Solana’s glazed eyes roll back and her stomach caves inward as she arches her back off the mattress. Her fingers dig into said mattress, fisting the sheets with an unforgiving grip that’s similair to the unforgiving waves of pleasure rolling throughout her entire body.

“Roman.”

His name falling from his wife’s parted lips force Roman to rip his enchanted gaze from the motion of her big, soft breasts jutting back and forth from the intensity of his thrust to the way she writhes in visible, obvious pleasure on the bed underneath him.

It makes his dick twitch, thick pink tongue dipping from his mouth and running over his bottom lip. Makes his next thrust hit harder and dig deeper. A goal achieved when the sweet, beautiful sound of her whimpers intensify. Pleasing a woman sexually has never really been an issue for Roman. Nothing he worried about because countless experience and ratings of 10/10 across the board all but prevented any sort of insecurity in that area.

In almost all areas of his life.

But Solana has always been the exception.

From the moment she sat on his lap in that restaurant what feels like a century ago, pressed her lips together, pretty eyes dipping as she powered through nerves to issue her request, she’s been his priority.

Her pleasure has been her priority. He’s only ever wanted to make her feel good. 

Most especially in the bedroom. 

With everything she’s been through, she deserves that and everything more.

So to see her eyes clench shut, to feel her slick walls gripping his dick, and to watch the way she writhes with an insatiable hunger, it’s nothing short of fuel. A drug he can’t get enough of and would gladly overdose on if it means he can spend the rest of his life being with her like this.

Being in her like this.

His eyes flick down to where their bodies connect, his breath catching as the glimpse of his dick coated white, her cream gushing and dripping from her tight ass pussy. “Shit, baby,” he groans. “You creaming all over me.” He’s rewarded with another moan that brings about a smug smirk. “C’mon, sweetheart. You know I like words.”

She groans through a closed mouth, the scowl on her face making his smirk deepen. It’s seeing the way she shifts her hands to her chest, the arch in her back depending as her hands graze over and gently squeeze her breast, however, that make his breath hitch.

Triggers an idea.

“But you know what I like more?” Roman smooths his hands up and down her hips as her eyes flutter open, reflecting a haze of lust. She’s visibly dazed, mouth partially ajar, and dark eyebrows caving inward. 

“Ro—”

His name abruptly lost in the quick motion of him switching their positions. It’s suddenly Roman whose back is against their soft, dark sheets and the sight of his wife upward instead of downward. He glides his hand to the back of her ass, as her own plant on his chest. Not once does his dick slip out, instead still seated inside her warmth. Her eyes latch onto his. “Papi watching his pretty girl on top.”

Solana’s swollen lips—still puffy from the way they made out fiercely during foreplay that only lasted a couple of minutes before her palm was smeared with his cum as she stroked his dick to life—lift into a small smile.

She says something in Spanish as he glides his hands to the front of her, traveling up and over the folds of her stomach, her head nodding back when she starts to grind on top of him.

His pupils dilate and his jaw clenches at the feel of her nails pressing into his abs and then his own hands when she travels the length of his long arms and cages his palms against her heavy breasts. Roman finds it impossible to not buck his hips to fuck up into her, especially when the first assisted thrust makes her mouth drop open and her eyes flutter once more.

It’s also impossible to look away from her, for him to not soak in the sight that can cure and heal him on even the roughest of days. 

Like those days, more often than not, that he still can’t comprehend just how the hell they ended up with seven children in under eight years. Two sets of twins, at that. With several of said kids being only a year and some change apart in age. For a man a few years shy of fifty, even with his wife being a decade younger than him, it blows his fucking mind.

But then she does that thing she does. Like she’s doing now. Where she either willingly slides herself on top of his dick or allows him to position her to where she should never leave. Moves and gyrates sensually and slowly, sometimes leaning back just enough so his eyes travel up the slope of her thick ass body and grant him the perfect view of her glistening, fat pussy lips swallowing and dripping over his big dick while she bounces up and down. Spelling her name and claiming what will always be hers.

And he gets it.

Understands fully how and why they ended up with seven kids. 

Solana’s moans and whimpers amplify as her intensify subsides just enough to let him know she’s close. He can feel it in the way her pussy is clamping and fluttering around him. The bed rocks and trembles under the intensity of their sweet, sensual, steamy lovemaking. A silent witness to the most carnal of acts over the years.

“You gon’ come for me, pretty girl?” He’s rewarded with an enthusiastic nod of her head as he gently squeezes her big ass titties, weighing heavy in his palms despite her own braced on his thighs as she continues to ride him. “Gon’ let papi fill—”

“Mommy. Daddy. We’re bored. Can you play—”

The intensity of the scream of horror that erupts from Solana’s mouth is matched only by the way she quickly scrambles to move off of Roman who hisses a quiet, “shit” that’s easily drowned under the sound of the additional set of screams. Screams from the faces of their three oldest children who stand in the doorway with ajar mouths. 

Lina, Leya, and Tama. Eyes as wide as saucers. Lina being the one to shove her siblings out of the way as they slam the door shut.

The minute it’s closed, however, the panic doesn’t end.

It only begins.

“Roman!” She shouts from the side of the bed, face flustered, sheet covering her body sweaty body. “I thought I told you to lock the door!”

“I did!” He shouts, running a hand through his hair, damp at the roots from his exertion. “That damn Lina must have picked the fucking lock.”

“Oh my God,” she breathes, one hand over her mouth. “That didn’t just happen." He can't tell if she's talking to him, herself, or them both. Though, in all honestly, it doesn't make much of a difference. They didn’t just walk in on us having sex.”

“Pretty sure they did,” he mutters, falling back on the bed, eyes shut. His head is suddenly pounding and the neglected pressure and weight of his still fully erect dick is a pain he can’t ignore but is forced to. 

“I can’t believe this is happening.”

“It did.”

“We’ve traumatized them.”

“Sol, that’s a bit fucking dramatic.”

She gasps, one hand over her mouth. Her voice is muffled against her palm but audible, nonetheless. “They’re never going to be the same.”

“We already have them in therapy. They’ll be alright.” His shrug and perhaps dismissive comment earns him a glare that makes him roll his eyes. “Baby, come on. It’s not great, but it’s not the worse thing ever.” Surely. Surely, there are many other things he can list off the top of his head that could forever scar his children. 

This isn’t one of them. 

“But you know what does fucking suck?” She frowns, and he gestures to his lap, the outline of his big dick and wet spot where cum is smeared against the sheets stare back at them. “Being so close to feeling that pretty puss—”

“Roman.” She closes her eyes and runs her hand through her blown out hair. He can’t help the way his eyes drop to her chest, the outline of her chocolate nipples through the thin sheet making his mouth water and cock twitch. “Really?”

He shrugs once more, unsure where the issue lies, hence his blunt explanation. “We might as well finish—” Solana’s fist colliding with his bicep, however, silences him. 

“Roman!”

“What?” He cuts his eyes, running his hand down his face. What’s done is done. What harm is there in them both finding their release before they tackle the fallout this….incident will have caused. 

But it seems Solana isn’t seeing it that way. 

Her pretty eyes narrow into slits that draw his gaze away from her big ass titties he’d much rather have in his mouth right now. “Our seven and six year old children just walked in on us having sex, and all you can think about is resuming?”

Perhaps he should consider his answer before providing it, but in this moment, he can’t think of any other response than what’s provided in the most casual of tones.

“Well, yes.”

It’s the wrong answer. 

Solana punches and shoves at him once, twice, three times before she stands up from the bed, ranting in Spanish the entire time, the sound of the bathroom door slamming as he closes his eyes and curses lowly. 

“Baby, was that a no?”

“ROMAN!”

Not a word is said. The only sound that fills the Reigns family living room is the volume of the TV turned low and Dulce in the corner playing with one of her squeaky toys, turned away from the unexpected emergency family meeting.

Lina, Leya, and Tama all sit on one sofa. The oldest with her hands squeezing the edge of the sofa. Tama kicking his legs up and down. Leya holding onto her latest Build-A-Bear that Roman gifted her when he took the girls out two weekends ago so that Solana could spend time with the boys. 

Meanwhile, Solana sits next to her husband who is leaned back into the sofa with his arms crossed. A position that indicates a level of nonchalance that’s the polar opposite of his wife who is perched on the edge of the sofa, hands folded gracefully on her knees.

“Well.” She eventually clears her throat, kickstarting the conversation no parent ever wants to have. “I know….I know you guys must have questions.”

Of course they do. At seven and six, the oldest set of kids, coined the OG’s of their siblings, are never short of questions to issue to one or both parents. Leya being the exception. She’s not as vocal as her siblings, often preferring to ask hers in the form of little notes, diary entries, and whispers that follow the tug of a sleeve. 

She’s like Solana. Quiet and reserved.

Lina and Tama couldn’t be any more opposite.

The eldest boy the first to ask, continuing to kick, his eyes ever so often drifting to the TV. “What were you doing?” 

It’s only one of many questions to follow, however, as Lina purses her lips together. She reaches to push back a curl that’s just one of several to slip out of the bun she did herself this morning, wanting to try to do her hair on her own. A valiant effort with a subpar outcome. “And why were you guys naked?”

“Are all your clothes dirty, mami?” 

“Did the clothes fairy take all your clothes?”

“Is it because we’re poor now?”

“Fucking hell,” Roman curses lowly. Solana subtly shifts her right thigh into his leg, the closest thing she can do without actually shoving him in front of their children who are hitting them with a number and variety of questions they weren’t fully prepared for. Obviously. “No, we’re not poor, son.” 

“Babies.” Solana manages a small smile despite the way her stomach is in knots and has been in knots from the moment the door opened and revealed her in the midst of….riding. “Mommy and daddy…..we…..well, we were playing a game.”

Lina tilts her head to the side, and Tama frowns, as if not following. Leya is the only one who’s remained silent, allowing her siblings to be her voice as she gently caresses the lilac mane of her stuffed animal. “Is that why you were sitting on top of daddy?”

Solana feels like her body is on fire. Like she accidentally hit the heat on the thermostat this morning instead of the AC. She can only imagine how flustered and reddened her face must be.

This is a mess.

“Yes,” she manages. How? She hasn’t the slightest clue. Similar to how she’s not entirely sure how to explain said game to her children who haven’t even hit double digits yet.

“What’s the game called?”

Thankfully, a lifeline is thrown as Roman decided to enter the discussion, saving his wife from Lina’s follow-up. “It’s not for kids.”

Tama’s frown deepens at the answer, his confusion written all over his adorable face. At six, he still holds a level of baby fat. Chubby cheeks and thicker limbs with a head full of hair and the best hugs for his mama. “The game is called It’s Not For Kids?”

Roman leans forward and shakes his head. “No, I’m saying the game we were playing isn’t for kids.”

Lina tilts her head to the side. “How come?”

“We’ll tell you when you’re older.”

“How old?”

“Very old.”

“Like you?”

Roman opens his mouth, clearly to say some smart shit back to his smartass son only to quickly pivot. He looks over at his wife, his deep voice gruff and almost murmured, “don’t ask me to have no more goddamn kids.”

“Roman.”

Lina giggles. From a baby, she’s always been most entertained by Roman’s potty mouth. He’d be going off on someone over the phone as the girls sat with him in his office, in their matching bouncers, because they’ve always wanted to be by him, and she’d be smiling and babbling away. What he always feared causing them to fear him has always been the side of him that Lina especially has found most entertaining. “Daddy, you said a bad word.”

“It’s cause he’s old,” Tama supplies, leaning over and grabbing his feet as he explains to his sisters, “uncle Dwayne said old people can say bad words.” 

Lina nods with agreement, as if the explanation unlocked the part of her brain that’d temporarily forgotten such important information. “That’s why mommy doesn’t say bad words. Cause she’s not old.”

Roman, however, has shifted from one question to another, finally landing on the one that’s the most pressing following their short exchange. He frowns. “How old do ya’ll think I am?”

Tama doesn’t miss a beat answering with a straight face and utmost confidence. “105.”

Solana’s quiet gasp beside him is only partially registered as his eyes widen. “A hundred—” Roman runs his hand over his face, stroking at his beard he’s almost certain is going to be entirely white before the end of this conversation. “Both of ya’ll asses are getting taken out my will.”

“Roman!”

“What’s a will?”

“Something only you will be in, Leya,” he answers with an abundance of ease. At this point, her spot is guaranteed. Aria, Nick, Koa, and Kai as well, too. But these other two hellion children of his?

Yeah, they can be taken care of by Solana’s side of the family.

“The point here,” Solana steps in, stressing the word ‘point’ and clearly wanting to get things back on track. She reaches over, hand on his knee, smile directed towards the sources of the headache Roman can feel brewing. It started when he was so fucking close to coming all in his wife until they decided to be fucking cock blockers. “—is that mommy and daddy were doing what mommies and daddies do, and it’s not for kids, but we’re sorry that you saw us.”

Leya hugs her stuffed animal closer, deciding to break the silence she’s always comfortable sat in, even from the moment she said her first word. Roman and Solana have always said Leya rests in the quiet because she knows her twin will always fill it for her. For both of them. And God has that been the truth.

“Is that the game that makes babies?”

Still reeling from his disrespectful ass children’s ridiculous ass belief regarding his age, Roman is only somewhat paying attention to Leya's question that has Solana looking, once again, like a deer in headlights.

“Umm,” she starts, engaging in the quickest creation, navigation, and finalization of a mental pros and cons list that one can mentally conjure in such a do or die moment. “Y—yes. It—it is.” 

Tama’s face settles into a scowl that is reminiscent, once more, of his father who sits across from him wearing the same expression. A mirror. “You and daddy play the game a lot.”

“Is that why you have so many babies, mami?”

“She’s not having any more. I can tell you that much.”

“Roman, please,” Solana hisses, casting him a quick side glare and widening of her eyes that nonverbally implores some sort of request for cooperation vs sabotage. 

“But you were just playing it.”

“It doesn’t always make a baby, Lina.” Solana explains, reviving her smile and resisting the urge to elbow her unhelpful husband. “Just….sometimes.”

“Well, how do you—”

“Look,” Roman cuts in. The shift in his voice, deeper and with a hint of irritation, draws the focus of his kids and his wife. “The deal is this. When your mom and I are in the room with the door closed and especially with it locked, you guys aren’t to come in. We told you before we went upstairs we were going to be busy and to knock if you needed something.” Tama opens his mouth, hence Roman lifting his hand to silence what he already has a rebuttal for. “You guys wanted something. You didn’t need anything, and I don’t know how the hell you can get bored when we got this big ass house and there’s three of you.”

“Your dad is right, babies.” Solana sighs. She runs her thumb over Roman’s knee, adopting a perhaps gentler approach to what is an undisputed truth. “Your bothers and sisters are down for naps. I fixed you lunch not even an hour ago and made snacks. You didn’t really need us.”

“But beyond that—” Roman gestures between the terror non-twins with his index finger. “Ya’ll gotta stop with this picking the locks shit. I get that you were young when you first stated doing it and didn’t really know better, but you guys are older and should know better by now.” He focuses his gaze especially on the eldest of his unruly children. “And I know it was you who taught your brother and sister.”

More Tama than Leya being the student, because Roman has no doubt the most well behaved of his offspring has never utilized any of the criminal like behavior taught by her sister. She’s always just been an innocent bystander. An unwilling accomplice.

Confronted with a truth she can’t deny, Lina instead pouts and crosses her arms. “But I already showed Aria and Nic!“

“You what?” And just like that, Roman’s blood pressure shoots up once more. Or maybe it’s just been up since the kids walked in on them and is just reaching levels previously unknown. “They’re only 2 and 3. How the hell did you—”

“Well, don’t teach or show them any more, okay?” Solana forces a smile and lifts her hand to caress the back of Roman’s neck, fingers brushing against the soft curls and making gentle circular motions near his scalp. A small, subtle but helpful act that always helps to calm him down, which is evidently needed given these damn kids are two more questions or statements away from giving him a stroke. 

Tama is the first to fold, giving a dramatic sigh while looking at Sol. “Okay, mami.” 

“I won’t do it anymore,” Lina also concedes, shoulders dropping as Leya reaches over to take her hand, offering a small smile.

It’s a sweet gesture, but Roman is still confused. “Now why the hell couldn’t ya’ll just listen when I sa—”

A semi loud buzzing sound redirects focus and causes Solana’s hand to drop from its soothing position to lean over and grab her phone. Roman peers down as she taps her fingers quickly and pulls up a familiar screen. The app that connects to the baby monitors in all of the younger kids rooms. The inside of Nicolás room with his small body sitting up in the middle of his bed, still swaddled in his Cars themed bedding. Rubbing his eyes, his dark hair ruffled and a small frown on his face, Solana hits the volume just in time for a soft “mommy” to fill the living room.

“Nicky’s up,” she says more to the kids than her husband. Locking the phone and reaching it to Roman, she stands up, his eyes briefly shifting to the back of her ass that’s curved and sitting perfectly in her skin tight shorts. “Mommy’s gotta go check on Nicky, but you guys can ask daddy any more questions you have.”

It’s that last sentence, however, that stops Roman from licking his lips and reaching to palm his wife’s nice, round ass and instead look up at her with a shade of bewilderment. “Wait, what?”

Solana turns and leans over, pressing a kiss to his cheek, whispering quickly, “you got this, papi.”

His jaw tightens. “Sol—“

Another peck to the corner of his mouth before she’s walking out to tend to their middle son. 

That leaves just him with the eldest three.

The OG’s. 

Except the time for them bombarding him with question after question, most of which he knows he can’t answer even remotely as well as his wife, is over as he has his own question. 

“How old do you think your mom is?”

Roman is far from a stupid man. His wife being ten years his junior comes at little surprise to no one. Solana, in his opinion, has always looked a bit on the younger side. A youthful face that hasn’t changed much since the first time he laid eyes on her. Thus, he expects the guess to be on the lower end of the number spectrum.

He just couldn’t have anticipated how low.

“25.”

His jaw drops just a few inches, gaze locked between Terror Child 1 and Terror Child 2. “25?” He could see it. Sure. Again, not even forty, she’s far from old, and unlike himself, hasn’t a gray hair in sight. But it’s the large gap in age guesses that has him puzzled. 

Lina nods with a big smile. “Uncle Dwayne said you bought mommy from the mommy store because she was a sweet young thing.”

“Yeah!” Tama adds enthusiastically, sharing his own horror story that has Roman’s fingers burning and itching to call and cuss out his fucking stupid ass cousin. “And cousin Zilla said you love mommy a lot cause she’s got a gyat.” Tama frowns looking between his sisters and then Roman before ultimately shrugging with defeat. “But we don’t know what any of that means.”

“They said they'll tell us when we’re older.” Leya offers the final statement with a small, innocent smile and gentle squeeze of her sister’s hand before she hugs her stuffed animal once more.

Meanwhile, Roman is back to square one. On the verge of a stroke.

There’s so much to process. So much to digest. First things first, he’s cussing out both Dwayne and Zilla. Probably firing the latter cause what the fuck?

“So let me get this straight.” Brows caved, tossing her phone on the sofa to the side of him, Roman is all hand gestures and deep scowl as he tries to make sense of the nonsense. “You think your mom is 25, but I’m 105—”

“106,” Lina interjects. “You just had another birthday when mommy was talking.”

Tama nods, face just as serious as his voice while he clarifies as if it’s the most obvious thing, “old people grow up really faster.”

Roman closes his eyes.

These. Fucking. Kids.

He pinches the bridge of his nose, leaning back into the sofa, head back as he tries to count backwards from 10. Or 100. “Go to your rooms.”

The chorus of their giddy laughter is the backdrop to his misery. How the fuck did he end up with two such fucking nightmares of children? It’s like they spend time figuring out ways to drive him fucking mad. 

He keeps trying to tell Solana those two are gonna send him to an early grave, but she doesn’t believe him.

Bet she’ll believe it when he’s on his deathbed, and she’s holding his hand while the fucking Joker and Harley Quinn are standing at the edge of said deathbed asking when the bank closes.

Thoughts of revisiting the previously abandoned discussion of boarding school are interrupted when Roman feels movement. He snaps his head forward only to be met with Leya reaching for his arm as she climbs onto the sofa. Her stuffed animal set in the same spot where Solana previously sat. It’s the twinkle in her eyes, however, and the way she almost nervously lifts her hand to his face, that give him pause. Her small palm pressing gently against his cheek. The smile that grows as his beard no doubt tickles her before she leans over and wraps her arms around his neck. Just like that, all the tension and frustration melt away.

What’s left is the peace and calm. His hand on the small of her back as he returns her gesture when she pulls back just enough to look at him. Roman pushes her curls out of her face, seeing so much of Solana in her. Beyond just appearance. Leya inherited every bit of her mother, including Solana’s uncanny ability to soothe him on his darkest days. 

But something tugs in his chest as he stares at her. He sees those same eyes that stared back at him with innocent wonder the first time he held her. This tiny human being who he was secretly terrified of dropping or holding too tight. Not keeping his hand in the right spot to support her neck. So many concerns and worries that’ve calmed slightly but will always remain to some degree.

And it baffles him. How quickly time has passed.

Seven. Lina and Leya are now seven. 

It feels like only yesterday he and Solana were bringing the girls home for the first time, and now he can recall the way they crowded their parents when Koa and Kai were carried through the front door for the first time.

It’s fucking surreal. 

He opens his mouth to return her sentiment, the I love you, daddy she murmured in Samoan as he reflected on time that seems to be moving much too quick for his likening. 

And then the fucking deviants.

“Happy birthday, daddy!” Lina shouts happily, running into the living room and jumping on the sofa, as Leya giggles and leans into him. “You just turned 107!”

Tamasa, of course, is not far behind, instead standing before him with his head titled, tossing up and down the football that’s not that much bigger than his head with practiced ease. “Do you need a cane now?”

March 28th, 2013

“Ri, you almost ready?”

“In five minutes!”

“That’s what you said five minutes ago.”

“Okay, well five minutes plus another five minutes then!”

Joe runs his hand over his face and blinks a couple times before reaching for his phone to scroll through Instagram for what must be the 8th time over the past forty-five minutes. The same amount of time his now wife has been holed up in that damn bathroom. He understands fully that this night means a lot to her, and it should. It’s her wedding night. 

Their wedding night.

The first night they’ll spend together as husband and wife and consummate their marriage. His first time with her, and her first time, period. Outside of knowing Mariella, arguably, better than most, he knows for women in general that this milestone carries a lot of weight.

Rightfully so.

But the fact that it’s been almost an hour since he showered and exited the bathroom wearing only his boxers, Mariella rushing past him and locking the door so she could “get ready” and her still not being ready is reaching a point beyond understandable.

Shit, at this rate, it’s going to be time for them to check out. 

He’s tried to keep himself busy outside of being on his phone, something that’s never really been his thing in the first place. Observed and studied every inch of the suite her parents paid for as one of their wedding “gifts.” Both he and Ri in agreement that when finances are better, they’ll go on an actual honeymoon.

God, he can’t wait to give her that. 

Grabbed the remote and turned on the TV as he shifted up the bed, leaning into the headboard while he watched some random ass show that only held his attention for a few minutes. Hell, he even grabbed the bible out the nightstand drawer and flipped the pages to the verse the pastor cited shortly before officially announcing them man and wife. 

“What therefore God hath joined together, let not man put asunder.”

But a good chunk of the time was eaten up by the uncharacteristic presence of anxiety. To say Joe is sexually experienced would be an understatement. He’s certainly gotten around in his almost thirty years on this earth. He knows exactly what he's doing between those sheets.

But never has he actually been intimate with someone that he loves. That he’s in love with. That he’s wanted nothing more than to make happy in all the ways possible.

This is Ri.

His Ri.

His wife.

Beyond that, there’s the pressure of being the one to take her virginity. If someone told him five years ago that that would be something she’d bestow and trust him—of all people—with, he’d never in a million years believe them.

Mariella has always been immensely special to him. His desire to protect and keep her safe from any and all bad things has been present since they were kids. Sparked largely by her naivety and innocence. And it’s only increased exponentially since they transitioned from friends to lovers and now husband and wife.

