Club Flexx is busy again.
Behind the bar, Nyla moves smoother now—faster, more confident, pulling in attention and tips without trying too hard.
Zariah watches her for a second.
“You settling in,” she says.
Her eyes drift though, landing on VIP.
Stack is there tonight, talking with a few people, relaxed but still carrying that same presence.
Smoke’s not with him right now.
Nyla grabs a couple drinks off the service well.
“I’m running this,” she says casually.
Stack’s mid conversation when Nyla steps in.
She doesn’t lead with anything obvious.
No bold comments. No leaning too close.
She sets the drinks down clean.
“Here you go,” she says, easy.
Stack glances at her, gives a quick nod.
He goes right back to talking.
Nyla lingers just a second.
“Everything good over here?” she asks.
But there’s a softness under it.
Stack looks up again, actually taking a second this time.
“Yeah,” he says. “You doin a good job.”
He gestures lightly toward the bar.
“Seen you movin all night. Customers been sayin the same.”
No extra meaning. Just acknowledgment.
Nyla’s lips curve slightly.
Then he’s already turning back to his conversation.
Done. No pause. No follow-up.
But Nyla doesn’t take it like that.
She steps away, heart beating just a little faster.
Not because of what he said, but how she heard it.
Back at the bar, Zariah glances over.
Nyla leans against the counter, trying to play it cool, but there’s a spark in her eyes.
“He the owner. He notice everybody.”
“He said I’m doing a good job. Said customers been talking about me.”
“That’s called management.”
But Nyla’s already smiling to herself.
Nyla tilts her head, confident.
“Or I’m getting somewhere.”
Zariah lets out a small breath through her nose.
But Nyla just laughs softly.
“I just gotta be patient. That’s all.”
Zariah watches her for a second longer… then shakes her head slightly.
“You like playing with fire.”
“I like knowing I can win.”
Zariah’s eyes flick toward VIP—
Toward where Smoke usually sits.
“…aight,” she says quietly.
She nods subtly toward Stack.
“…I’ll take the other one.”
“Oh, so now you really interested?”
Zariah shrugs, calm as ever.
“I like a challenge too.”
Nyla laughs, bumping her shoulder lightly.
Zariah’s gaze drifts across the room again, thoughtful.
Stack laughs at something someone says, completely unaware of the narrative forming around him.
That moment meant nothing more than good work being recognized.
It felt like the first crack.
And that’s where the misunderstanding starts.
Dajia is in the backyard, planting flowers, hands deep in the soil. The sun kisses her skin, making it glow, and Stack stands at the patio door just watching—quiet, locked in, taking her all in like she’s something sacred. The way she moves, focused and gentle, like she’s building something real from the ground up.
He steps outside slowly, crossing his arms as he studies her.
Dajia feels him before she even sees him.
Stack chuckles under his breath.
“I want you, baby girl. I need to give you something.”
She smirks a little, not even turning around yet.
“I do. You look so damn good out here doing this shit. This is talent, baby girl. I already know you gon have it looking real nice back here.” He pauses, shaking his head with a grin. “Now you know when JR. come, he gon be back here ripping all the flowers up.”
Dajia’s head snaps around.
Stack nods like it’s obvious.
“Yeah, Jr. I thought we discussed this already? I want him to be a junior.”
She exhales, straightening up.
“I mean, we talked about it a little bit, but we didn’t say for sure.”
“Here you go,” he mutters. “You literally said you was okay wit Elias Junior.”
“Yeah aight,” he shrugs, brushing it off. “Anyway, come clean off. I wanna show you somethin.”
Dajia studies him for a second, trying to read him. Then she dusts her hands off and follows him inside.
She heads straight to the bathroom, washing the dirt from her hands. When she comes out, Stack is standing there waiting, two boxes in his hands. One small, one a little bigger.
Inside the larger box is a platinum Diamond Cuban necklace with a matching bracelet and Ankle bracelet. The smaller one? Big diamond earrings, shining like they got their own light.
Dajia gasps, her hand coming up to her mouth.
Stack watches her reaction, then says simply,
She immediately shakes her head.
“Stack, no. This is too much.”
“Stop it,” he says, firm but calm. “What I tell you? You my wife now. It’s never too much.”
Dajia sighs, already overwhelmed.
“Stack, you turnin into Smoke. These are the things he does for Annie. I’m not a big jewelry person—you know that. Never have been. It feels like you tryna compete or some shit.”
