
But her attention was locked to the screen.
Let me know when you’re done running and you can have it whenever you want.
Ahem, my intention is to tackle whatever has the most votes first and then work my way down slowly but surely lmao. If something isn’t flowing I’ll pivot to the second most voted on thing. I really really really want to actually complete what I start 😬 so whenever my mental allows ima be locked in on this list.
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A very very unserious 4.8k word drabble following Smoke and Stack tryna get this money by tomorrow (w/ a dash of Smoke X Annie).
A/n ~ This was really just me practicing writing for the twin that give me problems (iykyk 🙄) while I watch Friday y’all lol. Also, I got some inspo from @thebumblebeesworld Silly of Me fic, cause I likeeeee that enemies to lovers energy and wanted to play w/ it a little bit lmao
C/w : Language, a lil enemies to lovers tease (but we don’t really get to the loving part 🌚), lightly edited for now (I really need a beta reader atp omg 😭😭)
“Look Daedae, we only security guards, okay? Ghetto security guards at that. We ain’t Cops, we ain’t America’s Most Wanted, NYPD Blue, none of that shit you watch.”
“We somethin’ like them.” - Friday After Next
—
“—usually calm. Make sure ain’t nobody fighting, stealing, or parking where they not supposed to be. That’s it and that’s all.”
“Why you look at me when you say that??”
“Because,” Delilah placed a hand on her hip. Pointed one long red fingernail across the counter at the 23 year old that was basically her nephew. “You act like God ain’t gave you no sense most days.”
“Awe it’s like that auntie?” Stack pulled his toothpick from his mouth, glint in his brown eyes playful, as a grin stretched across his face. One that was too damn big for Delilah’s liking.
“I’m not playing with you, boy.” Her eyes jumped from the right to the left. “Either of y’all.”
Smoke hadn’t been paying them any attention. The older Moore’s mind was elsewhere, focus split between the rent him and his brother were always short on and the french toast with blueberry compote Delilah placed in front of him 10 minutes prior. On another day, there wouldn’t be anything but crumbs left, but it was hard to have an appetite when money wasn’t right.
At her words, his fork paused, head coming up and eyes squinting in the corners like, ‘what she say fuck me for?’
“You heard me,” Delilah raised her brows pointedly. “None of that Smoke and Stack nonsense today. Y’all are Elias and Elijah. Security guards. Secure my plaza, get paid, and go home. That’s all y’all gotta do.”
That was all Smoke planned to do. It was easy money. Not the most money, but it’d add up all the same eventually.
“You know we got you auntie,” Stack was seated on the stool next to his twin, plate clean, hand moving in the air like he was waving Delilah off. “We gon’ have this bit- this place locked down. Ain’t nun’ movin’ witout us knowing about it. Ain’t that right, Smoke?”
Smoke glanced at him, “We gon’ sit in that booth and watch the parking lot, like we getting paid to.”
Stack waved him off next. “Auntie D —” He placed his hand over his heart. “We ready to die behind this shi– stuff.”
She couldn’t laugh at Elias, because all that did was encourage him, so Delilah shook her head instead, “You heard what I said Elias. Don’t be playin’ in my plaza, cause I will fire y’all, family or not. It’s bad enough I lost my last security guards.”
“You ain’t ever tell us what happened to them.” Smoke pushed his plate to the side, deciding he was done with breakfast. Then he checked the clock on the wall, like he wanted to make sure they were out of here before people started piling in.
Delilah paused her wiping down of the already clean counter. And then she continued. It happened so fast, anybody else would have missed the break in motion.
Smoke wasn’t anybody though.
“You ain’t ever ask,” Delilah glanced up at him and then back down. “And it don’t matter anyways. Like I said, watch the plaza, make the money, and go home.”
Smoke’s eyes narrowed, “Nah, what happened to the last —”
“Nigga come on,” Stack was sliding off his stool. “I ain’t get up at 9 in the morning to play 20 questions.”
“You didn’t get up at all,” Smoke frowned. “I had to drag you outta bed.”
“That ain’t the point,” Stack was already walking towards the door, only stopped to turn around after he’d reached it. “We got ‘dis auntie. Watch.” He saluted Delilah as if that was supposed to be reassuring and then used his back to push the glass open. “Chop chop nigga,” He clapped at his brother. “World ain’t gon’ save itself.”
A ding went off as the door closed behind him and Smoke frowned harder.
This was gon’ be a long ass day.
“Stop lookin’ like that,” Delilah brought him out of his thoughts, leaning forward over the counter and hitting his arm playfully. “It’s gon’ be fine. If anything it’ll be boring. Just…watch yo’ brother.”
He was gon’ do that anyways. Had been, since he could hold his head up damn near.
Smoke wiped his mouth, dropped the napkin on the plate, and stood up from the counter.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“And Elijah…” Delilah hesitated. Knew he wouldn’t like what she had to say, but tried anyways. “You know I don’t mind just giving y’all –”
“Nah, D —” Smoke’s words were sharp and he fixed his tone immediately, fingers twitching at his sides like he was irritated. With himself. Her. The situation. “Me and Stack ain’t lazy. We don’t mind workin’. And I’m gon’ make sure things run smooth today. You ain’t gotta worry.”
Delilah didn’t push. Never pushed. She just nodded her head and smiled softly. “I know you will, baby. I ain’t worried at all.”
Outside, Stack was busy ‘fixing’ his clothes. He’d already untucked the grey uniform shirt from his black pants and had seemingly pulled a sharpie out of his ass to cross out ‘Elias’ on his name tag and write ‘Stack’.
He’d moved on to undoing the first couple buttons of the shirt when Smoke stepped out of the diner.
“‘Bout time,” Stack started towards his brother. “Come here.” His hands reached for Smoke’s shirt then and the older Moore promptly stepped back, slapping the hell out of Stack’s hands in the process.
“Nigga, stop touching me.”
Stack screwed his face up, looking at his brother like Smoke was the one tripping. “I’m tryna help yo’ ass. She got us walking around in these stiff ass uniforms. You frowning like the world coming to an end. We gotta’ come better than that, we top flight security of the world now Smoke.”
“Only thing we securing is this months rent. Don’t nothing in this plaza require you to have all that energy.” Smoke was already walking past Stack, moving from in front of his aunties diner and across the parking lot.
Clarkdale’s “plaza” wasn’t anything more than 5 odd businesses with the same location. There were two clothing boutiques, Delilah’s diner, Slim’s music store, and a random ass gift shop that Smoke didn’t expect to stay open long because who was really stopping here for souvenirs?
As he headed for the security booth that looked more like a phone booth, the sun beat down on his back, that Mississippi heat unrelenting as always.
“‘Dat’s yo’ problem,” Stack followed behind his brother, easy swagger nothing like Smoke’s steady gait. “You ain’t got no vision. You need to be thinking big nigga.”
“And you jus’ need to think,” Smoke cut his eyes to the right. “We short on rent and you playin’.”
Stack shrugged, “Cause it’s gon’ work itself out. It always do.”
That was true. Odd jobs, a missed meal here and there, a little scheming on the side — whatever paid the bills, is what they did.
Hence the ‘stiff ass uniforms’ their late mothers best friend had them wearing. Smoke didn’t feel no particular way about the job — it was just another way to make ends meet. The only thing wearing on him, bothering him, was that his constant grind never quite produced enough.
“Besides,” Stack continued as they maneuvered around cars. “I already told you what we could be doing to make some real mo—”
“And I told you we wasn’t doing it.” Smoke stopped dead in the middle of the parking lot. “Stop bringing it up.”
Stack didn’t blink at the edge in his brothers tone. “I only brought it up, cause you stomping around, ‘bout to pop that damn vein that’s in the middle of yo’ forehead. I’m coo’ with being top flight.” Stack spread his arms wide. “Shit — this plaza need a nigga like me. Ima fuck around and get a key to the city the way ima have this bitch running.”
And he was so serious.
Smoke looked at his twin smirking and felt it — that same vein in the middle of his forehead throbbing again.
“Stack, we ain’t here to play no fuckin’ cops and robbers. We gon’ stay out the way and make this easy money.”
It was the only easy money Smoke would allow himself to entertain, because that shit Stack kept talking about? They wasn’t doing that. Was gon’ be better than that.
Stack shrugged, “If a nigga jump stupid in my aunties plaza, Ima have to show him somethin’ Smoke. I ‘ont care nothing ‘bout it getting out of hand. We run this shit now.”
Smoke squinted, “You hear yoself? You get a whistle around yo’ neck and go on a power trip.”
Stack blinked like he was saying ‘so’ and Smoke decided he was done with the conversation.
“You heard what I said Stack,” He gave his brother a look and then started walking again, “Come on.”
“Man I swear, niggas be born a few minutes early and think they the boss of errybody —” as Stack talked his shit, he made sure he was moving though, loud voice carrying through the air.
“– and we ain’t little no more! You ‘ont intimidate me, nigga! I’m top flight of the world, Smoke!”
“This boring. Ain’t nun top flight about this shit.”
Stack tugged at the collar of his shirt, shifting for what had to be the tenth time in the last ten minutes.
Next to him, Smoke snorted quietly, never taking his eyes off the legal pad he was currently scribbling on. It had been in the booth, along with a #2 pencil, and was probably intended for note taking. There were no ‘notes’ to take though, so Smoke was working on a budget instead.
“That’s how it’s gon’ stay.” The older Moore crossed out one number and replaced it with another as he spoke. “What chu’ think gon’ pop off at the gift shop, nigga? Just sit back.”
The plaza had woken up. Closed signs flipped to open, cars pulling in and out, the hum of conversation gradually getting louder and creeping through the booths window.
It had Stack restless and they’d only been ‘on duty’ for about an hour.
In the younger Moore’s defense, it wasn’t in his dna to sit still. To watch the world move around him and not be at the center of it. To stand by, waiting for something to happen. And that’s all this job was — a whole bunch of waiting. In a hot ass, cramped ass booth, that was barely big enough to fit the two metal chairs they were seated in.
Stack shifted again, “Man, if I knew all I was gon’ be doing was sitting here in silence wit’ yo’ ass —”
“It ain’t sitting in silence if you keep talking.” Smoke crossed out another number, brows furrowing in the middle.
Stack sucked his teeth, mumbled something that sounded like, “Yeah ight,” and then graced Smoke with three blissful beats of silence before —
Yeahhh, we finna set it off in this mufucka’ ya heard me?
Boosie’s voice came out of nowhere.
Correction. It came from Stack’s phone. The same phone that currently had Apple Music on display and it’s volume turned all the way up.
You wonna talk shit? You wonna run yo’ mouth? You want some gangsta’s front yo- motherfuckin’ hou–
Stack was bobbing his head, the whistle around his neck slapping against his chest as his arm bumped Smoke’s every other second. He had three blissful seconds of chaos before —
“Turn that shit off,” Smoke snapped, head turning in his direction. “Got that loud ass music all in my ear.”
Stack just grinned at first, shoulders jumping with the beat, southern drawl thick as he rapped.
“We’ll set this bitch off, yeah, set this bitch off!”
And then Smoke sat up.
And Stack stopped the music.
“Ight nigga, calm down.” Stack laughed as he held his hands up in surrender. “You need to lighten up damn. You don’t want me talk. Don’t wonna vibe out wit’ a nigga. What I’m ‘sposed to do?”
Smoke…Smoke had to take a deep, deep breath before he spoke again, lids closing and opening slowly, like he was gathering patience. “All you gotta do Stack, is Watch. The. Parking lot.”
So, Stack watched. Gaze focused on cars backing in and out and people moving from store to store for five whole minutes.
And then he spotted two specific people, two strangers in one car that made him sit up straight. That made that bored expression on his face completely transform.
“Awe shit,” Stack was already half way out his seat. “We got action!”
“What??” Smoke looked up from his budget in confusion. Was met with nothing but the sight of Stack’s back as his twin damn near speed walked out of the booth.
If Smoke was the type, he would have thrown his whole damn head back.
Instead, he let out a breath that sounded like it took every ounce of patience he had with it, mumbled “This nigga,” as he threw the legal pad down in front of him, and got up to follow behind his brother
“Aye, y’all can’t park right here.”
Annie was already parked. Had just pulled into the spot actually, when a loud voice coming from her left made her and Pearline look over.
Both girls blinked, Annie’s brow furrowing in the middle while Pearline’s whole head cocked.
It looked like…a security guard approaching them? One with a whistle around his neck, pants hanging low on his hips and a smirk on his face that screamed unserious.
“Excuse me?” Annie’s doors were off of her jeep today, so her voice and that incredulous tone reached Stack’s ears clearly.
“Y’all can’t park here,” He repeated himself as he stepped up to the side of the jeep.
“And who are you supposed to be exactly?”Pearline jumped in and Stack’s eyes darted over to her. Smirk on his face growing before his head jerked back, like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing.
“Now I know you see ‘dis,” He patted his chest, right over the crest in his shirt that was shaped like a badge. “I’m security, baby.”
Annie rolled her eyes. Could already tell he wasn’t securing a damn thing.
“Stack —” Another voice joined the conversation then. It was deep. Low. Sounded irritated. And it caught Annie’s attention immediately.
Her eyes left the fake ass rent-a-cop, to look over his shoulder instead. There was another ‘security guard’ approaching them and his uniform was fitted to his body. Shirt tucked in, buttons done up, pants sitting correctly on his frame.
He had brown skin, stiff shoulders, and thick brows that were pulled together in the middle. For a second, Annie felt like she wanted to take her thumb and smooth them out.
“Awe now you wonna patrol wit’ me??” Security guard one had glanced over his shoulder when he heard the voice. “Nigga I got this covered, I already let ‘em know they can’t park here.”
“What chu’ talking about?” Security guard 2 reached them, still looking disgruntled, and not even sparing Annie and Pearline a glance. “This spot ain’t reserved. Nigga come on.” His eyes flicked to the jeep then, gaze jumping from Annie to Pearline and back again. “I’m sorry ‘bout him. Y’all can park here.”
His voice was completely flat. He truthfully didn’t sound apologetic and all.
And for whatever reason, Annie was intrigued.
Both girls spoke at once.
“Y’all brothers? Twins?” That was Pearline, leaning up in her seat, eyes jumping from one Moore to the next.
“How you work with the public, when you can’t manage to even sound sorry?” That was Annie. Lips quirked playfully, eyes focused on one Moore and one Moore alone.
Both brothers blinked, before Stack grinned wider, while that scowl on Smoke’s face? Deepened. While his eyes really focused in on Annie for the first time.
“Nah, baby,” Stack winked at Pearline. Watched her damn near melt into the seat. “We cousins.”
Smoke wasn’t saying shit. He was just looking. At dark skin and big curls and full lips. Looking at a solid build, that was sitting up high in that jeep. Looking at big eyes that felt like they could see through him.
He felt…hot. Like he wanted to fidget. And Elijah didn’t fidget.
“I’m Stack,” The younger Moore was still talking, because one glance at his brother had told him Smoke wasn’t gon’ be no help. “And this Smoke.” Stack moved a step closer to the car. “We keep eerbody safe around here and as fine as y’all is, I know y’all gon’ cause a commotion when y’all get out this jeep. I can’t allow no disruption like that beautiful’s. It’s dangerous. That’s why y’all gotta go.”
Pearline’s ass started giggling.
Smoke didn’t give Annie anything to laugh at though. He still hadn’t even responded to her question actually.
That smile that’d been on her lips lessened, one brow raising when she asked, “I got something on my face?”
Smoke frowned deeper and for a reason he couldn’t explain, that irritation Stack had been causing all morning grew. His fingers twitched at his sides, arms came up as he crossed them. Like he needed to ground himself or something.
“Nah.”