He knows better than anyone her trauma when it comes to relationships. Of spending so long wanting to find and be in love, to ever feel even ready or wanting enough to share such a sacred level of intimacy with another man.

Joe just can’t believe he ended up being that man.

His oath to love, protect, and take care of her will extend to the end of time—and then some.

And it all starts tonight.

“Okay!” Her shout from the other side of the door drags his attention away from lingering trepidation. “I—I think I’m ready.” 

Joe clicks the lock button on this phone, waiting until it shuts off entirely, before he reaches and places it on the nightstand.

He won’t be needing it.

“Yeah?”

“Mmmhmm,” she sings, making him crack a small smile. She’s always so fucking theatrical. 

He rolls his shoulder, reaching to let his hair down, already knowing that’s her preference despite also knowing he’ll need to tie it back before the night is over. Can’t have it in the way when he finally makes his way between her thick ass thighs to taste that pretty ass pussy. “So why don’t you bring your fine ass out then so I can see you?” 

He plans to do a hell of a lot more than just see, but one thing at a time. 

Joe snaps the hair tie against his wrist and rubs the tip of his nose with his thumb before a new sound fills the otherwise silent hotel room. 

Music.

Because Ri wouldn’t be Ri if she didn’t have some sort of music to accompany what he knows for her is probably one of the biggest moments of her life thus far.

If not thee biggest. 

A familiar, classic tune that makes all the sense, but it’s when the door is pushed open with loud, excessive force in conjunction with the three guitar notes at the beginning of Let’s Get In On by Marvin Gaye that makes his smile widen. 

For several reasons.

Mari stands in the doorway, arms spread, palms planted on the jambs as she slowly twirls them thick ass hips of her. His eyes drink in the sight of her. The white, lace two piece lingerie set that leaves little to the imagination, her fat pussy lips almost swallowing the thin material to the point where it’s barely visible. He can only imagine what her ass looks like from the back. The top isn’t much better. Joe can make out the outline of her dark, pebbled nipples, her breast lifted and shoved together. Her stunning brown skin carries a glow that exceeds the usual as well as shimmer across her chest making her complexion glimmer and sparkle. Her hair that he knows she sacrificed a damn near whole day at the salon to get washed, blown out, and silk pressed for their wedding is down and brushes past her shoulders and chest. 

But despite the salivating worthy sight of so much of that fine ass body on full display for him, it’s the smile on her bare face and the way she playfully twirls around that does something to him. Sometimes he envies her. How she goes through life with such unwavering optimism and light. There are no bad days with her. 

Just happy days.

Some of his best. 

He leans over, eyes darkening and voice lowering. “Come here.”

She bites down on her bottom lip, of course, taking her sweet time to continue to whine and tease him with the hypnotic view of her twirling hips. But the minute she’s close enough, he yanks her onto his lap. Joe’s eyes shut as he breathes in the scent of her. There’s no doubt in his mind that she tastes just as good as she always smells.

Mariella brings her hands to his shoulders and gestures down to her lingerie set. “You like it?”

“You know I do,” he answers. His hands smooth down her back, thumb fiddling with her bra strap as he kisses her shoulder. “It’s a shame I’m gonna end up ripping it off you in about five minutes.”

“Joseph Leati Anoa’i, you better not!” She gasps as he nestles his nose in the crook of her neck, eyes closing once more from the feel of her so close to him. Nothing is better than being with her. Nothing. “This is my wedding night lingerie. I won’t have you desecrate what will be a collectors item.” 

“Fine. Whatever you want,” he agrees. He knows when to pick and choose his battles with her. Joe places another tender kiss to her jaw, his hands moving to her waist as he focuses on her. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.” She whispers, batting her lashes, voice dipping suggestively. “Now, I believe it’s time for us to do the nasty.”

“Hmm.” He travels his gaze over her, hiking her up higher on his lap. “How nasty you trying to get, Mariella?”

She shakes her head, grasping at his jaw while he continues to roam every inch of her, as if trying to mark the territory he plans to explore fully and thoroughly throughout the night.

And for the rest of his life. 

“It’s Ri.” She dips her head, ghosting her lips over his, her voice a soft, teasing whisper. “Mrs. Anoa’i, if you’re nasty.” 

The speed in which he kisses her is inhuman. Joe fully recognizes that there’s very little easing into things. It's evident in the way he kisses her with hunger, desire, and desperation that’s grown with each passing day as their wedding date grew closer. 

It took him a while to accept that he no longer saw his now wife as his adopted little sister. That she certainly wasn’t the little girl who always tagged along with him and BJ. That she was a grown woman. A grown woman with nice ass titties he’s currently palming in his big hands and a nice round ass he’s visualized more than once bouncing off his dick while he gives her backshots, her kinky coils fisted in his hand as he talks her through it. 

Yes, finally freeing himself from unnecessary shackles of roles no longer relevant has definitely made this buildup something worth looking forward to. Mariella slowly grinding against him prompts him to growl against her mouth when he flips them so that she’s flat against the mattress, his big body hovering over hers.

And the sight is something to behold.

Never has he seen someone as beautiful as Mariella.

Their next kiss is slow, tender, her hands on his cheeks as her lips stretch into a bashful smile.

“No one has ever looked at my the way you do.” 

Something thumps in his chest. 

He lowers his head, forehead pressed against hers. “And no one else ever will.” 

Joe has always been a man of his word, and regardless of it being traditional, pre-written vows cited in front of close friends and family, he meant every word. 

Till death to them part. 

“Baby,” she murmurs against his mouth after a few minutes of continued making out. That borderline unbearable discomfort from his growing erection further fueling his desire to make his way down her body and in between her soft thighs. Her fingers intertwined in the back of his head, gently caressing his scalp. “Move your leg.” She pouts as he kisses the corner of her soft ass lips. “It’s poking me.”

Joe stills for a moment, breaking their kiss to look down between their conjoined bodies.

He chuckles. Resumes kissing her and groping her breast, thumb playing with her nipple through the thin lace of her top. “That’s not my leg, baby.” 

Mariella frowns into their kiss as he shifts his mouth to her cheek and jawline when she tilts her head down. “Well then what….” Joe is about to drag his mouth to her chest, salivating at the thought of freeing her breast from that pesky ass top when she gasps. “What the—” His efforts are completely stopped, however, when he feels her fingers tug at the waistband of his boxers. “Oh my God!” 

Mariella’s hands lift to his chest as she pushes him off of her and quickly scampers to the edge of her bed, sitting on her knees. “Joe Bear!” He sits up on his elbows to see her eyes as wide as saucers. “Did you use the hotel soap? I told you it was bad for you! You should have listened to me because now you’re having an allergic reaction!” 

Joe frowns and does his best to ignore the way his cock throbs at the sight of her titties dangerously close to spilling out her top. He was so close. “What?” 

He sits up as she climbs off the bed and starts rushing over to the bathroom. “Come on. Throw something on. We’ve gotta go to the ER!” She stops, holding his pants and looking up with an expression of wonder. “I wonder if Patricia is working tonight.”

He closes his eyes. The way she’s on a first name basis with the fucking staff at the ER is both insane and yet makes all the sense in the world. If the hospital had a reward system, her ass would be a VIP member. 

Lifelong.

“Put these on!” She shouts, tossing his dress pants at him as he sits up and hisses at the discomfort of his neglected erection. Mari comes to stand in front of him to grab his hand, “and don’t worry. I’ll hold your hand when they put the needle in your dick to make the swelling go down. I promise.” 

It’s when she says that, however, that Joe just knows this is about to be a fucking mess. 

Mariella frowns and looks at their still conjoined hands when she tries to turn away, but he tightens his grip, keeping her standing before him. 

Her gaze on him reflects the sense of urgency present in her voice. “Joe Bear, you gotta hurry up. If we wait too long, they might have to amputate it!”

“Ri.” This damn girl and her fucking over the top, irrational ass beliefs. “We don’t need to go to the ER.” 

Her eyes widen as she yanks her hand away. “What do you mean we don’t have to go? Joe, you’re having an allergi—”

“Mariella,” he cuts through, already knowing that his rare use of her full name will shut her up. For now, at least. “I’m not having an allergic reaction. It’s just an erection.” 

She blinks twice, sticking her neck out just enough to accompany the way she nods to herself. Or him. One can never really tell with her. “An engorged erection because of the allergic reaction.” 

“For fuck’s sake,” he curses. “Ri. This is just me. I don’t know what the fuck to tell you.” 

“Language,” she chides. He rolls his eyes as she leans back and eyes him skeptically. “What do you mean it’s just you?” 

“I mean, it’s just me,” he repeats. Joe runs his hand through his hair. “I’ve got a big dick. I don’t know what else to tell—”

“Wait a minute,” she interrupts. He watches the way she shuts her eyes and takes a deep breath before looking at him like he suddenly just grew another head. Granted, in her eyes, maybe he did. “What do you mean that’s just you?” Opening his mouth is a waste of time as she points to his lap, dick still just as hard as it was five minutes ago. Just as painful, too. “You mean to tell me that’s normal for you?”

He looks from side to side, answering like it’s the simplest fucking thing in the world. “Yes.” 

She must stare at him for a good thirty seconds before moving closer to him once more, fingers reaching for the waistband of his boxers. Joe shakes his head as she almost cautiously angles her head just enough so she can catch a peek. And the minute she does, the loudest gap emits from her mouth as she jumps back like she’s just been burnt. 

“What the hell is that, Joe?” If her eyes were wide before, they’re damn near about to explore out of her head now, as she slaps her hand over her mouth. “Why is your penis so big?”

He pinches the bridge of his nose for the umpteenth time tonight. And here it goes. 

She’s pacing across the floor in front of him, talking to either himself, herself, or maybe both. 

“Dicks are not supposed to look like that, okay?” He leans back on his palms as she turns to direct her next statement directly to him, her voice jumping an octave or two, as it normally does when she spirals like this. “They only look like that in porn, and even then it’s probably prosthetics and photoshop!”

He frowns. “How do you photoshop a video?”

Naturally, she ignores his question and instead issues her own ridiculous ass question. “Are you absolutely sure that’s normal? Like maybe you need to see a specialist!”

“Pretty sure I don’t.”

An athlete all of his life, Joe has had his fair share of doctor’s appointments, check-ups, physicals, and everything under the sun. If no medical professional has ever said anything to him, he’s pretty sure that he’s fine, and Ri is just being…..Ri. 

She gasps, looking away as if breaking the fourth wall. “We’re going to have to have a sexless marriage.” 

“Ri—”

“We’ll have to adopt an adorable little baby who has a complexion closer to mine and ears as big as yours to make sure no one ever suspects the truth.” Another loud, sharp gasp makes him cut his eyes to the ceiling as hers land on him. “We’ll have to get a surrogate.”

“Ri, you’re acting ridiculous right now.”

“You know what’s ridiculous?” She marches up to him, angrily gesturing to his crotch. “You thinking you’re putting that—that thing anywhere near me let alone in me!” 

He sits up and hunches over, erection gradually settling as time passes, as if recognizing space and time is needed to accommodate her spazzing. “What did you think you were feeling when we would makeout before?”

Because Lord knows there have been at least a few occasions when things got heated between them to the point where he felt like he was going to explode in his pants. And most of the time she was straddling his lap so how she hadn’t felt something prior to now that indicated he was on the bigger side is beyond him.

“I don’t know!” She throws her hands up. “Certainly not dickzilla!” Joe follows the back of her, attempting to not focus too much on the jiggle of her ass when she walks over to grab one of the complimentary water bottles off the coffee table. Unnecessary huffing sounds accompanying her shuffling back over to him. “Joseph, my brother-husband in Christ, you don’t understand. I can barely stick a Super Plus tampon up there without blinking back tears.” She lifts up the water bottle and points to the cap. “My vagina is like this.” He has to stop himself from rolling his eyes, doing his best to not show just how utterly ridiculous he finds this whole thing. She then flips the bottle and gestures to the bottom of said bottle. “Your dick is like this!” She throws it to the side as she opens his mouth to scold her as it bumps against the table and rolls away near the TV. “Do you see the dilemma? It’s not gonna fit.” 

“Are you done?” 

And he knows she’s nearing the tail end of the climax with this whole episode when she starts to whine and stomp. “I’m gonna end up on Sex Sent Me to the ER.” 

“Oh my God, come here.” Joe reaches for her arm and tugs her between his spread legs as he sits at the edge of the bed. He eases his hands down to her waist while she continues to pout and frown, looking down at the floor. “Mariella, we don’t have to do anything tonight if you’re not ready.” 

His honest reassurance must take her by surprise. She lifts her eyes to his, mouth set into a frown as she blinks several times. Like she's trying to take in what he just said. “but...but it’s our wedding night…”

“And?” Joe shakes his head and pulls her even closer as she settles her hands on his shoulders. “Ri, I didn’t marry you just so we can have sex. I love you, and I respect this is a big step for you. Just because you’re my wife doesn’t mean you have to force yourself into doing something you’re not ready for.”

Perhaps he should have made that clearer ahead of time, but Joe was honestly under the impression that she knew he would wait for her as long as she needed. It’s a strange sort of space to be in for someone who primarily dated women in the past solely because of their ability to match his high sex drive. And Lord knows he desires Ri in every way imaginable, has gotten himself off countless times at the thought of fucking her. But his love for her will always outweigh everything else, so wherever her comfort zone is, is where he’ll meet and hold her hand until she’s ready to progress further.

“It’s not—” She interrupts, shaking her head. “I want this, Joe. I’m ready. I am, I promise. I just.” He kisses her inner wrist, again inhaling the alluring scent of whatever body oil she’d used right as she takes a deep breath. “I can do this.” Her hands shift to his face as she kisses him, his own hands dropping to her ass, giving a gentle squeeze. She smiles against him, pulling back and biting down on her bottom lip. “I just need to warm up.”

He frowns. “Warm up?”

Mariella turns and rushes to the bathroom where Joe realizes the music was still playing—Sexual Healing—the sound most likely obscured and faded out by her mini panic attack. 

“Ri, what are you—” 

He closes his eyes. 

This damn girl. 

Joe releases yet another heavy sigh as the music transitions from one classic to another, the latter, however, being the wildest shit he’s heard in some time. 

Eye of the Tiger

But it’s a short lived time as he watches Ri stand in front of the mirror, bouncing up and down on the soles of her feet as he’s done himself a few times over the years.

When trying to get into game mode.

“I can do this,” she says to herself, nodding and rolling her shoulders. “I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.” 

“Mariella.” If she doesn’t turn that damn music off and come get in the bed so they can just go to sleep. “Turn off—”

“Not now, Joe Bear, I’m training!”

“Training for wh—” 

Another question interrupted when she switches to another song. 

The familiar opening of the Rocky theme song as she transitions to pretending she’s boxing, bouncing from side to side with the fucking sound effects of her huffing and puffing like she’s on the brink of an asthma attack.

And knowing her ass, she probably is. 

“Ri, if you don’t sit your ass down before you get us kicked out this damn hotel.” It’s a miracle no one’s knocked at the door—or wall—yet from her loud ass music and unnecessary dancing. 

“Halfway through, hubby!” 

Halfway?

“I’m going to bed,” he mutters, standing up and moving to pull back the blankets when she rushes into the bedroom, phone in hand.

“Not yet! I’m almost ready.” Joe stands with his arms crossed as she messes around with her phone before yet another song is added to this whole unnecessary ass scene.

And the minute “Everybody dance now” screeches into the room, he’s back to peeling back the blankets while she starts to do lateral lunges in the middle of the damn floor followed by quick, rapid squats with awful ass form. 

“Gotta get loose,” she pants, transitioning to doing the running man. It’s only then that he simply shakes his head and smiles, running his hand over his face. The whole thing is actually comical as fuck, and mostly because she’s 100% serious right now.

This is just….this is his Ri. 

“I’m about to turn the light off.” 

“No!” 

Her shout is followed by her—when the fuck did she even switch to the Macarena?—running and jumping on the bed. Quickly moving to all fours, her ass up in the air, as she looks over at him. “I’m ready.”

If not for the hilarious, dramatic way she says 'ready,' he’s certain his dick would have jerked from the way she wagged her ass. 

He keeps his focus on her as he dips one knee into the mattress that groans under the weight of his addition. “Ri…”

“Oh shoot, wrong position.” She sucks her teeth and Joe continues to observe with confusion as she drops to her stomach and instead rolls onto her back. Confusion that quickly morphs into returned exasperation when she lifts her legs in the air, holding them up by her ankles, making strained noises followed by an out of breath. “Okay, now I’m ready.” 

And while he was previously ready to go to bed, his eyes flicking towards her legs make his jaw clench at the sight of her pussy lips having been completely swallowed the thong. That desire revived and sensation of tightness in his boxers returning.

Only Ri could make him bounce back and forth between disbelief, humor, and now lust in a span of five minutes.

Her hold over him is diabolical.

“Wait!”

Except the screeching of the tape sounds when she goes to untangle herself from the position, making an “oof” sound when she accidentally rolls over off the bed and onto the floor from the other side. Joe starts to round said bed to check on her when she lifts her hand with a thumbs up. “I’m okay!” 

Joe tilts his head back and rolls his shoulders.

On second thought, maybe they should just call it a night.

“Joe Bear,” she huffs, climbing back onto the bed. “Grab your phone.”

He blows out a breath, shifting so that his hands are on his hips. “For what, Ri?”

She groans loudly and throws up her hands, sitting on her knees. “So I can record my last will and testament.” 

“Ri.”

“And whatever you do, do not let that lil’ colorist Alexandra Shipp play me in the biopic. Keke will do just fine.”

“Mariella.”

a/n : before anyone asks, yes, they did end up consummating their marriage that night. yes, mariella's dramatic ass absolutely made joe push her out in a wheelchair the next morning. and yes, she blasted 'i just had sex' by lonely island on the drive back to their apartment.

⭑

You curled up in the corner of the couch with your knees pulled to your chest as you faintly registered the conversation happening around you. You tried to engage enough to be considered present, but it was hard, and you didn’t think you were fooling anyone. You were positive that you hadn’t been fooling anyone for weeks, and when you glanced up you weren’t surprised to catch Kiara’s eye.

She was worried about you.

You never would’ve known if she hadn’t cornered you last week, not-so-subtly subtly trying to pry information from you to determine what had triggered this change in demeanor. You’d stupidly thought that you were behaving normally, somehow convincing yourself that you weren’t acting differently, at all. After all, you still hung out with your friends and laughed at their jokes and smiled whenever JJ showed you the fish he caught.

“You just seem…” Kiara shook her head. “…kind of spacey, I guess. Like you’re here, but…you’re not.”

That was what she’d said to you when you’d unconvincingly asked her what she meant.

You recalled letting out a near silent scoff, the realization washing over you that you weren’t doing as good of a job as you thought. It made you wonder how long the other girl had noticed without saying anything, and then, that only made you wonder about the rest of your friends too. Granted, Kiara was your sister, so she was bound to notice more than they did, but you’d also never written her off as the most observant.

Especially now that so much of her time was taken up by JJ.

So…if she noticed…

You swallowed, unable to sit here and put in more effort to appear somewhat happy. You couldn’t deal with Kiara’s periodic glances as well as wondering what they were saying about you when you weren’t around. You knew it wouldn’t be anything bad, but you suddenly felt like the elephant in the room. Even more so when all eyes focused on you the very second you started to stand.

“I think I’m gonna go home,” you said, shaking your head the moment Kiara started to stand too. “All I had today was an iced coffee, and it’s finally catching up to me, I think.”

“Even more reason to stay,” Pope told you, and you sent him a small smile.

“Even more reason to go lie down in my bed,” you chuckled.

When your eyes met Kiara’s, she stood anyway, a sigh leaving her as she reached for her keys.

“Well, I’m at least driving you.”

Her tone left little room for argument, and choosing to pick your battles, you simply gave her a small thanks. You waved everyone else bye after putting on your shoes, and you didn’t need to look over to know that your sister was staring at you as she walked at your side.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to stay with you? I mean, if you’re not feeling good someone should be home with you. Mom and dad are at The Wreck.”

“I’m literally just feeling a little lightheaded,” you assured her as you got in. “It’s nothing some noodles can’t fix.”

She didn’t look all that convinced, but she bit her tongue to whatever was clearly on her mind. The ride back home was pretty quiet outside of you flickering between stations here and there, and Kiara’s lack of protest over it clued you in on just how worried about you she was. Its why you weren’t surprised when you were prevented from hopping out the moment she parked in front of the house.

She’d reached out to you to stop you, and there was an unsure look flickering over her face. You could see that she was contemplating how to say whatever it was she was going to say, and eventually she just sighed.

“I know that I haven’t been available as much ever since JJ and I started dating,” she slowly started, eyeing you. “…but you know that if you ever want to talk, I’d blow him off in a heartbeat, right?”

You gave her a small smile.

“I know.”

She still didn’t look satisfied, probably hoping this would be an opportunity to really talk about whatever she wondered was going on with you. When it was clear you weren’t going to give her what she wanted, she merely pressed her lips together with a nod. She gave you a soft ‘okay’ before reluctantly unlocking the vehicle. You didn’t look back once you made it inside, but you didn’t need to to know she hadn’t driven off right away.

The sound reached your ears when she finally did.

You pressed your back to the wall the minute you were finally alone, and you stared at the wall before you for what felt like a long time before it eventually started to blur. Once the first tear escaped, the rest quickly followed, and your lips trembled as you roughly wiped your face. Your gaze rested on the family pictures on the wall, focusing on your smiling face in particular, and you wondered if you’d ever smile like that again.

You would never in a million years tell Kiara what was wrong. Not because you didn’t trust her and not because she wouldn’t believe you, but because you should’ve known better. You should’ve fucking known better, and instead of listening to what you knew, you ignored every instinct inside of you just to be nice. It was bad enough that two people in this world knew just how stupid and naïve you could be.

You didn’t think you could handle any more than that.

With a choked sob, you slid to the floor, head tilted back as you gazed at the ceiling. It was the same ceiling throughout the whole house, same color and all, and you found that gazing at it—as you’d done that night—brought you some comfort. It was all that had filled your vision when you’d felt more and more detached from your body, eyes tracing every inch of it as he’d pinned your wrists to your bed.

Staring at it calmed you, the sight of it much more enjoyable without Rafe Cameron’s heavy breathing in your ear.

“You want to hear something funny?”

The voice just at your ear was low, but the suddenness of it startled you, nonetheless, and when you turned, a familiar face was greeting you with a grin. His perfect teeth were winking at you as you slowly turned to fully face him, equal parts cautious and curious. Your grip on the red cup in your hand tightened for a half a second before you took a step back, thankful that no one was behind you to bump into.

“I was just at the beach,” the older guy said, leaning in so you could hear him. “…and your sister said you were at home because you’re in trouble.”

You felt all color drain from your face at his words, and by the look on his own face when he pulled back, he knew the exact effect they had on you.

“…but yet, here you are.”

Rafe Cameron looked nothing short of like the cat who caught the canary as he leaned his hand on the couch you both were standing next to. He had a drink of his own in his hand—although his wasn’t nearly as empty as yours—and his head was tilted as he eyed you. You watched him tilt his cup up to his lips, those blue eyes of his holding your gaze over the rim as his words—and what they meant—floated between you.

You scoffed at him.

“Kie would never talk to you,” was your best response, and you didn’t like the way his smirk grew.

“I never said she did,” he haughtily replied. “Only that she said it…and I heard her.”

Accepting that you’d been caught, you rolled your eyes, and the oldest Cameron only chuckled.

“You can relax, Carrera,” he drawled, laughing again before taking another sip. “Do I look like I care if Kie’s baby sister wants to sneak out to a party she has no business being at?”

“I’m not a baby,” the words flew out before you could stop them.

Of course, that didn’t need to be said, but despite the fact that you were only one year younger than Kiara and your friends, they had a moderately annoying habit of treating like you were a child. You suspected it was because Kiara always acted like she was much older than you than she actually was. The girl was twenty, not twenty-nine, and her behavior had long rubbed off.