Stack’s jaw tightens, ticking as he looks off to the side for a second before coming back to her.
“First of all, Ledajia, stop comparin’ me to Smoke. We are twins, and I don’t do shit to compete wit him—I AM him.” His voice is steady, but there’s weight behind it. “I do shit for you ‘cause I love you, and I want you to have nice things. I always loved jewelry, even before I met you. Now I got a wife, and I want her to have beautiful jewelry too.”
He steps a little closer.
“And yeah, me and Smoke like a lot of the same shit. Same jeweler, same taste, same love language. That ain’t new. So the sooner you realize that shit, the better off we gon be.”
Dajia just looks at him, quiet, taking it in.
He softens a little, his voice dropping.
“Besides… these statement pieces. Not shit you gotta wear every day. Just when we step out somewhere nice. It’s supposed to compliment you, baby girl. That’s all.”
He tilts his head slightly.
“Now can you just accept it for me?”
Dajia exhales, the tension easing out of her shoulders.
“Now,” Stack says, eyes locked on hers. “You gon let me fuck you right now, wearing this and this only?”
Dajia’s insides twist. He always knew how to draw her in.
She bites her lip and nods.
She doesn’t even try to protest.
She’s naked as the day she was born,
necklace and earrings gleaming on her skin.
He has her on the couch, on her back,
with him on his knees above her,
one leg on his shoulder, stroking her long and deep. Her ankle bracelet dangles and twinkles.
“Fuck, you look good wit that shit on. Stubborn ass. Always wanna argue wit a nigga about some shit.”
Dajia holds her breast and moans.
“Move them fuckin hands. I wanna see that chain and them titties bounce.”
She doesn’t listen. Of course she doesn’t.
He swipes her hands out the way.
He snaps his hips hard up against her,
watching her chest bounce while the chain twinkles against her sternum.
Stack’s dominance takes over, needing to feel like he’s in control, as always.
“Tell me you gon wear what I gave you. Say you like what I bought you,” he pants.
Dajia whines, “Fuck, Stack. I’m gon wear it, okay?”
“And what else?” he growls.
She glares at him and doesn’t answer.
“Here you fuckin’ go. You love pissin me off. I’m gettin’ ready to really fuck you, Lee Lee. I’m tryin’ not to, baby. Why can’t you just do what I ask?”
She decides to soften for him today, ’cause she knows his intentions were good.
His brows furrow. He was fully expecting a fight.
“See? That wasn’t hard. Now I wanna see you ride me, wit that shit on. Come on.”
They switch places, and Dajia rides him slowly.
The chain hangs as she bends forward slightly.
“Fuck, baby. You look so good. That light bouncing off yo skin.”
He yanks it a little, bringing her down toward him. He kisses her hard and fast.
She sits up and rides him faster.
Dajia wraps her hand around his neck.
“Say you gon stop buyin me shit I don’t care about.”
She smacks his face—hard.
“Say it! I don’t wanna hear shit else.”
“Shit! Why?” He questions.
She smacks him again, and Stack grins.
She bounces harder while squeezing his throat.
He feels himself about to come.
“Aight! Aight! Slow down!”
“No, nigga. Say what I told you to say!”
“I’m gon stop, Lee Lee, damn!”
Stack grabs her hips, growls, and busts inside her.
Dajia follows right after…
The following Friday night….
Club Flexx moving like usual.
Lights low. Music steady.
Behind the bar, Zariah watches the floor—quiet, observant like always.
He’s posted up near the edge of VIP tonight, not talking much, just watching the room like he always does.
Zariah dries her hands slowly.
She steps out from behind the bar, smooth, unhurried.
No tray this time. No drinks. Just intent.
Smoke’s attention shifts slightly when she gets close—not because he’s interested…
Because he notices everything.
Zariah stops just inside his space.
“Can you help me real quick?” she asks.
Her tone is calm, almost neutral.
One quick glance. Then a nod.
She gestures lightly back toward the bar.
“Something on the top shelf.”
No extra. No softness. No playfulness.
Smoke pushes off the wall without hesitation.
Zariah steps onto the inside, pointing up toward one of the higher shelves.
Smoke reaches up easily, grabbing the bottle without effort.
“Anything else?” he asks.
Zariah doesn’t answer right away.
She’s just… looking at him.
Trying to catch something. Anything.
Still. Calm. Nothing to read.