Annie’s brow rose higher at the word. At the one dry word and sharp glare being aimed her way.
Okay then.
She’d been intrigued, for like a minute, but she wasn’t in the habit of forcing conversation — nor did she appreciate him mugging her, like he was offended she’d even spoken to him at all.
Her lips pursed as she broke their stare, gaze drifting back to security guard number one.
Can’t get ‘em all girl. Shake it off. Finer niggas exist.
Stack was talking as Annie tuned back into the world around her.
“How ‘bout ‘dis,” Stack pulled his phone out. “We let y’all park here, but y’all give us y’all numbers, so if sumn happen, you can reach us.”
He was saying y’all, but really was just looking at Pearline.
“Promise we’ll come runnin’ to y’all rescue.”
Annie didn’t know if Pearline would hand her number over or not. Half of the time, her friend flirted just to flirt — not because she was actually interested in getting to know anybody.
What Annie did know was that she wouldn’t be handing over a damn thing. Not that Smoke wanted a number from her anyways.
When Annie’s lips pursed harder, it wasn’t due to the sting of rejection. It was because even though she’d looked away, his glare was still boring into the side of her head. She could feel it and it was starting to get on her nerves because the fuck was his problem?
As if he heard her thoughts, his voice suddenly rang out.
“You don’t gotta give him nothin’.”
All eyes went to Smoke. Stack frowning and opening his mouth, getting ready to rebuttal. Pearline blinking, like she’d just remembered there was another twin standing there. Annie’s head turning, stare locking with his for a long millisecond before he looked away and directed his gaze to Pearline.
Annie found it funny how that glare suddenly lessened. How his mouth opened and magically created more than one word now that he wasn’t looking at her.
Clearly I did something to him in the past life. Fuck it. Not my problem.
That’s what Annie told herself as irritation thrummed in her chest.
Meanwhile, Smoke was reaching for his brother as he spoke, keeping his eyes on the girl in the passenger seat.
Forcing his eyes to stay on the girl in the passenger seat. Because the one in the drivers seat? He ain’t like her.
Ain’t like how she talked to him all casual and soft when he walked up. How she pressed him, when he didn’t respond. ‘Cause strangers didn’t do that with Smoke; joke, press, hell — make conversation at all really. Most people gave him a wide berth and reserved the talking for Stack.
He ain’t like how she looked at him either; like she was curious. Like she already knew some shit about him he’d never revealed.
And he definitely ain’t like when she looked away from him — like she was writing him off. How most people did.
Smoke decided right then and there, that he ain’t like nothing ‘bout her. She, whoeva’ she was, made him feel too fuckin’ big for his skin and he was ready to get back to the booth.
Where he would have been in the first place, if not for Stack.
When Smoke continued speaking it was abrupt and short. Voice still flat as he looked at Pearline —
“He sorry ‘bout holdin’ you up. Enjoy ‘da plaza.”
And then he turned. Hand wrapped firmly around Stack’s shoulder to pull his brother with him and gaze pointedly not looking back at that baby blue jeep in the process.
Even if some part of him, deep deep down, felt like he wanted to.
“Damn Smoke, let me go! She like me! Aye — I’m tryna do my job and secure some shit and you fuckin’ it up! Ima write yo’ ass up for insubordination!”
Stack’s voice travelled across the parking lot as Annie and Pearline watched the brothers retreat.
The older Moore had Stack gripped up tight, long gait bringing both of them towards a small booth Annie had never paid much attention to.
He wasn’t rushing away, but he didn’t slow down. Nor did he bother responding to Stack.
Annie’s lips twisted, the annoyance she’d felt in her chest curling up and settling in as she watched them.
He hadn’t looked over his shoulder once. Hadn’t spared her them a glance after he cut into the conversation and then retreated.
He was…rude. Annie didn’t like that. Ain’t like him.
Ain’t like how he’d managed to capture her attention without trying.
Ain’t like that he didn’t do anything with it when he had it. That he hadn’t bothered to throw more than one word in her direction, like he was to good to talk to her or something. Too good to be polite.
And she definitely ain’t like how he looked at her. Face frowned up. Eyes unreadable, like she’d committed some offense against him she knew nothing about.
Yeah. She ain’t like nothing about him actually.
“They were coo’.”
Pearline’s words had Annie pulling her eyes away from the security guards to look over at her best friend incredulously.
“Uh no. They weren’t.”
Pearline had pulled the visor down to touch up her gloss. Was currently popping her lips together as her gaze darted towards Annie and then back to the small mirror. “Well my twin was. He was cute too — in a goofy fuckboy kinda way.”
She said it like that made sense, popping her lips once more before shutting the visor and giving Annie her full attention. “Yours a little rude though. How he gon’ pull my man away before he could get my number?”
“Pearline —” Annie said it like ‘please stop playing’ “—you were not about to give that boy yo’ number.”
“And was.” Pearline crossed her arms, charms from the bracelet wrapped around her wrist jingling in time with the movement. “Security guards need love too, Annie. Besides — he look like he can eat the fuck outta some pus-”
“Alright.” Annie stopped her before she got started. “Give that man yo’ number if you want to.”
“And you need to give his brother yours. Then we can double date.” Her friends eyes lit up before Annie snuffed that light right on out.
“It ain’t gon’ ever happen.” She shook her head. Nose wrinkling. Eyes almost drifting back across the lot before she caught herself. “Like you said, he’s rude. Can’t speak, but was lookin’ at me like he wanted to fight or something —”
“Or like he wanted to fuck.”
“That literally wouldn’t be any better Pearline,” Annie’s voice was dry. Skin a little hot. “You do whateva’ you want with the rent-a-cop, but don’t include me.”
“Mmhm,” Pearline watched as Annie gathered her purse, like she was ready to get out of the car and end this conversation. “You ain’t gotta front. I saw you looking at him, friend.”
“Lapse in judgment,” Annie’s response was quick. A little too quick, maybe. “I don’t like nothing that’s mean and you already know that.”
It was true. She didn’t do rude. Nonchalant. Or disrespectful. And she’d decided Smoke was all of that.
“Now let’s go, before ain’t nothing good left in here.”
Just like that, Pearline switched gears, remembering the reason they’d come out in the first place. The summer sale at D Lady’s Boutique. The name could use some work but the clothes? All sizes, all styles, and the prices hit every time.
“Awe shit, you right.” Pearline damn near jumped down from the jeep. “Let’s go, because I need them shoes I saw on their site, and I will sling a hoe for ‘em.”
Annie was only too glad that they were finally directing their attention away from any and everything security related.
“So, what if that was my future wife? How you gon’ sleep at night, knowing you fucked that up?”
“She wasn’t yo’ future nothin’ Stack.”
Smoke was back in the booth, arms crossed, lips pinched, stare directed straight out at the parking lot.
He was doing his job. Watching. And if a lot of that watching was directed towards D Lady’s boutique, so the fuck what?
“You ‘ont know that, though,” Stack insisted, leaning in like he was really proving a point.
“I do know that.” Smoke cut his eyes sharply to the side. “Didn’t you meet yo’ future wife already last week? Wasn’t one of yo’ future wives tryna’ key our car yesterday?”
Stack frowned, “You always wonna bring up old shit.”
Smoke didn’t respond. Just directed his gaze back across the parking lot.
He’d seen her hop out the jeep and go into the shop 15 minutes ago and Smoke thought it was stupid — how she left her car open and unattended like that. If it came with doors, fuck was the point of taking them off?
He added it to the list of shit he didn’t like about her — the one he’d been silently compiling in his head.
“You know what I think?”
“Don’t care.”
“I think you jus’ hatin’ nigga,” Stack continued anyways. “My smooth ass was ‘bout to get ‘dat number, while you was fumblin’.”
Smoke blinked at his brother. And then turned forward again.
“You ain’t gotta lie, Smoke.” Stack was grinning now. “I think she was fuckin’ wit’ you, actually.”
Smoke grunted, eyes narrowing just barely in the corners.
He didn’t care who was or wasn’t ‘fuckin’ wit’ him’. Wasn’t concerned with most of the trivial shit other 23 year olds were. Since he’d been a teen, the older Moore had only three priorities: staying alive, keeping his brother alive, and making enough money so him and Stack didn’t end up somewhere out on their asses.
His twin hustled with him, always. Understood the grind to a certain extent, but Stack wasn’t the oldest. Ain’t feel the weight of responsibility like Smoke did. Ain’t understand how nothing could derail Elijah from his mission.
He was focused.
How you work with the public, when you can’t manage to even sound sorry?
Smoke’s jaw clenched. Not hard. Just enough.
I got something on my face?
He shifted his weight. Blamed the movement on the hard ass chair he was sitting in.
“So you ‘ont like her? The thick one?”
The older Moore’s face didn’t change. That didn’t mean he couldn’t feel the irritation crawling under his skin at Stack’s words.
“I don’t know her. Don’t wonna know her. Seem like she got a attitude problem anyways.” Smoke felt like he was talking too much, so he shut up.
“Man that girl ain’t have no attitude,” Stack smacked his lips. “She was tryna flirt wit’ yo’ uptight ass. But whateva’, stay sleep if you want to, ima get her friend regardless. That’s wifey nigga, I’m telling you.”
Smoke just shook his head, stare still on that jeep, mind flashing back to when she’d looked away from him. Like she was dismissing him. Like she couldn’t be bothered.
She probably stuck up as fuck.
Smoke added it to his list of dislikes, right along with her eyes, her mouth, her clear lack of awareness when it came to safety, and the way she’d made him feel.
Slow. Awkward.
His jaw clenched again.
“On a serious note though,” Smoke looked over as Stack started speaking. Was almost grateful for the distraction, until Stack kept speaking. “Listen to ‘dis and tell me if this shit hot or not. I been working on it for like…the past three minutes.”
The younger Moore sat up in his seat, shoulder hitting Smoke’s in the process. And then he started banging on the ‘desk’ in front of them, whistle slapping against his chest, head nodding along with the beat he was creating as his mouth opened.
“Me and my brotha’ bitch,
We top flight for sho’ —”
It was loud. The sigh Smoke let out through his nose.
“— but he gotta get some game
Cause he, scarin’ the hoesss, ”
Smoke’s eyes closed, the same vein from earlier throbbing on que.
Stack just grinned at his brother’s reaction, nodding his head harder and rapping louder to his beat.
“I just met my future wife and we gon’ be couple goalsss,
Smoke can’t relate, cause my brotha’ a lil slowwww…”
*picture the scene fading to black*
A/n ~ If you made it to the end, I hope you enjoyeddd! I think this is the first thing I’ve written where I actually really like my execution of Smoke lmao so yay for me ☺️ Anywaysss, Happy Thursdayyyyy 🫶🏾 my results on the poll will determine what I drop next 👀
Summary: It's been seven years since Smoke left. A departure he never wanted to take as Annie was a love he never wanted to leave but grief and fear put him in a place he never thought he would be. Promises to return sooner than later and weekly letters and phone calls from community phone lines started consistently and after a year became nearly nonexistent. Now he's back. As irrational as it is for someone whose life (and the way he moves through it) has been dictated by logic, he believes what he and Annie have is eternal and fated so he's sure they will find their way back to love that sustained them and the home they created in each other. Then, he hears whispers of her moving on with someone new in the last year. Even if it's wrong, selfish, and unfair to what she is attempting to create...he'll show her that he loves her STILL.
It’s not something they can pray away, avoid, or convince themselves has died never to be resurrected—a funeral can’t take place for something alive and well. If that would’ve worked, they wouldn’t be in the situation they were currently in.
It is something inevitable—like the Delta heat that walked hand in hand with them since the first day they felt it beat down on their skin, both comforting and overwhelming. Something unyielding like the way sweating bodies grinded close together, prohibited drinks flowed, the smell of Southern delicacies fried in oil, and music woven into the inner fabric of their soul every Saturday at The Juke was the only time their people ever truly felt free.
Neither of them had ever been known for being deceitful in any way, fashion, or form. It was one of the things that bonded them in the first place. Being honest when it was comforting and it felt like a radiating light enveloping them in a warm embrace and when it was hard and felt heavy on the tongue and the truth was the last thing they wanted to hear.
Always being honest was a promise that bound them as well as bonded them, which led to them doing something they never had—choosing to be vulnerable enough to lay their entire selves bare to the other as lasting as ink permanently etched on bare skin.
The versions of them who made the initial promise would balk at the way the current version of them discarded the very promise that was the foundation of their union. They found out that even certain values could be sacrificed if it meant avoiding a life lived without the one they called home.
What good were morals if it led to a fate that would kill you…for what good was a life without the one who made living itself not a penance but a privilege? They barely survived separation the first time as they walked around like haints occupying a body whose true soul had passed on.
EIGHT YEARS AGO…
Annie tried her hardest to start over. Even with them maintaining contact those first two years, she never let herself be lulled into Smoke's promise of returning. The third year when he had gone radio silent was when she had completely lost her whole world all at once. An experience that shook her faith to the core, which led to a deep disconnection in her root work only compounded by the loss of Luna.
From a young age, Annie had always had a strong connection to the Earth, her ancestors, and the sacred practice passed down for generations. The trauma resulting from the loss of her little moon, who was a manifestation of the purest, strongest, and most everlasting love she had ever known was enough to have her question everything starting with why this healing, life affirming practice had not worked the one time she needed it most.
She mourned in a way that would both shake the ground beneath her feet in one moment while she felt so empty she questioned if she could ever feel again in another. Whatever force in this world that thrives off pure devastation decided they weren’t through with her yet as they took her love from her too.
While he was not gone from this world, he was gone from her orbit. The gravitational pull that would keep her connected to the Earth despite the betrayal of such as the loss of a child was gone when he was never needed more.
The most difficult part was that he did not do something foul in a way that she could discard their love or curse his name from the moment she woke till the second sleep overtook her at night. If Elijah had truly betrayed her— the love would have gone sour. Annie was raised by strong women who hammered into her the importance of having her own and not allowing mistreatment or betrayal from a man and those lessons were ingrained so deep that it became a non-negotiable. It was commonplace for men to cheat and have multiple families being loyal to nothing but the urge to keep their dicks wet.
That wasn’t her man though loyalty and fidelity was a huge part of their love and no one could even catch his eye after they met. His love, yearning, passion, and desire for her was a fire that had only burned brighter and had never waned. He had regularly told her that he would live inside of her if he could to which she always playfully rolled her eyes and smirked. Something else led to the exodus he would have never embarked on if it was based on what he actually wanted.
Stack. His selfish, ill-timed, fly-by-the-seat of his pants ass brother determined to go on a dangerous mission (as he called it) to Chicago and expected Smoke to be as he had always been, by his side. Annie felt at times that Stack was a test to push the very limits of her patience by being an ever present thorn in her side when he was around.
This was by far the worst time to be the most selfish he ever had been with such a request or what Stack himself had seen as a guarantee. He could not conceptualize nor fully grasp (or respect) the love they had and what it meant. So, he struggled understanding why Smoke was heavily hesitant where he would have been on board with strict ground rules in the past, but that was before Annie. Before an insurmountable loss they still could not measure. Elijah was not a love that strayed or left; he was a love that planted roots, built something eternal, one you felt in your bones, and was enveloped by a peace that could not be disturbed. Smoke was a love that surrounded, watched, interceded on the behalf of, and above all protected—not being able to do that for his daughter did damage to his self concept and identity that he was not even fully aware of the extent of the damage. ‘Protector’ had become the role he held the longest and the most consistently. Yet, when it was needed most there was nothing he could do in his power to save who mattered most— it was as if he had a mortal wound yet still remained alive.