You didn’t know if you liked the onceover Rafe gave you, blue gaze slowly taking you in from your hair all the way down to your platform flip flops and back.

“No shit,” he said matter-of-factly and leaning in, a crooked smile on his pink lips as he shook his head. “…but you’re two years younger than me, so unfortunately, that makes you a tad more childish than I am.”

“Rafe Cameron? Childish? Never,” you sarcastically said to him just before finishing your drink.

Rafe seemed to be really entertained by you for some reason, and when you lowered your hand, his gaze fell to your cup. When his eyes met yours again, he threw you a playful smirk.

“Do you want another drink?”

You held his gaze for a few seconds more before glancing away, eyes taking in the party that you weren’t supposed to be at. It wasn’t like your parents could actually legally stop you from walking out of their house and going to any party you wanted, but considering you were still at home with no means of independence whatsoever, you didn’t see the appeal in blatantly disrespecting them. Especially since you deserved your lashings for mishandling money they gave you.

You were starting to think you’d pushed your luck enough.

“I’m not even supposed to be here,” you told Rafe, throwing him a sheepish look. “I should probably go home.”

Rafe didn’t immediately respond to that, only staring at you for a moment before eventually nodding. You watched him take another swallow of beer, his eyes still on yours.

“You got a ride?” he wondered.

“Yeah.”

You answered too quick, and Rafe tilted his head at you, giving you a look that let you know he didn’t buy that.

“Really. Who?”

All of your friends were currently at the beach with your sister, and Rafe already knew that none of them knew you were even here. When you sighed in defeat, Rafe’s smirk grew, the corner of his lips pulling upwards.

“Fine, I walked…and I’ll walk back,” you told him with a shrug.

“Mm mmm,” Rafe hummed with a shake of his head as he downed the rest of his drink. “Come on, I’ll drive you.”

He took your empty cup, and along with his, set them both down on a nearby table. You hesitated as he dug in his pocket for his keys, lips parting as you mulled over if this was what you wanted to do. It wouldn’t be the first time you walked back home from a party no one knew you were at. Granted, thankfully nothing had ever happened, but you didn’t know. It could finally be the night your luck ran out.

Nothing hardly happened on this side of the island much, anyway, but you started to feel silly for contemplating turning down a perfectly fine ride home. Rafe could be kind of an asshole, but nothing worse than the average Kook you encountered on a regular basis. Besides, even though you were far from friends, it wasn’t like you didn’t know him. You were literally best friends with his sister.

“Are you sure?” you asked him. “I really don’t mind walking.”

Rafe chuckled at you like he thought you were cute, and he gently touched your arm as he guided you through the full house. His chest grazed your back as he remained close, keeping you steady and on track to the door.

“Walking home in Kildare County on a Saturday night?” he wondered in your ear. “Never mind the drunk drivers, but you never know what creep might come along and just pluck you off the street.”

You scoffed at him, and Rafe’s laugh was in your ear as he led you outside.

“Is it bad?” Kiara wondered, looking between your face and your plate. “If dad’s off his A-game tonight, you can tell me.”

Pope and JJ chuckled at that, and you merely shook your head, pushing your food around before sitting up.

“No, I…” you licked your lips. “I guess I’m not as hungry as I thought I was.”

When your eyes met Kiara’s, she was frowning, and you could tell that a small lecture about your eating habits was on the tip of her tongue when Sarah spoke up.

“It’s not good to eat so much on an empty stomach, anyway,” Sarah jumped in, throwing Kiara a look before smiling at you. “Just take your time.”

You appreciated that, and you sat back in your seat as Cleo asked John B. something about a noise his van was apparently making earlier. By the uptick in conversation at the table, you got the sense that the noise had some crazy story attached, and you tried to listen—you really did—but your mind kept floating somewhere else entirely, and when a familiar face flashed behind your eyes, you desperately craved a drink.

You had just set your empty water glass down when you heard a voice that might as well had been a bucket of ice for you. Your gaze was glued to the table as you froze, fingers grazing the glass, and even though you told yourself you were imagining things, your heart wouldn’t slow down. It felt like it was going to jump straight out of your throat, doubly so when the voice became so much clearer.

“I told you she’d be here.”

That haughty drawl made your hair stand on end, and you were so glad that your head was down so that no one could see the way your eyes watered. Sarah made a noise of disapproval, and you shared her sentiments completely. He wasn’t alone, Kelce and Topper’s voices reaching your ears too, and as much as you wanted to be anywhere but here…

You couldn’t move.

You were completely frozen in your seat, pinned down by some invisible force that wouldn’t allow you to get up and get as far away from Rafe Cameron as possible. You’d done a good job of avoiding him for damn near two months—avoiding any party or outing he might be at—but you were running out of excuses as to why you wanted to stay home or why you didn’t want to take advantage of a free meal at your parents’ restaurant.

You reached up to wipe your face just as he spoke again…closer this time.

“Rose said whenever you’re done doing…” he paused. “…whatever it is you’re doing to come straight home.”

You didn’t need to look up to know that small sneer was on his face. You could almost picture it, those blue eyes sparkling and those nostrils of his flared—almost in disgust. It was a very vivid expression, one you recalled being on the receiving end of when you begged him to stop. He’d looked at you like you didn’t have the right to even find the audacity to ask him such a thing.

“Did you ask what she wanted?”

Rafe didn’t answer, but the barked laugh that left his lips was answer enough.

You blinked at the table, still so…still, and some part of you—an irrational part—wondered that if you remained still, maybe, just maybe he wouldn’t see you. Maybe he wouldn’t acknowledge you. Even if he didn’t do it with his words, you didn’t know if you could handle being on the receiving end of that blue gaze.

However, the way that your skin suddenly pricked told you that your efforts were in vain.

“Lunch on the house with your friends?” he wondered to Sarah no doubt. “That’s cute.”

He dragged it out in a mockingly condescending way. After a beat of silence, you heard Rafe hum.

“I’d hurry up if I were you,” he advised. “Rose made it seem like it was urgent.”

You heard him walking, and it sounded like he and his friends were making their way towards the counter.

“Nice to see you all again. JJ, Cleo…”

He was slowly acknowledging everyone at the table, and you felt bile rising in your throat at the realization. The feeling became even worse once it became clear that Rafe was saving you for last, and your stomach violently turned when his lips finally curled around your name.

“Y/N.”

You felt light—too light—and where you once even felt maybe too cold you now felt overheated. Sarah was complaining about his lingering presence when you finally glanced up, hating the way your name fell from his tongue. You were unsurprised to meet his gaze, and if you thought for a moment that Rafe would look at you in a way that was anything like indifference or contentment…you were wrong.

It happened so fast as Sarah shooed him away. There was a glint in Rafe’s eyes when they looked into yours, and it was a look that spoke volumes. A small smirk danced along his lips, and there was nothing content about it. It said so many things without Rafe uttering a single word, doubly so when he gave you a quick onceover. Rafe had only said your name, but you understood him loud and clear.

We both know I had you and you couldn’t do a thing to stop it.

The moment he was at the counter with Topper and Kelce, you finally found the strength to move…and you used all of it to stumble to your feet and out of The Wreck. Kiara was quick to follow you out of the restaurant, on your heels just in time to witness you throwing up what little you ate all over the pavement. Her gasp was barely registered as your stomach heaved again, and you could hear that it was no longer just your sister with you.

“Cheese on bread,” you heard Cleo say in shock. “Pope, go get a napkin or something.”

By the time he came back, there wasn’t anything left in your stomach, and you thanked him as you took it. Kiara’s eyes were wide and concerned when you looked at her, wiping your mouth and tongue.

“Are you okay? Was it…the food? You barely ate anything,” she added, and you shook your head.

“My stomach’s been a little upset all day. Maybe Sarah was right, and I ate too much and too fast.”

Your words came out a bit slurred, and you noted how hot and lightheaded you felt. You remembered that vomiting dehydrated you, and Kiara seemed to remember the same thing, reaching for her keys.

“We should get you home,” she finally said, turning to glance at your friends. “We’ll see you guys later.”

You frowned at her when she pushed you towards her car.

“Kie, I’ll be fine. You can come back after you drop me off,” you told her, gesturing to them.

She merely gave you a look as you both slid into the vehicle. You could tell that she didn’t agree with that suggestion at all, but there was also something in her dark gaze that gave you pause. Worry clouded her face as she pulled out of the parking lot, and you found yourself eyeing her. Kiara was never one to keep her thoughts to herself when she clearly had something serious she wanted to say.

You were put out of your misery halfway to your house.

“Are you pregnant?”

Somehow that was the last thing you expected to hear her blurt out, and her concerned gaze met your wide one. While not entirely impossible, you were almost one hundred percent sure that you weren’t, and you gave her a ridiculous look.

“What? No!”

“Don’t…! Don’t look at me like that, alright? That’s not a crazy question-.”

“That’s not a crazy question…” you repeated, sounding more like a statement.

“No, it’s not,” she doubled down, looking between you and the road. “Not when you’ve been acting strange for two months! You’re not really here and I feel like we barely see you now and then today…”

She shrugged.

“You threw up in the middle of the day despite the fact that you’d barely eaten a thing.”

“…and you don’t think I’d be eating a lot more if I was pregnant?”

Kiara seemed to think that over, sitting back in her seat with a sigh. Her hands were tight on the wheel, and you could see her accepting how crazy that seemed. She roughly exhaled.

“Well, something’s wrong with you,” she forced out, sounding defeated, and you weren’t able to hold her gaze when she looked over. “I’ve been trying to be a good sister and just…let you know you can come to me in your own time.”

You wrapped your arms around yourself.

“…but I’m getting scared.”

Her voice was small, and you didn’t have a good response to that. Denying that anything was wrong would just insult her intelligence and probably make her worry more. You swallowed, fighting back tears and wondering how you could ever tell her what happened. You barely even wanted to think about it—despite how much it plagued your thoughts—let alone actually talking about it.

You didn’t know how to even begin to tell Kiara that your friend’s brother had raped you…in your own house…in your own bed, no less. You couldn’t stomach walking her through what happened that night and its eventual horrifying end. You didn’t know how to tell her that you’d been so stupid…and you especially didn’t know how to tell her that Rafe Cameron was walking around like he wasn’t even somewhat remorseful about what he did.

…but instead proud.

You didn’t know how to voice any of that, so when she parked, you were quick to be the first one out. You fixed her with a look that was meant to reassure her, but you didn’t know if you pulled it off. Gazing into Kiara’s eyes, you lied straight to her face with a small smile.

“I promise, it’s nothing.”

You didn’t give her the chance to respond, making your way up the driveway.

You’d been standing at the top of the stairs for a minute too long when your mom called for you again. When she’d called you down the first time, you hadn’t even considered what it could be for, just acting on instinct and pulling yourself out of bed. You hadn’t given much thought to the fact that you’d heard her answer the door only moments before. However, the moment you reached the top of the stairs, you’d tried to tell yourself that you were imagining that voice.

That hauntingly familiar voice.

His soft laugh reached your ears at something your mom said, and the sound of it brought tears to your eyes. Like at The Wreck only just the other day, you found it hard to move. Your hand was on the staircase and one foot was already on the step below, but you were finding it so hard to will yourself to move—to act like everything was normal.

To act like Rafe Cameron wasn’t in your house.

Again.

“I wonder if she’s…” your mom trailed off when she rounded the corner, face lighting up at the sight of you. “There she is! Come on, you’ll never believe it.”

Her presence—and her hand reaching for yours—gave you the strength to finally put one foot in front of the other. The whole ordeal felt like an out of body experience, your lips parted and eyes fearful as she led you into the living room, forcing you to come face to face with those blue eyes yet again. There was a grin on his lips as he stood by your door. To your mom, it was charming.

It was predatory to you.

“You will never believe what Rafe found,” she said, sounding so pleased.

When the other guy held his hand out…you wanted to be sick.

“It was just there…at the beach,” his smooth voice explained, and you were certain now more than ever.

You were going to be sick.

When your gaze lifted to meet Rafe’s, finally pulling your eyes away from your wallet, your heart sank. Your mom was going on a tangent in thanking him while you had yet to utter a single word. You wanted to cry. You wanted to scream. You wanted to push him into the street, and you couldn’t even fix your mind to take the damned thing.

Rafe didn’t find your wallet on any beach.

You knew it, and he knew it.

He’d taken it the night he raped you.

Despite how terrified you were, you couldn’t break the gaze. Why? Why was he doing this? The oldest Cameron had gotten exactly what he wanted from you, so what did he get out of this? It wasn’t enough that he broke your trust and violated you, but now he meant to torment you too? You hadn’t even told a soul what he did. You hadn’t gone to the police, done a rape kit or anything, he got away with it, so what was the point of all this?

Beyond the despair and confusion, you could feel a hint of anger flaring within you, and that small flare must have made itself visible through your eyes…because the look Rafe gave you had you taking a step back. Your mom noticed, and she rubbed your back.

“Everything’s in there,” she assured you. “I know we got you a new one and everything, but at least you can know it found its way into good hands.”

Both her and Rafe chuckled at that, and your lips parted as you stared at him.

The look that Rafe had given you… For that brief moment when you felt a hint of anger, just a smidgen, the look in those blue eyes had made your blood run cold. There was a crooked smile on his lips and a softness to his visage, but Rafe’s eyes had told an entirely different story. There had been a glint in his gaze—a challenge—like he was almost itching to see what you would try and do to him.

At your mom’s urging—and with shaky hands—you hesitantly reached out to take your wallet, careful to avoid touching his fingers. You didn’t even recall thanking him, but you must have, because Rafe looked you over with a quickness your mom missed, that smile of his growing when your eyes met again.

“You’re welcome,” he slowly responded, almost dragging the words out in that smooth baritone.

“Rafe, would you like something to drink before you go?” your mom offered, and both of your minds seemed to go to the same place.

Tears kissed your eyes as her steps traveled to the kitchen, and Rafe full on grinned, briefly pulling his lip between his teeth as he brushed past you. You leaned away from him as he grazed you, and you didn’t imagine the way he’d turned his head to keep his eyes on you as he did.

“Just some water, thanks.”

Those words made your knees buckle, and you reached out, struggling to safely sit down on the couch. Your wallet fell from your hands as you heard him compliment her on the house, and the more he talked, the more your stomach churned.

“It’s so bright and cozy in here,” he praised. “I almost wish Y/N would lose her wallet again just so I have an excuse to come back.”

Wholly unamused by whatever he was doing, your tears spilled over, and you didn’t bother to make your exit known as you stood and stumbled through the front door.

“Hey, you mind if I can get some water?” Rafe said to you the moment he parked in your driveway, turning to you with a small smile. “I drank more than I thought I did, and I kind of want to sober up a little before I get back on the road.”

Your brows rose at that, stupidly under the impression that Rafe only had one beer, but there was no telling just how long he’d been at the party before bumping into you. You probably should’ve asked, and even though you knew Kiara—and maybe even your parents—wouldn’t approve of inviting a guy inside the empty house on a Saturday night, Rafe had driven you home. The least you could do was give him some water to make him feel better about driving.

“No, yeah, that’s fine.”

Rafe got out after you did, following behind you as you took your keys out. Saturday nights meant a packed restaurant, so you weren’t expecting anyone home for another few hours at the least. It wouldn’t take any time at all to give Rafe something to drink and send him on his way.

“It’s quiet in here,” he commented as you tossed your keys on the table by the door.

“The Wreck on a Saturday? Both of my parents kind of need to be there for that madness.”

Rafe amusingly agreed, and when you reached for a glass from the dishwasher, you glanced over to find Rafe’s gaze on you.

“What…?”

He was leaning against the entrance to the kitchen, arms crossed over his chest. You only just paid attention to his shirt and the way it pulled against him with every movement.

“Never pegged you as the type to sneak out. Seems more like Kie, to be honest.”

His comment made you laugh, and you tilted your head at him when you handed him the glass.

“One of us is just better at it,” you teased. “Besides, I snuck out for an hour and a half at the most. It barely counts.”

Rafe simply eyed you as he drank the water you gave him. You felt a tad awkward being alone with Rafe in your house, but it was only because you guys were far from friends, and you couldn’t recall a time you’d ever even had an actual conversation with him.

“I’m surprised you went to some Kook party,” he hummed, lowering his arm. “What? No boyfriend on The Cut you wanted to meet up with?”

Rafe’s gaze was so intense as he held eye contact, and it was then that you realized you didn’t think you’d ever been on the receiving end of it before. At least…not for an extended period of time like this. Having all of his attention felt strange.

“No,” you chuckled, shaking your head. “I don’t really date.”

Rafe blinked at you, folding his arms again as he tilted his head. There was a curious twinkle in his eye, and you didn’t miss the way he ran his gaze over your face.

“Why not?” he wondered with a frown.

“Um,” you said, rolling your eyes towards the ceiling. “…because a lot of you are assholes.”

Rafe laughed with you, nodding his head.

“That’s fair,” he admitted. “…and smart. A lot of guys wouldn’t know what to do with you, anyway.”

You gave a chuckle at that, not because you found it funny, but because you didn’t know how to respond. Your gaze traveled to his empty glass while his remained on you, and a silence descended between you that reminded you he shouldn’t be here.

“Do you want another before you go?” you asked him, trying to politely kick him out.

There was a faint smile on his pink lips as he stared at you, and when he handed it to you, the corner of his lips twitched.

“That’s sweet of you…”

His fingers brushed yours when you took the empty glass, and you could feel his gaze on your back when you made your way to the sink. Your own gaze was on the faucet, and you were thinking about the shower you were going to take when you felt something brush against your arm. The feel startled you, and the glass fell in the sink when you jumped.

You hadn’t heard Rafe move, so you were shocked that he was so close.

“What are you…?”

Your words died in the air when the blond kissed you, his lips covering yours so expertly that you might’ve appreciated the opportunity under different circumstances. When you reached up to push at his chest, Rafe only responded by backing you up against the fridge. The only way to get your words out was to turn your head.

“Rafe, what…? Stop,” you gasped, pushing at his chest.

You liked to think that he was more drunk than either of you realized, but when he reached up to grab your hand, holding you against him as he pulled his face away, that mocking grin on his lips told you otherwise.

“Why?” he asked you like it was the craziest thing he’d ever heard.

You ducked your head when he tried to kiss you again, harshly pushing at his chest, now, but Rafe was just as strong as he looked. When his lips met yours again, this kiss was rougher, and an uncomfortable gasp escaped you when one of his hands found the side of your neck. His teeth nipped at your lip, and following his lead, you bit him. Hard.

Blood welled on his lip when he snatched himself away from you, and the look he fixed you with broke you out of your momentary stupor. Your heart sank low in your chest, something in you screaming at you that Rafe wasn’t joking, and he wasn’t just trying to get handsy.

“Rafe, I think you should leave.”

Your words amused him, and he laughed to himself.

“…and if I don’t want to?”

You swallowed, and his eyes zeroed in on the movement.

“I’m serious,” you told him, voice cracking. “I want you to leave.”

Again, your demand clearly tickled him, and you realized then that this wasn’t going to work this way.

You made it as far as the hallway before his hand fisted your shirt, yanking you back so hard that the fabric pulled against your throat. The wind was knocked out of you when your back roughly collided with his chest, and once he got his arm around you, the door became farther and farther away.

“Rafe, you’re not funny,” you said to him, panicked and out of breath as you fought to get his hands off of you. “Rafe!”

Deep down, some part of you wanted it to be a joke gone too far, that maybe if he heard how scared you were then he would stop. To your horror though, Rafe seemed to like the fear in your voice, pinning you to the wall as he leaned in to press sloppy kisses to your neck. He was kissing you and yanking you up the stairs, and that only made your panic grow.

You hadn’t realized you’d started crying until your vision—and Rafe along with it—grew blurry. Your face felt cold as the air hit your wet skin, and in that moment, oddly enough, you were furious that yours and Kiara’s room doors were labeled because Rafe knew exactly which one to force you in. Your stomach turned at the thought of this taking place in your room.

Your safe space.

When it became clear that you wouldn’t be able to get away by fighting him off, you screamed.

Rafe had you pinned to your bed at this point, and he didn’t like the sound, fighting to cover your mouth. With one hand free, he could still pull at your clothes—the dress you’d warn to the party literally being ripped off of you. Everything was happening too fast, your mind fighting to understand how you’d just been downstairs getting him water not even fifteen minutes ago.

“Rafe, please,” you tearfully begged him, pushing against him and hitting him despite the little damage it was doing. “Get off, get off, please!”

The light from the hallway cast onto his face, and so you didn’t miss the sneer Rafe gave you. You didn’t miss the way his lip curled over his teeth, a look passing over his face like he couldn’t believe you dared to ask that of him. He even let out a soft laugh. He pushed against your chest as he reached between you, painfully holding you down, and your legs kicked around him, nails drawing blood on his arm.

You felt like you were having a panic attack when you felt the tip of him graze you. You couldn’t stop crying even if you wanted to, and Rafe didn’t kiss you again until he was inside of you, taking full advantage of your shock and agony. You felt frozen, eyes squeezed shut as the pain between your legs became unbearable, and when he tasted the inside of your mouth, you noted that there was hardly a hint of alcohol in his.

You sat behind some stranger’s car, arms wrapped around your knees as you fought to catch your breath. The sounds of the party on the beach reached you all the way to the parking lot, and you wondered why you fought so hard to act normal when nothing was normal. You weren’t okay, and it was growing increasingly more difficult to pretend you were.

You just wanted Kiara and your friends to stop worrying.

You hadn’t expected to see Rafe of all people on the beach when you joined the festivities. He tended to prefer a fancy house party with coke and other party favors. One look at him had you stopping in your tracks, and you’d made sure to look elsewhere before Cleo could notice.

“You okay?” she’d asked you, and unable to come up with a believable lie, you just told her you’d be right back.

That had to have been at least twenty minutes ago, and no matter how many times you started to, you couldn’t bring yourself to get up. Rafe was tormenting you…and you didn’t know why. You hadn’t missed the slight curve of his lips when your eyes briefly met his before you left the crowd. Before… Before you just thought that he’d sunk to a new low, just being an asshole about what he did. Now though…

Now, you were sure that he was seeking you out.

…but you didn’t understand why.

After that God awful day at your house, you rarely left it. Any annoyance your mom still had over that abrupt departure, it had long faded the more you holed away in your room staring at your wall. There were only so many excuses you could make, only so many times you could say you just didn’t feel good before someone demanded you go see a doctor.

Out of excuses—and just wanting to ease everyone’s worry—you tagged along tonight…and now you regretted it.

You didn’t know how to go back out there and pretend like he wasn’t in the crowd—watching you, no doubt. You wouldn’t be able to relax for a second, too busy looking over your shoulder and avoiding Rafe Cameron at all costs. You pressed your hand to your mouth, struggling to breathe as you cried and telling yourself that you had to do something because if they weren’t already, your friends would be looking for you soon.

With difficulty, you pushed yourself to your feet, thankful the car was an older model whose alarm didn’t go off at any mere touch. You didn’t know what excuse you were going to give to Kiara who’d no doubt been informed by Cleo that you’d been gone for too long. You wiped your face, and you told yourself that if anyone questioned it, you’d just claim you’d had some bad food that made you sick.

“Cute dress.”

No other voice could shatter any amount of composure you’d built up like that one. It was like being doused in cold water, all train of thought lost and only able to focus on how freezing and miserable you were. You didn’t even attempt to convince yourself you’d imagined it this time because you knew without a doubt now that Rafe was going out of his way to torture you about that night.

When you finally looked over, the man in question was leaning against someone else’s car. He was sprawled against it like it was his, and upon closer inspection, you recognized it as Topper’s jeep. You wrapped your arms around yourself at the sight of him, and you wondered just how long he’d been there…watching you.

“Rough night?” he quietly wondered, eyes raking over your frame, and you shuddered under his scrutiny.