No lingering. No second look.
Zariah stands there for a second longer than she should.
Bottle still in her hand.
Didn’t go how she expected.
Nyla comes back to the bar and leans in immediately.
Zariah sets the bottle down slowly.
Zariah shakes her head slightly.
Nyla lets out a small laugh.
“Oh, he worse than Stack.”
Zariah exhales through her nose, but there’s a hint of intrigue now.
“So what, you giving up?”
Zariah’s eyes flick back toward where Smoke walked off.
Watching him blend right back into the room like nothing happened.
Her voice is quieter this time.
“I told you. You picked the hard one.”
Zariah crosses her arms slightly, still watching.
Zariah doesn’t answer right away.
Because she’s realizing it in real time
Not about being approached.
That makes him harder to read.
Smoke is already back where he was, like the interaction never happened.
Zariah looks down at her hands for a second…
“That one gonna take time.”
Sunday morning sunlight spills softly into the kitchen, catching the curve of Annie’s bare thighs as she stands at the sink, humming to herself while washing dishes. Her nightgown brushes high against her legs, as she moves easy, unbothered.
Smoke leans in the doorway, quiet, just watching her.
The sight alone has his jaw tight, chest rising slow. Mornings were always like this with her—no warning, no easing into it. Just need.
He pushes off the frame and walks up behind her, sliding his arms around her waist, pulling her back into him. His lips find her neck, warm and slow.
Annie leans into him with a soft smile.
“Mmm… good morning to you too, Smoke,” she murmurs. “I made yo coffee, babe. Yo breakfast’s in the microwave.”
He presses another kiss just below her ear, voice low.
“Appreciate that, mama… but that ain’t what I want right now.”
She smirks, still rinsing a plate.
“Oh yeah? What is that you want, Elijah?”
His grip tightens slightly at her waist.
“You,” he says, barely above a whisper. “I want you to be my coffee this mornin.”
Annie’s eyebrow lifts, playful.
His hands slide along her hips, slow and certain, as he dips his head, brushing kisses along her shoulder, down the back of her neck. The room feels warmer, quieter, like everything narrows down to just the two of them.
He drops to his knees and raises her gown. He begins to plant kisses all over the back of her thighs.
Annie lets out a soft breath, her movements at the sink slowing.
“Smoke…” she murmurs, half warning, half invitation
He smiles against her skin.
“Bend a lil for me, mama.”
She hesitates just a second—then bends, just enough—glancing back at him with that same teasing look.
He grabs the inside of one of her knees and moves her leg outward.
Then he kneads her ass cheeks while he kisses them.
“Can you be my breakfast and coffee this mornin’, Annie?” he murmurs, voice smooth as silk.
Annie nods while she grips the sink, dishes long forgotten.
Smoke taps her ass cheek.
“Words, baby. How you keep forgettin’? After three years? You don’t know what yo husband demand of you by now?”
“I-I do, Smoke. I just be so caught up in the moment.”
“Mhm, I get that, but I still need words from you. I love to hear that soft, sweet voice of yours when I ask you a question. Now answer me—You ready to be my breakfast and my coffee this mornin’, baby?”
“Yes, Elijah,” Annie breathes.
Smoke flicks his sharp, thick tongue out and tastes her clit.
Annie gives a heavy sigh.
It immediately becomes engorged and peeks out through her lips.
“There she go,” he mumbles.
He sucks it between his soft lips.
He turns around and sits down, sliding down the cabinet some. He lifts her left leg to the side, bent at the knee.
He goes to work on her clit.
Annie’s feeling lightheaded at how good it feels. She clutches the sink so hard her knuckles change color.
Smoke is hungry, and boy, does he eat.
Annie’s knee goes weak as she struggles to hold herself up with one leg.
“Elijah… daddy, hold on. Let me get my footin’, baby,” she says in a desperate plea.
He slows down and lets her adjust. He pulls her into his face.
He proceeds to gorge, giving her slow filthy licks to her bundle of nerves.
He stands up and puts himself inside her, giving her calculated strokes while he grips her ass.
“That feel good, baby?” he asks.
“I’m woke now, mama. I’m gon miss gettin’ this pussy any time and any place I want it.”
Smoke kisses her neck and fondles her breast.
“It’s so wet. That’s what my mouth do to you?” he growls. “Huh?”
“Yessss,” Annie breathes.
Her pussy makes loud, wet noises.