They grieved differently. Elijah felt grief as deep as the ocean where he would weep or become so lost in thought Annie would have to shake him to the point of his whole body moving to snap out of the frozen state. He had only ever been in trances like that following flashbacks from the War. Meanwhile, Smoke distracted himself and avoided the deep hurt by practicing control—to an even greater extent than before. His leaving being a manifestation of trying to prevent his greatest fear happening again when he felt he could possibly control it was something Annie simultaneously understood but also resented.
Smoke was not blind to his brother’s selfishness. He felt partially responsible for maybe being too indulgent to make up for what their dad had put them through—with Stack being the target who faced the much crueler punishment than he had. While Smoke had no choice but to fall for Annie, he had chosen to build a life with her and it was the first thing he did in his entire life just for him. It was his treasure, his freedom, his joy, and his foundation. That very decision led to a pattern of tug of war that happened with Stack struggling to accept that Smoke’s dream did not mirror his.
Elias desired freedom through his dream of creating worlds and safe spaces for their people while also being able to make a profit. Elijah desired freedom in the creation of a home, a groundedness and a peace that couldn’t be destroyed and was his without question, which he found in Annie through love. The love that he found with Annie was one he thought someone like him who carried a pain, a hardness, a wall 100 feet wide and 50 feet deep would never feel the reprieve of experiencing. She was his salve and his salvation. His kryptonite and strength. His desire and his joy. Stack refused to accept that Annie got access to the innermost part of Smoke and who he was at his core, his most vulnerable, his most free—Elijah. Smoke continued to reject Stack’s plan as he just could not imagine a life where he and Annie were not side by side on the daily. That was before.
Grief was not unfamiliar to Smoke. It was something that walked with him side by side, almost like a companion. The grief of losing his mother and only getting to know her through pictures and the memories of others. The grief of never knowing parental love because of the abusive piece of shit he had for a dad. The grief of not getting to really be a kid as he had to step into a parental role for Stack. The grief of what the trauma from the War took from him with scars and flashbacks he still deals with. None of his prior grief could prepare him for the loss of Luna.
His whole life he felt abandoned by God. Falling in love with Annie and then Luna being a physical representation of how deep that love is— sparked the mustard seed sized hope that maybe God hadn’t completely forsaken him. Being someone who only believed in what he could see he wasn’t one for religion or spirituality but Annie finding, loving, and choosing someone like him had to be due to a force he couldn’t see. The way they lost Luna when she was just over a year extinguished the minuscule hope as if it never existed. The man known for running shit, being immovable, unshakable, had become a shell of himself in the only place he felt safe—at home.
Smoke could count on one hand how often he had cried in his life. Of all the times he had, he never weeped or bellowed in such a guttural way that he felt he could wake the dead with the intensity of the pain alone. A mourning so deep that those who had passed on could feel it. The only way he held on at all was due to Annie and the way they supported each other but it was a grief neither had experienced. Sometimes their days looked like complete silence outside of affirmative grunts. Others looked like shouting until their throats were raw. At their most vulnerable they would spend the whole day crying and holding each other. Throughout it all they vacillated between hard fucking and love making—just to feel something and to remind themselves that they were still here. Somehow.
It had been six months since they lost her and they were surviving solely due to having each other. That is when Smoke had to make a decision that he still regrets to this very day while knowing he was just trying to prevent another loss that would be sure to finish the job of destroying him. Stack decided that he could not wait any longer and was leaving for Chicago next week. Smoke tried his best to reason with the fool but he just wasn’t hearing shit. Smoke was torn in two making this decision—his head and heart in a tumultuous war where either choice would leave catastrophic damage in its wake. Stack’s recklessness and tendency to not watch his back created a serious deficit in his survival instinct, which was the only reason he was even considering leaving. There is no single thing or person that could get Smoke to leave Annie—especially now but he just knew without a shadow of a doubt that his twin would find a way to get himself killed out there which is just a loss that he could not even conceptualize.
Even then his mind wasn’t made up. It couldn’t be when it would mean leaving his heart behind in Clarksdale. He hoped to return within a year but he knew Stack and his often hare-brained schemes lacked planning and discipline. Another failure on his part for being too lenient so Stack over-relied on him. He felt torn in two even breaking the news to Annie that he was considering this.
The next day he reluctantly brought it to Annie. It was still hypothetical as he had still felt stuck between a rock and the hardest place. She responded the way anyone who had lost their precious daughter not even a year ago would only to find now that the love of her life was considering leaving for an indefinite amount of time to watch out for his brother who thought so little of what they were navigating.
Even eight years later he still remembers the look on Annie’s face and how it shook him to his core. How could someone look so despondent as if it was the end of the world as they knew it while simultaneously radiating an anger that could burn down the rest of the world in retribution for their pain? For four days, they had yelled, cried, constantly talked through how he could even consider this, and then didn’t talk at all in a cycle he saw as his own personal hell. Even with his tendency to feel moments instead of filling them with words, their communication had been relatively healthy. So, this departure only served to further break him down.
On the fifth day, he made the decision that would change the trajectory of his life in a way he still felt to this day. Annie had barely reacted once he told her what he decided. Being as bonded as they were, there were times when they knew what the other was going to say or in this case before the words left their mouth. This wasn’t news. She knew from the moment he brought it up what his decision would be. She knew the loss of their daughter had wounded them in similar but different ways which for him showed up in his inability to protect her.
For better or worse, due to their upbringing he was put in a difficult spot of not only being a brother but he was also a father figure. The loss of Stack would not just be the soul crushing loss of a twin, but another child he could not protect. So, on the fifth day she was quiet. Shuffling across the floorboards, pouring liquid from glass bottles for protection charms, and warming water for baths were the only sounds to fill the room after Smoke broke the news.
The sixth day was different. It has settled in Annie's spirit that he was leaving and she felt the weight of it. She had to make a decision about the kind of last day she wanted with him. She tried to remind herself that he wasn’t leaving forever and that he told her as soon as they were done he would be coming back. That was not something she found comforting considering the timing was not up to him. None of this was. If his wants or needs mattered, he wouldn’t be leaving in the first place. She wanted this day to be a memory that could wrap her in warmth when the bitter cold of loneliness and grief threatened her very survival.
“Okay. This is the last full day until—”Annie said to break her silent pact from the day before.
“I know. I’m sor—”Elijah replied before she could finish the thought as if that would make it less real. The relief that comes after waking up from a nightmare that never came true would not find him this time. He made a conscious decision to approach this day as Elijah as this wasn’t the time for Smoke to be at the forefront. At his most vulnerable, his most open, his most free—all emotions he felt due to Annie, the one who brought him back to life through her eyes, her smile, her ease, her centeredness, her love—Elijah.
“Save the words. I already know them.” Annie interrupted as she already knew. She didn’t want the little time they had left littered with genuine yet ultimately meaningless platitudes. Apologies wouldn’t make him stay. They wouldn’t have him change his mind. They wouldn’t save her the heartache of the strongest love she had ever known having to do the very thing he had proven from the very beginning he would never do.
“We’ve talked this through in circles the first four days. Let’s feel today.” She stated clearly as if it was the first thing she could control since the death of their daughter. “Who knows the next time we’ll get to.”
“You’re right. I’ll follow your lead. Take the reins.” Elijah acknowledged as he stared straight into her eyes showing just how much he had meant it. The day was spent doing things they knew made the other feel whole and bonded. They had not separated the whole day acting as shadows for each other. They started with visiting Luna’s grave together and replacing the flowers and fresh bottle of milk as they did everyday. Elijah walked alongside Annie as they went around their land collecting the different roots, herbs, and stones. It reminded him how even the mundane felt special with her.
Every moment of every day felt like a gift, one way too good for someone like him. Hands on projects had always made Elijah feel grounded and got him out of a cycle of debilitating over thinking. He fixed up some walls, floors, and fortified the porch while Annie watched as she cooked their favorites. Cooking reminded Annie of her rootwork practice. Creating something from individual, distinct ingredients that not only filled bellies but touched souls in the same way her ancestors had.
They shared their meal in the way they always did—starting with prayers, Eliajh’s exclamations about how good her food was, Annie smiling because he had done this every day without fail since the very first time she cooked for him, talking about anything and everything under the sun. She talked more while he listened more. In their natural rhythm she moved to her rootwork table preparing ingredients, saying prayers, and combining items while he sat in his chair smoking from his pipe that hung directly above where his chair sat. Elijah’s brows furrowed as he tried to figure out what she was doing as the shop was closed for the day so she could not have been completing an order for a client. In the midst of his line of thinking, Annie called him over.
Elijah moved to stand directly in front of Annie’s work table as she slowly circled around. “You said I take the reins today so I have one thing I need from you before you leave tomorrow.”
Elijah nodded his full attention on Annie.
“Wear this for me and never take it off.” Annie had been making a mojo bag for Elijah as he sat and tried to decipher what she was working on. She knew that he was a person who only trusted what he could see with his very own eyes so his belief in her hoodoo had always been an uphill battle. She knew a secret he would not name. As much as he challenged her on it, the utmost trust and belief he had in her also extended itself to her practice so she knew he would honor request. After all, their love for each other was not something he could see or measure like dollars and cents yet it couldn’t be more real.
“Okay, for you.” Elijah offered without contesting. Normally he would give her pushback but he could not find that in him today. He knew this was a symbol of just how deep and wide her love went for him. She poured everything she had into this mojo bag even with him having to leave. He could never reject an item that was a symbol of her love for him. Not now. Not ever.
In the silence of the moment, not even an inch of space existed between them in this moment. The heaviness of the moment lingered following the expression of their love for each other in its purest form. Annie expressing it through pouring her all into a mojo bag she believed would keep him safe until he returned. As it was what she wanted most. She knew that she would not wait forever and didn't know and couldn’t feel when he would return. When he did, it would be in one piece, limbs in tact, heart beating, brain working the same way it did today. Elijah expressed it through the promise he kept despite his skepticism of hoodoo. He’d seen it protect and he’d seen it not deliver when it was needed most. Still, his love, trust, respect, and belief in Annie had him making space for what he wouldn’t have believed in any other circumstance.
Love was not the only thing felt. Desire made an appearance as it always had. It was always looming even before the very first time they ever touched. It never took much for them. Sometimes the smallest thing would ignite the heat that always wafted right beneath the surface. Annie adorning Elijah with the mojo bag around his neck acted almost like an aphrodisiac.
As they stood face to face, so close they could feel the warmth of their breath, their lips crashed into each other in sync. Elijah’s lips chasing Annie’s with her returning the favor as they moved about without separating. The contrast of feeling of soft, plush lips delivering hard kisses only intensified the lust they were both feeling that demanded to be satisfied. They knew what followed when they got like this. Tongues dancing, titties caressed, dick grabbed, taking turns on their knees, mouths open to pray at the altar of their love; while moans, grunts, nasty words, and squeaking legs of the bedframe served as the soundtrack.
There was a different weight tonight though. They couldn’t stop tomorrow from coming and all the day would bring, but they could spend the whole night feeling. The feel of skin to skin so close they could hear the other’s heartbeat. The feel of being impossibly filled to the point of overflow. The feel of limbs stretched in ways that tested the concept of flexibility. The feel of nails against his back. The feel of sheets caressing them as they tumbled through them.
Exhaustion came second to lust that demanded to be satiated the whole night. The hard and frantic rounds that made them feel like fiends chasing the euphoric feeling of their next hit alternated with rounds that were soft, slow, and deep--where each caress, kiss, stare, thrust, honey laced whisper, and whiskey soaked command was made a memory that could hold them when they were beyond each other’s reach.
The seventh and last day was much more somber. Even with knowing what was coming at the end of the day they still tried to maintain a sense of normalcy until they couldn’t. The same patterns didn’t feel the same when the weight of his departure turned the vivid colors of the life they lived together pitch black. Their meals didn’t fill their bodies and feed their souls the way they always had. The arrangement of the rooms and their accompanying furniture and decor that felt like expressions of their tastes and personalities began to feel drab and mundane. The place they built that housed memories, milestones, and livelihoods had always felt like a perfect fit until now--where the walls closed in tighter with each hour that passed.
Elijah waited to the last possible hour to leave as they were traveling by train. Bo Chow, their childhood friend, had agreed to meet them at the station to keep their car for safe keeping. Stack was already waiting outside but had enough sense to stay in the car because if Annie had a chance he wouldn’t be making it to Chicago. They slowly made their way to the door with each step becoming more hesitant. Once they reached their porch, they knew it was time for the goodbye they had been holding off.
“Elijah, I hope that you find peace in making this decision. My understanding of why you feel like you have to do this does not snuff out the hurt and anger. All three coexist at once. The hope of saving one while abandoning the other,” Annie stated matter-of-factly.
“Annie, I’m not—” Elijah interrupted.
“Let me finish without contesting.” Annie replied frustrated that he even tried to fight what she was saying. She was tired of pain, anger, grief, and fighting. After deciding that he had to go, Elijah had repeatedly told Annie he would keep in contact and then this wouldn’t be a long exodus. Annie knew better though. She knew how shit tended to go with Stack. This was the first time she could not trust his words which wounded her in a way that she couldn’t adequately name. Of all the promises he made, she only had faith that one would be kept--Elijah keeping on his mojo bag. He would not let his only tether to Annie and the strength of the love they shared be something else he sacrificed.
“Elijah, you have only been honest from the first day I ever looked into those eyes that said everything you couldn’t allow yourself to say, before we ever were anything to each other. What was the very first promise we ever made as a way to honor our love? We said we would never lie. That promise is the very foundation of that love. Don’t do me the disservice of lying now.” Annie noted calmly before continuing. “Telling the truth don’t make it pretty--just makes it real. You don’t know if you can keep up with the promise you made. You don’t know even if you can consistently write or call. You can’t even tell me how long.” Annie pauses before she says what’s next as it sounds like a threat but it’s just her honoring her promise to always be true. “Love, even one like ours that feels fated in a way that I’d only heard about from those who came before us, won’t wait or coast on the hope that you may come back someday. By the time you return, the bones of the home you forsook may be the only thing here to welcome you back.”
Elijah was silent. Not in a way that was reflective of the silent nature he was known for. This silence wasn’t a self-imposed decision. It was recognition—the realization in that very moment that he could be coming home to a self-appointed séance of the only love he ever got to freely choose.
He couldn’t walk away using his less is more approach. Not after what Annie had just expressed. Not in this situation.
He had spent his last full day with Annie “feeling” instead of offering platitudes that provided no comfort. Now, it was time for him to speak. This could likely be the most important set of words he ever uttered when the stakes are a life with Annie or barely existing with his memories of what they had being the only thing keeping him in this world.
“Annie, I love you. You know that. Deep. Strong. Without ceasing. I’ve given you parts of me freely that no one else has ever seen.” Elijah said as his hands shook, a trauma response from his time in the war that was elicited whenever he was anxious or panicked. He was not one for impassioned speeches but if there was ever a time to lay it all out there, it was now. “I know my decision feels like I’m breaking us and I’ll hold that. I’m not asking for you to forgive me and I know understanding my motives won’t change how you feel but I’m asking you to believe in what you’ve always known. You’ve never doubted my love, listen to your heart, your intuition, the words your ancestors who guided you told you when you sought guidance and confirmation about our love being destined.” Elijah pleaded with desperation as the floodgates he had used every ounce of strength he had to hold at bay began to break. “I have never lied to you and I won’t now so I can’t promise when but I AM returning. To my heart, my foundation, my reason why, my everything…I love you still and I always will.”
The weight of the moment mixed with Elijah laying his feelings out bare without silencing or pushing them down immediately brought tears to Annie’s eyes.