“Leave me alone, Rafe,” you breathed, moving to go back to the beach when he blocked your path.

You tried to get around him, but Rafe wasn’t having it.

“Woah, hey, I just want to talk,” he laughed, reaching out to you.

You stumbled back away from him, fearfully eyeing him. You weren’t quite as alone with him as you were before, but it was just enough for Rafe to do whatever he wanted should he find himself determined enough.

“What could I possibly want to talk about with you?” you breathed. “…and what could you possibly have to say to me?”

You continued before he could say anything.

“We both know you’re not sorry,” you choked out. “You’ve done nothing but make my life hell…and I don’t know why because you got what you wanted.”

Trying to get by him only resulted in him reaching for you again, and so you reached for your phone. Rafe’s hand followed yours, and so as soon as your hand was around your phone, his was around your hand, and the fight over the device was quick. Tears of anger kissed your eyes when he held it out of reach, and your breathing was heavy when he leaned in.

His nose touched yours, and in your efforts to back away, you backed right into the car.

His eyes flickered between yours, and the more you leaned back, the more Rafe followed until he was practically on top of you. He shifted, and you both felt and saw both of his hands come down on either side of you to rest on the vehicle, effectively caging you in. He was so close that you could faintly smell the cologne he put on before he left the house, and when his gaze lowered to your lips, your heart sank.

You pushed at his chest, but Rafe wasn’t budging.

“Do you have any idea how hard it is to get you alone?” he murmured.

His words made you freeze, and your eyes widened.

“…and I guess that’s my fault,” he said with a shrug. “You’re always…in the house or…with your friends, now.”

He leaned in some more despite the pressure you put against his chest.

“You make it so difficult to get you by yourself, now,” he continued with a small smirk. “So, all I’ve been able to do is just dream about that night…instead of reliving it.”

His hand on your face had you jerking away, hands pushing against his chest as he leaned in to kiss you. You made a noise of protest, and Rafe only shushed you, lips grazing yours. One of his hands completely dug into your hip at your attempt to scoot back on the car.

“Relax,” he whispered in what was probably meant to be a soothing manner. “Just relax.”

One of his hands was behind your neck, the other kneading into your upper thigh when he kissed you. He swallowed any noise you attempted to make, and like before, Rafe didn’t seem to care that you didn’t want this.

“You should’ve told me you were a virgin before I fucked you,” he murmured against your lips, smiling into the kiss. “I would’ve been nicer about it.”

The reminder of the blood that night made more tears spill over, and you were in awe that Rafe saw that night as something to look back on with the idea of fun while it had completely turned your life upside down…but maybe that was the fun part for him. He had to know how much what he did affected you.

He wouldn’t stop kissing you—wouldn’t let you make a sound—and when the hand on your thigh settled itself on your back, you tripped over your feet when he pulled you away from the car. You could hear your phone going off wherever Rafe had abandoned it, and you had no doubt that all of your friends and Kiara were looking for you.

Unfortunately, Rafe was forcing you into the back of Topper’s jeep.

Your hand was on the opposite door handle as soon as you were inside the vehicle, but with one successful yank back, Rafe climbed over you and closed it. You heard the resounding click of the locks, and you pushed against the seat when you felt Rafe lips trailing along the side of your neck.

“I didn’t get what I wanted,” he whispered against your skin, making you tremble. “…because I still want it.”

Rafe had you completely pinned between him and the seat, and your struggle grew frantic when you felt how hard he was against the back of your thigh. One of Rafe’s hands snaked its way underneath you, circling around your throat as he left kisses along your skin. His other hand was trailing along your frame, and when it started to push at your dress, the hand around your neck tightened.

You could barely breathe properly now…let alone scream.

Rafe’s breathing was heavy, evident in the way his chest heaved against your back. It didn’t stop him from pulling your head back and kissing you though, all the while releasing himself, the sound of his zipper loud in the otherwise car. Your friends were long gone from your mind, now, with your only focus on how you were going to handle this again.

Tears kissed your face as you reached up to pull at Rafe’s hand, but his grip was tight, and your grip started to slip the moment you felt him press the head of his cock into you. Your toes curled, body going still as memories of the last time flashed behind your eyes. Your underwear pulled over his hand, his fist keeping them completely pushed to the side as he slowly pushed his way into you.

“Just like I remember,” he purred against your ear once he’d pushed his cock into you to the hilt.

His movements had you gripping the seat of Topper’s Jeep, your feet kicking back at the door. His thrusts were slow, reminiscent of the last time, but unlike now, Rafe had only slowed his pace then once he saw the faint blood on his cock. Now, you didn’t know if he’d meant what he said earlier about being gentler or if he was simply trying to savor it.

When his hand finally let your throat go, you greedily sucked in air, but your relief was short-lived when his whole arm found its way around your neck. You had no choice but to hold onto it as he snapped his hips against you, the slow plunge of his cock forcing a whine from you. Rafe’s forehead rested on the back of yours, and you could both feel and hear how much he was enjoying this.

“I almost didn’t want to leave that night,” he breathed, a gasp escaping when he curved his hips against you. “I could’ve fucked you all night.”

The inside of the Jeep was filled with the sound of your reluctant moans and Rafe’s heavy breathing and words. You could feel your body becoming lighter and lighter, and you knew it had nothing to do with Rafe’s arm around your neck. The feel of his thrusts became easier to bear, and like that night, you found your gaze focusing on the door…just as you’d done with the ceiling.

The knowledge that he hadn’t just been tormenting you but had been seeking you out for a reason left you feeling a little numb. The whole reason you hadn’t done a thing about it in the first place was because you just wanted to avoid Rafe Cameron at all costs. He was violent and terrifying, and those two things had scared you into simply scrubbing yourself raw that night before crying yourself to sleep. You thought that he’d gotten what he wanted and would leave you alone.

…but you never considered that it wasn’t about the sex or the power, at all.

It was about you in particular and the power he wanted over you, the gratification he wanted from you.

It was why he boldly acknowledged you knowing exactly how terrified you were of him. It was why Rafe dared to enter your home once again, knowing exactly what the sight of him in there would do to you. It was why he taunted you and challenged you to even dare to retaliate. You didn’t know if Rafe was just some bully who decided you were it, or perhaps something just a tad more sinister.

When he flipped you onto your back, he didn’t like the blank look in your eyes.

“Uh uh, look at me,” he softly demanded, lightly tapping your cheek. “Look right at me.”

When you refocused on his face, more tears spilled over, and you were sure Rafe liked the sight of them. He leaned down with a hand on your throat, your knees to your chest and your feet resting against his stomach as he leaned over you, stuffing you full of his cock. The sound of it sliding into you over and over again was loud in the vehicle.

Your eyes were on Rafe’s, and his blue gaze never left you, lips parting as he watched your face. He slowed his hips down, thrusting into you at a languid pace, and when you clenched around him, a slow smile danced along his lips—crooked and taunting. He studied your face like he was fascinated by it, and you were reminded of that night at the party.

He’d looked like the cat who caught the canary. In your own house, he’d reminded you of a wolf toying with some poor deer before putting it out of its misery when you looked back on it. Every time your eyes had met his in public—including now—Rafe looked like nothing would be more fun than taking you between his teeth.

As he continued to fuck you in the back of his best friend’s car, you had the realization that around Rafe Cameron, you very much felt like prey, and the man on top of you had long come to that same conclusion before you did.

“He’s engaged now…they’re saying she’s pregnant.” 

One sentence.

That one sentence managed to repeat in Roman’s head over and over. Seven words that somehow happened to hold an unimaginable fucking weight. Because what started as a small trip to visit Zoe’s mother, Simone, ended in a way Roman never would’ve expected. 

A simple mistake of forgetting his wallet as he was on route to pick up a few items Simone asked him to, resulted in him returning back, only to overhear a small portion of—what was clearly— a private conversation.

A conversation that would change everything. 

It didn’t take much to put two and two together. To know exactly who Simone was referring to…

Zoe’s ex. 

He remembered Zoe’s silence as they drove to a restaurant that same night. Instantly noticing the way her demeanor shifted during the rest of their stay. The way they didn’t had sex for those entire two weeks, which he would’ve understood had it not been extremely unlike her. Or how she asked to stay longer instead of flying back home with him, which wasn’t necessarily an issue, but given the time frame…odd.

It didn’t take much to realize that Zoe was pushing him away, and truth be told, it fucking stung. He figured he’d attempt to address it when they were alone, that hashing things out during their visit wouldn’t be the best timing. But it seemed like the longer he waited, the more the distance between them grew. And waiting for her to come back home, only made his emotions more confusing than ever.

Roman sat in silence, his thoughts slowly eating away at him as the bottle of scotch in his hand only made them that much fucking louder.

Being desired by women was something he was used to, and truth be told, over time he’s grown indifferent to it. 

Or at least he thought he had. 

Because for a while now, he had noticed the way Serena’s eyes lingered on him when she thought he wasn’t looking. Or the way she’d find unnecessary ass reasons to bend down in front of him with her ass perched up. And while, he initially found her desperation annoying as hell….lately, ignoring her seemed to be slightly harder.

Which is probably why he was currently in the position he was. 

Roman reclined against Serena’s sofa as she began to trail her fingers down his chest, slowly inching her way lower and lower as her eyes remained on his. “What she doesn’t know, won’t hurt her…”  

For a moment he hesitated, grabbing her wrist halting her movements, “Serena…”

That was until she ignored him, planting kisses on his neck as her hands started to grope his semi-erect dick,“You’re so tense and stressed…” Roman’s jaw clenched as her lips now hovered over his ear, “Just relax and let me make you feel good, handsome.”

He could feel his body begin to tense under her touch as her needy gaze burned into him. His dick twitched as Serena dropped down to her knees, her fingers now fiddling with the hemline of his sweatpants and briefs as she slowly began to pull them down.

Fuck. 

There was no going back now.

Serena’s eyes widened as his big dick sprung free, a mischievous smile formed on her face as she attempted  to wrap her hand around his length. “Shit,” Roman’s eyes shut as she slowly took him in her mouth. Her warm tongue swiped against his cock as she began to slowly stroke him.

Serena smirked as he grunted  while her thumb gently teased his flushed mushroom tip. 

“So damn big…” It’s only when she started bobbing her head up and down his length that Roman quickly realized that her head game was on the weaker side. Deciding to give her grace, he reached down using both hands to guide himself further down her throat, watching how Serena moaned as she eagerly sucked and gagged on his dick. “You like that, daddy?”

Not really.

The truth was, giving her grace seemed to leave him with the short end of the stick. Because as eager as she was to please him, didn’t change that she was severely lacking in her oral skills. Which is why he preferred to have her just stop as a whole.

“Lay back.”

Serena wasted no time, quickly sliding down her shorts and drenched thong, exposing her glistening pussy. Roman got down on his knees pulling her thighs towards him as his mouth hovered over her cunt.

“Oh, fuck!” Serena’s head fell back the second Roman’s thick tongue swirled against her clit. It didn’t take long before her long fingernails nestled in between his loose hair as she bucked her pussy against his face. “R—Roman,” her whimpers and moans echoed across her home as he tongue-fucked her dripping cunt. 

It’s when Roman inserted two of his thick fingers, that her back arched off her sofa as her thighs tightened around shoulders. Serena’s porn-star like moans almost felt exaggerated. With that being said, the way her pussy was soaking the sofa underneath her, made him wonder if she was actually being serious.  

“Fuck, I-I’m gonna—” 

Roman’s fingers quickened their pace as his mouth continued to cater to her needy ass cunt. He groaned as Serena’s squirming intensified, her rhythm gradually increasing as her pussy continued to grind against his face. It wasn’t long before she came. Her slick juices coating his beard as her body attempted to recover from her orgasm. 

Soon after, Roman was ripping open the condom wrapper, it’s when he went to put it on, that he paused. The guilt of whatever the fuck he did and was currently doing crashing down on him in an instant.

Fuck.

Serena, clearly catching on, rolled her eyes as she studied him. “Seriously, don’t tell me that you’re starting to feel guilty now…” She chuckled mockingly, “I think it’s a little too late for that, big chief.”

Her desperation to get fucked evident as she kept running her goddamn mouth. Roman ignored her, walking away as he started to get dressed and look for his keys. 

Serena scoffed, irritation clearly growing the closer he got to leaving, “It’s funny you know…she was delusional enough to believe you were actually the one…”

Those sharp words sliced through him like a dagger through his fucking chest.

Serena grabbed his duffle back off the ground, throwing it at him as she chuckled, “Zoe was always a stupid ass bitch when it came to choosing men…looks like some things never change.”

At that Roman halted, jaw tightening as he sneered at her, “Watch your fucking mouth, Serena.”

A cocky smile formed on her face as she was clearly unfazed, “Look, the protective boyfriend gig kind of died the moment you let me put your dick in my mouth…don’t forget to close the door on your way out.”

Roman watched Serena walk away, proceeding to collect his shit and get the hell out of her house. 

What the fuck did he just do…

PRESENT

One night.

All it took was one fucking night to hurt the woman he loves.

Roman rolled his shoulders, sighing as stepped inside his empty penthouse. He spent longer than he should’ve in the gym, his body now sore from the vigorous workout he put himself through in an attempt to numb his thoughts. Working out for hours on end seemed to be the only thing keeping him grounded.

At least, a little. 

It’s been over a month since he’d last seen Zoe, and every day shit only seemed to get harder. Taking a step back and giving her space, was a constant battle itself. Any moment where he was tempted to break the distance, he’d remember their last conversation. Never forgetting the way her voice cracked, or the look of defeat in her eyes. 

How broken she was, because of him.

He fucking hates being the reason the spark in her eyes was gone. Every single decision he made that led them to where they were now, constantly ate away at him. From the moment he woke up, till the moment he went to bed, she was all he thought about. 

How he allowed himself to be so fucking blinded by his emotions instead of dealing with shit head on, is something he’ll never understand. There was no fucking excuse. Because no matter how hurt he felt, didn’t change the fact that he should’ve talked to her.

A mistake that cost him everything. 

One that he’d have to live in regret with for the rest of his life. 

Roman set his phone on the kitchen counter, choosing to ignore Marianna’s phone call the same way he hadn’t even bothered to respond to Hunter’s text asking if he was ready to come back. He knew it would only be a matter of time before the company needed him, which is probably why they made the decision not to suspend him in the first place.

Not that he would’ve given a fuck anyway. 

Beating Daniel’s ass was a decision he’d make again in a fucking heartbeat. It wasn’t his first time and by now he’s certain it won’t be the last. Roman has seen through his bullshit since day one, and he’ll be damned if he allowed his grimy ass to even think he’ll use this opportunity to get close to Zoe. 

God, he missed her.

There was warmth to Zoe that he couldn’t even begin to describe. A warmth he used to feel when she’d smile or laugh. Her energy was radiating to him. This penthouse that at one point felt so dull to him, changed the moment she came along.

This same penthouse being where he asked her to be his girlfriend… to officially be his. Where he made love to her throughout the night without even realizing in the moment that he was in love. Those meaningful moments now replaced with restless nights where he spends hours on end reminiscing what they had. Months without her have passed and he still hasn’t brought himself to change his screensaver of them together.

Because that would only make shit too real… a reality he was unwilling to accept.

A loud knock interrupted Roman's thoughts as confusion began to set in. Despite his protests, the twins had mentioned visiting him when they had the chance. But he never expected it to be this…soon. 

The last person Roman was expecting to see when he opened the door was his sister who angrily walked past him, disregarding basic manners such as a simple greeting. He watched as she marched her way inside, causing him to follow behind.

“Marianna…”

Marianna crossed her arms as her back leaned against the stone pillar in his living room, “Want to tell me why the hell you’ve been ignoring my calls and messages?”

Roman now sat at the edge of his sectional couch that faced her, sighing as his hand ran down his beard,  “I’ve been busy…”

“Bullshit, Roman, I didn’t make over an hour drive just so you could fucking lie to me.” Marianna scoffed as she shook her head, “You haven’t responded to any of my messages or Mom’s calls in over a month. At first we figured you were just too busy on the road but when I called Zoe and heard nothing back…I knew something was wrong…”

Roman’s gaze focused on the ground as his voice lowered, “I fucked up, Marianna…” His jaw tightening as he mustered courage to get his words out, “I cheated…”

Every second of silence that passed, felt fucking eternal…

“What the fuck, Roman? Seriously, I can’t even fucking look at you right now…”

The look of disappointment in Marianna’s expression only made the sting that he already felt, that much fucking worse. She paused briefly as she stood next to him, he could feel her eyes burning into him without even having to meet her gaze.

“Whenever your nieces ask for her, you can tell them your fucking self why she won’t be around anymore.”

Roman’s eyes shut as Marianna stormed out slamming the door behind her. The weight in his chest now feeling a million times heavier than before. 

He sat in silence for who knows how long, just…thinking. 

The only thing he knew for certain was that he was going to do everything in his fucking power to right his wrongs. Even if keeping a distance and giving Zoe space, killed him. 

He was willing to do whatever it took, no matter how long it took.

And that wasn’t going to happen by isolating at home…he needed to contact Paul and Hunter. He needed to go back. 

Roman went to retrieve his phone after realizing he was receiving another phone call. Only this time, it was from Jimmy. His thumb hovered over the screen to answer when he heard another knock at the door.

Fucking great. 

He loves the twins to death, but this was the last thing he needed right now. 

Roman sighed as he unlocked the door, but any words that he had, died on his tongue the moment he laid eyes on her.

“Zoe…”

Her watery eyes met his as her bottom lip quivered, “I need you to do something for me…”

You drive into the elementary school parking lot and spot his G wagon right away. He smirks halfway out the window as you pull up alongside him, window to window without having to get out. His eyes look you over lazily, as he tries to hide the fact that you look good - you always do these days.  

“Hey sexy, heard they upgraded your whip. Must really be putting these criminals through it” he flirts. It’s just Rio being Rio.

“Christopher” you greet him with much less charm shutting your car off and removing your seatbelt. You adjust your mirrors to be aware of your surroundings and take your gun off your hip locking it in the glovebox.

“I don’t know why you want to work a job where you need that. You should be put up somewhere, out the way” he continues full of shit. He’s handsome, charismatic and your chemistry is unmatched. You send an exasperated eye roll off in his direction and he chuckles. His smile disarms you.

“I mean baby if work is that stressful we can park in a back street and get it in” he proposes, his one track mind fully tuned in.

“Glad you’re enjoying yourself Christopher” you smile pleasantly ignoring his advances. “If I quit, who's gonna keep you out of jail?” You ask him. “Your partners are courting informants. Their operation is pretty much compromised. You need to untangle yourself from them fast” you share and he nods looking pensive. You check your mirrors again and see kids running through soccer drills. When you turn back to Rio he’s already watching you.

“Can you do me a solid? Kick up a fuss somewhere else? Make a big stink?” He asks.

“You know I can't, I'm just passing along information. You helped me so I’m returning the favour” you remind him.

“How fast do I need to be untangled?”

“Expeditiously. Is that a problem?” You ask.

“It’s no problem, mama. You know I’m always ready.” He says sitting up straight.

You nod, “good, if I hear anything else I’ll let you know.”

“Preciate it” he nods. You get out your work phone and look through your urgent emails that have been sorted by your assistant.

“Where are you coming from all dolled up?” He pries.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” You smile without looking over at him.

“Lunch at the new restaurant Elsie’s. You kept it light with a chicken Cesar so you probably really wasn’t feeling the guy” he says forcing you to turn. This time his head is against the back of his seat as he looks through his dash instead of at you. Pleased with his reconnaissance. “You don’t have to do all that Mama. He won’t know what to do with you. You know those squares like to throw fits when you dump them. Don’t make me have to kill him” he says, maintaining his aura of nonchalance. His eyes meet yours for a moment effectively communicating that he’s not playing. But your world isn't his. He has bigger fish to fry.

“I don’t need to be babysat, I can handle myself and I know what I need better than anyone else” you assert and he scoffs. You hear a shrill whistle and see the kids lining up in front of the coach and start the car. You watch the kids run off the line and hit the button to open your trunk. Your son comes barrelling down the hill tossing his soccer bag into the trunk.

“Hi mom!” He shouts.

“Hi baby” you smile as he runs over to his father’s trunk getting his school bag and another one.

“Bye dad, see you next week” he says walking between your two cars as Rio gets out to hug him tight. You catch a hint of his cologne. The woodsy, leather smell with hints of bourbon used to drive you wild.

“Bye, kid. Love you, listen to your mom alright. Do all your homework and don’t try to cheat her on bed time. Don’t make her call me.” Christopher says being stern. 

“Ok” your son tells his father as Christopher takes the bags, tossing them in the trunk for his boy before getting to the passenger door. Your son hops in right beside you.

“Mom, you look gorgeous.” he gushes.

“She had a date,” Rio says, blowing up your spot.

“We’ll talk when we get home say goodbye to your father” you tell your son as you shift gears into drive.

“Bye dad” he says sitting back,

“Bye Sonnie” Rio says and you turn to watch the perfect mix of the both of you fasten his seatbelt. Sonnie smiles at you through the rearview mirror as you pull out of the parking spot. You smile back as he connects his phone to the car.

“How was practise?” You ask him.

“Good, dad has a new house.” he says.

“Does he?” You ask, having missed the memo.

“Don’t get upset, we didn't stay there yet. I just got to see my room - it’s huge and so is the yard.” Sonnie says and the excitement in his voice makes you happy. Reality gnaws at your nerves, you hope to God that Rio is being smart and not doing anything to jeopardise his freedom. A huge house means his earnings have to be legit.

“That’ll be good for your soccer drills” you smile being positive for Sonnie.

“Right, dad thought of that. He thought of everything”  Sonnie says.

“Well I’m happy for him” You smile.

“There’s space for you too, and my brothers and sisters” Sonnie continues as you stop at a red light. You turn to the back seat with a raised brow. You know good and well your problem of a baby father was not just flirting with a baby on the way.

“Does your dad have– don't answer that” you stop not wanting him in the middle of the mess that had started the day you met his father. A smart woman would have never spoken to the criminal that pulled her out of a warehouse before it went up in smoke, again. The gun to your head should have been enough to terrify you more than his eyes and raspy voice intrigued you. It was the first time you went into the station and lied about what happened. Several comrades were down, internal affairs later discovered that they were all dirty cops, making the masked man a vigilante.

The next time you saw his face it was without the obstruction of a ski mask. It was after a girls night gone wrong. One of those nights where friendship implodes because someone’s drinking too much, and the other person's too thirsty. You were at the quiet bar in need of a respite from the girl drama. You were two whisky sours in when he pulled up a chair and smiled to tell you you looked better outside of your work uniform. You took in his features for the first time, eyes lingering on the bird tattoo on his neck, a poor choice for a criminal. Or was he? You still weren’t sure. He smirked at the recognition in your eyes and then his lingered on your lips. There were a hundred questions on the tip of your tongue and none of them made it out.

“You know how to play pool? I win, I get to take you out” he said before you could respond.

“I’m fine thanks” You responded nursing your drink.

He’d worn you down eventually though. The next time you saw him after leaving the bar that night was on a detective's wall a few months later. Misguided loyalty had you back at his bar. You were seated for no more than twenty minutes before he appeared at your side. You ended up following him to a back room where you told him what you saw at the police station. It was how your relationship persisted for the next nine months. Favor for favor until one night he finally taught you how to play pool.

You shake your head pulling yourself out of the trip down memory lane.

Brothers and sisters.

Sonnie’s words replay on a loop in your head. You didn’t know what to call your relationship with Rio. It’d been years since you’d had sex. The flirting never died though, neither did his requests for family. But there was always another woman that piqued his neverending curiosity. Always some opportunity that jeopardised your career and his freedom. He’d never come outright to confirm or deny his illegal dealings but where there’s smoke there's fire. You know better than to think he’s fully innocent with all the times something about him has floated through the station. You manage to push the thought of him shacking up with someone else to the back of your head as you prepare dinner, help Sonnie with his homework and then put him to bed.