“She talkin’ to me, baby. You hear that?” he murmurs in her ear.
“What you think she sayin’ to me? Tell me.”
“It’s so damn big, and it feels so good.”
“Where you feel me at? Hmm?”
Smoke lets a rough grunt.
Smoke grips her hips and pulls her back into him harder.
Annie chokes out a sob and explodes.
Smoke holds her back on him and buries himself to the hilt, spilling his seed all into her…
Not as wild as the weekend, but still full enough to keep the energy alive.
Behind the bar, Zariah moves like usual,
Not obvious. Just… aware.
He’s at a table this time, going over something on his phone, occasionally speaking low to one of the managers.
Zariah dries her hands, then grabs a water bottle.
She walks over, stopping just outside his space.
“Here,” she says, setting the bottle down near him.
Smoke glances at it… then at her.
“You didn’t drink anything all night either.”
Smoke studies her for a second.
Zariah leans slightly against the edge of the table, but not too close.
“You always like this?” she asks.
His brow shifts slightly.
Smoke doesn’t react much.
Just unscrews the cap of the water.
Trying again, but softer.
“Seems like a lot to carry every night.”
Lands a little different.
Not flirtatious. Not surface level.
Smoke’s eyes flick up to her again.
Simple. No complaint. No explanation.
“But you don’t ever… relax?”
Smoke leans back slightly in his chair, looking at her for a second longer this time.
Like he’s deciding how much to give.
Zariah tilts her head slightly.
And that’s the end of that.
Zariah lets out a small breath through her nose.
She straightens slightly.
“No hidden side in here, huh?”
Smoke’s expression doesn’t change.
“What you see in here is what you get.”
Smoke gives a small nod in return.
And just like that—It’s over.
Zariah grabs a towel, shaking her head slightly.
Zariah leans against the counter, thinking.
“No… it’s more than that.”
Zariah glances back toward him.
“And he not about to for nobody in here.”
Zariah cuts her off lightly.
“I’m not trying to get him like that.”
Zariah’s eyes stay on Smoke.
Smoke picks up the water bottle again, taking another sip.
Calm. Unbothered. Unmoved.
Zariah’s not frustrated by it.
Because whatever part of him exists beyond that?
She knows now—It’s not for strangers.
The following Friday night…
Behind the bar—Music hitting. Crowd thick.
But for a moment, Zariah and Nyla got a little space between orders.
Stack and Smoke posted like always.
Clean. Calm. Untouchable.
Nyla leans in first, shaking her head slightly.
“…I’m sorry, but they too damn fine.”
Zariah lets out a quiet laugh.
Nyla watches Stack move, adjusting his watch, talking like he got all the time in the world.
“…and they smell good too,” she adds. “Every time they walk past? Yeah… that shit dangerous.”
Zariah nods slowly, eyes still tracking them.
“Mm. That expensive cologne type. You can tell they near you before you even see ‘em.”
Nyla smirks, lowering her voice just a little.
“Have you seen how full they lips are?”
Zariah cuts her a look, already knowing where she going.
“I’m just saying… I know they can do some things with them.”
Zariah laughs under her breath, shaking her head.
Then her eyes drift back to how Smoke moves—slow, confident, like nothing rushes him.
“Oooh… and the way they walk,” she adds. “Like they own everything in here.”
“Mm. And you can tell… they the type to have you folding for em.”
“I’m serious,” Zariah says, voice low but amused. “I just know they’ll take you through dere. Have you beggin em.”
Nyla leans back, folding her arms, still watching.
“I love how they dress too,” she adds. “Simple, but everything fit right.”
Her eyes land on Stack again.
“…Stack would look real good next to me.”
That’s when—Keisha cuts in without even looking up.
Keisha still wiping down a glass, unbothered.
“And look good with you?” she adds, finally glancing at Nyla. “You ain’t even seen his wife.”
Nyla rolls her eyes slightly.
“That’s the baddest woman I ever seen in my life. Her and Annie.”
Zariah’s brows lift a little.
Keisha nods once, serious.
Then she gestures toward VIP.
“Both of them. They picked well. Believe me.”
Nyla sucks her teeth softly.
“I’d have to see that to believe they comparing to us.”
Zariah glances back toward the men, more thoughtful now.
“They wives gotta be beautiful if they wifed them.”
Nyla narrows her eyes a little.
Zariah lets out a small laugh.
“I’m just being real, Nyla.”