Now, they both stood in front of the physical home that was reminiscent of the home they found in each other years ago in a place they never thought they would be. Completely broken down. Faces wet with tears, eyes rimmed red, staring into the depths they had always found comfort in. The only sound passing between them is the wind as it shakes the bottles that hang from the Magnolia trees spread out on the property. Elijah pulled Annie into the tightest hug they may have ever shared. An embrace that embodied every feeling they expressed and the ones they were afraid to say out loud.
As they looked into each other’s eyes, nose to nose they leaned into a searing kiss not unlike the kind of kisses they had shared thousands of times. Elijah’s lips creating a seal over Annie’s as his hands framed both of her cheeks so that each part of him had a point of contact with her. Their eyes instinctively shut as if to burn every second into their memory. There was a melancholy beneath this one though as if it wasn’t a promise for a reunion but an acceptance of a reluctant goodbye neither of them ever wanted to have.
Eventually, they separated and he watched her as he walked backwards toward the truck until he was out of her vision on the driver’s side.
Elijah swung the door open prepared to get in, but paused because there was one thing he had to do before he departed. He leaned down to Luna’s resting place and asked something selfish as the man who was leaving.
“Can you do one thing for your fool of a father, baby girl?” Smoked asked aloud. “Please watch over your mama—you and your ancestors together. Protect every hair on her head, organ in her body, don’t let a single injury touch her.” Smoke pressed a kiss to the stone in front of her altar. “You’re the only one I can trust with this.”
That was eight years ago now. Smoke returned the seventh year with the only promise kept being his mojo bag not moving one centimeter since Annie placed it around his neck.
How do you go from years of no communication to a full blown affair that could obliterate the very foundation of their lives as they know it within a year of Smoke returning?
The seeds were sown the day the twins made their way back into the life they left behind...
A/N: Thanks for reading. We are definitely in for a ride! I actually pretty much have the next two chapters written so those chapters should be out pretty soon! If I somehow missed you and you wannabe tagged you can either comment or reply to my taglist h e r e ♡
Summary: Elias always liked to be in control, always have a choice, but ever since that night, he lost that ability as well most of his family.
Warnings: blood, death, swearing, drug like state, toxic relationship?, grief, mourning, hallucinations (or is it...👀🤣🤣), barely re-read by me
Inspired by this song, especially the chorus ("i don't like the drugs, but the drugs love me" ) and how the ending sounds!!
divider by @sweetestpeacreates
Elias started to hate it.
Before, he barely thought about it that night as that white man’s thoughts overshadowed his own, so the act appeared fun and a way to make sure his family and friends would stay with him forever.
Then, it was something that he followed as a need. To remain on this hellish earth as his body craved it.
Now, he had hate for it. But he always succumbed to it.
His mind exited the haze again, the feeling in his hands returning and registering with his mind. He dropped the body he was holding, it falling limp onto the ground. The blood from the person’s neck covered the ground, and their eyes were open, staring blankly up at the star-covered night sky.
He was standing in the middle of a country road, music faintly playing from the truck a few paces away from them.
As the blood he drank coursed through his veins and his strength surged again, he remembered how he got here.
An hour ago he had hitched a ride with the person currently laying dead on the ground at his feet. It happened while at a block party, far from home as usual. He and Mary had caught news of it by chance, and they showed up to have fun. Not drink. Just for fun.
A man passed by him, shoulder checking him either on purpose or by accident Elias wasn’t sure, but when he’d turned around to see the man to argue, the rage disappeared.
Staring back at him was a man that looked like his brother. Or so he thought. He was so sure of it, somehow the way he had sounded, was so similar to Elijah. But how could he even tell at this point, it's been so long without him, or looking in a mirror, that he’s forgotten what he looks like. They’ve moved so much that the few pictures he had of Elijah were lost to time along with his own.
Elijah had deeper dimples than him, despite not smiling as much as him. His face was a little square compared to Elias. A scowl that Elias couldn’t replicate. Technology advanced but cameras still couldn’t take a photo of him. It's not the same, looking at himself even if he could.
He remembered one time at a state fair he paid a sketch artist to draw him, desperately anticipating how he looked, though when the artist was done, he couldn’t recognise himself anymore. His mind was playing tricks on him for so long that the doubt clouded his mind and he ended up tearing apart the drawing.
At the party he held the man by his shoulder, grip tightening by the second as he stared long and hard at him. The man was protesting, trying to remove his grip.
Said man was freed when Mary yanked off his hand, her own abnormal strength rivalling him. In a hoarse whisper in his ear she asked him “The fuck you think you doin’?!” but Elias shook out her hold, insisting on that man being Elijah.
That was when her facial expression turned into a mix of pity and annoyance. Reminding him that wasn’t possible.
Vampires weren’t supposed to be real.
He never believed it from Annie when she said Haints were real.
So why isn’t reincarnation real?
They returned to their unfinished dance of an argument, somehow rehearsed when it was never intentionally sought out to be so; Mary would apologise for the night that changed everything, but beg him to move on in the same breath, Elias would retaliate with sharp, cut throat comebacks that would end in them parting ways for the night.
The dead body at his feet, earlier in the night, was leaving in a truck that reminded him of the one Elijah used to have, so he asked to hitch a ride.
The poor soul never thought twice about it.
The two chatted during the ride, shallow thoughts and easy laughs as he pretended he was not still affected by seeing his brother’s lookalike.
Then the need seeped into his flesh, consumed his every thought and all he could think about was the blood pumping in the stranger that sat in the driver’s seat. It was all he could hear. His nails were sharpening by the second, he hid them. Eyes glassing over that he was told looked like the reflection of the ocean. Fangs poking into the edge of his bottom lip. A slight tremble started as the stranger continued talking – until the car jerked from colliding with something unknown on the road and it came to a stop.
Both of them stepped out of the truck, the stranger eyeing up the tire and cursing at their luck.
Elias crept around from the passenger side, not answering the stranger’s apologies.
And everything blanked out when he reached for the stranger’s neck until he came to, out of the haze, now.
His hands were stained in blood again.
His hunger settled.
But he hated it.
Food didn’t taste the same. Been years since he stepped in the sun. His heart beat rarely quickened, hardly anything excited him, even if it did he could barely feel the heart pumping sensation.
His life up until the change he always got his way. Controlled the room, the people, the plans, the money. Could choose what he wanted, what he liked, what he wanted to eat, drink, do.
Now he was being controlled. By this need in his body, he didn’t have any choice but to feed it.
His hands started to tremble though his hunger was satiated. As he looked down to examine them, he started to laugh quietly, a memory resurfacing of how he used to keep an eye out for Elijah's trembling hands whenever it appeared, or got too much for him.
Elias lifted his head slowly, his breath hitching when somehow, further down the road in the middle of the night, he saw a figure with its back turned to him.
It looks like him. Stoic, tense shoulders, smoke curling into the air above, gun holsters. Time had passed but he was dressed in the outfit he buried him in.
His feet moved before he could think about it, stepping over the body as he walked towards him. The figure grew in size as he neared it and Elias no longer could tell if he was actually still in the blood lust haze or if what he was seeing was real.
“Smoke…?” He whispered, foot catching on the ground and he stumbled. He recovered quickly and feared the figure might have disappeared but it remained. The image he saw before his eyes was stronger, he could see the details, and suddenly he felt a strong thump in his chest when he saw his brother’s face turn, the side of his face visible.
“Smoke–come on—man–listen…” His voice shook as it grew louder in the night, his throat burning at the words. “If it really you—just–say somethin’”
He must have been a few metres away when Elijah fully turned around and faced him. His stare made Elias stop in his tracks.
He looked just as shocked as Elias.
“Elijah…?!” Elias threw his arm out, reaching for his brother immediately, trying to cross the distance but as soon as he did—
Elijah disappeared.
Elias collapsed to the ground onto his hands and knees. He froze, trying to process what had just happened but in the next second, he bent down until his forehead touched the ground too and his hands were holding the sides of his head.
And the tears fell.
the ending of this song i imagine playing when Elias reaches for Elijah and then falls to the ground. work is kicking my ASS. Hope you enjoyed!!!!! thank you for reading!!!! have a great day!!!!
sorry if you didn't want to be tagged for something not smoke x annie related 🤣🤧🥺feel free to let me know and i won't tag you next time for non smoke x annie!! i dont make a habit of it, but non romantic fics not smoke x annie intrigue me to write, like 'Distance makes the heart break' and all that ahahaha
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Summary: In the middle of Aunt Cheryl’s backyard, with half of Clarksdale watching, eight years of silence finally cracks open and neither of them is prepared for what comes spilling out. Neither of them has been telling themselves the same story. For the first time though, they're finally forced to compare notes.
W/C: 14k
A/N: Be gentle with me…. 🫠
Jada Wilson wasn’t the type of girl who liked to lose.
It wasn’t because she was mean, and it wasn’t because she thought she was better than everybody else. She liked working hard and seeing results. If she studied for a test, she expected a good grade. If she auditioned for something, she expected the spot. If she walked into a room, she expected to leave an impression. Most of the time life made sense to her because effort and reward usually moved together. Teachers remembered her because she participated. Boys noticed her because she was pretty. People gravitated towards her because she was funny. None of that felt complicated.
It felt earned.
That was probably why Anissa “Annie” Landry irritated her so much.
She didn’t dislike her at first. At first Annie was barely a blip on her radar. Nothing more than another smart girl in her Honors Biology. They sat near each other, partnered on projects occasionally, and shared enough classes that familiarity came naturally. Jada liked her then. Everybody liked Annie. The problem was Annie seemed completely unaware of the effect she had on people. Teachers, classmates, and even complete strangers trusted her, confided in her, and listened when she spoke. Annie never seemed to chase attention, yet attention found her anyway.
By October, most of the freshman class already knew whose names lived at the top of the grade rankings. Annie. Jada. Malcolm. Sometimes another student slipped into the conversation, but those three stayed there consistently enough that everybody noticed. Jada noticed because she cared. Annie only seemed to notice only when somebody pointed it out.
Jada could admit that she paid more attention to Annie than Annie ever paid to her. Annie shrugged off good grades like they were nothing to celebrate, like success was something that simply found her whether she reached for it or not. She didn’t treat life like a competition. In fact, Jada found it frustratingly difficult to tell whether Annie ever competed for anything at all. Every conversation she had with Annie left her feeling like she was in a race by herself. Annie never bragged, gloated or rubbed anything in anybody’s face. If she had, Jada might’ve found it easier to straight up dislike her. Instead, Annie never seemed to fight for attention, yet attention found her anyway. That made everything worse.
And then there was Elijah “Smoke” Moore.
She had World History with him and Stack, and found herself gravitating toward him. It wasn’t just because he was fine. All the girls thought he was fine as hell. Stack too. The difference was that after a while, his looks stopped being the thing she noticed first. He was quiet without being shy, smart without showing off, and funny whenever he actually felt like talking. She mentioned him in conversation casually enough that nobody thought much of it, including Annie. Looking back, she wasn’t even sure when curiosity became attraction. She started looking for him in crowded hallways and listening for his laugh across cafeterias. Which would’ve been embarrassing if it hadn’t happened to half the girls at school. It was the fact that he didn’t react to her the way other boys did. Most boys either flirted immediately or spent so much time trying not to stare that it became awkward. Smoke did neither. There was a quiet confidence about him. A steadiness that felt older than seventeen. The kind of confidence that never needed announcing.
He talked to her like everybody else. He remembered things she told him. Laughed at her jokes. Held entire conversations without once making her feel like he was trying to impress her or fuck her. At first she found it refreshing. Then she found it confusing.
The more time she spent around him, the more she paid attention to him. She noticed that the “quiet reputation” people gave him wasn’t entirely true. Smoke wasn’t shy. He just didn’t waste words. So when he did speak, people listened. There was a steadiness to him she didn’t find in other boys their age.
Mike was sweet.
Isoo was funny.
Stack was…Stack. Impossible to ignore.
But Smoke was something different. Being around him felt easy, and she wanted more of it. More of him.
By the middle of freshman year she started doing things she’d never admit to out loud. Lingering after class. Choosing seats closer to him when she could. Finding reasons to continue conversations that should’ve ended five minutes earlier. The frustrating part was that Smoke never treated her like a girl he was trying to avoid. He talked to her. Laughed with her. Sat beside her in class when the seating chart put them together. If he’d been rude, she probably would’ve gotten over her crush on him.
Instead, he was kind.
And kindness left far more room for imagination than rejection ever could.
If somebody had watched them from a distance, they probably would’ve assumed he liked her. Hell…she almost convinced herself of the same thing.
But she never expected Annie to factor into the equation.
One afternoon after school, a crowd of students lingered outside waiting for rides while the Mississippi heat rose from the pavement in visible waves. Stack was in the middle of a story and Smoke stood nearby having his own conversation with Mike. Jada walked over and joined them, enjoying the small satisfaction of making Smoke laugh at something she said.
Then something happened. Something that anybody else would’ve overlooked. It should’ve been forgettable. Instead it became one of those memories that stayed rent free in her mind for years.
Stack yelled something from across the parking lot and Smoke turned. Jada expected him to look at his brother. Instead his attention drifted somewhere over her shoulder. The movement was subtle enough that most people would’ve missed it, but she didn’t. She followed his line of sight and when it landed, her heart dropped. Annie stood near the curb with Pearline and a few other girls, her backpack hanging from one shoulder laughing at something one of them said. Smoke was looking right at her. Annie wasn’t flirting. She wasn’t loudly trying to get anyone’s attention. In fact, she looked completely unaware that Smoke was even looking hee way at all.
Jada glanced back toward him and felt something in her chest tighten unexpectedly. His expression hadn’t changed much. There was no grin. No obvious reaction or giveaway that would’ve made the answer easy. What she saw instead was interest. Pure interest. The kind that settled naturally and comfortably, like he’d found exactly what he was looking for without meaning to. When Jada looked back, Annie looked up. Her and Smoke’s eyes met for barely a second before surprise crossed her face in that honest, unguarded way people managed when they weren’t expecting to be seen. Smoke looked away first and the moment disappeared so quickly that nobody else seemed to notice it had happened. The conversation picked right back up. Everything went back to normal as though a five-second interaction in a parking lot hadn’t just rearranged something inside her.
And Jada couldn’t stop thinking about what she’d just seen.
The truth landed harder than she wanted it to. Smoke liked Annie. And not in the casual way boys claimed to like half the girls at school. It wasn’t in the temporary way crushes came and went every few weeks. He liked her. Liked her.
The part Jada couldn’t understand wasn’t that Smoke liked somebody. It was that the somebody was Annie. Annie wasn’t louder than anybody else. She wasn’t chasing him. Half the time she seemed completely unaware of him. And yet, out of all the girls walking those hallways every day, his attention found her.
Why Annie?
The question stayed with Jada long after that afternoon ended. Not because she thought Annie wasn’t pretty, smart, or worth liking. Annie was all of those things. What bothered her was that she couldn’t figure out what Annie had that made Smoke look at her differently.
The more she watched them over the following months, the more that question followed her around, and the harder it became to pretend she didn’t already know the answer. Once she noticed it, she started seeing it everywhere—in the way Smoke listened when Annie talked, in the way his attention settled on her naturally no matter who else was around, and in the quiet consistency of his choices. There were no grand gestures, no public declarations, nothing dramatic enough to become gossip. What existed between them was built from a hundred small moments most people would’ve overlooked and a hundred more that Jada couldn’t stop noticing.
At some point she started testing it. Nothing obvious or anything she couldn’t explain away afterward. A comment here. A joke there. Sitting a little closer than necessary. One time at a party she picked up Smoke’s cup and took a sip while she was talking, mostly because she could. Smoke didn’t notice. Annie didn’t react the way she envisioned. The conversations kept moving. At first she thought she’d proven nothing. Later she realized she’d proven exactly what she’d been afraid of. Neither of them acted like there was anything to compete for because they belonged to each other already.