You’re sitting on the front step when Christopher’s car rolls onto the boulevard parking in front of your house. He hops out and meets you on your porch. You don’t speak heading inside. He follows silently as you cross from the front of your home into the back for more privacy from prying eyes.

“Whats wrong?” he asks, sitting on the picnic table. You look up at him with folded arms. “You know I’ma handle it, what is it Ma?” he asks, sitting forward. 

“You’re moving?” you ask.

“That’s what you’re mad about? It’s closer to his school. I can be around more” he says and it all sounds like a nightmare. 

“You and his brothers and sisters?” you ask and he jolts noticeably before his posture stiffens, his signature smirk slides into place – a spark in his eye follows. He’s the cat that got the creme; you're the rat in the trap. You try to calculate your misstep as his smirk grows into a smile. He can’t help himself, he's so tickled. He’s in a checkmate and you don’t know where you’ve made a misstep.

“Me and my children” he nods with unnecessary cruelty. 

“Sonnie thinks I’ll be staying there too, please don’t sell him dreams” you sigh and he shakes his head.

“You said we could get back together when I’m a hundred percent out. I’ll be there by the time the house is finished. Then you can sell this one or put it up for rent and get your back blown out most nights. Don’t worry, our bedroom has soundproofing - I know how you like to get loud” he says and you scoff taking a step back.

Your brain short circuits before rebooting and you look up at quite possibly the most delusionally insufferable man on the planet. He grins before having a laugh at your expense. You fold your arms too stunned to speak.

“Be for real Christopher, I’ll be more mad about you lying to me than you telling me you’re having a baby” you sigh. He steps down from the bench so your arms are touching his chest. He takes a finger tilting your chin up so your eyes meet his.

“My dick hasn’t been in you so you can't be pregnant. Lets go upstairs to practise” he says his voice low, seductive and raspy. You shake your head and push him away, resisting the electricity his proximity and bedroom voice sends through your body.

“We both know if Sonnie went to your place talking about brothers and sisters you wouldn't be so civil - stalker.” you state changing the subject.

“When our son talks about brothers and sisters he’s talking about our kids. Stop playing with me.” he says with nonchalance. You search his eyes for a lie and find none.

“Mom?” You hear and rush inside.

“Sonnie?” You ask, seeing him in his PJ’s.

“Dad?” he asks, looking behind you. You turn to see Rio coming in and turn to Sonnie lighting up with hope. You regret calling Rio instantly.

“I went to sleep in your bed with you and you weren't there mom” Sonnie says turning his attention back to you. “What are you doing in the backyard dad?” Sonnie questions.

“It’s spring, I forgot to check the deck to make sure the skunks don’t try to nest again.” Rio says lying so effortlessly, it’s scary. “We’re all clear buddy and you're too big to be climbing in your mama’s bed” Rio says, stepping around you to pick Sonnie up. It’s ridiculous because at eight, Sonnies are more than half of his fathers size, but you watch as your boy smiles dangling as his father takes him up to his room.

“Can dad read me a bedtime story?” Sonnie asks.

“Since he’s here” you sigh, refilling your carafe and bringing it up to the lonely primary bedroom. You rest it on the bedside table and head into the bathroom with all of your necessities. With Rio under your roof you lock the door knowing he has no boundaries and take your shower, then do the skincare that’s aided your genes at maintaining a youthful face in spite of a stressful job and personal life.

You step out lotioning your hands and see Rio sitting at the bench on the foot of your bed. You half expected it. He stares and you let him, it’s not something he’s witnessed in years. The intimacy of being in your space, seeing you undone, vulnerable and ready to sleep without him.

“I’ll walk you out” you say slipping your feet into your house shoes.

He nods, smiling. “You still use the oil I used to rub on your stomach when you were pregnant and after?” he asks. You nod instead of telling him that the stress from work and coparenting schedules have you stress eating your way into a few more tiger stripes.

“Stop objectifying me Christopher” you say knowing his eyes are glued to your figure as you descend the stairs ahead of him. You stand at the door and he takes his sweet time.

“End whatever you have going on with the square. Our house will be move in ready in two months.” he says.

“Goodnight” you say, opening the door.

He steps out the house turning before you can shut the door on him. His head dips to kiss you goodnight and he stops millimetres away from your face. You look at him and see he’s looking upstairs. You turn and the whites of your son's eyes grow in the dark as he scrambles back into his bedroom shutting the door.

“He’s bad just like his daddy” you groan as Rio laughs.

“Don’t do my boy like that” Rio says and you smile, shaking your head.

“Nite” You sigh.

“Night mama, now that cat’s out the bag I’ll be by with the blueprints so you can design the layout of your closet and pick the colours for our bedroom” he says walking down the driveway and to his car.

You shake your head shutting the door out of your depths with Sonnie and his pappy.

_________

Did you know you were waiting for your son to get into your car? Or was that a nice surprise? I never did baby daddy Rio and a bunch of you asked. So here it is 😉

Solana taps her short acrylic nails against the bedazzled steering wheel, sneaking a quick glance at the time on the center display. 12:22PM. It puts a smile on her face. She’s still, somehow, on schedule. Still set to complete her errands and clock back into work before her lunch break ends at 1:30.

Might even have a few spare minutes to FaceTime her husband who should be heading to the school to pick up Aubrey, Tavita, and RJ from their early leaning program despite both Leya and Rashad having a large gap before their next set of classes. Both of which offered the moment they finalized their schedules this semester to handle pick ups and drop offs for the OG’s 2.0. Not that Roman was having it.

When it comes to their last set of kids, and especially RJ, their grandson, he wants to do it all. Prefers to be as hands on as possible. And though he can be….difficult at times, struggle to recognize the boundaries that should exist between being a grandparent and being a parent to RJ, it warms Solana’s heart.

She adores seeing how happy the kids make Roman.

How much he adores his grandson, to the point where he’s acknowledged the shame he still struggles with from time to time considering how vehemently opposed he was to Leya choosing to keep her baby. Roman wanted her to get an abortion, thought she was too young to be a mother and was setting herself up for failure by choosing to not end her pregnancy.

Naturally…those sentiments have done a complete 180.

Sometimes Solana jokes that RJ has bumped Leya herself from that rumored “favorite” label she’s never been able to escape.

Their grandson, Tavita, and Aubrey, can do no wrong in Roman’s eyes.

Ever.

Pulling into the parking lot, Solana secures a spot close to the entrance and shuts off the car. She pulls her phone out the holder mounted on the dashboard, sliding it in her purse before climbing out the car. Walking through the automatic double doors, she offers a small smile to the sales associate stocking the shelves as she makes her way to the back of the drugstore.

Relief fills her when she sees that there’s no one in line. It’s a bit of a surprise given how most of her afternoon pickups, before Roman offered to take over pharmacy duties a few months ago, would result in her pushing for time what with the long lines.

The drive thru was sometimes a little better but not by much. Only three cars in front of her could sometimes take even longer than the five customers ahead of her in line if she went in, hence her bypassing the alternative.

“Hi,” she smiles, walking up to the counter. “Here to pickup for Reigns. R-E-I—”

“With all due respect,” the sales associate interrupts softly. A bit of a nervous smile on her face and reflected in her forest green eyes. “I know who you are, ma’am.”

Solana chuckles. “Of—of course.” The girl, probably in her early to mid twenties with fiery red hair pulled and held back in a butterfly clip, excuses herself to pull the prescriptions. Solana digs through her purse for her wallet, the motion causing her phone to light up. It deepens her smile. Her lock screen photo, recently changed, is from the most recent family vacation taken over the summer. All of the kids and grandkids gathered close, with she and Roman in the middle, her hand over his as she leans into him. It’s silly, almost. The way her eyes tear up. But just looking at it, seeing the beautiful family they’ve created, it’s hard for her to not be filled with some level of emotionality. If someone told her twenty five years ago, she’d be where she is now—a college graduate with two degrees, business woman, registered nurse, married to her soulmate with 10 children, one beautiful grandson, and a growing number of future in-laws….she’d have never believed it.

Life is certainly one wild ass journey.

And the second half of her life has been nothing short of magical and wondrous.

Happy.

It’s been happy.

“Alright,” the young girl returns with the bag of pills. Solana starts to pull out her drivers license and debit card. “Looks like I’ve got seven prescriptions for you, Mrs. Reigns—”

“Seven?” Solana pauses. Completes a redo of the mental tally she’d done while on the drive to the pharmacy. Aria’s birth control, Nic’s Wellbutrin, Aroha, Tavita, and Aubrey’s Zyrtec, and Roman’s Lisinopril… “There should be only six?” She frowns, wrecking her brain. “Did one of the girls call in a refill or something?”

Even if they did, ever since both turned eighteen, Lina and Leya have been picking up their own medication.

The girl, name tag reading Hazel, shakes her head and starts to pull out the pills. “I don’t believe so.” One by one, she reads them off, Solana nodding to each familiar name until Hazel lists off one that makes Solana pause.

“Plavix?” It’s not unfamiliar in that she’s never heard of it before. Off the top of her head, she can probably list off 10+ patients where just this past week she’s updated or confirmed it in their medication list. It’s unfamiliar in that she doesn’t recall that ever being prescribed for anyone in her family.

Period.

Hazel nods, lifting the bottle. “Yes ma’am. 75mg. For Mr. Reigns—”

“What?” Solana’s shoulders drop. “Can I….”

“Of course.” Hazel reaches over the bottle, Solana immediately locating her husband’s name, their address, and the correct DOB. “I don’t…there has to be some mistake.” She lifts her eyes to Hazel, fingers unintentionally tightening around the bottle. “Maybe….maybe you guys accidentally mixed something up—Roman doesn’t take this.”

Hazel begins to tap at the computer, making a sound. “Looks like this is actually the second refill, so—”

“Second?” Whatever sense of joy and calm Solana felt is gradually melting away in the face of new, confusing information that has her smile gone and her frown heavy. She looks at the bottle once more, this time searching for a different piece of information. The prescriber. Roman never mentioned Dr. Michaels prescribing him any additional medication outside of his high blood pressure meds, and she would know considering how much her husband bemoans any sort of pills he has to take.

But the confusion deepens when she doesn’t see Dr. Michaels name listed.

She sees Dr. Hart.

Another name that she knows well.

Dr. Bret Hart is one of the top rated neurologist in the country. Several of her patients are his patients as well.

But Roman isn’t.

…..Right?

Uncaring of protocol, Solana steps to the side, pill bottle still in hand. She digs out her phone and dials the number under Dr. Hart’s name. Her growing anxiety manifests in consistent foot tapping as she quickly navigates through the menu selections until she’s greeted by the receptionist.

A cheery, genial tone placates Solana’s trepidation just a notch. A tiny notch. “Dr. Hart’s office. This is Melissa speaking. How may I assist you?”

“Hi,” she clears her throat. “Uhh, this is Solana Reigns, and I—I’m calling to verify if my husband, Roman, is an active patient of Dr. Hart?”

The switch is sudden and startling, the prior friendly tone replaced with something sterile and borderline rehearsed. “I’m sorry, due to HIPAA, I’m unable to confirm or deny any patients of Dr. Hart.”

Solana blinks, momentarily taken back. Maybe…maybe she wasn’t paying attention. “I understand that. I’m in healthcare, too. But I’m also Solana Reigns, and even if I wasn’t, Roman always ensures a full ROI is kept on file for me. So again, can you please just—”

It’s been a practice in place for years, decades even. She oversees all of her families medical information, including Roman’s. If Roman was a patient, he would have not only told her that he, for whatever reason, now had a neurologist on his medical team, but he would ensure the ROI was on file.

….Right?

Doubt stirs, however, when Melissa doubles down. “Mrs. Reigns, as I stated, due to HIPAA, I’m unable to confirm or deny any patients of Dr. Hart.” A beat. “Now is there anything else I can help you w—”

Beep.

Solana hangs up the phone. Much after that is a blur. She’s somewhat aware of her paying for the prescriptions, grabbing the bag that she eventually tosses on the drivers seat along with her purse once she's back in the car. Using the handsfree to call the hospital to alert them that she had a family emergency and would be out for the rest of the day. Pulling into the parking lot of that same hospital, in a separate section from where she typically parks. The swift walk into the hospital, onto the elevator where a quick reading of the directory leads her to the fourth floor.

It’s only when Solana is marching into the office, up to the front desk where the smiles on the receptionists' faces are immediately wiped away the minute that they lock eyes with her, that the awareness returns.

The name tag reveals what Solana already clocked by the woman with dirty blonde hair obvious, nervous gulp and intermittent eye contact. “Mrs. Reigns, I—”

“I need to speak to Dr. Hart now.”

———————

“Tavita, RJ, quiet down, alright?”

“Leave them damn kids alone.”

Rashad closes his eyes and blows out a breath, lifting his gaze from the open textbook on the kitchen table. Thankfully, Leya handles the response in a much kinder way than he ever could or would.

“Daddy.” She tilts her head, pen tapping against her notebook. “You know they’re being loud.”

Loud could be a bit of an understatement. While Aubrey sits happily on the sofa with her play makeup kit, paying attention to the episode of Bluey that plays on the 96inch flat screen TV, Tavita and RJ are loudly, very loudly, playing with their action figures and hot wheels that are scattered across the living room.

Playing when, technically, they should all be down for a nap but someone stopped and got them ice cream on the way home, hence none of them being tired and still up while Rashad and Leya are trying to do homework. “And I don’t know why they’re not watching TV in one of the 30 different entertainment rooms ya’ll got in this big ass house—”

“Rashad—”

Roman turns from where he stands in front of the fridge, arms crossed over his still big ass body. Aren’t old people supposed to lose muscle mass and shit as they get older? Rashad could swear this old ass, mean ass nigga gets bigger and bigger over the years. “Because this is their home, and you’re just a visitor, so if you don’t like it—”

“Daddy.” Leya groans, eyes shutting and shoulders slumping. “Rashad has lived with us for years now.”

“Visited.”

“Yeah, well don’t worry, as soon as I graduate and get enough money saved up—”

“I hope you don’t think you’re taking my little girl and grandson to go live in some shithole,” Roman interrupts, shaking his head, his jaw ticking. “They’re not going any fucking where until you prove to me you can provide for them the way they deserve.”

Leya reaches across to place her hand on his arm, eyes pleading with her boyfriend to drop it, but that’s hard to do when Rashad has spent years biting his tongue for the sake of peace with her impossible ass daddy. But being so close to graduating and landing his first “big boy” job means he’s that much closer to moving his family out of this damn house, into their own place, and away from Roman Reigns.

Still, as much as the Tribal Chief aggravates the living shit out of him, Rashad still respects that he’s Leya’s father and RJ’s grandpa. That unlike himself, they love him to pieces. Thus him once more swallowing his pride and playing along with a game that was always designed for him to fail.

He runs his hand over his face. “And just how do I do that?”

“You can’t.”

Rashad falls back in his chair and throws his hands up in defeat. “Well, then how the hell—”

The sound of a door slamming in the distance interrupts what’s certain to be a semi argument deescalated by Leya.

“Mommy!”

“Grandma!”

A set of three voices and different greetings, the boys abandoning their toys and Aubrey climbing off the sofa, to run up to one of their favorite people. But it’s the other set of individuals, older and more knowing, that detect what’s not noticed by the kids.

Perhaps its felt though when the OG's 2.0 all run to hug Solana by her legs. Solana, who offers a forced, strained smile and pat to their heads before locking eyes with her husband.

“We need to talk.”

Both Rashad and Leya share a brief glance as Roman frowns.

“Baby—“

“Now.”

Solana’s breaking away from the kids as she turns on her heel to head towards the steps is almost as jarring as her uncharacteristic entrance and outright ignoring of her daughter and future son-in-law.

“Momm—“

“Not now, Cataleya,” the only brusque response given to her eldest daughter who looks over at Roman with a frown that mirrors his own.

“What’s going on?”

But for a man who’s usually the source of solutions and answers, he has none.

Roman mutters a quiet “I’ll be back” as he follows the fiery trail left behind by his wife who is already up the steps and in their bedroom by the time he steps into the master suite.

There’s a sizable, noticeable shift in energy and tension from the moment he steps into their room compared to what was felt prior to Solana’s return home. A return he just now realized is far too early considering she was supposed to be working a 12hr shift today. Right then and there he realizes something must have happened, hence him moving quickly to shut their bedroom door so he can find out who he has to maim or kill.

But Roman has barely turned around when a sharp, stinging pain sprouts from the sudden collision of Solana’s hand with his face. The pressure of her slap forcing his head sideways, his eyes briefly shutting, jaw dropping.

What the—

“You bastard.”

To say Roman is utterly floored and confused would be the understatement of the century.

In all the years they’ve been together, he can only recount one or two times when his wife has ever put her hands on him, and while he’s far from physically injured in any sort of capacity, it’s concerning. It’s concerning because that is not Solana.

“What the he—”

Hand to his cheek, he watches as she storms over to the bed where her purse sits. Watches her pull out the familiar brown bag, digging frantically before she pulls out an item that she pitches at him with a speed he didn’t think her capable of. He catches it, but he almost wishes he hadn’t. Wishes so many things he hadn’t in that moment as he stares at it.

His throat grows dry. Their master bedroom that rivals in size with that of some apartments suddenly feels so much smaller. Like the walls are gradually closing in on them. And in some ways, they are.

“Solana—”

“How dare you?” She cuts into him, her voice quivering, hands formed into a fist. “How dare you keep this from me?”

Roman swallows. “Sol—”

“A stro—?” He isn’t sure what tears him up more, hearing the crack in her voice or seeing the distress all over her face that feeds the inability to even get the word out. And even when she does, it’s the saddest fucking thing he’s ever heard. “A stroke, Roman? You—you had a stroke and didn’t tell me?”

His eyes shut. It’s a word that even months after learning and hearing about for the first time he still isn’t sure how or what to feel. He’d hoped that after giving himself some time to sit on the life altering news, he’d be able to sit down and talk with Solana. He—he didn’t intend to keep it from her forever, but that’s immaterial at this point.

She knows, and not only does she know, but she didn’t hear it from him directly.

However she found out, whether investigating after seeing the pills or something else, it was revealed to her in the worst way possible.

And that’s entirely on him.

“Bab—”

“Not only did you have a stroke, but you saw a neurologist. You see a neurologist—”

“Sol—“

“Three appointments—”

“I wasn’t—”

“A prescription. A refill—”

He steps towards her as she turns and walks away, hands braced on her vanity. “Solana, pl—”

He’s interrupted this time not by her words but by the sound and commotion created when she swipes her arm across the vanity. Items clashing, crashing, and colliding with the floor, bottles breaking and shattering, drenching the carpet as she spins back around, finger jabbed in his direction.

“And not once did you say a damn thing to me, Roman!” She shouts. Not a heated, truthful accusation raised several octaves. But a shout. Solana has never shouted at him before. “Not once!”

“How could you do this to me?” She inches closer, eyes glossed over as she gestures to herself with both hands. “How could you keep this from me?” Another deep intake of breath followed by another wave of anger, each word punctuated and stabbing as the feeling in his chest hearing and seeing her like this. “It was a stroke, Roman. Not an asthma attack. Not a panic attack. It was a fucking stroke!”

He doesn’t mean to snap. He truly doesn’t, but this is the last conversation he expected to have today. Let alone for it to go down like this. “I know that, okay!”

And he’s immediately overcome with regret, running his hands down his face as she continues to lay into him. A well deserved verbal lashing, but a painful one, nonetheless. “No! Not okay! Because you had no right to keep this from me, and it was selfish as hell for you to do so!”

Solana isn’t saying anything he doesn't already know. Hasn’t already struggled with over the past few months. Countless moments flash throughout his mind. Moments where he could and should have told her. From the very beginning, really. When he first found out. One of his routine MRI’s resulting in Michaels calling him in and explaining that his scans showed brain damage. Small and with minimal to no outwards symptoms identified in his behavior, but additional testing, as well as him being referred to Hart, confirmed it. Confirmed that he’d had a small stroke.

It took a while for him to come to terms with it on his own, especially when he looked back and identified when it most likely occurred.

And what caused it.

The initial plan was to tell Solana after he’d worked through it. Processed it in a session or two with Lita, but this time turned into next time, and next time turned into later.

If only he knew later would result in this.

The last thing he wanted to do was hurt or scare her, and that’s exactly what he’s done.

“How many times have we had this conversation, Roman? How many goddamn times?” She continues, the swirl of anger and hurt bouncing back and forth, reflecting in the oscillating intonation in her voice. Weighed down with hurt. Fueled by pain. “We have been together for over twenty years. Twenty.” She shakes her head, voice breaking once more. His chest tightens seeing the tears spill down her face. “And even after all this time, after everything we’ve been through, you’re still keeping things from me.”

Statement after statement, question after question, one after the next, contribute to the growing mountain of regret building within. Solana has every right to be furious with him right now. Any and all of her emotions are justified, but as much as he wants to grant her the space to express herself, he feels stifled. He wants to speak with her. Not to justify. But to explain.

But perhaps there’s no difference between the two.

“What if you had another one, huh?”

The last question, however, ignites something. Something that feels a hell of a lot like disdain, and the shift in his own tone that of a man who feels offended.

Who feels attacked.

“That’s not going to hap—”

“You don’t know that, Roman!” She snaps, her eyes widened as if the words out his mouth are nothing more than a handful of salt on this fresh, open wound. “You just turned sixty this year, you already have stage one hypertension, your work is the definition of stress, and you get yourself pissed off and worked up over the stupidest shit. Taking the medication is just one of the changes that need to be made, changes that I would have helped you with if you had just told me!"

“I was going t—”

“Did you even think about what it would do to our kids, to RJ, to me, if something happened to you?” Whatever prideful feelings that were beginning to swell melt away at the sight of her shoulders dropping, the increase of uneven breathing as silent tears escalate into audible and visible distress. “Do you even care?”

Strides and a heaping amount of progress in various areas have been made over the years when it comes to his temper. Roman would like to think that. Would like to believe that what started out being for the sake of not scaring his wife, who at one point was so traumatized he couldn’t even stand too close to her without her jumping, has turned into an almost need to be mindful of his tone and volume with any member of his family.

But there are moments, moments where he still struggles.

Moments like this.

“How can you fucking ask me that?” His voice is only an octave above a whisper, but there’s no denying the simmering and underlying anger. “Why do you think I didn’t say anything to you? Because I didn’t—”

“You didn’t want to worry me, right?” Her lips turn up into a mocking smile as she shakes her head. “God, Roman, it’s the same shit over and over again. I’m so exhausted of this. At one point, I understood. I know that I was not mentally and emotionally stable when we got together, but that was over twenty years, ten children, and one grandchild ago. You don’t get to keep using that as an excuse—”

“It’s not an—”

“This is your health, Roman! Your health. Your life.” She steps closer once more, another shaky concoction of rage bled into grief. “I’ve kept things from you, too, yes, but I have never—”

Perceptive has been a word used to describe Roman for as far back as he can remember, and it’s something he’s always considered to be one of his strengths. He’s always been adept at reading people. From the most subtle of things to the most overt, and there’s nothing subtle about the way Solana pauses mid sentence, the flash of something akin to guilt in her eyes, and the way she breaks eye contact, looking away.

There’s another shift, one palpable and impossible for him to ignore.

Especially when she abruptly does a 180, murmuring something he can’t make out and attempting to walk away.

That’s not happening.

Roman easily steps to the side, a barricade for the exit she’s suddenly eager and antsy to utilize. He reaches for her, pill bottle discarded and tossed onto the bed at some point, allowing him to hold her by her arms.

“What?”

And for all the work and progress Solana has made over the years, one thing hasn’t changed is her inability to maintain a poker face. At least with him.

She’s a terrible liar.

“Nothing,” she dismisses. “Let me—”

“No. You’re lying.”

