#sinners angst

When he gets out his truck and starts walking down the market strip to Bo’s store, his eyes land on you, standing near a produce stand, dressed in a faded yellow dress that’s hugging your curves just like he remembered. 

Smoke hasn’t seen you since he left for Chicago. He didn’t expect to see you here but since the opportunity to talk to you has introduced itself, he’s going to take it. 

Right when he’s about to make his presence known, greet you in a respectful manner, one that would make it seem like he’s happy to see you, you turn in another direction, giving him a full view of yourself.

There’s a baby girl on your hip, can’t be any older than two years old. She has big, bright eyes, curls wild across her head, and she’s gnawing on some candy like she didn’t eat breakfast this morning.

Smoke stops walking. He doesn’t say a word. He can’t even blink because then he’ll feel like his eyes are playing tricks on him. He just stands there, like his whole body has forgotten how to move.

You’re digging through a crate full of plums, slow and careful, talking soft to the baby. Something about the sweetness of the fruit and how you have to smell the bottom to know if it was ripe.

You look around, glancing at your surroundings and that’s when your eyes lock with Smoke’s, making your heart skip beat. Time doesn’t just slow down, for you it completely stops. You never thought you would see Smoke again, not after how he left you high and dry, not even leaving you any type of explanation about his sudden disappearance. 

Your lips part, like you want to say his name but no words come out. After staring each other down, Smoke finally approaches you but not the way a gentleman should. He just stares at the child, then at you with a face expression cold as ice. “That baby yours?” 

Your arms tense around the girl, adjusting her on your hip before acknowledging Smoke’s presence. You blink at him once, tilting your head to the side, your attitude coming to the forefront while your lips curl with bitterness. “You ain’t seen me in almost a decade and that’s how you approach me? Don’t even ask how I been?”

Smoke’s jaw flexes, his hand twitching where it hangs by his side. He glances back at the little girl, eyes narrowing just enough to show the storm brewing behind them. “Is she yours?” he asks again, completely ignoring your previous words, voice much sharper than before, like he ain’t got time for you to give him the run around.

You press your lips together, not answering him right away. Instead, you sway the baby gently, rubbing her back like you didn’t feel his question hit you in the gut.

You wipe the sweat from your brows with the crook of your arm, letting his question hang in the air like smoke from a low-burning fire. “She eat like she mine. Sleep like she mine. Cry like she mine.” you say with an annoyed tone, looking at him as if he’s asking the dumbest question on Earth. “Now, what that tell ya’?”

Smoke let out a breath through his nose, sharp and quick, trying to push down the smart remark that’s burning his throat, not wanting to get smart with you. “She looks too young to be yours… sure as hell ain’t mine.” He mutters, averting his eyes from you and looking at the little girl who’s resting her head on your shoulder, ready for her afternoon nap. “So whose is she?”

“Ain’t none of your concern, Smoke.”

“The hell it ain’t.” 

“I ain’t yo’ woman no more, not since you left. You don’t get to ask me questions like that.” Your walls are up, that much is clear. Smoke’s looking right into your pretty brown eyes but he can only see a coldness in them, he doesn’t see that shimmer you always carried inside them before he left. 

“Whatchu want wit’ me, Smoke? Why did you come ova’ here?” You ask, tired of standing in this smoldering heat talking to him when the only thing he cares about is if this child was your daughter, not even asking about your well being since he ran off in the middle of the night for Chicago.

Smoke doesn’t immediately respond, he just stands there, jaw so tight it looks like he’s gonna break it. His eyes flicker from the baby to your face, trying to piece together parts of your life that aren't none of his business anymore. 

He knows he doesn’t deserve to ask you things like this anymore, doesn’t deserve to know what's transpired in the last seven years since he left but that doesn't end his curiosity, it doesn’t make him not care about you. 

He shifts his weight, looking down before taking off his blue scalley cap, his eyes becoming a tad bit softer than before, looking as if your previous words hit a nerve. “Me and Stack openin’ up a juke joint. Down at the old sawmill.”

You don’t say anything. Just raise an eyebrow, bouncing the girl on your hip slowly, still swaying like the heat itself is keeping time with your movements. You hum softly, clearly unimpressed by this voluntary piece of information. “And you tellin’ me this ‘cause…?”