That was the part Jada hated most.
Whatever existed between them had been there long before either one of them said it out loud.
Life eventually moved on the way life always did. High school ended. Annie left for North Carolina during their senior year and, for a while, it felt like she took part of the town with her. It wasn’t because people sat around talking about her every day, but because certain stories suddenly stopped being told. People changed.
Smoke most of all.
Jada noticed that too.
The version of Smoke everybody knew after Annie left wasn’t an angry one. If anything, he became quieter. More closed off. He still laughed when something was funny, showed up when people called, and still worked, helped, and handled business the way he always had. But something about him felt absent, as though a door had closed somewhere inside and nobody knew how to open it again.
But life carried Jada away too, before she had much time to dwell on it. College came next. An engagement. Then a marriage. Neither lasted the way she’d hoped. By the time she moved back home and started building a career in real estate, she was older, smarter, and considerably less interested in fairy tales.
Then she ran into Smoke again.
One of his construction crews had been working on a property she was helping list and for a second she thought she hadn’t recognized him. Then he looked up and gave her a half smile and just like that, she was sixteen again. The attraction came back embarrassingly fast. Older now. More controlled.
But still there.
The difference was that adulthood gave her advantages she hadn’t possessed in high school. She didn’t have to sit around wondering whether a boy liked her. She could simply ask him to dinner. So she did. One dinner turned into another. Then another. At some point the conversation drifted toward old classmates the way it always did when people got older.
“Whatever happened to Annie?” Jada asked.
The reaction was immediate. Something closed. Smoke took a drink and looked away. “She live in North Carolina.”
Jada laughed. “I thought y’all would’ve been married with twenty kids by now.”
Smoke didn’t laugh. The silence that followed answered more than words ever could. A few minutes later he changed the subject entirely.
Jada never brought Annie up again. Later that same night she asked if he was seeing anybody.
“No.”
“You lookin’?”
“No.”
The answer should’ve discouraged her. Instead she smiled. “Well, lucky for you, neither am I.”
The arrangement that followed worked because neither of them pretended it was anything else. They spent time together. Ate dinner once in awhile. Called sometimes. Shared her bed often enough. Smoke was kind to her. Respectful. But from the beginning he made one thing clear.
He didn’t want a relationship.
He told her more than once that she deserved somebody capable of giving her what she wanted. More than once he told her that if she found that person, she shouldn’t let him stand in the way of it.
Jada heard every word.
The problem was…she kept hoping.
Not because Smoke encouraged it, but because she thought time might. She thought consistency might. She thought enough good days stacked together could eventually become something neither of them planned. Maybe that was foolish. Maybe it wasn’t. Either way, she had started believing they still had time.
Then Mary called the day of the cookout.
Jada had been at the showing she was covering for a colleague. The conversation started normal enough, which should have been her first warning sign. Mary was never normal when she had gossip. By the time she finally got to the point, Jada wasn’t smiling anymore.
“Bitch, Annie’s back!”
Suddenly all those years she hadn’t spent thinking about high school came rushing back at once. The words settled somewhere unexpected. Surprising. The surprise lasted exactly three seconds before Mary delivered the second piece.
“The cookout at Pearline’s aunt house… it’s a party for Annie coming back home.”
That was the moment everything else disappeared. The noise of the clients asking about square footage faded into the background. The showing stopped mattering. Even Mary’s voice asking her what she was going to do became distant as another thought slid immediately into place.
For the first time since hearing Annie’s name, she wasn’t thinking about high school anymore.
She was thinking about Smoke.
He had been acting strange. Distracted. Quieter than usual. Looking at his phone more than normal. Now she understood exactly why he hadn’t seemed like himself. Some old shit came back up…. I ain’t figured out what to do with it yet. The pieces connected so quickly that Jada almost laughed.
Annie.
By the time she pulled into Aunt Cheryl’s yard, she already knew who she was looking for. The problem was she hadn’t expected to find them standing together.
And she for damn sure hadn’t expected to find them holding hands.
Smoke was holding Annie’s hand.
On its own, that didn’t mean anything.
People touched, hugged, and got caught up in conversations and forgot who was watching.
What unsettled her was everything wrapped around the gesture.
The look that had passed between them before Smoke finally let go. The way neither of them seemed aware of anybody else until she spoke. The strange sense that she’d walked into the middle of something already in progress.
For a moment nobody said anything.
The sounds of the cookout continued around them as though nothing unusual had happened. Children ran through the yard screaming over water guns. Two men at the dominoes table accused each other of cheating. Mrs. Cheryl was threatening bodily harm if they didn’t quit acting stupid. The music changed somewhere behind her. Life continued moving.
Yet standing there, looking between Smoke and Annie, Jada couldn’t shake the feeling that she’d interrupted a conversation neither of them had wanted to end.
The hand didn’t bother her nearly as much as Smoke’s face had. Over the past year she’d seen him tired, irritated, amused, distracted, and halfway asleep after a fourteen-hour workday. She’d seen him fresh off job sites and fresh out of the shower. She’d seen him after bad days and worse weeks. What she’d just seen standing across from Annie felt different.
There had been a lightness to him she couldn’t remember seeing, as though some invisible weight had disappeared without warning. Now the distracted silences, the moments he’d stared at his phone and seemed somewhere else entirely, made perfect sense.
What unsettled her more was how he looked at her. The surprise on his face had disappeared quickly enough.
The irritation hadn’t.
It was subtle. Most people would’ve missed it. Smoke wasn’t expressive enough for dramatic reactions. But Jada had spent too much time learning his moods not to recognize one when she saw it.
Every time she spoke, his attention drifted back toward Annie. When Annie looked away, his eyes followed her. And when he did look at Jada?
The expression wasn’t warm.
It wasn’t guilty either. It looked closer to frustration. Like she’d walked into the middle of something he wasn’t finished with yet.
The realization settled heavily in her chest. She recognized that look too.
From high school.
Back when she’d stand beside him talking and catch him looking over her shoulder at Annie. When she’d convince herself she imagined it.
Back when she still thought being patient would eventually change the outcome.
Still, Jada smiled. She had spent too many years learning how to smile through discomfort to stop now.
“Annie.” Her voice came out warm and easy, exactly the way it was supposed to. “It’s been a long time.”
Annie smiled back automatically, but there was a delay to it that immediately caught Jada’s attention. She looked like somebody still trying to catch up to a conversation everyone else had already started. “Yeah. It has.”
“When did you get in town?”
“Thursday.”
“No kidding.” Jada adjusted the strap of her purse and glanced briefly toward Smoke before looking back at Annie. “Smoke didn’t tell me you were back.”
The sentence left her mouth easily enough, but she knew exactly why she’d said it.
She wanted to see.
So Jada watched Annie carefully. The confusion arrived first, then recognition. Then something else.
Jada recognized that look because she’d worn versions of it herself before. The moment when information rearranged itself into understanding. If she was being completely honest, some small, selfish part of her wanted Annie to understand. Wanted her to know she wasn’t just another person at the cookout. That Smoke existed in her life too.
Maybe that made her petty or even insecure. Maybe it made her exactly the same girl she’d been in high school. Whatever the reason, she couldn’t deny the small flicker of satisfaction when she saw it finally click for Annie.
Whatever Annie had expected when she came back to Mississippi, this wasn’t it. Jada watched her expectations crumble behind her eyes and Jada immediately felt guilty for her own smugness that followed. It wasn’t Annie’s confusion she enjoyed. It was the confirmation that she wasn’t invisible. For years she’d been the girl standing on the outside of whatever existed between Annie and Smoke. Now, for the first time, Annie was being forced to acknowledge that Jada occupied space in his life too.
Across the yard, movement caught her eye. Mary had finally wandered close enough to be useful and dangerous at the same time. The woman was carrying a red cup and looking entirely too pleased with herself. One glance toward Stack confirmed he had already figured out exactly who was responsible for this shit. Pearline looked ready to strangle somebody. Probably Mary. Maybe Stack. Maybe Jada. Possibly all three.
Jada almost laughed.
Almost.
Because standing there between Smoke and Annie, she had the uncomfortable feeling that this situation was about to become everybody’s problem.
“No kidding... Smoke didn’t tell me you were back.”
Annie wasn’t sure how to respond to that. The statement felt simple enough on the surface, but something about it snagged in her chest.
Jada laughed softly and shook her head.
“Then again, he ain’t really been himself lately.”
The comment was delivered so casually Annie almost missed it.
Almost.
Annie looked toward Elijah before she meant to. His attention was already on her.
Not Jada.
Her.
The conversations around them hadn’t stopped, but something in his posture had changed. His shoulders were tighter now. His expression quieter. Like he was listening to a conversation he couldn’t quite hear but already knew he wasn’t going to like the ending of.
Annie tried to focus on what Jada was saying to her. She really did. Jada was standing right there asking normal questions in a normal voice, smiling the same way she always had, and nothing about the interaction should have felt strange.
People moved on. People dated. People built lives. Eight years had passed since Annie left Mississippi. She knew all of that. She understood it so completely that she almost became angry at herself for struggling with something that should have been obvious.
Still, her attention kept snagging on small things she couldn’t seem to ignore. The ease in Jada’s posture. The familiarity in her voice. And now that one sentence kept replaying itself in Annie’s head.
He ain’t really been himself lately.
It wasn’t what Jada had said. It was how she’d said it. Like she knew what normal looked like. Like she’d been close enough to notice the difference.
But Elijah wasn’t looking at Jada at all. Every time Annie glanced up, his eyes found her again. Concern. Like he could see something growing and didn’t know how to stop it.
Annie couldn’t process that at the moment. She couldn’t stop noticing that nobody around them seemed surprised Jada was standing there. Not Stack and definitely not Pearline. The realization arrived gradually, settling into place one piece at a time.
Jada wasn’t visiting Elijah’s world. She was already a part of it.
“Mississippi must seem different now,” Jada said with a small laugh.
Annie looked at her. “What?”
Jada smiled. “I said Mississippi must seem different now.”
“Oh.” Annie forced a smile. “Yeah.”
The conversation continued around her, but Annie found herself looking past Jada and toward Pearline. The glance was brief. It didn’t need to be longer. Something flickered across Pearline’s face the moment their eyes met, and Annie felt her stomach drop before her mind fully caught up.
Suddenly the entire day looked different.
Pearline sitting on the edge of the bed while Annie changed clothes for the hundredth time. Her listening to her talk about Elijah. Her watching her spend an entire afternoon slipping back into old memories she should have known better than to trust.
None of those moments had felt unusual at the time. Standing here now, they rearranged themselves into something else entirely.
Pearline looked away first.
And that hurt more than anything Jada had said.
Annie smiled automatically when somebody laughed at a joke she hadn’t heard. The expression felt strange on her face. Around her the cookout continued without interruption. Auntie Max was waving a paper plate around while telling a story loud enough for half the neighborhood to hear. Everything looked exactly the same as it had fifteen minutes ago, yet everything felt completely different now.
She looked toward Elijah before she could stop herself and immediately regretted it.
He was still looking at her.
He wasn’t really talking anymore. Stack had said something. Mary laughed. Jada answered somebody’s question. Elijah hadn’t reacted to any of it. His attention remained fixed on Annie, his expression growing more troubled the longer she stood there pretending everything was fine.
Concern sat plainly across his face now, and the sight irritated her more than it should have. Concern meant he knew something was wrong. Concern meant he could see it happening. Concern meant he was watching her fall apart in real time.
That was the final straw.
Because Annie could handle disappointment. She could handle awkwardness. She could even handle finding out Elijah had moved on.
What she couldn’t handle was standing here feeling exposed.
Feeling foolish.
Feeling like the only person who hadn’t known what was happening.
The humiliation crept in quietly, attaching itself to every memory she’d made since getting off the plane. Every conversation. Every question. Every moment she’d allowed herself to hope for something she had never said aloud. By the time she finally spoke, her voice sounded perfectly normal.
“Excuse me.”
Nobody would have noticed anything wrong. Nobody except Elijah and Pearline.
Annie saw it immediately when Elijah straightened and took a small step forward. The movement was instinctive, the kind people made when they sensed trouble coming. For a second it looked like he might say something. Explain something. Stop her. Annie didn’t give him the chance.
“Y’all enjoy yourselves.”
The smile never left her face as she turned toward the house. She heard Pearline call her name before she reached the steps, but she kept walking anyway. The screen door opened and closed behind her, muting the sounds of the cookout almost instantly. Only then did she allow herself to stop pretending she was fine.
The bedroom door clicked shut behind her, muting the noise from the backyard without silencing it completely. Music still drifted faintly through the floorboards. Every few minutes a burst of laughter floated up from downstairs, followed by the low hum of conversation and the occasional shout from Aunt Cheryl whenever somebody touched food they weren’t supposed to touch. The sounds were familiar enough to be comforting. Instead they made Annie feel trapped. The cookout was still happening. Everybody was still down there.
The world hadn’t stopped just because hers suddenly felt off balance.
She crossed the room and dragged her suitcase onto the bed. The zipper caught halfway open and she jerked it harder than necessary, dislodging the contents inside. A shirt disappeared into one corner. A pair of jeans landed on top of it. One sandal followed before she stopped and stared at the mess she’d created. Nothing about it resembled packing. The blue sundress she’d rejected earlier that morning still hung over the chair near the window. Seeing it there brought back the memory of standing in front of Pearline’s mirror for nearly an hour while her friend laughed and told her she looked fine. At the time she’d told herself she was nervous about coming home. Looking at the dress now, she realized that hadn’t been entirely true.
Nobody spent forty-five minutes deciding what to wear to a family cookout unless some part of them cared who might be there.
The thought followed her to the dresser. The bottle of tequila sat exactly where she’d left it earlier, half-forgotten beside a hairbrush and a tube of lip gloss. For a second she just stared at it. Then she twisted the cap off and took a long swallow straight from the bottle.
The liquor burned all the way down, sharp enough to make her wince. She stood there waiting for it to do something useful. Numb her. Distract her. Slow her thoughts down. Instead the burn faded almost immediately and left everything else untouched.
Jada’s face remained exactly where Annie had left it.
So did the sound of her voice.
Smoke didn’t tell me you were back.
That was the problem.
Jada had said them the way people said ordinary things, the way people spoke when they weren’t thinking twice about what they were revealing. There had been familiarity in the statement. History. Conversations Annie hadn’t been a part of. Enough conversations that her return to Mississippi had become information Jada expected to have. Annie took another drink and walked toward the window before she could think too hard about it.
The backyard stretched beyond the trees in patches of movement and color. She couldn’t make out individual faces from here, only clusters of people gathered around tables and lawn chairs while smoke drifted lazily upward from the grill. Somewhere down there Elijah was probably sitting beside Jada.
The thought arrived uninvited and irritated her immediately.
Smoke could date whoever he wanted. He wasn’t married. He wasn’t obligated to explain himself to her. Eight years was a long time. Long enough for people to build entirely different lives.
She knew that.
She believed that.
The problem was that knowing something and feeling it turned out to be two very different things.
Every time she tried to reason her way through it, her mind circled back to the same uncomfortable place. Not that Elijah had moved on, it was that she’d spent the entire day realizing she never had.
She took another shot. The tequila burned less this time, or maybe she was just getting used to it.
What she couldn’t seem to stop thinking about was Jada.
It was because it was Jada.
The same girl who always seemed to be measuring herself against Annie back in high school. The same girl who smiled while making comments that left Annie wondering whether she’d imagined the insult. The same girl who spent years trying to figure out why Smoke paid attention to Annie and not her.
Annie closed her eyes. Immediately she hated herself for thinking it. It wasn’t fair. Elijah didn’t know any of that.
Not really.