She scoffs, looking up with a glare, angrily wipeing at her eyes. “You’re one to tal—”

“I’m not gonna ask you again—”

“Move, Roman—”

“Tell me,” he presses. Because despite the way this has all played out, the truth has been exposed. It serves neither of them any good for anything else to remain in the closet, and judging by her behavior, Roman has a bad feeling he’s not the only one who’s been keeping secrets. “You were talking about health—”

“I said move—”

“And you stopped.” He continues to eye her, grip tightening just enough to keep her still without hurting her. Physically, at least. His eyes scan over her. “Why?”

“I don’t want to talk to you righ—”

“I don’t care—”

“Roman—”

“Tell me.”

Her eyes shut. “Roman, I said—”

“I don’t give a fuck what you sa—”

“Don’t talk to me like—”

“Solana, stop avoiding the goddamn question!” He snaps. The abrupt leap in his volume making her tense in his embrace, but the desire to know overpowers the desire to comfort. “What were you—”

“Fine!” She shouts, finally breaking away from him, stumbling back and looking up with her red, swollen eyes and flushed face focused on him. “You really wanna know?” Zero time is offered before she jumps right to it. “Before—” She pauses, swallowing and visibly struggling to maintain enough composure to get it out. “Before I got pregnant with Nicky, I—I had an ectopic pregnancy.”

There’s a delay, a good, one, two, three second lag in between the final statement that leaves her mouth and its actual settling in and processing on Roman’s end. A process that even after traveling to the part of his brain that takes in and understands information he still can’t conceptualize.

What did she just say?

A sentiment that escapes his mouth. “Wh—what?” Brows furrowed, voice lowered, he has to repeat himself. Maybe for her. Maybe for himself. He doesn’t really know at this point. “What did you just say?”

She continues, the angry gleam in her eyes dwindling into something grim and solemn. “It was around the time when I first took the kids to go see you fight, and you were upset with me, and we were arguing—”

Though the question is presented, even as she explains, Roman’s mind is a million and one places. He’s not nearly as intelligent when it comes to medical topics as his wife. Naturally so. But even he knows what an ectopic pregnancy is. Maybe not the specifics, but enough to know that like a miscarriage and stillbirth, it’s a form of pregnancy loss.

Solana lost a baby?

It’s that question, along with something else mentioned, someone else, that allow him to pull from the shock and lean back into the conversation.

“Nic….” He trails off, quickly putting two and two together as he stares at her. “Solana, Nicolás is fifteen years old. You telling me you’ve been keeping this shit from me all this time?”

Fifteen. Their middle son is fifteen, and the referenced argument from what feels like forever ago was a good year before Nic was even conceived—

“Wait.” Roman looks away, focused on the wall as additional details slowly start to return. He…he remembers that. The argument, yes, but the night they made up… His eyes snap back to her. “You told me something from your past had come up in your therapy appointment. That you needed to work through it.” Implied that it was related to her sexual assault, hence why they’d gone several weeks without engaging in any sort of penetrative intercourse until she expressed that she was comfortable. That she was ready….

Arms crossed, she looks away, refusing to meet his burning gaze. “It wasn’t safe for us to have sex until my hCG levels went down to make sure the injection—”

His brows cave deeper. “Injection?” Still, she avoids eye contact, just angrily wipes at her eyes. “Christ, Solana, you went through that for weeks and never said anything?”

No….not weeks.

Years.

For years, she’s sat on this, sat on the loss of a baby he didn’t even know they’d both conceived and lost until this very moment.

Because she didn’t tell him.

The same way he didn’t tell her.

And it’s that sort of hypocrisy that has his anger rising once more. From that and more. From the fact that he’s always done everything within his power to support and be there for her, and in what he’s sure had to have been a devastating, traumatic experience for her….he wasn’t.

He wasn’t because she didn’t let him be.

“You wanna stand here and fucking judge me when you’ve done the same—”

It’s only then she snaps her furious gaze back onto him. “No, you do not get to turn this on me—”

“This isn’t about turning shit on anyone, Solana!” He shouts. “It’s about you keeping shit from me—”

“And you didn’t?” She scoffs, fist forming once more at her side. “You didn’t do the same—”

“No, I didn’t. I didn’t because I was going to tell you. I was. Months later was still wrong as hell, but I wasn’t going to keep it from you forever.” He truly wasn’t. Sitting it on the past few months has been hard enough, and he knew she deserved honesty. If only that sentiment was reciprocated. “You never planned to tell me, and you know it, because if you were, you would have done that shit years ago.”

And that’s the part Roman can’t seem to sit on. Can’t seem to grasp how she could go not weeks, not months, but years, keeping such a thing from him. A child. They lost a child.

“How the fuck am I supposed to trust you again after this?”

A whispered, pained question he hadn’t intended to leave his mouth, but Roman feels a flurry of emotions that have his chest hurting with a sort of pain he hasn’t felt in some time.

Perhaps…perhaps since Fetu passed.

It’s a pain that’s quadrupled at her also whispered reply. Solana hugs herself, shrugging with tears streaming down her face. “What makes you think I still trust you?”

Roman stills, grows quiet as the question replays in his head. That song he can’t seem to silence or stop no matter how badly he wants to.

He swallows, for the first time in years, struggling with what to say to her. Or perhaps it’s less what to say and how to say it.

Because he can’t.

Not until he turns away from her, walking towards the door only to stop when his hand hits the knob.

“You once asked me what kind of marriage could we have if I didn’t trust you, and I worked through that. I did.” It took longer than he’d like to admit, and it was far from easy, but he did it. He did it because there’s no woman he loves more than Solana. Love, however, right about now, doesn’t feel like enough.

Not anymore.

“But I don’t know if I can work through this.”

He’s not sure what he’s expecting as far as a reply. If one is even wanted, but it’s given right as he tightens his grip and turns the metal knob.

“Then maybe we can’t," she sniffles. “Maybe we can’t have a marriage. Maybe—” Her voice catches, cracking towards the end. “Maybe this is it....maybe this is it.”

The knife slashes down, across, sideways, and every which way across his chest. In and through his heart. Weighty and heavy, almost anchoring his feet. Preventing him from leaving. He should stay. He knows this, but the truth is….right about now, he doesn’t want to.

He doesn’t want to stay.

He just walks out.

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

“Well, you might not be my biological father, but damn are we alike.”

The familiar voice is the only reason Roman turns his head away from the gridiron he’s been staring at for God knows how long. The field where so many memories are held. The place that was once his safe haven. Long days in the summer, sweating under the blistering heat during summer training camps. Evening practices after school that allowed him to escape the madness that was his chaotic home life. Far from traumatic but nowhere close to normal.

With so many people and so many siblings, as the youngest, it was more often than not he was lost in the chaos. It bothered him to some extent, but whatever discomfort it caused was eased every time he stepped foot out onto the field. 

Out there, he felt unstoppable. 

In some ways he was. Calling the plays. Making decisions in the blink of an eye that could make or break. It was pressure, but it was also fulfilling. Helped shape and mold him in a variety of ways. So when Nathan started to express interest in football, even as far back as a toddler who stared at the game on TV with undeniable intrigue, it meant a lot to Roman. 

Was one of the first things he bonded with his son over.

His son, Nathan, who stands before him, hands stuffed in his pockets, obscuring the sun that previously shone on Roman’s profile, beating into him like the day’s devastating, startling, traumatic events. 

All of which is reflected in the scowl on Nathan’s face. Roman follows his slow movements as he drops down next to him, save a few inches or more of distance. It’s only when he watches his son position his body in the same way that Roman has sat for X amount of time—hunched over, elbows on his thighs, chin rested atop clasped hands—that he stirs. 

That he manages to look away and return back to hell that is a reality.

Roman can’t recall a time in his forty years of living that he’s felt this…..shit, he doesn’t even know what the fuck he feels. Anger, fear, disappointment, shock, confusion. Any emotion that resides in the valley of negative are doors he’s knocked on and made camp in over the past twenty four hours. Or less than that. 

Again, the concept of time is lost in the midst of melee. So many things are swirling throughout his mind. 

So many bombshells dropped in such a short period of time.

Jey being abusive to Heaven.

Macy.

Jey being Nathan’s biological father.

Macy.

Heaven knowing about Camryn seemingly lying and trapping him with a child that she knew wasn’t his.

Macy.

Camryn having a hysterectomy behind his back, and Heaven knowing about said procedure.

Macy

Perhaps Camryn and Jey having an affair for what he’d guess started back when they were in high school should be included in that list, but truth be told, of all the listed, recently revealed truths, that’s probably the only one up there that Roman doesn’t care about.

Whatever feelings he had for Camryn and whatever familial love existed towards Jey are both fucking dead.

They are dead to him.

Even that exclusion and elimination of emotions, however, does little for the remaining sentiments.

Heaven…

He’s loved her for as far back as his brain will allow him to go. Loved her before he probably even really realized what love was. Loved her enough to “let her go” and be with Jey. 

It was a mistake. 

And maybe it wasn’t.

Because has he loved the idea of her all these years? A version that was never really who she was? Because if you asked Roman a day ago if Heaven was capable of any of the shit he’s learned over the past few hours, it’d be a quick and easy no.

But he was wrong.

So….so wrong.

“Ya’ know, this family is more fucked up than I realized.” Nathan once more shatters the silence Roman hadn’t even realized they’d fallen into. “I thought I had it all figured out, but….”

He’s not alone.

Eyes flickering down to his sneakers, the white contrast to that of the steel decking similar to that of the combatting emotions that remain at battle in his head and heart. “That makes two of us.” Roman swallows. “Nath—”

“It’s wild how one decision changed and influenced so many things,” he interrupts. Roman redirects his eyes to his son but keeps his thoughts retained, allowing him the space needed to process. Vent. Talk. Whatever. Because while Lord knows he has his own hurricane of feelings, when it comes to his kids, they always come first.

As fucking devastating and torturous it is and feels, Roman can’t do anything to help his daughter right now, but he can help his son. He will. In whatever way that’s needed.

Including hosting this conversation.

“One lie on top of another, and to make matters worse….” He stops, jaw ticking in a way that reminds Roman so much of himself. Nathan has so many of his mannerisms. “Auntie knew.” He turns to look at Roman. “She knew all this time.”

At that, there is nothing to say and everything to feel.

Roman swallows, voice tight. “I know.”

The amalgamation of hate and love is a sick, twisted blend of mayhem. Roman hates that Heaven lied to him, lied to Nathan, but it doesn’t mean he doesn’t love her.

He does, which is why this shit hurts something serious.

And Nathan clearly feels the same.

“I always—” He takes a deep breath, leaning back on the row behind him with his arms crossed. “I always thought of her as like the good version of my mom, but turns out there’s a reason they’ve always been so close.”

It’s wisely kept to himself, but there’s a small part of Roman that feels a level of disagreement with Nathan’s assessment. An ironic dissension considering he was the originator of such sentiments. Said and voiced them first in a moment where all he could feel was the pang in his chest at betrayal from the least expected person.

Except separation and extraction from the eye of the storm allows a clearer, less obstructed view. Roman doesn’t know anything outside of Heaven fully being aware of Camryn’s subterfuge and saying nothing after all these years.

But.

But stepping away and allowing himself time to clear his head, or whatever aspect of that is viable in a nightmare like this, has allotted him an alternative perspective. 

One that helps him recognize there are certain pieces of the puzzle that still need to be located. Details that could be key. How long? What were the specific circumstances? 

He has a feeling that there’s more, perhaps much more, to the story than what’s been revealed. Camryn is clearly a lying, manipulative bitch, and while Heaven was an accomplice in some sort of manner, the unknown variables need to be identified and labeled for him to come to a better, more conclusive conclusion.

That, however, is not a priority. 

Because regardless of all the shit that’s been carried to the surface, it doesn’t change the fact that his daughter is laying up in the hospital, fighting for her life and that Heaven is at risk, high risk, of miscarrying a child he might have to grieve before even being given the opportunity to process their existence.

It’s like the abortion all over again but with significantly heavier emotions.

Not to mention Nathan’s life being turned upside down by this life changing revelation. Roman would give anything to have been the only one who learn the truth. If he found out, fine, whatever, but Nathan didn’t deserve this shit.

Macy, either.

Roman swallows the emotion sitting at the back of his throat. It’s tragically unfair how his kids seem to be the only ones who have suffered the most because of the sins of all the adults involved in their lives.

They deserve better.

So so much better. 

“She lied to you,” Nathan continues, the anger imbued in his voice indicative of the she he’s referring to. Roman has seen it for years. “Pinned you with a kid that wasn’t even yours—”

“You are my kid.”

It’s Nathan this time around who turns to look at Roman. The anger remains but is minimized by words that visibly have him torn. Confused almost.

“Dad—“ 

The abrupt stop to his statement, a realization regarding the acknowledgment, is what assists in the settling. Roman sees it in the slow motion of Nathan’s adams apple, the flash of something less intense, noticeable softer and heavier, and the subtle movement of his jaw as he opens his mouth. Nothing comes out. 

“Exactly.” Roman turns and angles his body, providing his firstborn with his full, undivided attention. He always has, and he always will. “The day you were born will always be one of the best and fucking scariest days of my life. I was a fucking kid having a kid. Didn’t know shit about shit. Had no idea how I was supposed to be a dad when I hadn’t even learned how to be a man. But the one thing I did know is that no matter what, I was always going to be there for you the way my old man never was for me.” A promise held, kept, and shall be kept until the day Roman closes his eyes. “And that hasn’t changed. It’ll never change. I don’t give a fuck about DNA. You are my son. Not his. You never have been, and you never will be. You’re an extension of all the best parts of me, and nothing of him. Not even your mom.” 

Roman is fully aware of the fact he most likely hasn’t processed everything. That there’s no logical way for him to have come to terms with such life changing truths when his mental bandwidth has already reached its capacity. That there are so many layers left to pull back and analyze, so many areas of his life that have been impacted by one act of subterfuge. However, one thing he does know for certain in the sea of uncertainties he’s found himself stranded in the middle of is that two things will never change.

One, that Nathan is his son, his firstborn, and two, that Roman loves him with everything in him. 

No matter what. 

But be that as it may, he also recognizes that while that may be the case for him, for Nathan, it might be a different experience. That his son's experience of sorting through all this might not be as simple. Whatever that even means at this point.

A parent’s love is, or should be, unconditional. It’s a philosophy Roman has largely catered his parenting style around, having learned what it can do to a child for that to not be the case.

Roman is living, breathing proof of that.

So it feels almost a no brainer that while this revelation is alarming and seismic, Roman’s perspective will not change. 

He can’t say the same for Nathan nor does he want to.

This is his son’s journey to embark upon. But regardless of the circumstances and the length, he’s with him all the way. 

Always. 

Nathan nods, jaw tight as Roman reaches over to squeeze his shoulder. “Thanks….thanks, dad.” 

A sudden, crushing thought crosses Roman's mind hearing his son acknowledge him as he always has. To the point where, naturally, he never questioned it. He still isn’t questioning it. What he is suddenly questioning is if he’ll ever be able to hear the title—that he takes more seriously than any belt around his waist ever has—is from his daughter.

Macy.

For six years, she’s regarded him as her uncle, and for six years he’s suffered in silence at having to fake the role of a loving uncle when the entire time he’s been nothing but a loving father. Her father.

And the thought of never getting the chance to tell her the truth, to have her call him what she always should have….

Emotions stirring within are interrupted by a buzzing in his pocket. One he starts to ignore, as he’s ignored all the rest since he arrived at his old high school, but something….something tells him not to.

Something has him reaching into his pocket and sliding out his phone that he suddenly has a death grip on when he sees the name on his lock screen. The contrast of Jey’s name against a photo of Roman, Heaven, Nathan, and Macy a cruel, sickening dichotomy. 

However, it’s the message that infiltrates Roman’s anger. Another cascade and whirlwind of emotions. 

Jey: Yo azz took everything frm me now ima take everything frm u 

Roman’s initial reaction is unbridled rage. After everything Jey has done, today and beyond, he still has the audacity to be upset. Roman doesn’t even necessarily care that Jey is upset with him. It’s the fact that someone who doesn’t have two legs to stand on is still trying to dig their non-existent feet into the dirt.

It’s fucking appalling.

But as the rage simmers down just enough for some semblance of knowledge to settle in, another thought occurs. The actual content of the message. 

Take everything…

As much as he’d like to ignore it, he can't. A part of him believes it nothing but words, but there's a larger part of Roman that can’t shake the feeling he shouldn’t.

That he shouldn’t ignore it. 

“Everything alright?”

Roman lifts his eyes from his phone to see Nathan looking back at him, a reflection of himself in so many ways. “Yeah,” he answers. “Just....” He trails off, shaking his head and unlocking his phone. “Give me a minute.” 

There’s a brief moment of contemplation as to which one to call before he settles on the contact, hitting dial. A few rings preceded by a deep voice on the other end of the phone.

“Roman.”

It’s not lost upon the Tribal Chief the undertone of distance in Clarence’s voice. Understandable. Roman knows how much that man adores Heaven. Heaven is to Clarence what Macy is to him. 

There isn’t anything he wouldn’t do for his little girl. 

A few seconds of awkward silence followed by Roman clearing his throat. “Look, Jey just sent me a text message. Talking about he’s going to take everything from me. He’s probably drunk again and not thinking straight, but I’m getting ready to head back to the hospital. I’ll stop and talk to security—”

“He said what?” Clarence interrupts, the former irritation completely disappeared and in its place a strong sense of urgency and alarm. “Shit.”

Roman stills, that gnawing feeling in the pit of his stomach growing by the second. “What?” His voice darkens, weighed down by the anger that’s gradually making its way to the top of Roman’s starting lineup of emotions. “Is he already there?”

“No, he’s not.” Roman blows out a breath, briefly allowed some sense of short-lived relief. “And neither is Heaven.”

His chest suddenly feels tight all over again. “What do you mean she’s not there?” Mind a million and one places, Nathan’s voice is heard but muffled and distorted by overwhelming, blaring thoughts. “Where is she?”

“She needed to get away from all this so Shelia took her back to our hotel so she could try to get some sleep.”

The answer, in a strange sort of way, provides another type of relief mixed in with trepidation. Like himself, Heaven has been up for over 24hrs now. She has to be exhausted in every single category that someone can experience exhaustion. 

You didn’t help…

Roman pushes away the intrusive thoughts and leans on logic. “There’s no way he would be able to know where she is,” he shares. “She stopped sharing her location with him a while ago.”

Same as he did with Camryn. 

Shortly after their affair first commenced.

Except the concerned tone of the man on the other end doesn’t wane. If anything, it increases. “He might not, but I know someone who would.” Roman’s grip on the phone loosens while the tightness in his chest returns with a vengeance. “She was still here when Shelia left with Heaven, and we both know she damn sure would tell him.”

"Fuck."

The word escapes without any thought, egged on by a terrifying realization.

Clarence is right.

For as far back as Roman can remember, mainly when Heaven officially moved to Florida to be with Jey after graduating college, whenever her parents came to visit, they always stayed at the same hotel. 

The Four Seasons.

It’s been their preferred place of temporary residency for every visit for some time now. 

This is a known, given thing.

One he’s almost certain Jey wouldn’t know because he’s had his head too far up his ass all these years to pay attention to anything except himself and his career.

But Camryn would. 

Clarence is right.

If she knows that they left, it won’t be hard for her to put two and two together to figure out where they went.

And for her to share it with Jey.

Suddenly, everything that led up to his abrupt departure from the hospital is insignificant. Roman needs to get to that hotel, and he needs to get there now.

“Hotel staff aren’t supposed to give out information regarding guests unless their name is on the reservation, but—” The older man stops, his mind clearly going exactly where Roman’s was in the midst of his explanation. In a situation like this, they can’t take any chances. “I’m going to call the police station and ask them to send over—”

“I’m heading over there now.”

Clarence pauses on the other end, voice slipping into a state of caution and concern. “Roman, you don’t know what—”

But he’s having none of it. “I don’t care.”

It’s Heaven. Heaven.

Nothing else matters. 

“Roman, the last thing—”

Words lost to the unknown.

Roman has already hung up the phone. He’s also standing up and face to face with his son whose voice is no longer muffled but clear as day. 

Just as the concern etched all over his face.

“Dad, what’s going on—”

“Listen to me.” Roman reaches, both hands on Nathans’ shoulders. “I need you to drive straight to the police station.”

“Dad—”

“No stops,” he continues, uncaring of Nathan’s growing worry and understandable desire for answers. “Don’t go home. Don’t go to the hospital. Don’t even go to your place. You just go straight there, you understand me?”

Because a text once thought to be nothing more than a drunkards idle threat that would result in perhaps him idiotically catching another charge while trying to cause yet another scene at a hospital is suddenly so much more than that.

Jey is clearly unwell. Perhaps has been for longer than anyone realized. 

Maybe even Heaven.

And now that Roman knows his cousin was also abusive….it changes everything.

“What exactly did he say?” Nathan presses. He shakes his head, voice imploring, “let me go with you—”

“No.” Roman shoots that shit down immediately, not even needing to think about it. 

Macy is already in the hospital because of Jey. Heaven has already been through hell because of Jey. Too many people have already been hurt because of one man. Roman won’t allow his son to be added to that list and is taking no precautions. 

“I’ll handle this.”

—————

Heaven has always struggled with understanding the saying “no tears left to cry.” Always believed that nothing in life could bring someone to a point in the road where they had nothing left to release. Nothing left to give. An empty tank depleted beyond restoration.

Until now.

How her parents were able to talk her into leaving the hospital is still a mystery. She just recalls the way her heart hurt at having to leave that place without her baby. Damn everything else, arriving with her child and leaving with one but not the other….it’s beyond devastating. 

And, that devastation is extended when Heaven realizes that she has nowhere to go. She hasn’t a clue the state of her home, but from what she saw that evening, the intensity and quick spread of the flames….she’d be surprised if it still stands.

She can’t allow herself to dwell and think too much about whatever was lost. Material things, at the end of the day, can be replaced.

Lives cannot.

It all could have burned down for all she cares if it means her baby girl will wake up.

Will be okay. 

In any other situation, she would have went….would have went to Roman’s house, but that, obviously, isn’t an option. Thus her parents suggesting she use their hotel suite as a temporary residence. A discussion between them also resulting in Clarence staying at the hospital with Macy, and Shelia escorting Heaven to said hotel. Attempts to get her to eat something declined every time even if the logical part of Heaven knows that she needs something in her system. If not for her, then at least for—

But therein lies another part of the problem.

At this point….Heaven is almost certain that she’s going to miscarry.

If she hasn’t started to already.

Standing in the shower under the hot water, allowing it to rain down on her body, a part of her expects to look down and see clear tinged with red. Crimson in between her thighs, floating down the tub and out into the drain. When she doesn’t, there’s as much relief as one can experience in this situation.

Outside of Macy waking up, waking up and being okay, relief is a concept that is foreign and unattainable. 

She steps out the shower, numbly reaching for the few toiletries they’d been able to request. Items typically not provided at a lot of hotels, but the Four Seasons isn’t most hotels. They’d been able to provide her with a number of basic hygiene products that will hold her over until her mother returns from the store where Shelia will also pick up a few items of clothing. 

Shelia asked several times for Heaven to accompany her, not wanting her daughter to be alone right now, but the truth is that even with her mother’s presence, Heaven isn’t certain she’s ever felt more alone.

Empty.

She feels empty.

Wrapping the white, fluffy robe around her naked body, sentiments brew once more when she steps out the bathroom and walks over to the nightstand. She hits the lock button on her phone that she has plugged up and charging only to met with a photo of the two people who mean the most to her.

And, the two people she just might lose.

If she hasn’t already. 

Heaven sits on the edge of the bed, staring at the phone. She wants to call him. Wants to talk to him. Both of them. They deserve the truth, and not the one perpetuated, twisted, and manipulated by the woman she once considered a sister.

Her eyes shut, the same tattoo shared with Camryn the one she scrubbed at so hard in the shower she’s certain that her deep complexion is still slightly reddened and swollen from the excessive pressure. 

How her life has been turned upside down in not even a full twenty four hours is something that, if anyone were to be told, they wouldn’t believe. 

She can barely believe it.