“You like to live in fantasy land.”
Nyla rolls her eyes, but there’s a hint of a smirk there.
Stack and Smoke still moving the same.
Still a mystery they think they can solve.
The brunch spot is loud in that soft, upscale way, glasses clinking, low music humming, sunlight pouring through wide windows and laying gold across the table.
Annie and Dajia sit on one side, glowing in that unmistakable way…full, soft, radiant. Across from them, Smoke and Stack look like they own the room without trying. Protective. Observant. A little too aware of everything.
There’s a spread of food between them—waffles, eggs, fruit, something sweet Annie insisted on ordering “for the babies.”
Dajia leans back in her seat, smiling as she sips her drink.
“I’m not gon lie… havin the baby shower together? That was a good idea.”
Annie grins immediately, lighting up.
“Right? I told you! Double the decorations, double the food, double the fun.”
Stack shakes his head, smirking.
Dajia nudges him under the table with her foot.
“Negro hush. You can afford it.”
Smoke chuckles low, eyes on Annie.
“As long as y’all happy, that’s all that matter.”
Annie reaches over, lacing her fingers with his for a second, squeezing.
“We will be. It’s gonna be perfect.”
There’s a warm pause. Easy. Full of love.
Then somehow—like conversations always do—it shifts.
Dajia tilts her head, thoughtful.
“Have you made up yo mind about how you wanna do it? Like… delivery wise?”
Smoke glances at her, casual at first.
Annie nods, sitting up a little straighter.
“I wanna have the babies at home.”
“In the tub,” Annie adds, like it’s nothing.
That’s when his whole face changes.
Stack lets out a short laugh, thinking it’s a joke.
“I’m serious,” Annie says calmly.
Smoke leans back slowly, studying her like he’s trying to figure out if she’s playing.
“Annie…” his voice lowers, controlled, “why would you do that?”
She meets his gaze, steady.
“Because I’ve been doin my research. And because the mortality rate for Black women in hospitals is higher.”
Smoke’s jaw tightens almost instantly.
“Okay… but that don’t mean you safer at home.”
“It can be,” Annie says gently. “With the right support. I want a doula. Someone experienced. I want to be comfortable, in my own space—”
“What if somethin go wrong?” Smoke cuts in, sharper now.
Annie’s expression softens, but she doesn’t back down.
“You don’t know that,” he shoots back.
Stack nods immediately, leaning forward.
“He right. That ain’t somethin you just gamble with.”
Dajia shifts in her seat, eyes moving between them. Then she speaks, calm but firm.
“I mean… I get what Annie’s saying.”
Stack turns to her so fast it almost snaps.
“Yeah. I actually want to do it too. That’s why I asked her.”
Now Stack’s face changes.
“I’m serious,” she says. “I like the idea of being in control. Being comfortable. Not feeling rushed or ignored—”
“Not in a hospital?” Stack cuts in, disbelief creeping into his tone. “With doctors? Machines? Everything right there if something go left?”
Dajia exhales, trying to stay calm.
“Sometimes that don’t mean better, Stack. You know that.”
Smoke shakes his head, running a hand over his mouth.
“Nah. I’m not wit that. I’m not.”
Annie’s voice stays even, but there’s steel underneath now.
“You don’t have to be ‘wit it.’ It’s my body.”
Smoke looks at her like that stung.
“And I’m the one carryin them.”
Stack leans forward, palms flat on the table now.
“This shit ain’t just about comfort. This is life or death.”
“And that’s exactly why we gotta make the best choice for us—not just what’s standard.”
“Best choice is a hospital,” Stack snaps.
“For who?” she fires back.
The air shifts—sharp, electric.
Voices are still controlled, but just barely.
Smoke’s staring at Annie now, hurt creeping into his frustration.
“You ain’t even tell me you was thinkin like this.”
Annie’s brows pull together.
“It do,” he says tightly. “And I don’t like it.”
Dajia folds her arms, sitting up straighter.
And just like that—lines are drawn.
Low voices getting tighter. Words getting shorter. Emotions getting louder even when the volume doesn’t.
“Hi! Everything good over here? You guys wanna order any dessert?”
The server’s voice cuts through it like a blade.
All four of them go still.
The tension is thick. Suffocating. You could feel it sitting in the empty chair at the table.
Dajia looks down at her dessert menu, even though she’s not reading it.
Stack runs a hand over his face, jaw clenched.