He knew Jada the same way everybody knew Jada. Funny. Smart. Beautiful. He hadn’t been standing beside Annie during those hallway conversations. He hadn’t seen the looks. He hadn’t felt the subtle edge hiding beneath the smiles.
Still, the thought lingered.
Did he know?
Annie stared back out the window.
Didn’t he know how she felt about Jada? Didn’t he know she’d never really trusted her? Didn’t he know enough about Annie to know that this, out of everything, would fucking hurt?
The questions sounded ridiculous the second they formed, because what exactly was Elijah supposed to do with information like that?
Avoid a woman for eight years because his high school girlfriend didn’t like her?
The idea was absurd. Annie knew it was absurd. Yet somehow that didn’t stop it from hurting.
The truth was she hadn’t spent the day grieving what Elijah had with Jada. She’d spent the day imagining what might still exist between her and Elijah. That was the part she couldn’t forgive herself for.
Not the jealousy.
The hope.
That truth settled over her slowly as she sat on the edge of the bed. The photographs. Geneva talking about Elijah carrying her inside when she fell asleep on his shoulder. The way everybody at the table had spoken about them like they were inevitable. The way Elijah had looked at her after learning she never wanted to leave.
The warmth of his hand around hers.
None of those moments would’ve mattered if some part of her hadn’t been carrying hope onto that plane from North Carolina. She hated admitting that, even to herself. Hope felt childish at twenty-five. Hope felt irresponsible after eight years. Yet the evidence sat all around the room. The dress she’d changed out of three times. The suitcase she’d never fully unpacked. The mixtape buried somewhere among her things. She hadn’t come to Mississippi looking for closure.
She’d come looking for possibility, and now she felt stupid for pretending otherwise.
Another swallow of tequila disappeared before she realized she’d picked up the bottle again. The burn barely registering anymore. What did register was the growing discomfort that had nothing to do with Jada and everything to do with Pearline.
The longer Annie sat there, the more the last two days began rearranging themselves. Pearline encouraging her to come. Pearline listening to every story about Elijah. Sitting on the edge of the bed that morning while Annie changed clothes. Watching her spend an entire afternoon slipping back into old memories she should’ve known better than to trust.
None of those moments had felt strange when they happened. Looking back now, they felt different. Heavier. Like pieces of a puzzle she hadn’t realized she was assembling.
Annie stared at the bedroom door and tightened her grip on the bottle. She didn’t know exactly how long she’d been sitting there, but she knew Pearline well enough to know what would come next.
Pearline hated conflict. Hated disappointing people even more. There was no chance she was leaving Annie up here alone. Sooner or later those footsteps would come down the hallway. Sooner rather than later the door would open. The thought should’ve prepared her.
Instead it made the hurt settle deeper.
Because for the first time since walking into the house, Annie stopped thinking about Jada standing beside Elijah and started thinking about her best friend downstairs, the one person who had known exactly how much hope Annie had carried back to Mississippi and said nothing at all.
Pearline didn’t knock.
The door opened slowly before Annie could tell her not to come in, and the look on her face was so familiar Annie almost hated her for it. Concern. Caution. The expression Pearline wore whenever she thought somebody was about to make a bad decision.
Unfortunately for both of them, Annie had already made several.
Neither of them spoke at first. Pearline’s eyes moved from the open suitcase to the tequila bottle resting beside Annie’s leg before finally settling on Annie herself. Annie knew exactly what she saw. Red eyes. A half-packed suitcase. Clothes scattered across the bed. One sandal near the bathroom door and the other somehow buried beneath a blouse sleeve hanging halfway out of the luggage. The packing wasn’t real. Annie knew it. Pearline probably knew it too. She’d managed to put three shirts into the suitcase and somehow remove four. Every few minutes she found herself folding the same piece of clothing she’d already folded before throwing it into a different corner of the room.
“How much of that you done drank?”
Annie glanced down at the bottle. “Enough.”
Pearline sighed and stepped inside, closing the door behind her.
The sound made something tighten in Annie’s chest.
“You ain’t finna leave.”
Annie laughed under her breath and reached for another shirt. “The hell I’m not.”
“You drunk.”
“I’m buzzed.”
“Annie.”
“I’m grown.”
Pearline rubbed a hand across her forehead.
The movement irritated Annie so bad. The careful voice irritated her. The patience irritated her. The concern irritated her. All of it felt like somebody trying to calm her down before she’d even been allowed to be upset.
She shoved another armful of clothes into the suitcase and immediately regretted it when the zipper refused to cooperate. The tequila bottle found its way back into her hand before she even realized she’d reached for it.
Pearline watched her struggle with the suitcase for another minute before speaking again.
“I was gonna tell you.”
Annie stopped. She couldn’t help it. The words settled somewhere deep enough to hurt.
Slowly she looked up. “No you wasn’t.”
“I was.”
“When?”
Pearline opened her mouth. Nothing came out.
Annie laughed. The sound wasn’t pleasant. “Exactly.”
“I didn’t know how.”
The answer hit Annie harder because it sounded honest. Honest and useless at the same time. She looked away before Pearline could see it landed.
Outside Annie could hear laughter. She hated them for laughing.
“You could’ve started with the truth.”
“I didn’t know what the truth was.”
Annie took another swallow from the bottle. The burn was gone. “What truth?”
Pearline hesitated. “Them.”
The word sat between Annie and Pearline.
“I thought they was just fuckin’.”
Pearline shifted from foot to foot. “It didn’t look serious.”
Didn’t. Past tense. Annie heard it. Her stomach dropped.
“What changed?”
Pearline froze.
The hesitation told Annie almost everything.
“What changed, Pearline?”
For a second it looked like Pearline might refuse to answer. Then she sighed. “I saw them Thursday.”
Annie frowned.
Thursday.
The word rolled around in her head before settling into place. The restaurant. That strange feeling she’d had all night. The uncomfortable certainty that somebody familiar was nearby. The way she’d caught herself looking around for no reason she could explain.
Pearline acting strange afterward. Starting a sentence and never finishing it. Looking at her like she wanted to say something before changing her mind.
The pieces connected so quickly Annie almost felt sick. “He was there.”
Pearline didn’t answer.
“He was there with her.”
Still nothing. The silence told her everything she needed to know.
Annie stared at the bottle in her hand before taking another drink. The tequila was more than half gone now. At some point she’d stopped counting. Her face felt warm. Her thoughts felt loud. Every emotion she’d spent the last eight years carefully suppressing seemed determined to show up all at once.
“You saw them and still said nothin’.”
“I wanted to.”
Annie laughed.
The sound came out sharp enough to make Pearline flinch.
“No you didn’t.”
“I did.”
“You didn’t, ’cause if you did, you would’ve.”
“I really did, Annie.”
Annie shook her head and looked away.
Outside, the yard erupted into laughter after. The sound drifted through the screen window and landed in the room like an insult.
She took another swallow from the bottle.
“Fuck, Pearline, I could’ve handled him messin’ with ANYBODY else.”
Pearline’s face changed immediately.
“Annie—”
“No. I’m serious.” She laughed again and wiped at her eyes. “I could’ve handled some random girl.” The words tumbled out before she could stop them. “Some girl from Jackson. Memphis. Atlanta. Hell, California.”
Pearline stayed quiet.
“But Jada?” Annie shook her head. “Jada of all people?”
The room fell silent, because Pearline knew. Maybe not every detail.
But more than enough.
Enough to remember the little imsults disguised as jokes. The competition Annie never agreed to participate in. The way Jada always seemed to know exactly where she stood with Elijah. Enough to understand why hearing her name hit differently.
“You should’ve told me from jump.” Annie looked down at the bottle in her hand. “You should’ve told me the second you saw them.”
Pearline sighed. “She ain’t hate you, Annie.”
“Don’t do that shit.” The warning came fast. “Please don’t sit up here and act like you don’t know what I’m talkin’ about.”
Pearline looked away.
Exactly.
“That’s what I thought.” Annie laughed and immediately wished she hadn’t, because now she sounded bitter.
Maybe she was.
“I know it sound stupid.” Her voice cracked. “I know he don’t owe me shit.” Another laugh. Smaller this time. “And I know he got every right to move on.” She stared toward the window. “But for some reason hearin’ it’s Jada make me sick to my fuckin’ stomach.”
The confession hung between them. Raw. Embarrassing.
Honest.
“And that’s why I’m mad at you.”
Pearline frowned.
“Cause you knew that.” Annie looked back at her. “You knew exactly how that was gonna hit me.”
Annie sank onto the edge of the bed and looked down at the shirt in her hands. At some point she’d stopped packing and started moving things around just to keep her hands busy. The same shirt had gone into the suitcase three separate times and somehow kept ending up back on the bed. The tequila wasn’t helping anymore. It had moved past the point of making her feel better and settled into that dangerous place where every thought felt louder than it should.
“You know what the crazy part is?”
Pearline looked up. “What?”
Annie laughed, but there wasn’t any humor in it. “I still would’ve came.”
For a minute neither of them said anything.
Annie picked up the shirt and started folding it. Then unfolded it. “I would’ve still got on the plane.”
The words surprised her because she hadn’t realized they were true until she’d said them out loud. She would’ve come for Aunt Cheryl and Uncle Lewis. For Geneva and Auntie Max. For Pearline. For Stack. For the cookout. For every piece of home she’d spent years pretending she didn’t miss. And somewhere in that list sat Elijah too. Not that she expected anything from him. Or because she thought eight years could disappear in a weekend. But because he mattered whether she wanted him to or not.
Pearline watched her carefully.
Annie laughed again and wiped at her face. “That’s the part that got me.” She looked down at the bottle. “You should’ve told me anyway.”
Pearline lowered her eyes. “I thought if y’all talked—”
“There you go.” The words came out tired more than angry. Annie shook her head. “That’s the part you keep missin’.”
Pearline started to talk, then stopped.
Annie looked toward the window where the sounds of the cookout drifted in through the screen. “You keep tellin’ me what you thought.”
Her voice cracked. “What about me? What about what I wanted?”
Pearline’s face tightened immediately.
Annie hated herself a little for saying it. The regret didn’t make it less true. “You knew.” The words came quieter now. Which somehow made them worse. “You knew and watched me get off that plane.”
Silence.
“You knew and watched me talk about him.”
Pearline looked away.
“You knew and sat on this bed while I changed clothes fifty fucking times.”
The tears finally came. Hot. Embarrassing. Impossible to stop.
“And you still brought me here.”
Pearline looked devastated now.
Good.
A terrible thought. An ugly thought. One Annie hated the second it crossed her mind. But it was there anyway.
“You watched me hope.”
The room seemed to shrink around them as Annie’s words settled into the space between them. Outside, somebody shouted something followed by laughter. The sound drifted through the screen window and disappeared into silence neither woman seemed willing to break.
Pearline stared at her. Then something in her expression changed.
Exhaustion.
“You think I wanted this?”
Annie looked away.
“You keep talkin’ like I sat around plottin’ on how to hurt you.”
“I ain’t say that.”
“You don’t gotta say it.” Pearline wiped at her face with the heel of her hand before crossing her arms tightly over her chest. “For two fuckin’ days I’ve been watchin’ this happen knowin’ eventually you was gonna look at me exactly like this.”
Annie didn’t answer because she was looking at her exactly like that.
“You think it was easy watchin’ you get off that plane smilin’?” Pearline laughed once, but there wasn’t any humor in it. “You think I didn’t know why you was really nervous?”
“Pearline—”
“No. Let me finish.” The words came out sharper than anything she’d said all evening. “You wasn’t nervous about no cookout and you know it.”
Annie looked down at the shirt twisted in her hands.
“You talked about him the whole ride from the airport.” Pearline’s voice softened again. “You talked about him while you unpacked.”
Another breath. “You talked about him when we went to breakfast.” Another. “You talked about him every time his name came up like you was tryin’ real hard to convince yourself it didn’t matter.”
The tears Annie had been fighting rose all over again.
Pearline shook her head. “And every time I thought about tellin’ you, I’d look at your face and think maybe I was wrong. Maybe Smoke and Jada wasn’t serious. Maybe they would’ve ended whatever they had goin’ on by now. Maybe y’all could finally sit down and talk.”
Annie swallowed hard. The words should’ve made her feel better. Instead they somehow made everything worse. For the first time since the argument started, she could see exactly how Pearline had convinced herself to stay quiet. Not that she thought she knew best, but she wanted the same impossible thing Annie wanted.
“I was hopin’ too, Annie.”
Annie closed her eyes.
The confession hit differently than everything else Pearline had said. Anger she knew how to carry. Embarrassment too. But this felt heavier. It forced her to acknowledge something she’d been trying very hard not to look at. Pearline hadn’t been trying to hurt her. Pearline had been hoping right alongside her, building entire possibilities out of half-finished conversations and old memories that she wanted so badly for them to be true.
Pearline looked down at her hands. “Remember when I told you I left my charger at Stack’s apartment?”
Annie frowned. The question felt random enough to pull her briefly out of her own misery. “Yeah.”
“I ain’t leave no damn charger.”
Annie stared at her while her facial expression said DUH.
Pearline laughed once and shook her head. “I went back and straight up asked him.”
The room grew quiet.
“I wanted to know if what I saw was real.”
Annie’s stomach tightened.
Pearline rubbed her palms against her jeans. “I asked Stack straight up.”
“What’d he say?”
“That Smoke and Jada wasn’t together.”
The answer came immediate. Like she’d replayed the conversation a hundred times already.
“He said they wasn’t serious. Said they wasn’t in no relationship.”
Despite herself, Annie almost laughed.
Pearline kept going. “I asked him twice.” The confession sounded pathetic now. “I kept askin’ different ways hopin’ he’d tell me somethin’ else.”
Annie looked away.
“Cause if he would’ve told me they was serious…” Pearline swallowed. “If he would’ve told me Smoke was in love with that girl or plannin’ a future wit’ her or somethin’ like that, I’d have told you right then.”
The words settled heavily between them.
“Shit, Annie, I would’ve told you before we even got to Cheryl’s house.” Pearline’s voice cracked slightly. “That’s why I didn’t know what to do.”
Annie stared at the floor because that sounded exactly like something Pearline would do—convince herself this was reasonable. It sounded exactly like something done with love that still managed to hurt anyway.
“You still didn’t let me choose.”
The words came out quiet.
Pearline’s shoulders dropped. For a second she looked as tired as Annie felt. Her mouth opened slightly before closing again. Whatever explanation she’d been holding onto all evening seemed to collapse beneath the weight of those six words.
Annie reached for another pile of clothes and shoved them into the suitcase harder than necessary. The zipper caught again. Frustrated, she yanked at it. Something beneath the clothes came loose, and a plastic case slid free, tumbling across the comforter before bouncing onto the floor near her feet.
Both women looked down.
The mixtape.
Not the mixtape Elijah made her all those years ago. Not the one she’d refused to listen to all those years ago, but somehow carried with her through college, breakups, apartments, and every version of herself she’d become after leaving Mississippi.
This was a new one.
The one she’d spent weeks putting together before coming home. The one hidden beneath folded shirts because she hadn’t been brave enough to admit why she’d packed it in the first place.
For a long moment neither woman moved. Then Annie bent down and picked it up.
Pearline’s eyes followed the plastic case before lifting back to Annie’s face.
Something flickered there. Understanding. Somehow Annie hated that most of all, because now Pearline knew.
Not that she still loved Elijah.
But how much.
The truth settled quietly between them. Annie wrapped her fingers around the mixtape, tucked it beneath her arm, grabbed the suitcase, and forced the zipper closed.
“Annie—”
“Fuck all y’all.”
Pearline took a step forward. “Annie.”
“No.” She wiped angrily at her face. “I came down here lookin’ stupid as fuck.”