Reaching for her phone, three light knocks on the door serve as a deterrent. It deepens her frown.

Why is her mom knocking?

Realizing she must have forgotten or misplaced her key, Heaven sniffles and stands up. Adjusting the knot in the front of her body while walking over to the door, she wipes at her eyes, wincing at the contact and pressure of her hand. Her face most definitely looks as bad as it feels.

But it’s an inconsequential thing as she bypasses looking through the peephole, motivated by the realization that her mom returning a bit sooner than anticipated means that she can perhaps talk her into letting Heaven go back to the hospital.

She needs to be with her baby.

She needs to be with Macy.

It’s the last thing to cross her mind when Heaven’s entire body grows still, her eyes widening and grip on the door tightening.

“Jey?”

Her legal husband but stranger in every other sense of the word stands before her in the same clothes she saw him in when he was escorted out of the hospital. The swelling on his face, dried blood around the cuts and laceration near his temple, just a reminder of why he was escorted. 

And everything else. 

“Sup’ Heav.”

It all happens so fast. One minute she’s opening her mouth to ask what the hell he’s doing there and how he knew where she was only for the ability to speak to be hindered by his hand clamped over her mouth. Eyes stretched, Heaven works to free herself from his grip as he kicks the door shut behind him and drags her into the room. 

“HELP!” She screams, the sound muffled against his clammy palm. Tears burn her eyes. “HELP!”

“Shut up!” He hisses, his hold on her body a vice, steel grip. But she does no such thing, continuing to fight against him, the terror gradually growing by the second. 

Jey being here can mean nothing good and everything bad.

And she’s all alone. 

But the panic quadruples when he “releases” her only for pain to shoot through her face from the backhand so forceful it sends her to the ground. Gasping from pain, eyes clenched shut, she wiggles violently when he moves on top of her. 

“Get off of me!” 

Heaven struggles against him as he moves his hands to restrain her wrists over her head. The scent of him, musk and lingering remnants of alcohol, making her stomach churn and the bile starting to rise in the back of her throat.

“Look at me,” he growls. “Look at me when I’m talking to you, Heaven!”

“I said, get off—” 

“SHUT UP!”

Violent coughs emerge from the back of her throat when Jey slaps her again, her head forced to the side, but it’s insignificant when he shifts atop her which emphasizes the extent of his weight on her body.

On her stomach.

And just like that, Heaven’s attempts to fight him off settle into a sickening realization that it’s not just her she has to protect.

It’s her baby.

Terror causing her body to tremble, she lowers her voice, whimpering, “Jey, please—”

“Naw. Talk all that shit you was saying earlier.” His glazed eyes burn with a fury and hatred she hadn’t witnessed even when he was drunk, wasted beyond belief, and showed the worst side of him. Or perhaps it was the real him all along, and she fell for Jekyll not realizing that Hyde was always lingering beneath the surface. “I’m a weak bitch, right? So fight me off then since I’m so weak.”

Heaven cries harder, the grim reality settling in that Jey didn’t come over here to talk. Didn’t track her down to have a discussion. 

He wants revenge.

He wants blood.

“Pl—please—” 

“You got any goddamn idea how much shit you done messed up for me? Huh?” She keeps her eyes pressed shut, head turned, body trembling as his hold on her wrists tighten with each furious statement that rushes out his mouth. “Fucked—fucked up my whole l—life, man!”

“Please, Jey, you’re—you're hurting me.” 

Roman has a temper, sure. Even he owns up to that. And while she’s seen it firsthand over the years, never, never has she been on the receiving end. He’s barely ever raised his voice against or with her, let alone screamed.

Never hurt her.

“What?” He scoffs, Heaven wincing when he move his knee between her legs, forcing them apart. “You only like it when—when Roman does this shit?”

And he’s never put his hands on her. 

But something comes over her when he guides his knee high up to where it brushes against her vagina, robe falling to the side, revealing her nude body. 

She revives her efforts to fight him off, writhing and flailing. “Get off of me!”

“Man, shut yo’ lying ass up,” is another growled threat that falls on deaf ears, Heaven determined and realizing with time that drags on, feeling more like hours than seconds, that help, if somehow coming, won’t be here soon enough. That screaming for help will only piss him off even more, and it’s only a matter of time before he ups the ante. She can’t risk it. Slapping and punching her is one thing, but if it escalates…

It takes everything in her to not beg for him to stop, to tell him that she’s pregnant, that she’s already hanging on by thinning threads, but it won’t do any good. If anything, he’ll just speed up the process of the miscarriage Heaven has accepted is bound to occur sooner or later.

But, sooner arrives much faster than she could have ever anticipated when his hands are no longer wrapped tightly around her wrists. 

They’re wrapped around her neck.

Eyes bulging, there’s an immediate, involuntary reaction of her limbs flailing before she attempts to pry his hands away. But, the exertion is immense for someone who was already operating off of fumes.

Her valiant efforts are met with minimal to no success. Jey continues to choke her, his eyes never once leaving hers. Mumbled, incoherent words drowned out by her terror.

Is this….is this really how it all ends? 

Nothing but trauma after trauma, loss after loss, spiraling into a grand finale of finality.

Not even forty, Heaven had never even allowed herself to imagine what the end of her life would look like, but if she had, it would be nothing like this.

She’d be older, head full of gray hair, a live worth living experienced and lived to the fullest. She’d be a grandmother, her baby having her own babies.

And….she’d imagine Roman.

Somewhere near. Somewhere close. His hand wrapped around hers, Macy on the other side, her grandchildren at the foot of the bed.

It’d be peaceful.

This couldn’t be the farthest thing from it.

A man she loved fiercely at one point, who she once thought her forever, being the cause of that forever being much shorter than anyone could have imagined. 

If Heaven knew then what she knows now…

So many things would have been done and handled differently, but if one thing remains the same, that she would never change, it’s love.

She would have still loved Roman.

Loved him in a way that might have contributed to what occurred but also saved her.

Loved Nathan like a son, like the son she always wanted but never had.

Loved Macy, her sweet, smart, brave little girl.

Her world.

And it’s that final realization that triggers something, because while Heaven could very well be seconds to minutes away from taking her last breath, Macy is also in a fight for her life. A fight that Heaven won’t be able to see and support her through if she’s gone before Macy can take that big breath her own, the fluttering of her eyes, long lashes batting several times before she focuses on the world she’s gradually returning to.

A world that has to include her mother.

Heaven can’t leave her baby.

She won’t.

The epiphany reignites something as Heaven quickly forfeits her efforts to pry his hands away in favor of lifting them to his face. Pads of her thumbs digging into his eye sockets, forcing not only a loud howl of pain but also the release.

Heaven gasps loudly and violently, coughing dryly and heartily as Jey makes incoherent sounds while attempting to clear his vision.

Capitalizing on his distracted state, she attempts to crawl away from him, her hand to her stomach, the carpet burning against her knees when pain shoots from her head. Jey’s hand locks and webs in her hair, tugging it from her scalp as he throws her back onto her back.

She cries louder when he pounces on and restrains her once more. “Jey, please—”

“You think you can just get away from me like that?” He hisses, screaming in her face, spit splaying and flying. “IMMA LOSE EVERYTHING BECAUSE OF YOU!” Heaven turns her head once more, eager and desperate to put as much space between them as possible, even if just for mental reassurance than actual separation. “And I'm supposed to just let that happen and Roman walks away once again on top?” He shakes his head. “Naw. Fuck that. Imma leave him exactly how he left me—”

Once more, Heaven hisses from sharp pain when he moves to his feet, hand locked in her hair, also forcing her upright. 

“No!” She shouts, fighting against him as he starts dragging her across the room, near the bathroom. Logic is perhaps thrown out the window, however, as she starts to scream only for him to slap his hand over her mouth once more. 

“Why you always gotta make things so fucking difficult, huh?!”

A task she’s determined to not abandon, continuing to fight for her life to free herself and escape, but it all comes to a damning head in a matter of seconds.

Perhaps full immersion—drowning—in a fight for her life distracted Heaven, and maybe Jey, from sounds beyond the ones stemming from heir scuffle. Whatever the case may be, there’s a sickening chill that shoots through her body when he forcefully spins her around, and two things happen.

Heaven locks eyes with Roman.

And, she also feels the cool metal pressed into her temple. 

A gun. 

His face read a million and one emotions, all of which Heaven felt to the fullest extent up until this very moment where she now realizes how truly dire this all is.

Jey didn’t just come here to scare her off, to enact a level of violent vengeance.

He came here for blood.

He came here to kill her.

Roman only rips his eyes away from hers to look at the man whose forearm is braced over her throat, the gun unmoving. 

“Jey, what the fuck are you doing?”

If Roman carries with him any sense of panic, it’s adroitly hidden and cloaked under his calm demeanor. 

A stark contrast to her own, especially when he attempts to take a step forward only for Jey to yank her back against him once more, the gun digging into her skin, her eyes clamping shut, a quiet whimper spilling over her lips. 

“Stay your ass right there, Uce!”

Roman acquiesces. Heaven somehow manages to open her eyes to see him standing in that same spot with his hands raised in a defensive position. “Alright, just—put the gun down, Jey. You don’t wanna do—”

“Man, just shut up! Just shut the fuck up!” Jey’s scream blares into her ear, his spit splashing against the side of her face. “Tired of everybody telling me what to say and do!”

She believes it.

Believes that the many demons Jey has secretly battled over the years have resulted in him reaching some sort of breaking point. That has to be the case, because in no universe could she have ever seen something like this coming.

She knew he was capable of violence.

She just didn’t realize he was capable of murder.

It’s that final word, the finality that accompanies it, that has her working past the terror that has her body trembling against his. “Jey, pl—please, I’m sorry—”

“SHUT UP!”

Heaven cries harder when he shakes her once more, Roman cursing loudly. 

“Goddamnit, Jey, let her go!”

“Why?” Heaven hisses when he tugs her again, the weight and pressure of his forearm starting to hinder her breathing. “So you—so you can once again get what you want? Huh? So—so the big dog can once again get everything and I end up with nothing—”

“Exactly. Me. Your issue is with me, Jey,” Roman presses, the edge in his voice driven by both anger and fear. Heaven can’t tell which one is stronger. “Not her. She has nothing to do with this—”

“You think I’m stupid?” Jey hisses. Frozen in place for several reasons, Heaven can only imagine what he must look like. He sounds absolutely deranged, beyond the point of sanity. She winces and gasps, fingers scraping at his arm as his hold increases and her breathing decreases. “This bitch got everything to do with it!” 

“Jey, please—”

“I thought me and Cam took her from you once before, but clearly that wasn’t enough.” In the sea full of words, threats, and everything in between he’s issued since barging his way into the room, that might be the first thing to truly give her pause. 

What does he mean by that?

“Time to make shit permanent this time.”  

Perhaps it’s the way she has a hard time departing from such an alarming, confusing statement. The tying in of her cousin into a situation that might go even deeper than she was starting to realize. Or maybe it’s the overwhelming sense of dread, panic, and terror that’s filled and soared through her body from the moment she received that text regarding the fire at her home.

Maybe it’s all of it.

Whatever the case, she’s only briefly aware of what occurs in the next few seconds. The fleeting image of Roman lunging forward, the brief release of tension from against her neck, the heaviness of her bones as she collapses to the floor. Intermittent grunts and other related noises that are dulled out by the the resounding boom of something deafening that drowns out a thunderous, distraught “NO!” before it all settles into complete, total, holistic, silence. 

—————

The softness is the first thing she notices.

Malleable and flexible, absorbing and sinking her body in, molding to her like a second skin. Similar to memory foam with an increased, added comfort unlike anything she’s ever felt.

The second thing is the scent.

Sweet and light. It instantly reminds her of the smell of laundry fresh out the dryer, carrying with it such a clean, citrus, refreshing aroma. 

The last thing….the last thing is her.

Blinking her eyes open reveals a shining glare that has Heaven turning her head and squinting her eyes. Only then is she met with a kaleidoscope of colors. The most beautiful shade of green lined and topped with a variety of pastels. Flowers. Tulips.

A field.

She’s in a field.

No….

No, it’s a pasture. Rows and hills that extend far beyond what she can see, bleeding out into a horizon that’s blurred by a light so bright that it serves as the edge of whatever….this is.

But identification is suddenly and quickly shoved to the back burner the minute Heaven starts to sit up and realizes she’s not alone.

A sharp, emotional gasp when her hands lift to her mouth, her eyes widening and watering as she drops one hand to her stomach.

“Macy?”

A mother knows her child like the back of her hand, and Heaven is no different. Macy’s big brown eyes, always full of wonder and intrigue, stare back at her. Her lips stretched into a small smile that reveal a row of small, white baby teeth sans one missing on the top row to the right of her mouth. Her nose, narrow at the top, the slope and bridge gradually widening and flaring at the bottom. Dark brows that are fuller and less sparse than what’s typical for a child her age sit atop those eyes Heaven keeps coming back to.

His eyes.

Roman’s eyes.

But…but her smile.

Various features from the both of them, and yet….

This isn’t Macy.

The striking similarities are astounding, but the little girl before her holds a slightly lighter complexion than Macy. Her curls less kinkier, looser, and flowing over her shoulder. Like...like Roman's. And even…even the lack of hearing aids. Such minimal but undeniable differences.

It doesn’t, however, deter the emotions brewing in Heaven’s stomach.

How….

A question lost the moment the little girl extends her arm, reaching for Heaven, offering her hand.

Asking for Heaven’s.

Heaven is a bundle of confusion, lost and perplexed in every way imaginable. So so many things swirl in her mind and weigh on her chest, but the gleam in this little girl’s eyes, the way her smile deepens, the sound of her light giggles, it’s all enchanting. A light emanated that’s impossible to avoid. An offer she can’t decline. 

“I didn’t know.” 

Her broken whisper infiltrates the silence, dragging Roman’s devastated gaze from where their daughter lays unconscious, fighting for her life in a way no child should have to. “I—I should have, but there’s just been so much going on these past few months, I guess I just…” She trails off, reflecting back on the first time that she was in this position. A completely different scenario with a broad set of variables entirely unlike the one in this conundrum of an equation she’s found herself embedded in.

Pregnancy symptoms can often mimic period symptoms, and vice versa. But when Heaven got the notification reminder on her phone asking if she needed to log her period start date, right then and there, she just knew. Unlike most teenage girls as they enter the wonderful world of puberty and subsequent menstrual cycles, hers was always more regular than not. On few occasions did it not arrive around the same time every month. She was just consistent like that.

It’d been forever and a day since Flo popped up on her phone with the friendly reminder she hadn’t needed since she switched from tracking her cycle in her physical calendar to the digital app that made keeping up with little things like that so much easier.

And it was in that moment that she knew. Not when her OB-GYN walked in with an excited smile on her face, having been Heaven’s doctor for a number of years and knowing how much she wanted to have a child, and officially shared the news. No, Heaven knew that day, a week prior, where she stared at her phone with the realization that everything was about to change. 

Fast forward six years later, she's faced with yet another life changing situation. Two. 

Two that couldn’t be anymore on the opposite ends of the spectrum. 

“How far along are you?”

The weight in her stomach sinks even deeper. Head dropped, the light gray sweats they’d given her to change into is nothing more than blurred kaleidoscope. Tears burn her vision and the cracked skin around her eyes. She can’t remember the last time she cried this much.

“11 weeks.”

She feels the way his eyes snap back to her after briefly drifting towards Macy. His silence is damning, and she is deserving. 

Almost three months.

She’s almost three months pregnant and didn’t even know it. It sounds unbelievable, and any suspicion directed her way is warranted. How does a woman go this long without knowing she’s pregnant? Three months at that. It’s a miracle she’s not showing already, though sitting on the patient bed as her vitals were taken and the staff worked to examine her, it was only then looking down at the splay of her thighs that realizations gradually leaked in.

She’d put on a couple of pounds.

Never on the lower end of the scale, ebbs and flows with her weight had become a bit of the norm for Heaven for almost her entire teenage years and onward. Especially when she quit gymnastics, even more so after she gave birth to Macy. Some of the baby weight shed. Some remained. 

Thus, it’s highly possible that she chalked up the weight gain to natural fluctuations that accompanied aging.

But, then there are the other things. She’d been slightly more irritated than typical, emotional even, sentiments sliding back and forth from one side to the other. Signs missed and mislabeled under the guise of stress. An accurate, ever present thing, but it was more than that.

So much more. 

“I’m sorry,” Heaven whispers, wiping at her wet eyes with the sleeve of the shirt she’d changed into to match with the sweats. Blood splatters stained her top similair to the way crimson darkened and ruined the crotch area of her jeans. “I never should have—I shouldn’t have told him like that.”

He shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter.”

She stares at him. “It doesn’t matter?” It absolutely does matter, and while she can recognize why he might not want to have this discussion now, express his true feelings about what occurred, it needs to happen. "Yes, it does."

But Roman is stubborn. She already knows he's fully prepared to push back.

So is she.

“Heav—”

“I need to tell you something.”

“Bab—”

“That wasn’t the first time he hit me.”

Only then does he take pause, his voice hushed, borderline whispered. “What?”

Her head drops, chin against her chest, the memories slamming into her. Blurred and distorted, fragmented, eclipsed, and chopped up. But, the jagged pieces are still enough to paint the devastating, gut wrenching picture.

“Back when….when you left for the CFL and Jimmy was up in California working for your sister, Jey….he started drinking more.” Heaven’s fingers grip and dig into the cold material of the seat underneath her. Like holding on will provide her the stability needed to encounter the turbulent waters and violent riptides of repressed memories that have ben forced to the surface. “It was….it started out as a way for him to take off the edge.”

Flunking out of college after barely crawling his way out of high school left Jey feeling dejected and dismayed. Typical, expected emotions for someone who spent his life hearing how he had potential and was “going somewhere.” Similar to his twin and cousin who were in similair boats. Jimmy and Roman both managed to graduate, but neither of them saw dream careers pan out the way they hoped. Undrafted and unsigned, they bounced around from team to team, aspirations gradually chipped away with each release until Jimmy walked away altogether and Roman pursued a potential career abroad. 

Jey did neither. 

He kept applying for jobs, but nothing would pan out, and when it did, it wasn’t for long. Heaven would come home from work to find him laid out on the sofa, beer cans littering the carpet around her, his body reeking of liquor and musk. She’d do her best to encourage and support him all that she could, but it felt like for all her efforts and hard work, he continued to spiral.

The drinking increased. He'd leave the house dressed in a nice shirt and his resume in hand but returned home with the stench of alcohol. Eventually, he stopped leaving at all.

Heaven would depart from work, kissing him on the cheek as he stood in the kitchen, the beer in hand his “breakfast,” only to arrive home later that evening with several empty bottles and her husband laid out on the sofa or in the bed.

Naivety fueled her cognition and had her thinking, maybe hoping, that he was just going through the motions. That she just needed to let him work through this on his “own” and be there in the vicinity to support when and how she could.

But she was wrong.

So….so wrong.

Nasty comments and abrasive responses to otherwise innocent questions eventually progressed to full-on shouting and screaming. Attempts to placate only earned her austere reactions that started out verbal but ended physical. The refrigerator door slammed shut, a punch to whatever wall was in the nearest vicinity. A bottle or plate thrown to the ground, glass shards spread all over the linoleum in their small kitchen. Eventually, it crescendo’d to a violent combination that would leave her crying, begging for him to calm down, to stop, but he never did. 

She’d run and lock herself in the bathroom. Crying and wincing as he angrily berated her outside the door that he beat with enough force one night he knocked it off the hinges. It was a side of him she’d never seen before, a side that she didn’t even know existed, and a side that, even though she didn’t realize it at the time, scared her.

Fear would only breach the surface of awareness, however, when Jey’s behavior took a turn for the worse. Looking back, Heaven can see now how it was always “worse.”

She was just too blinded by love to recognize it.

That love was tested, however, the night that it progressed to a different level of volatility. Once more, she was attempting to plead with him, to remind him how much she loved him and just wanted him to get “better.”

Heaven doesn’t remember the specific wording that she used. She just recalls the way her stomach dropped and her chest tightened. How her eyes widened in shock and her arms lifted from her side in a defensive position. But her movement was too slow. The slicing pain in the palm of her hand and dull, throbbing ache in her temple that quickly traveled throughout the rest of her head.

The alarmed, horrified “oh my God” that left Jey’s mouth as he hovered over where she sat on the floor, fragments of the beer bottle he’d shattered moments prior embedded in her bleeding palm. The warm blood that dripped down her temple from where the corner of their dining room table has sliced into her skin. 

That’s where the memories get especially choppy.

She doesn’t remember how they got to the hospital. If he drove or if she somehow drove. Nor does she really recall the specific questions asked of her by both the nurses and doctors who didn’t seem to believe whatever story Jey fed them. Or, maybe she did. She felt so….numb.

In shock, perhaps.

Jey hit her.

He actually hit her.

Up until that point, she hadn’t categorized his behavior as violence. Domestic violence. He was just….upset.

But, after that….she couldn’t deny it any longer.

Him hitting her was not the first incident of abuse. It was all abusive. The screaming. The yelling. The destruction. 

It was all of the same ilk. 

Abuse.

Jey’s apologies and expressions of remorse were agonizing. He held onto her, crying hysterically, snot and all, repeating every version of ‘I’m sorry’ and ‘it won’t happen again’ that he could think of. She remembers feeling overwhelmed. From what’d happened. That night and every other one. Remembers raking over every experience they’d shared over the years. From the very best to the absolute worst.

That….that was the absolute worse. 

It also felt like a breaking point. 

Like, something had to give.

Or, go.

She just couldn’t figure out if she was the one who needed to go. 

Naturally, now, she knows that she should have left long before that. Packed up her bags and never looked back. 

But, hindsight is 20/20.

And, at the time, in the days that followed, she took time off work and spoke to few, few including Jey and Camryn.

She….she recalls silently crying in her cousin’s kitchen as Nathan watched some program in the living room. Camryn with a comforting hand on her knee, pushing her hair behind her ear, exposing the bandage on her temple. Whatever excuse she’d provided for the injury, as well as the bruising on her face, somehow believed by the only one she felt comfortable enough to confide in.

“He loves you, Heaven,” she murmured, full lips in a frown that hadn’t left her face since Heaven showed up on her doorstep, eyes puffy and swollen from all the crying she’d done over the past few days. “And, you love him. Don’t give up on the two of you. You were made for each other.”

Heaven believed her. Believed her cousin, but more importantly, believed that they were made for each other. That love, as foolish as the sentiment is now, was all they needed to conquer what she viewed as a rough patch.

Now….now, she knows it was nothing more than a glaring red flag. 

As was the engagement ring on her finger that she woke up to the next morning. A heartfelt proposal from her husband who continued to speak the words she’d so desperately wanted to hear from him the past few months.

Promises to get better, to seek treatment, to do better. To show her how much he loved and wanted to be with her.

Heaven believed him.

Like a fool, she not only believed him, but she stayed. Stayed with this man who’d made her life a living hell for the past couple months. Almost found it impossible to turn him away as he dropped to his knees in front of her, holding onto her waist, crying into her stomach as she looked away, overwhelmed with so many emotions.

She was so hurt by his behavior.

But she loved him.

None of what he’d done was okay.

But she loved him.

She deserved better.

But she loved him.

And look at where it’s got her. 

“I stayed—” She stops, unsure of the specific wording she’d used to verbalize the abuse that she’d endured but somehow repressed in the deepest part of her brain. Tears stream down her face, and her body feels hot all over. “I stayed with him, because I loved him. I loved someone who—who hurt me. Who—” She gasps, shaking her head. “Who’s now hurt our baby.”

Roman is before her, hands gently cupping her face, his voice the softest she's ever heard it. “Hea—”

“Ya’ know how….how people say that at least….at least they have their child? That…even—even with all the bullshit, the one good thing they can say came from a bad relationship was their baby?” Heaven sniffles, lips pressed together, the flow of her tears increasing as does the way her heart beats loudly in her chest. Strong palpitations that increase in strength by the second. She manages a sad, small smile as Roman’s left hand shifts to the back of her neck, gentle strokes of his thumb at her nape. “I can’t even say that.”