Smoke doesn’t even look at the server at first. He’s still looking at Annie.
Then finally, without breaking that stare, he speaks.
“Yeah…they want dessert.”
His tone is calm. Too calm.
Then he adds, low enough that it’s just for them—
“We’ll finish this conversation in private.”
And everybody at that table knows—
This isn’t over. Not even close.
When Smoke and Annie walk into their house, it’s dead silent.
Like the walls themselves are holding their breath.
Annie kicks her shoes off by the door, exhaling hard, her whole body heavy with the weight of everything that just happened.
Smoke slips his shoes off slower, controlled, but there’s tension in every movement.
Annie starts to head toward the bedroom.
His voice stops her cold.
She closes her eyes briefly, already tired.
“I wanna finish our conversation”
Annie sighs, turning around slowly.
He crosses his arms, jaw tight.
“So you thought it was okay to just discuss that openly in front of everybody without even tellin’ me first?”
Annie rolls her eyes, already irritated.
“I was goin to tell you, Smoke. Dajia just so happened to ask me before I could.”
“So when did you decide this?”
She shrugs, like it shouldn’t be this big.
“I went back and forth about it… but I settled on it a week ago.”
Smoke’s head tilts, disbelief flashing across his face.
“A week ago? So you couldn’t tell me—yo husband a week ago? I had to fuckin find out wit Stack and Dajia? What the hell?”
Annie’s expression hardens.
“I waited because of this right here.”
“Nah, Annie, don’t even try and use that shit as an excuse,” he snaps. “We talk about everything. And for me to be in the dark about this? That’s unacceptable. We are married. We are partners. I deserve to know about things like this.”
That hits, but instead of softening her, it sets her off.
Annie claps her hands together in frustration, pacing once before turning back to him.
“You are making a big deal out of this and it’s not that big of a deal.”
“Not that big of a deal?” Smoke repeats, incredulous. “You havin’ twins, Annie. You sayin’ you wanna have my babies at home—”
His voice rises, emotion bleeding through now.
“—and you didn’t even ask me what I thought!”
Annie fires right back, louder.
“Yes, it’s my fuckin body, Smoke! Not yours! It’s my life at risk—not yours!”
“Exactly! I know that!” he yells. “You say that shit every time I even express concern and that’s not fair! You mine—and those babies are mine. I’m worried! I’m responsible for y’all!”
“You not hearin me, Elijah!”
He smacks the back of his hand into his palm, pacing now, trying to contain himself and failing.
“You wanna have our babies somewhere wit no medicine, no machines! No life-saving measures—no doctors, no nurses! Having twins is already risky. I just can’t understand why you would wanna put our babies’ lives at risk like that?!”
“I’m not!” Annie shoots back immediately. “I’m gonna have a doula. A plan. Women been havin babies before hospitals even existed—successfully. I’m not just wingin it!”
Smoke’s jaw ticks, anger sharpening.
“Nah! I don’t wanna hear none of that shit. This sounds crazy as hell! I’m not havin it.”
Annie steps forward, closing the space between them, getting right in his face. She’s furious now, chest rising and falling fast.
“Well hear it, Smoke…cause I’m doin it whether you want me to or not.”
“So it’s just fuck me now? I don’t have a say in anything?!”
She taps his forehead with her finger—hard and pushes his head back slightly.
“Not when it comes to my body. Get that through yo thick ass skull.”
Everything in the room freezes.
Smoke goes still. Too still.
His anger doesn’t explode—it drops.
Cold. Controlled. Dangerous.
He takes a slow step back, eyes locked on her, studying her like he’s seeing something different now.
“Don’t you ever in yo life do that shit to me again.”
But it lands heavier than anything he yelled.
Then he turns, walks off without another word and slams the bedroom door.
The sound echoes through the house.
Annie stands there, frozen for a second.
Then her chest starts heaving, breath uneven, adrenaline still rushing through her veins.
But now…It’s louder than before.
Stack and Dajia are laid up in bed, the room dark except for the faint glow slipping in through the curtains.
Dajia can feel it without even looking at him—the tension, the weight sitting on his chest that he ain’t letting go.
She shifts, turning onto her side to face him.
Stack turns his head slowly, eyes already on her.
He stares for a moment then speaks.
“I’m convinced you and Annie just love to stress me and Smoke the fuck out.”
Dajia rolls her eyes in the dark, already irritated.