“You didn’t.”
“I did.” Her voice cracked hard enough to make her wince. “I did.”
The tears started again. Hot. Humiliating. Impossible to stop.
“And I blame you for lettin’ me.”
Pearline flinched.
Annie hated herself for saying it. Hated herself even more for not taking it back.
Then she grabbed the suitcase handle and headed for the door before Pearline could stop her.
Smoke kept his eyes on the house long after Annie disappeared inside.
Around him the cookout continued without interruption. Some old head at the dominoes table accused a young nigga of cheating. Again. Tired of hearing Aunt Cheryl fussing, Uncle Lewis stepped in and threatened to throw both of them out of the yard if they didn’t shut the fuck up. Children ran through the grass screaming while music drifted lazily from the speakers near the patio.
The normalcy of it all felt strange considering how quickly the afternoon had changed. Ten minutes ago he’d been standing beside Annie listening to her laugh. Now she was inside the house and Pearline had gone after her wearing the same expression people wore when they already knew trouble was waiting on the other side of a door.
He replayed the last few minutes in his head whether he wanted to or not. Annie’s hand in his. Jada’s voice. The way Annie’s guard went up the moment she understood Jada wasn’t standing there as an old classmate. The look she’d given Pearline afterward stayed with him most. There had been hurt in it. Confusion too. But beneath both sat recognition, like she’d suddenly understood something nobody had bothered to explain to her.
Smoke didn’t know every piece of what had just happened, but he recognized the result. Annie thought he and Jada were together. Not casually seeing each other. Together-together. The certainty settled heavily in his chest because it explained the expression he’d seen on her face before she walked away.
What unsettled him wasn’t that she’d misunderstood the situation.
It was that seeing him with another woman had hurt her at all.
Somebody shoved a plastic cup into his hand.
Stack.
“The good shit,” his brother said before dropping back into his chair.
Smoke glanced down at the bourbon. Aunt Cheryl only brought it out for family and special occasions. Under different circumstances he probably would’ve appreciated it. Instead he took a swallow and tasted almost none of it.
A few minutes later he found himself reaching for a cigarette.
The lighter clicked.
Smoke took a slow drag and watched the front porch through a haze of smoke that did absolutely nothing to settle his nerves.
Beside him, Jada smoothed a hand over her blouse and adjusted her position in the chair.
“Thought you had a showing today.”
The question made her blink. “I did.”
“You said you wasn’t comin’.”
“I changed my mind.”
Smoke nodded once, but his attention had already drifted back toward the house. The answer sat wrong with him for reasons he couldn’t quite explain. She hadn’t called. Hadn’t texted. Some part of him couldn’t stop wondering whether things would’ve unfolded differently if he’d known she was coming. The thought irritated him. Jada hadn’t done anything wrong by showing up to a public cookout. Yet he couldn’t shake the feeling that the afternoon had veered off course the moment she stepped into it.
“You mad I’m here?”
That pulled his attention back to her.
“No.”
The answer came easily because it was mostly true. He wasn’t mad she came. He just couldn’t understand why she hadn’t mentioned it. Over the last year they’d fallen into routines. Nothing serious. Nothing that required explanations. Still, telling somebody you were showing up somewhere after saying you weren’t seemed like information worth sharing.
Jada studied him for a moment. “You ain’t really looked at me since I walked over here.”
The words were light. Teasing. At least they tried to be.
Smoke glanced at her. “What?”
“You keep starin’ at that house.”
His jaw tightened around the cigarette. The expression vanished almost immediately, but not before Jada caught it.
He knew she did. Over the last year she’d gotten good at reading him. Unfortunately, Annie had always been better.
Before Jada could say anything else, Mary wandered over carrying a red cup and entirely too much satisfaction. Stack noticed her at the exact same time.
“There she go.”
Mary rolled her eyes. “Oh Lord.”
“Nah.” Stack pointed directly at her. “Nah. Bring yo’ ass over here.”
Smoke looked between them. Mary suddenly became very interested in her drink. That alone made him suspicious.
“You ain’t change your mind.”
Jada’s eyes flickered. “Elijah—”
“You was already comin’.” The words landed quietly. “You could’ve told me.”
The silence that followed was answer enough.
Something tightened in his chest. He turned his attention to Mary. “What you do?”
“I ain’t do shit.”
“That’s a muthafuckin’ lie.” Stack exclaimed.
“It ain’t.”
Stack laughed. “Jada just magically decided to show up after tellin’ my brother she wasn’t?”
Jada’s head turned. Mary looked away. Smoke’s eyes narrowed. The silence lasted a little too long.
“Mary.”
“I was just talkin’.”
“There it is.” Stack threw his hands up. “There it is right there. That’s the shit I be talkin’ about. You stay runnin’ yo’ fuckin’ mouth.”
Mary looked offended. “How was I supposed to know she’d actually come?”
Stack stared at her. Then at Jada. Then back at Mary. “You serious?”
The pieces settled into place one by one. Smoke looked at Jada. Then Mary. Then back toward the house.
Something tightened in his chest.
Pearline still hadn’t come back outside. The front door remained closed. The upstairs windows remained dark. From where he sat, the entire house looked still. Meanwhile his mind kept returning to Annie’s face. Not the smile she’d forced before excusing herself. The look right before it. The moment she’d looked from Jada to him and then toward Pearline. The hurt in her eyes had been so quick most people probably would’ve missed it.
He hadn’t.
That was the problem. He hadn’t missed any of it. Not the confusion, the disappointment, or the moment it all clicked.
The feeling settled heavy in his stomach because he knew exactly what she’d seen. Maybe not every detail. Maybe not the history. But enough. Enough to think he and Jada were something they weren’t. Enough to believe she’d shown up in Mississippi only to discover he’d moved on.
The thought bothered him more than it should have.
Life kept moving around him, but Smoke couldn’t. Every few seconds his eyes found the house again. The cigarette burned down between his fingers. The bourbon now gone.
Stack watched him do it. Then he sighed. “You need to go talk to her.”
“Pearline with her.”
“For now.”
Smoke leaned back in his chair. “What that supposed to mean?”
“It mean Annie upstairs cussin’ Pearline the fuck out right now.”
Despite everything, a small smile threatened at the corner of his mouth.
Stack pointed toward the house. “You know I’m right.”
Unfortunately, he was.
The smile disappeared as quickly as it came.
Smoke rubbed a hand across his jaw and looked back toward the front door. The longer Annie stayed inside, the worse the feeling became. Something closer to dread. Annie had spent eight years running from difficult conversations. He knew because he’d spent eight years wishing she’d stayed for one.
Then the front door opened.
Every thought in his head disappeared at once.
Annie stepped onto the porch with a suitcase in one hand and a plastic case tucked beneath her arm.
Before he realized what he was doing, Smoke crushed the cigarette beneath his sneaker, set the cup on the nearest table, and started walking.
“Annie.”
Smoke was calling her name halfway across the yard before he realized people were starting to watch. At first it was only a few people. Aunt Cheryl paused beside the grill with the tongs still in her hand. Geneva lowered her cup. Maxine turned away from whatever story she had been telling. Then more heads began to turn because Annie was not exactly subtle carrying a suitcase through the middle of a family cookout, and neither was the look on her face. Even from thirty feet away he could see she had been crying, and the sight settled heavy in his chest before he could prepare himself for it. Pearline had barely made it back onto the porch behind her, wiping at her own face, and Stack was already moving toward her with concern written plainly across his. Whatever had happened upstairs had gone bad enough to leave both women in tears.
Smoke was not surprised. The moment Annie had looked at Jada, then at him, then at Pearline, he had known something was coming. What surprised him was how quickly everything had unraveled. Less than an hour ago she had been laughing beside him beneath the shade tree. Less than thirty minutes ago he had been standing there holding her hand without thinking about it. Now she was heading toward the driveway with a suitcase like she planned on disappearing before sunset, and the familiarity of that made something old and bitter twist inside him. Annie leaving before a conversation could catch her was not new. He knew that move. He had lived with the damage of it for eight years.
“Annie.”
She didn’t stop. The suitcase rolled awkwardly through the grass as she continued toward the driveway, and whether she genuinely hadn’t heard him or was pretending not to hear him didn’t matter. Smoke knew her too well to believe either would be enough to stop him.
“Anissa!”
That stopped her.
When she finally turned around, the look on her face hit him hard. The tears were obvious. The anger was not. That lived deeper, somewhere behind the red eyes and tight jaw, tangled up with something older and far more familiar. It was the same hurt he had caught a glimpse of before she disappeared into the house, only now it wasn’t masked anymore. The music still played behind them. Somebody laughed near the dominoes table before realizing nobody else was laughing. Children ran through the yard with a water guns bigger than them. Life kept trying to continue around them, but Smoke could feel the whole cookout slowly holding its breath.
“Can we talk?”
The laugh that left Annie wasn’t loud, which made it worse. Loud would have been easier. Loud would have given him something obvious to answer. Instead, she sounded tired, like someone who had finally run out of ways to be disappointed.
“Oh, now you wanna talk?”
The words landed uncomfortably because he knew exactly what she meant. Not the sentence itself. The accusation underneath it. When she finally called him after eight years. Eight years of missed conversations and assumptions. Eight years of silence neither one of them had been able to outrun.
Smoke opened his mouth, but Annie was already shaking her head.
“No. Don’t do that.”
His brow furrowed. “Do what?”
“Act like this ain’t exactly what you wanted.”
Confusion flashed across his face before frustration followed close behind it. “What the hell are you talkin’ about?”
Annie stared at him as though she couldn’t decide whether he was lying or genuinely that oblivious. Then she laughed again, wiped angrily at her face, and pulled something from beneath her arm and threw it at him. The plastic case struck his chest hard enough that instinct took over before thought could. Smoke caught it automatically and looked down. For a moment, he didn’t understand what he was holding. Then his eyes moved over the case, the handwriting, the familiar shape of something he had once given her in another lifetime, and it dawned on him slowly.
Annie pointed toward it before he could speak.
“I made that for you.”
Smoke looked down at the plastic case.
The words came out sharper than she probably intended, not because she was trying to hurt him, but because she was already hurting and had nowhere else to put it.
“I spent two damn weeks makin’ that.” Annie laughed. The sound was ugly. “Ain’t that some shit?”
She wiped angrily at her face. “I’m twenty-five years old makin’ a mixtape.” Annie shook her head. “I brought it all the way from North Carolina.”
Her voice dropped. “I brought it because some stupid part of me thought…” The sentence died there.
Annie laughed again. “Never mind.”
Around them the cookout had grown noticeably quieter. Smoke was aware enough that Aunt Cheryl was no longer pretending to focus on the grill. Geneva had stopped mid-conversation and Maxine stood beside her with her mouth pressed into a tight line. He was aware enough that Mary suddenly looked like she regretted every decision she had made that afternoon, and Jada had gone completely still in her chair. Annie didn’t seem to notice any of them, or maybe she did and simply couldn’t bring herself to care.
“Go ’head,” she said, gesturing vaguely toward the backyard. “Maybe you and your girlfriend can listen to it together.”
Smoke’s jaw tightened immediately. “Jada ain’t my girlfriend.”
The look Annie gave him was so full of disbelief it almost would’ve been funny under different circumstances. “Please.”
“Please what?”
“Don’t.”
He took a step closer. “Don’t do that.”
The hurt in her face deepened, and Smoke knew before she even spoke that whatever came next had been sitting inside her for years.
“Oh, now we don’t wanna do that?”
The memory hit him before he could stop it. The conversation. The frustration. The moment he had shut something down instead of opening it, thinking silence would keep them from making things worse. Annie saw the recognition cross his face and nodded once, her eyes shining with a kind of hurt that made his stomach tighten.
“What happened to ‘we ain’t doin’ that, huh?’”
This time there was no laughter in her voice. No sarcasm either. Just eight years of hurt finally finding somewhere to go. Around them, the cookout kept trying and failing to pretend nothing was happening. Aunt Cheryl had completely abandoned the grill now. Geneva stood beside her with one hand pressed against her chest. Across the yard, Stack had reached Pearline and was asking questions she clearly was not answering. Even the dominoes game had stopped, the players still seated around the table with untouched tiles between them.
Annie wiped angrily at her face again and shook her head. The tequila had blurred the edges of her embarrassment enough to make honesty feel easier than silence, but Smoke could see the cost of it. She looked exposed. Furious about it. Hurt because of it. Still, she stood there with the suitcase in one hand and the rest of the cookout watching while years of silence crowded up behind her.
“You know what pisses me off the most?”
Smoke didn’t answer. The question felt rhetorical.
“Everybody knew but me.”
The words hung there longer than Annie intended. Once they left her mouth she couldn’t take them back. It felt like saying them out loud made the humiliation feel real in a way it hadn’t five minutes ago. She looked past Smoke toward the crowd gathered behind him. Pearline stood beside Stack with red eyes and a guilty expression. Aunt Cheryl had completely abandoned the grill. Geneva looked like she was debating whether to intervene or pray.
Everybody.
Everybody had apparently known except the one person standing in the middle of it.
“Pearline knew. Stack knew. Mary’s ass obviously knew.”
“Why I gotta be in this?” Mary called from somewhere behind Smoke.
“Cause yo’ ass always in everythin’.”
The response came from so many directions at once that a brief burst of laughter rippled through the yard before disappearing just as quickly. Annie wasn’t laughing. The knot in her chest had only grown tighter. Every time she replayed the afternoon in her head she found something new to be embarrassed about. Every conversation. Every look. Every moment she’d spent thinking she was simply reconnecting with old friends while apparently everybody else was aware of something she wasn’t.
“I spent all day lookin’ stupid.”
“You wasn’t lookin’ stupid.”
The answer came immediate. Too immediate. Annie laughed and pointed at him. “There you go.”
Smoke frowned. “There I go what?”
“That thing you do.”
“What thing?”
“When I tell you somethin’ and you decide it ain’t true just ‘cause you don’t like hearin’ it.”
His jaw tightened. “Annie—”
“No.” Her voice cracked hard enough that she hated it. “You asked to talk. So let’s talk.”
The yard went quiet again. Annie looked at him for a long moment before shaking her head. “You know what makes this shit worse?”
Smoke waited.
Annie laughed without humor and glanced toward Jada. “Her.”
Jada visibly stiffened.
“Annie—”
“No. Cause ain’t nobody finna sit here and act confused.”
The alcohol had long since stopped making her feel better. Now it was just making honesty easier.
“Outta everybody, Elijah?” Her eyes landed on Jada again. “Her?”
Smoke frowned. “What that supposed to mean?”
Annie laughed. “See? That’s exactly what I mean.” She wiped at her face. “You ain’t even know.”
The words weren’t really directed at him anymore. “You never paid attention to none of that.”
Smoke’s brow furrowed deeper.
Annie shook her head. Her laugh sounded tired. “Why would you?”
The alcohol was doing most of the talking now. Not enough to make her incoherent. Just enough to lower every wall she’d spent years building.
“You don’t know what it felt like bein’ around her.”
Jada stiffened slightly.
Annie noticed. But kept going anyway. “Maybe she didn’t do nothin’. Maybe it was all in my head.” The words sounded doubtful even to her. “But every time she walked into a room, I felt it.”
She looked back at Smoke. “And now I come back home and find out you’re with her?”
The question hung between them.
For a while Annie wanted it to be about Jada. Wanted to be able to point at one woman and blame her for the way her chest hurt. But the longer she stood there, the harder it became to pretend Jada was the real problem.
Jada had simply been the thing that cracked everything open.
The hurt and the truth sat somewhere deeper than that.
The real truth was that seeing Elijah with anybody would’ve hurt. Him being happy and moving on with anybody else would’ve hurt. Seeing him living a life that no longer had room for her would’ve hurt.