His jaw tightens, emotion building. “Heaven—”

“My first—our first child was because of you,” she whispers, seeing the emotion flash in his gaze at the reference to what they’ve never really sat down and discussed. Processed. Healed from, perhaps. “Ma—Macy is because of you.” Her hand drops to her stomach. “This baby is because of you.”

Once more a twitch of his jaw, the gleam in his eyes growing. 

“But, I—I lost our first child, I might lose this one, and we—we might lose Macy, too,” the fractures increase, each breath taken a hard, arduous task as she gasps. “And I can’t—I can’t—I can’t lose anymore.” The dam breaks, as Heaven breaks down, hands to her face to catch the sobs the same way Roman cradles her against him, letting her cry into his chest. The process results in her sliding onto the floor where he clutches her closer. “We can’t lose her,” she wails. “We can’t lose anything else.” 

Because as horrifying as thing it is to say, to verbalize, it’s also a reality. A reality that they can’t ignore nor pretend exists.

Their unconscious daughter laying in a hospital bed a mere few feet away from them, all sort of machines plugged up to her, helping to keep her alive is the living, breathing, terrifying proof of just that.

Heaven knew almost immediately. 

Knew the minute she and Roman were escorted out of the private room that’d turned into something of a circus, what with all the violent, turbulent commotion. She refused medical treatment for herself, uncaring of the blood that stained her crotch area. Would not allow them to tend to her until the doctors provided them an update on Macy.

Let them see her.

That would come, but not until they were given that update that nearly made Heaven collapse all over again. 

Dr. Martin is his name, the attending physician in the PICU who was treating and continues to treat Macy. Other doctors as well, but it was mostly he who spoke. His voice calm, but the expression on his face solemn. 

“Macy suffered second degree burns on her left arm and shoulder, and as you know was without a pulse, which means she was without oxygen for an undetermined amount of time.” Heaven closed her eyes, unable to push away the visual of the EMS workers moving quickly and urgency to perform CPR. “We have her intubated and sedated—”

“Oh my God,” she gasped, clutching onto Roman’s arm as he managed to ask what she couldn’t bring herself to do.

“So, what—what does that mean?”

“She’s on a ventilator,” another doctor clarified, looking between the distraught parents. “Our focus currently is on clearing any smoke injury, preventing airway swelling, and treating any CO exposure she might have encountered.” 

“Well, when—when will you take her off?” Heaven asked, shaking her head, struggling to keep her voice even and steady. “When—when can we wake her up?”

Dr. Martin frowned, his volume lowering but his tone the perfect, consistent balance of professional and empathetic. “I’m afraid it’s not that simple, Mrs. Uso—”

“Heaven,” she corrected, sharply. Just the reference….”Call me Heaven.”

He nodded. “At this point, because she’s sedated, there are very little neurological tests we can perform to assess what, if any, brain damage might have been sustained—”

“Fuck,” Roman cursed, turning away as Heaven worked to suppress the sob in the back of her throat. 

“Over the next 24 to 72 hours, we’ll gradually reduce her sedative to see if she can breathe on her own—”

“She can’t?” Heaven interrupted, glistened, red eyes widened as the impact of the horror continued to grow with each bit of information. “She can’t b—breathe on her own?” 

Dr. Martin opened his mouth to respond, but Roman’s pained interruption had Heaven’s stomach drop. “And, if she can’t?” She locked her gaze onto him, just noticing the flustered expression and slight discoloration on his cheek from where he was hit. It all paled, however, in comparison to the turmoil swimming in his eyes. “What if she—if she can’t breathe on her own?”

The pause prior to the grave answer was the nail in the coffin. “Then, we have to consider the fact that Macy might have sustained brain damage beyond just a minimal or reversible level—”

Heaven started to fall, Roman quickly catching her as she cried into his chest. “No—”  

“But, it appears CPR was performed before she went into full cardiac arrest, and the next day or two, we’ll be monitoring her closely—”

Truth be told, everything after that remains a blur for Heaven. She took away the most important, devastating parts and simplified it down to a single heartbreaking conclusion. 

The next two to three days are critical. 

What happens over the next 24 to 72 hours can pinpoint a trajectory that’s either every parent’s nightmare, or a nightmare parents would gladly take any day over this.

It’s why since being allowed in the room where Macy will remain for the next few days—or longer—is where Heaven is prepared to stay.

She can’t leave Macy.

She already did, and look what happened.  

Heaven isn’t sure how long she stays on the floor with Roman. She just knows that the opening of the door is initially inconsequential as she continues to lean into and on him in every sense of the word until she realizes it could be Dr. Martin or someone else on Macy’s care team.

“Macy.” 

The gasp followed by the utterance of her daughter’s name, however, makes Heaven lift her head. 

Her chest instantly contracts once more, bottom lip trembling when one of two new arrivals turn to look at her.

“Mommy.” 

Somehow finding the physical strength in her body to stand, Heaven more or less stumbles over to her mother who immediately wraps her in her arms as Heaven starts sobbing all over again.

“Oh, honey,” Shelia gasps, her hand on the back of her daughter’s head as she cradles her close like she did when she was a little girl. “It’s gonna be okay, alright? She’s gonna be okay.”

Heaven would give anything in the fucking world to know that to be a fact vs the standard response given to someone in this situation.

To know her baby will be okay. 

Clarence Jackson, Heaven’s father, a tall man with broad shoulders, salt and pepper beard, with a head of hair he keeps cut short and tapered, however, is visibly disturbed by more than just the sight of his only grandchild unconscious in the PICU.

It’s the sight of his daughter, of the nasty bruise and cut on her face, that has him looking at her through Shelia’s tight embrace. “Baby girl, what happened to your face?” He immediately looks over at Roman who’s now also standing and wearing the results of the violent confrontation that’d occurred just a few hours earlier. “What—”

“Jey hit her,” Roman answers, running his hands over his face, the weight of the day written all over his exhausted face. 

Clarence grows quiet as Shelia gasps, looking at her daughter. “What?”

“That son of a bitch,” the older man curses, looking away and pointing to himself. “My child? That punk ass cousin of yours put his hands on my little girl?” 

Heaven hiccups, her cheek pressed into Shelia’s chest as she continues to move her hand in comforting, circular motions on her back. “Daddy—” 

Heaven stops, however, when she sees him pull out his phone from his back pocket, the question not even needing to be asked as Shelia steps in. 

“Let her know we’re filing for an emergency order of protection for Heaven and Macy against that bastard.”

“Of course,” he acknowledges, stepping away, phone to his ear. 

It’s then that Heaven manages to pull herself together just enough to gently pry herself from her mom. She looks at her through blurred vision, voice hoarse. “Wh—”

“Martina Patton.”

The name gives Heaven pause, not from confusion but shock.

Anyone who’s anyone in the legal world has heard the name Martina Patton at least once or twice. Known for her sharp tongue, wit, broad intellect and ability to outsmart and maneuver anyone in the court room. One of the top rated and sought after divorce attorneys in the country, she’s highly selective in the cases she accepts. Most being high profile divorces. An advocate for those who live in 90210 and adjacent zip codes, she recently moved to the state of Florida after several decades of practicing in California.

It’s that last tidbit of information, however, that allows Heaven to put the pieces together. 

But, once more, Shiela is already several steps ahead.

“She’s going to represent you in your divorce.” 

Heaven remains dumbfounded though the level of confusion is slightly minimized. Her parents are well established in the legal world. Have been good friends and cordial with Martina for a number of years. Even if they couldn’t afford what she’s certain was a hefty retainer fee, Heaven is almost certain that Patton would be willing to work with her just on the fact of who her parents are.

And never has she been so grateful for nepotism. 

Because while her mind is a million and once places, and while some might see her parents actions as overstepping, going as far as hiring legal representation on her behalf, it’s exactly what Heaven wants. What she needs.

But, the last recognition is what makes her circle back around to the question of how. Her father’s deep, quiet voice as he talks on the phone is nothing more than background noise as Heaven looks at her mother quizzically. 

Obviously, her mom gathered that something was very wrong by the way she abruptly ended their phone call. Must have booked the first set of tickets she could grab for herself and her husband, hence how they made it here in only a few hours. All of that makes sense, but what’s not making sense is how Shelia knew the specifics of what happened. Jey’s role in what occurred and how it’s all but cemented her decision to leave him once and for all.

She sniffles, eyebrows leaned inward. “How did you….” It’s an incomplete question spurned by the way her mom’s eyes settle not on her but on Roman. Heaven turns around just in time to see the flash of hesitation. 

“I haven’t told her.”

She grows still at his quiet words. “Told me what?” No one says anything, and the silence only amplifies the sounds of the machines that are the only thing keeping her baby alive right now, which is a reality Heaven can’t bring herself to acknowledge. “Told me what?”

Perhaps it’s the way she raises her voice, or the crack halfway through her question that evokes a response. 

But it’s one she could have never anticipated.

“Jey uploaded a sex tape of you and him,” Roman answers, as she slaps her hand over her mouth. “And another of him and Camryn.”

The first part was hard enough to digest, but the add-on has her mind feeling like it’s seconds of way from exploding. Information overload in the worst possible way.

“He what?”

Her mother quickly steps in, offering her best hope at reassurance in a situation that leaves room for very little of anything outside of dismay. “We’re working to get the videos taken down, hon—”

“Oh my God,” she gasps, dragging her hand down her mouth. “Oh my God.”

There’s so much to process.

Jey uploaded revenge porn.

He uploaded revenge porn of her.

But, he also uploaded revenge porn of him and Camryn.

A sex tape. 

And, if they have a sex tape, then that means—

“Where is she!”

It seems the twists and turns of what feels like something ripped out of a horror film haven’t reached the finish line. 

Heaven is the first to move, rushing to the door, her mother and Roman right behind her, but the minute she steps in the hallway, the minute they lock eyes, is the moment time comes to an abrupt stop.

All things considered, Heaven feels both nothing and everything at the same time, so it’s hard to pinpoint what exactly is coursing through her standing only a few feet away from the woman she’s shared and done life with for as long as she can remember. 

Camryn.

Her cousin. 

Her best friend.

Her family.

But, anyone on the outside looking in wouldn’t know that, because the way Camryn lifts her large designer sunglasses from off the bridge of her nose and marches over, her heels clacking against the rubber vinyl flooring doesn't radiate familial energy and love. There’s no mistaking the anger that radiates off her body.

No mistaking it whatsoever.

Heaven swallows. The lack of knowing what to feel extends to cognition as well. Her mind is a place of chaos and fragmented statements that she can’t seem to organize into a coherent sentence.

“I—”

“How long?”

Disruption, ironically, is welcomed. Camryn’s simple two worded question manages to trigger something for Heaven.

A single whispered word. “Wh—what?”

But it triggers more for her mother. Shelia steps into the vicinity of the women, Roman remaining in his neutral position that’s more between them than anything else. “How dare yo—”

An ignored and interrupted question as Camryn stands ten toes down, circling back to the initial one presented to her cousin, her eyes narrowed and lip curled into a snarl. “How long have you been fucking my husband?”

“Camryn—” 

“I wasn’t fucking talking to you, Roman.” She lifts her hand and grants eye contact with her harsh address of the man whose last name she shares. Camryn easily refocuses and gestures to Heaven with her index finger pointed and thumb and arm raised, as if making a gun motion. “I was talking to this bitch—”

“Watch your mo—”

“You my family. You’re supposed to be my friend. My best friend. My cousin. You were like my sister, Heaven.” Each sentence carries the weight and impact of a metal bat to the chest. Heaven has known Camryn her entire life, and never has she seen the woman so upset. Nor has she ever been on the reviving end of such anger. “And all this time you been been sleeping with my man behind my back?” 

Once more, Roman attempts to jump in. “It’s not—”

Camryn turns her murderous expression to her her husband, finger jabbed in his direction as she equally distributes her ire. “Oh no, that’s exactly what the fuck it is,” she interrupts, her voice only lowering as she looks back at Heaven. “Macy’s really his daughter, isn’t she?”

Today has consisted of nothing but bombshells and long hidden secrets forced to the surface in the worst way possible. A part of her wants to lie, but lies are what brought them here in the first place.

No more.

“Y—yes.”

Camryn’s eyes widen in shock, like the single word response is the wrong one. The one not expected. The one unwanted. 

It’s the last thing that crosses her mind before Camryn’s hand makes contract with Heaven’s face, the strong slap echoing throughout the hall. 

Heaven gasps in shock, her hand to her cheek as Roman quickly shuffles her behind him, serving as a barrier between herself and the irate woman that she realizes is beating at his chest, clearly eager to move him out of her way.

To get to Heaven. 

“You lying ass bitch!” She roars, clawing and fuming, desperate and borderline foaming at the mouth to get her hands on her cousin. “Imma’ fuck you up!” 

But, Heaven isn’t alone, her mother coldly and boldly reminding her that family or not, when it comes to her baby, she gon’ ride every time. “You put your hands on my child again, lil’ girl, and I promise you I will have you laid up in one of these hospital beds.”

“Camryn, shut the hell up,” Roman snaps, his arms around and restraining her as the anger starts to build in him. “You really wanna cause this scene and act like you weren’t up on them damn videos sucking Jey off, too?” It’s his question that makes her momentarily still, her shoulders and scowl dropping immediately. “Like you didn’t pin a baby on me you knew was his and not mine?”

Once more, another wave of sharp silence, Heaven’s head snapping to look over at them, seeing the way Camryn’s expression oscillates with a variety of emotions. Shock. Confusion. Anger. 

The last one burning and screaming as she locks eyes with Heaven. 

“You told him?” 

And, once more, the rug is swept from under her. Truth be told, Heaven hasn’t the slightest idea what she’s feeling in this moment. She just knows that the way that Roman instantly turns around to look at her, the stunned look in his eyes, the slow, subtle way his jaw drops….it makes her want to fall and be swallowed up by the already trembling ground beneath her feet.

“You—you knew?” 

There’s something so devastating and heartbreaking in how his voice drops several octaves, the way it’s more of a pained, hurt whisper than anything. 

It has tears forming in her eyes. 

“Roman, I—”

“Oh, wait, you didn’t know?” Camryn’s interruption is both a blessing and a curse. Heaven suddenly feels like the situation has progressed from bad to worse or whatever exists beyond that as Roman’s intense gaze remains on her. Camryn chuckles darkly. “What? Your lil’ whore didn’t tell you that she knew the whole time—”

She’s not entirely wrong. Heaven knew that Camryn suspected Roman was not Nathan’s biological child, but not once did she ever say Jey was the father. In fact, she’d come up with a whole story about the father being some guy they went to high school with that was killed while drunk driving. 

A lie.

And that’s what has Heaven’s hand forming into a fist as she angrily shakes her head, feeling her mother’s hand on her arm. “Camryn, you know damn well you told me—”

“I guess she didn’t tell you about my hysterectomy either, did she?”

Heaven’s mouth snaps shut. If not for her mother right beside her, she’s almost certain that she would collapse or stumbled back. The physical impact of the verbalization is astounding. 

For herself and Roman who only rips his eyes from her to look at his wife, Camryn holding nothing but conceit and hubris. 

Except all Heaven can focus on is Roman.

He looks….he looks defeated.

He looks heartbroken.

Naturally, it revives another round of tears. 

Camryn seems to be soaking it all up, taking the sharp heel of her stilettos and slamming it directly onto Roman’s heart. “I had that shit done years ago, and sweet little Heaven over here not only knew about it, but she drove me to the hospital, brought me home, and stayed with me while I recovered.” 

Facts laid out in a way that doesn’t necessarily represent the whole truth, but representation is insignificant in this moment. That doesn’t matter nearly as much as the way Roman looks like his entire life has just been turned upside down.

Because it has. 

Heaven breaks from her mother’s hold, stepping towards him. “Roman—“ 

But the minute he steps away from her, from Camryn as well, she stops, frozen in place. “What the fuck?” He moves so his back is against the wall, the desire for distance palpable—in more than just the physical. 

She whimpers, eyes and nose running. “Please—” 

“This shit tracks for her,” he interrupts, motioning to Camryn before focusing on Heaven. “But, you?” The flash of betrayal in his eyes has her seconds away from crumbling, his final statement before he breaks and walks away the thing that almost tips her over the edge. Almost breaks her. “Maybe you two are more alike than I realized.” 

Roman turning his back on her, ignoring her pleas and cry of his name as he walks down the hall and disappears after turning the corner. 

This all has to be a fucking dream. A nightmare of sorts. How can everything go so horrifically wrong in such a short period of time?

 “Auntie?”

The list of appropriate and accurate words and phrases to describe what hell this past day has been for her fall short in the face of another unexpected slap to the face and dagger to the chest. 

Heaven turns around, and her heart somehow breaks even more than it already was. “Nathan…” 

He stands before her, looking at her, only her. Like his mother isn’t just a few feet away. Like the hallway has not now been infiltrated by hospital security that Heaven’s dad, now emerged from the room, speaks with in a low voice.

But none of that matters because Heaven can’t recall a single event prior to this moment where her nephew has ever looked at her with such disgust.

Such anger.

She licks her dry lips and attempts to approach him. “Nat—” 

“So, you knew this whole time he’s not my real dad?”

Heaven can’t tell what hurts her more. The hurt and pain in his voice, on his face, or the fact that something like that could even leave his mouth. Roman is Nathan’s dad in every sense of the word. 

DNA be damned. 

She shakes her head. “Nathan, Roman is your father. Nothing—”

“That’s not—” His initial shout causes her to step back, as one of the guards breaks from Clarence to move closer to Nathan.

“Son—” 

“Maybe dad is right,” he cuts off the guard, again still focused on Heaven, Camryn remaining silent and visibly unmoved by the sight of her son standing before her with such a heavy heart and weary soul. 

But Heaven isn’t worried about Camryn. Can’t focus on her cousin. She can only concentrate on the boy before her who she’s watched grow from the tiniest, most adorable baby to the fine young man he is now. A walking example of parenting done right. Fatherhood done right. “Nat—”

“Cause right about now?” That second rhetorical question, however, is what allows her to realize what he’s just said. The reference to Roman’s parting, damning statement. Sentiments echoed by his son. “I don’t see a difference between either of ya’ll.” 

If watching Roman walk away from her without another word almost broke her, it’s the sight of Nathan doing the exact same thing that does it. Sends Heaven over the edge. Her knees wobble and thighs burn as she starts to fall to the floor, her mother quickly swooping in to catch her.

“It’s gonna be okay, baby,” Shelia comforts as Heaven again wails, the weight of it all a burden no single human being should have to withstand.

Macy

Roman

Now, Nathan.

It’s too much. It’s just too fucking much. 

A stronger hold as her father walks over, gently taking her from her mom’s arms, mumbling comforting, consoling words as he leads her back into Macy’s room. 

The departure leaves just Shelia and Camryn, the guards also dispersing after a nod and confirmation from Shelia that their assistance is no longer required. 

She’s got this.

Arms crossed, she walks up to Camryn who, of course, remains with the same uncaring countenance she adroitly hid under the pretense of being hurt and feeling betrayed. 

Bullshit. 

Shelia chuckles. “I always knew you were conniving, but I must admit, you’ve truly outdone yourself this time.”

The only telltale given by the younger woman is the subtle tick of her jaw. “What—”

“You’re clever,” Shelia’s compliment is conjoined with a knowing smile. Decades of learning, studying, and successfully convicting some of the worst of the worse never more applicable. “Coming in here like you did. Ranting and raving to deflect the truth that’s gradually being exposed.”

Shelia knows she’s located a weak spot when Camryn shifts her weight, crossing her arms and shaking her head. The eye contact briefly shifting just another form of confirmation.

“I don’t—”

But Shelia Jackson, as always, is already several steps ahead. “Heaven is no saint, but we both know that you are not a victim in this.”

Because the affair between her child and Roman is, at the very least, a staggering example of moral betrayal. There’s much to unpack there, but early insight and guesstimate has the seasoned attorney suspecting it’s only the tip of the iceberg. That this situation is much more complicated than most realize.   

That starts with ensuring the woman in front of her knows that Shelia sees her. Sees through her. 

She steps forward, voice lowering as two nurses pass. “And, I’ll be damned if I let you try to twist the narrative to make it seem like you are.” 

“Excuse me?” Camryn points to herself, her eyes narrowed and jaw tight. “She’s been sleeping with my husband—”

“Yes, but last I checked, the revenge porn currently being shared online does not depict Heaven and Roman. It’s Heaven and Jey.” Camryn opens but snaps her mouth back shut immediately when Shelia reminds her of a small but key detail. “But, it’s also you and Jey.” 

If the strings she and Clarence pulled and favors called in worked, hopefully, the videos are halfway done being scrubbed from the internet. As much as possible, at least. Still, it doesn’t change the fact that Heaven is the victim in all this. 

Heaven and Macy. 

Roman as well.

But Camryn?

You can’t be oblivious and manipulative. It’s one or the other, and something about her niece has always given Shelia pause. 

This situation jut proved that her suspicion was always correct.

Manipulative.

“And if you were stupid enough to let that imbecile record and document proof of your affair, well, I wonder what else I can dig up.” Shelia fakes a casual sigh, fully aware and cognizant of the trepidation cloaked underneath Camryn’s mask. “Because, let’s cut the bullshit here, Camryn; you’re trying to get ahead of something before it’s too far out of your reach to control. To manipulate like you’ve been doing all these years. But, I hate to break it to you, sweetie, whatever game you thought you were going to play might have worked on my daughter, but it won’t work on me.”

One can’t outmaneuver another player when said player is the same one who invented the game.

The fire blazing in Cameron’s light eyes makes her chuckle. Oh, what she wouldn’t give to obliterate this smug bitch on the witness stand. “You are Clarence’s biological niece. Heaven’s biological cousin. But you are nothing to me. Whatever I felt for you as my niece died the moment I saw you walk in here with nothing but nefarious intent.”

As far as Shelia Jackson is concerned, Camryn is in the same category as any other criminal she’s prosecuted.

Hence her final warning to the young woman she will make sure regrets the day she decided to cross Heaven Savannah Jackson. “ So, understand this. When it’s all said and done, I will personally see to it that Jey never sees the light of day again for what he’s done to my child and grandchild. I will bury him under that damn courthouse.” She tilts her head to the side, the small, calm smile returning. “And something tells me he won’t be alone, but I think you know that, don’t you?”

Checkmate.

But, Shelia will give credit where credit is due. Despite the falter in her demeanor, Camryn maintains that fire she doesn’t realize Shelia will stop at nothing to extinguish. She matches the older woman’s cavalier timbre with minatory undertones. “Is that a threat, auntie?”

Shelia grins. “No, sweetie. I don’t threaten.” Walking towards the door, it’s not until she has her hand on the knob that she delivers her closing remark. “I deliver.” 

It’s a statement that stays with Camryn as she makes her way out the hospital, ire and fury growing with each determined step, the slam of the car door, and imbued in her fists that she bangs on the steering wheel.

And especially when instead of hearing his voice, she gets his fucking voicemail.

“Where the fuck are you, Jey!” She screams, stiletto nails digging into her palms with how tightly she’s gripping the steering wheel as she speedily maneuvers through traffic. “You stupid fucking moron! Do you have any idea what you’ve done? Call me as soon as you get this message!” 

Except as she jabs the end call button on the touch screen, Camryn realizes her mistake. 

A massive one.

“Fuck!”

She has to pull over on the side of the road, completely unable to see and think past her rage. Rage that resulted in a reckless move. She should have never left that voicemail. It’s part of a paper trail she has no doubt that bitch Shelia will no sniff out.

Everything needs to be erased. 

The texts.

The photos.

The voice messages.

The videos.

It all needs to be purged.

Jey has hung himself, but Camryn will be damned if she allows herself to be taken down with him.

He’s a liability. Perhaps he always has been.

Nevertheless, just like anything that brings costs and risks greater than the reward, he needs to be handled.