“How, Stack? Because we’re tryin to do what’s right for our bodies?”
“There you go,” he murmurs, shaking his head. “Weaponizin that shit. ‘Our bodies.’ So because we men, we just don’t get a say, right?”
She pushes herself up slightly on her elbow.
“That’s not what I said—”
“But that’s how it feel,” he cuts in, voice low but firm. “We y’all husbands. The fathers of these kids. Y’all ain’t get pregnant by y’all selves.”
“We should have a say in this too,” he continues. “But nah… y’all just went ahead and made a whole decision without us. That shit don’t sit right wit me. At all.”
He lets out a sharp breath, frustration slipping through.
“Me and Smoke had to find out at that table together like some damn inside joke instead of hearin it from our own women. That’s fucked up.”
Silence stretches between them.
Dajia swallows, then says quieter—
“Way to make it about y’all. It’s about us. Can’t you just support me on this?”
Stack turns his head fully now, really looking at her.
“I don’t agree wit it. I want us in a hospital.”
Dajia’s expression hardens instantly.
“Well that’s too damn bad, Stack.”
He suck’s his teeth and glares in the dark.
“Remember that when it comes time for you wantin me to fuck you. You don’t need me. You can do it all alone.”
“Wowww. That’s how you feel?”
Stack doesn’t say anything else.
She turns her back to him, pulling the covers with her just a little.
“ And just so you know, I damn sure don’t need you.”
Stack stares at her for a second longer, jaw tight.
Then he turns his back too.
Now they’re laying there—back to back.
The tension doesn’t ease.
Conversations stay short.
Looks linger too long or don’t happen at all.
Nobody bends. Nobody apologizes.
Both sides dug in deep, standing ten toes down in what they believe.
And the love is still there, but right now?
It’s buried under pride, fear, and a whole lot of unspoken shit.
It’s a Wednesday afternoon, the kind where the restaurant is busy but not loud—soft chatter, clinking glasses, sunlight pouring through the windows.
Annie, Dajia, and Dominique are tucked into a corner booth, menus pushed aside, plates half touched. It’s one of their their usuals spot—midweek reset, no men, no chaos.
For a second, it’s light.
Then Dajia looks between Annie and Dominique and sighs.
“…So how bad is it over there?”
Annie lets out a humorless laugh, leaning back in her seat.
Dominique raises a brow, already sensing mess.
Annie hesitates for half a second… then just says it.
“I pissed Smoke off even more.”
Annie shrugs, but there’s tension in it.
“I mean… besides the whole me not budging on having the twins at home?”
Dominique narrows her eyes.
Annie sighs, rubbing her temple.
“…I put my finger on his forehead.”
There’s a moment of silence
Then Dominique’s whole face changes.
Dajia turns her head fast.
Annie rolls her eyes immediately.
“It wasn’t even like that. I just—pushed his head back slightly. He was doin the most.”
Dominique sits back, shaking her head.
“Downplay it,” Dominique says, firm. “You don’t put your hands on that man like that. Especially not in his face.”
“Yeah… I ain’t gon lie, Annie. You crossed the line wit that.”
Annie looks between them, disbelief creeping in.
“No, you are,” Dominique shoots back. “You know how men take that. That’s disrespectful.”
Annie exhales sharply, folding her arms.
Dominique leans forward slightly.
“And you know he didn’t. Cause had he done that to you, it would be a different story.”
Annie doesn’t say anything for a second, just stirs her drink.
Dajia sighs, leaning back.
Dominique glances at her.
Dajia lets out a dry laugh.
“Damn… Smoke actin the same way.
“And when he do talk?” Dajia shakes her head. “It’s slick shit.”
Dajia looks between them, already annoyed just thinking about it.
“Man it’s a lot of shit but this man really told me, next time I wanna have sex, I need to do that shit by myself since I don’t value his input.”
Then Annie busts out laughing.
Dominique tries to hold it in—fails
Dajia stares at both of them, unimpressed.
“That shit was not funny.”
Annie wipes under her eye, still laughing.
“I’m sorry—no, it wasn’t, but it kinda was.”
Dominique exhales, shaking her head.
“Exactly!” Dajia says, pointing. “That’s what I said. And I told him I don’t need him anyway.”
Dominique’s laughter dies immediately.
“I said you wrong too,” Dominique repeats calmly. “Y’all both just saying shit to hurt each other now.”
Dajia leans back, quieter now.