Nobody spoke or moved. Everyone seemed to understand at the same time that Annie and Smoke were no longer talking about Jada, or the cookout, or the mixtape in his hand. They had moved backward without warning. Back into the years nobody in that yard had been able to touch for them.
Annie laughed again and shook her head. “You know what North Carolina was like?”
The question caught him off guard. For the first time since she had walked out of the house, uncertainty crossed his face because the answer was no. He didn’t know. Not really. He knew where she had lived. He knew the city she moved to. He knew she had graduated. He knew random pieces gathered over the years through social media, mutual friends, and accidental conversations he pretended not to care about. But he didn’t know what it had been like. Not the real version.
Annie looked away briefly before looking back at him. “I hated it.”
Smoke felt something in his chest twist because that was not what he had expected her to say.
“I hated every fuckin’ minute of it.” Her voice shook now, but she did not look away again. “I didn’t know nobody. I didn’t have Pearline, Aunt Cheryl, Stack. I didn’t have…”
She stopped long enough to swallow, and when she looked directly at him, the rest of the yard seemed to fade around them.
“I didn’t have you.”
Smoke wasn’t prepared for that. He had spent eight years telling himself she had moved forward because that was the only way to make sense of the silence. Annie in North Carolina had become a version of her he could survive imagining. Busy. Happy. Adjusting. Growing into a life that no longer had space for him. But standing in front of him now with tears on her face and a suitcase in her hand, she was telling him something completely different, and the new version did not fit into any of the places he had built for the old one.
For a moment Annie saw it.
Really saw it.
The years she had spent imagining Elijah untouched by her absence suddenly felt less certain. She could see the hurt sitting on him now. Not fresh hurt. Old hurt. The kind people carried so long they stopped noticing the weight of it.
And yet none of it changed what came next. Because understanding that he suffered wasn’t the same thing as knowing he had.
Annie laughed and immediately seemed to hate the sound of it.
Smoke blinked.
“So what, Elijah?”
The use of his name landed exactly the way she intended it to. A warning.
“You think I was supposed to know that?” she asked, pointing at him. “You think I knew what the hell you was feelin’?”
His jaw tightened. “You ain’t ask.”
“Neither did you.”
Stack looked away. Pearline closed her eyes. Smoke felt the hit land exactly where she meant for it to, and the worst part was that she wasn’t wrong.
Annie wiped at her face again and shook her head, her voice breaking around the edges as the anger started turning into something less controlled.
“You keep standin’ here talkin’ like I wasn’t alone. You think I wasn’t drivin’ around a city I ain’t know? You think I wasn’t callin’ Pearline cryin’? You think I wasn’t sittin’ in my mama’s house every holiday wishin’ I was home?”
Smoke’s expression switched before he could stop it, and Annie saw it. Good, her face seemed to say. Let him hear it.
“You keep talkin’ like I chose all this.” The tears were coming faster now, and she stopped trying to hide them. “I was seventeen. I was seventeen, Elijah. I was a kid. I was scared!”
Smoke closed his eyes briefly, and Annie saw that too. Saw the way his face tightened. Saw something flicker across it before disappearing again. For the first time since this started, she understood that he was not angry because he did not care. He was angry because he did. Maybe because he always had. The answer should have made her feel better. Instead, it seemed to make her furious because if that was true, then eight years suddenly felt even more unnecessary.
“You know what I kept waitin’ on?” she asked.
Smoke didn’t answer.
“I kept waitin’ on you.”
Even Mary looked stunned by that. Annie looked away as soon as the words came out, embarrassment crawling up her throat too late to stop anything now. “I kept thinkin’ maybe one day you’d show up. Maybe one day you’d come get me.”
Smoke stared at her, and the disbelief moved across his face before he could hide it. It wasn’t that he didn’t believe she had waited. He couldn’t believe what she had been waiting for. Annie saw it. Saw exactly what he was thinking. Something passed between them then, heavy and terrible, and for the first time since she got off the plane, Annie looked like she was realizing neither of them had been waiting for the same thing. Neither of them had been telling themselves the same story.
Smoke stood there for several seconds without speaking. He could still hear the cookout somewhere around them. A baby started crying near the patio before someone scooped them up and carried them away. Music drifted from the speakers like it belonged to another yard entirely. Aunt Cheryl probably still standing beside that grill, food getting colder by the minute, but none of it felt real anymore. The only thing that felt real was Annie standing in front of him talking about waiting as though he had simply let her go without trying.
“You waited on me?”
The question came out quieter than he intended.
Annie laughed bitterly. “Yeah.”
Smoke looked away, dragging a hand across his jaw while the hurt he had been holding onto all afternoon changed into something sharper and older. Nothing about this conversation was unfolding the way he had imagined. Not once. Not in eight years. Not today. Not now.
“Annie…” His voice cracked slightly, not enough for most people to notice, but enough for Stack to notice. Enough for Pearline. Enough for Smoke himself. “You think I wasn’t tryin’?”
The confusion on Annie’s face stopped him cold. For a second neither of them moved, and then Smoke realized she genuinely didn’t know. She had never looked more honest or more confused, and the sight twisted painfully in his chest.
“You think I just let you go?”
Annie opened her mouth, then closed it.
“I called you every fuckin’ day.”
The words left him before he could stop them. Annie blinked once, then again, and the color seemed to drain from her face in real time.
“What?”
Smoke laughed, but the sound came out broken. “I called you every day.”
The memory came back all at once. His room. The phone. The ringing. The waiting. The voicemail. Again and again and again until the sound became part of the shape of those months. “I called so much my mama started askin’ if I was goin’ to pay the phone bill.”
The crowd around them seemed to understand at the same time that they were no longer listening to an argument. They were watching two people discover that they had lived through entirely different versions of the same heartbreak.
Smoke couldn’t stop now. Not after eight years. Not after hearing Annie say she had waited. “I wrote you.”
Annie stared at him. “What?”
“I wrote you.” His jaw tightened because the word sounded ridiculous now. Ancient and pathetic and still true. “Letters. Birthday cards. Christmas cards. I sent every fuckin’ thing I could think of.”
Annie looked like she had forgotten how to breathe. Smoke noticed. He simply could not stop anyway.
“You think I was sittin’ around muthafuckin Mississippi havin’ the time of my fuckin’ life?” His voice rose for the first time, not much, but enough. “You think I wasn’t lookin’ and waitin’ for you?”
Fresh tears started slipping down Annie’s face, confused now more than angry. Smoke saw them and kept going because the truth had finally cracked open, and if he stopped now, he was not sure he would ever say it again.
“Then one day you stopped answerin’.” His voice dropped again, the sentence wounded in a way anger could not cover. “You stopped callin’ back.”
Annie shook her head slowly like she could not understand what he was saying. “I never—”
“Yeah.” Smoke laughed again, rougher this time. “That’s what I thought too.”
For the first time all afternoon, fear appeared in Annie’s eyes. Not fear of him, but fear of the possibility that something had happened neither of them knew about, because suddenly neither version of the story made sense. Smoke could see her realizing it at the same time he was.
“I never got them.” Her voice was so quiet he almost missed it. “I never got those letters.”
Smoke stared at her, then slowly shook his head. “Yeah, you did.”
“No, I didn’t.”
“You had to.”
“Elijah, I didn’t.”
The certainty in her voice chipped away at some of his anger. Not enough to erase it, but enough to confuse it. Annie wiped at her face, looking younger somehow. “My mama would’ve gave ’em to me.”
Smoke looked away because maybe she was right. Maybe she wasn’t. But the problem was that the possibility didn’t change what those years had felt like from his side.
“I called,” he said, quieter now.
“I know.”
“No.” He shook his head. “You don’t.”
At first she answered. He remembered that part too clearly. The strange phone calls where neither one of them knew how to speak naturally anymore but tried anyway. The pauses. The awkward laughs. The ache that settled in his chest every time they hung up. Annie remembered too; he saw it in the way her eyes closed briefly, the way guilt moved across her face before she could hide it.
“You answered,” he said. “Then you got busy. Then you started callin’ back less.”
The silence that followed was answer enough.
“One day I realized I was the only one still callin’.”
Annie flinched. The movement was small, but Smoke saw it, and some wounded part of him was glad she did. He still remembered exactly what that had felt like.
“I wasn’t doin’ it on purpose,” she said.
The defense sounded weak the second it left her mouth. Not because it was not true, but because the truth of it did not undo the damage. Smoke nodded slowly.
“I know.”
Annie frowned. “You know?”
“Yeah.” He looked at her for a long moment, and the anger she seemed to expect was not there anymore. “I know. You was seventeen. You was scared. You was in a new place. You was tryin’ to figure shit out.”
For a second she could not breathe because he was not describing her now. He was describing the girl she had been. The girl he had somehow understood all along. Then his eyes met hers again, and the hurt surfaced in him fully.
“And I knew every one of them reasons,” he said. “But they ain’t stop the shit from hurtin’.”
Everyone remained where they were. The whole yard seemed to understand that this was no longer an argument. This was grief. Eight years of it standing in the middle of Aunt Cheryl’s backyard.
“I kept makin’ excuses for you,” Smoke said, and the confession seemed to surprise even him. Annie’s face crumpled immediately, but he kept going. “I told myself you was busy. I told myself school was hard. I told myself you’d call tomorrow. And then eventually I had to stop tellin’ myself that shit.”
Annie had no answer for that. For the first time since she walked out of the house, she seemed unable to find one. The tequila was not helping her anymore. Whatever warm numbness she had been chasing upstairs had disappeared completely, leaving every emotion exposed and every memory sharper than before. She hated that everyone was watching and seeing her crying. Hated that Elijah was standing in front of her looking just as miserable as she felt. Most of all, she hated that some part of her believed him, because believing him changed things. Not everything, but enough.
“You could’ve came.”
The words left her before she could stop them. Smoke blinked, and Annie immediately looked away because the sentence sounded childish now. Stupid. Still, it was true. It had always been true.
“You could’ve came and got me,” she said, the hurt returning instantly, seventeen-year-old hurt and twenty-five-year-old hurt all tangled together. “You knew where I was.”
Smoke stared at her until the confusion on his face slowly gave way to recognition. Now he understood what she had been waiting for, and somehow that broke his heart worse than anything else she had said.
“You wanted me to come get you?”
Annie laughed through her tears, the sound cracking halfway out. “I don’t know. I just…” She shook her head, struggling to organize a truth that had probably never made sense outside her own chest. “I thought if you loved me bad enough, you’d come.”
The confession settled over them with the weight of something painfully young. Childish. Seventeen. The impossible expectation people place on love when they are too young to understand that love still requires words. The belief that if something is real enough, the other person will somehow know exactly what to do.
Smoke dragged a hand across his face, looking exhausted in a way that had nothing to do with the hour or the heat. “Annie,” he said, barely above a murmur. “I was seventeen too.”
The words hit her harder than anything else he had said. In every version of the story she had told herself, Elijah had always seemed older somehow. Stronger. More certain. More capable of handling things. But he was right—he had been seventeen too. Just as lost. Just as scared. Just as heartbroken.
“You keep talkin’ like I knew what to do.” Smoke laughed once, no humor in it, and a few people actually smiled despite themselves because it sounded like him. Real. Unfiltered. “I didn’t know shit. I didn’t know how to fix shit.” His eyes found hers again.
“I didn’t know how to make you stay.”
The tears Annie had finally gotten under control started again because none of this was supposed to happen. She was supposed to come home, see old friends, survive one awkward conversation with Elijah, and go back to North Carolina pretending she had finally moved on. Instead she was standing in the middle of a backyard realizing neither one of them ever really had.
For one impossible moment, it felt like they were seventeen again. Not because anything had been repaired, but because they were staring at each other with the same unfinished ache they had carried out of high school and into adulthood, and neither one of them seemed to know what to do with it now that it had finally been named.
Then Smoke broke eye contact, and Annie watched something change in his face. The softness that had been there moments earlier slowly disappeared beneath something older and far more dangerous. The understanding faded next, followed by the grief that had kept his anger tempered throughout most of the conversation. What remained was not rage. It was exhaustion. The kind that settled deep inside a person after carrying the same hurt for so long it stopped feeling separate from them.
Smoke looked at her for a long moment before finally shaking his head.
“You keep talkin’ like I left you.”
The words were not loud, and that made them worse. Annie froze because for the first time all afternoon, she was not sure what her response was supposed to be. Smoke laughed once under his breath and looked away, but nothing was funny. After everything they had just said, he still couldn’t believe they were standing here having this conversation.
“You keep tellin’ this story like I walked away.”
Annie opened her mouth, but nothing came out.
Smoke looked back at her. His eyes were red now too, though she was not sure when that had happened. “You talk about North Carolina. You talk about missin’ me. You talk about waitin’.” He shook his head, his voice steady in a way that made every word harder to hear. “But every version of this story end the same.”
Annie tightened her grip around the suitcase handle.
“You leave.”
Smoke didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t even sound angry. If anything, the absence of anger made the words harder to hear. They landed between them with the weight of something he had repeated to himself so many times it no longer felt like an opinion. To him it was simply fact. Annie left. Everything else had happened afterward.
“You leave,” he said again. “You stop answerin’. You stop callin’.”
Annie shook her head immediately. “It wasn’t like that.”
Smoke laughed, and the sound broke halfway through. “See?” His eyes closed briefly. “That’s what I’m talkin’ about.”
Tears gathered again, blurring Annie’s vision. “I was seventeen.”
“SO WAS I!!!!!”
The response came so quickly it startled both of them. Years of hurt sat between them, heavier than anything either one had said before. Smoke dragged a hand across his face and looked away toward the house, toward the trees, toward anywhere but her. When he spoke again, his voice sounded rougher.
“Do you know what the fucked up part is?”
Nobody moved. Nobody interrupted. Stack stood beside Pearline with one hand hovering near her back. Aunt Cheryl had lowered her eyes. Mary had finally stopped fidgeting. Jada sat very still, watching a man she knew in one way grieve a girl he had clearly known in another.
Smoke looked back at Annie, and whatever she saw in his face made her stomach drop.
“All these years…” His voice cracked once before he caught it. “…I thought you knew.”
Annie stared at him.
Smoke laughed again, but this time there was nothing left in it to protect him. “I thought you knew how much I fuckin’ love you.”
The tears hit Annie instantly. Hot. Merciless. Impossible to stop. Smoke nodded slowly, like he had known this was going to hurt them both before he ever said it.
“And somehow…” He swallowed hard, his eyes never leaving hers. “…you still look at me like I’m the one who left.”
The silence that followed didn’t t feel empty. It felt full of every year they had spent telling themselves stories that only held up because the other person had not been there to challenge them. Nobody spoke.
Annie stared at Smoke, and Smoke stared back, and for the first time since she came home, she realized she had absolutely no idea what happens next.
End Note: I promise we are almost done....cause I can't take it. But let me know what you think in the comments, please! I love every one of your thoughts. 💜
and if i said this is my favorite painting i’ve ever made to date 🫣 i’m in love with how this @wunmimosaku piece turned out and i had so much fun making it! ⋆˙⟡ #explorepage #blackartwork #acrylicpainting #fineart #sinners
Summary: Failed relationships make Elijah and Annie throw themselves into work, not leaving much room for anything else. A failed delivery leads them to each other, and an instant attraction makes them question themselves.
CW: Modern AU, explicit language, use of the n-word, mentions of parental loss, mentions of childhood trauma, mentions of DV
Pairings: Smoke x Annie with a little Stack x OC
AO3 Link
Part One- Lost In Transit
Part Two- Resolution
Part Three- Clarity
Part Four- Assistance
Spent some time plotting the next few chapters of the fic and decided to make this! Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoy!
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