Dominique looks between both of them, her tone shifting, less playful, more grounded.
“Listen… I get what y’all trying to do. I do.”
“But y’all arguing the wrong way.”
“You’re just saying what you want,” Dominique explains. “Not why you want it in a way they can actually understand.”
“No,” Dominique cuts in gently. “You’ve said it. That’s not the same as making them feel it.”
“If this is really about safety… about y’all feeling heard… then you need to show them that. Break it down. Give real examples. Real stories. What women have actually gone through.”
Annie’s expression softens slightly.
Dajia looks down at the table.
“Because right now?” Dominique adds, “all they hearing is ‘we making this decision without you.’ And that’s where they stuck at.”
“…So what, we just fold?”
Dominique shakes her head.
“No. Not fold. But meet them halfway.”
She leans in a little more.
“Marriage ain’t about winning. It’s about understanding the other person’s side…even when you don’t agree and finding a way to meet in the middle.”
Silence settles over the table.
Not tense. Just… thoughtful.
Dajia taps her nail lightly against her glass.
“…I could’ve handled that better.”
Dominique leans back, satisfied.
A small, knowing look passes between them.
“…We gotta talk to them,” Annie says.
“For real this time,” Dajia adds.
Dominique smirks faintly.
“Yeah. And maybe don’t poke nobody in the forehead this time.”
Annie rolls her eyes,but she smiles.
They’re not all the way fixed.
But they’re finally ready to try.
The office at Moore Life Lounge is heavy with tension. Antonio’s behind the desk, sleeves rolled, a glass of something dark in his hand,
Smoke is slouched on the couch, elbows on his knees, rubbing his face like he’s been through war.
Antonio watches them both for a minute before he even speaks.
“Y’all done?” he asks, voice smooth, almost amused.
Stack stops pacing, throwing his hands up.
“Done? Nah, we just gettin started. You tell me why these women—our women—decided they wanna have these babies at the house. The house, Antonio.”
Smoke lets out a low groan.
“Not a hospital. Not doctors. Not none of that. Candles. Towels. Breathing exercises and shit.”
Antonio raises a brow, takes a slow sip.
Stack starts pacing again.
“I’m talkin about no epidural, no machines, no backup plan. Just vibes and shit. You hear me? VIBES.”
Smoke points toward Stack without even looking up.
“Exactly. And Annie talkin about ‘women been doin this for centuries.’ Yeah? And people was dyin for centuries too.”
Antonio chuckles under his breath at that, shaking his head.
Stack turns to him, dead serious.
“Say somethin’, man. You the only one in here not losin your mind.”
Antonio sets his glass down, leans back in his chair, folding his hands like he’s about to teach a class.
“First of all,” he says calmly, “y’all are losin your minds.”
Stack scoffs. Smoke exhales hard.
Antonio continues, unbothered.
“You hear yourselves? This ain’t about candles or hospitals. This about control.”
Antonio nods toward them.
“You scared. Both of you. And instead of sayin that, you tryna dress it up like it’s about safety.”
Antonio tilts his head slightly.
“Partly. But let me ask you this—if a doctor stood in front of you and said everything would go perfect at home, no complications… you still mad?”
Stack hesitates. Doesn’t answer.
Smoke leans back, quieter now.
Antonio gives a small, knowing nod.
Silence stretches for a second.
Antonio leans forward now, elbows on the desk.
“Listen… them women carryin y’all babies. Not you. Them. Every kick, every ache, every sleepless night, they livin in it.”
Stack drags a hand over his mouth.
Antonio continues, voice steady but firm.
“So when they say how they wanna bring that baby into the world? That ain’t a random decision. That’s them tryin to feel in control of somethin their body already took over.”
Smoke looks down at his hands, flexing his fingers.
Antonio softens just a little.
“Now, do that mean you don’t get a say? Nah. You their men. You supposed to protect, ask questions, make sure everything lined up right. Midwife certified, backup plan in place, hospital not far if needed… all that.”
“But barging in like ‘nah, we not doin that’?” Antonio shakes his head.
Smoke lets out a quiet breath.
Antonio leans back, picking his glass back up.
“Talk to them. Not at them. Ask what they need to feel safe. Then you figure out how to stand in that with them.”
Stack stares at the floor, then shakes his head with a quiet huff.
“…I hate when yo ass is right.”
“That’s why you asked me to say something cause you know I’m always right….”
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