“Figured you’d wanna come, check out the place.”

You let out a breathy laugh, one with no joy in it, one that’s not in the mood to dance or drink in the same room with Smoke and act as if everything is alright between the two of you. “Well, you figured wrong.”

A silence between you and him, both of you just looking into each other’s eyes before Smoke breaks the quietness. “I ain’t know if I’d see ya’ again. Thought you woulda left the Delta by now.” 

“Well, you done seen me. Reckon you can go on ‘bout your business now.”  The little girl shifts against your shoulder, her candy-sticky fingers curling into the fabric of your dress. You stroke her back soothingly, but your eyes don’t leave his. You want him to see what he ran from and how you haven’t let it break you.

Smoke swallows hard, not trying to be vulnerable in such a public place but not wanting you to think he’s just stone walling you. You can see him struggling, like he has a million things he wants to say but can’t find the right words. “Jus’ come by.” he murmurs. “That’s all I’m askin’. Nothin’ mo’.”

You stare at him a moment longer, letting out a puff of air before nodding once, not giving him a definitive answer. “We’ll see. Ain’t makin’ no promises.”

You don’t give him a goodbye, just turn on your heels and walk away, the hem of your dress swishing behind you, dust curling around your ankles. Smoke watches you go, not saying anything to try and keep you here, his hand still gripping the brim of his hat, heart caught somewhere in the hollow space behind his ribs. 

He doesn’t know if you’re going to show up tonight and if he’ll ever have the chance to apologize but he wants to make things right with you, even if you're going to chew him up in the process.

—

The juke is currently thriving and alive. Sweat dripping down walls and everyone’s backs. Men clapping dominoes on tables, Sammie’s guitar slicing through the cigarette haze, Delta Slim playing the hell out of the piano, and Pearline sings a song that has the crowd dancing across the wooden floor. 

Smoke’s leaned up against the wall, cigarette between his lips, watching the door like a soldier watching the tree line. He’s been eyeing the door ever since they opened, hoping that he’ll see you walking inside. He’s been trying to keep hope alive, but it’s been a few hours and he hasn’t seen you yet, making him agitated.

“She comin’?” Stack asks, sliding beside his brother, making sure he’s alright. Smoke doesn’t answer at first. He just takes a slow pull, eyes trained on the open door like if he stares hard enough, he might conjure you up outta thin air.

Stack follows his gaze, then huffs a little, shaking his head. “Man, we got a whole club full’a pretty women and you worried about her. Ones that ain’t cussin’ yo’ ass out in the middle of the market, too.” Stack jokes, elbowing him lightly, trying to make Smoke feel better but it ain’t working. Smoke gives him a look, stone cold and sharp, one that speaks for him, a look that says ‘don’t play with me right now’.

“Aight, Aight.” Stack mutters, hands raised in surrender, not wanting to make his brother feel any worse than he already does. “Just sayin’. Don’t burn a hole in the floor waitin’ on somebody who might not show, ‘specially after you fucked up.”

Smoke doesn’t respond, he just sucks his teeth and turns back toward the door, lips pressed tight, taking another puff, trying to keep himself from wringing someone’s neck… and deep down trying to hold himself together.

He doesn't care about other women, never did, even when he was in Chicago. Not when his mind still played memories of the time he’s spent with you. Memories of you laughing in the kitchen barefoot without a care in the world, or riding with him around town, hugged up in each other's arms, acting as if the world only revolved around the other. 

Seeing that baby on your hip today really shook him, even if he doesn’t want to admit it out loud. He's been standing around wondering if your her mother, if you were able to finally conceive a baby without him. Just the thought of it makes a pain strike his chest. It makes him feel sick to his stomach because that baby should be his, not some other man.

Smoke has gotten to the point where he’s ready to give up, to leave his post and make sure Club Juke is running smoothly, thinking that his little brother is right, but right when he’s about to go and find Stack, that’s when it happens.

The door creaks open, loud enough to cut through the swell of music. There you are, standing in the doorway, talking to Cornbread at the door, looking like heaven on Earth. You’re in a soft colored satin dress, clinging to your figure like a second skin, lips painted a soft berry shade, hair done up real pretty, with your earrings catching the low light as you assess the scenery. 

As your eyes dance around the room, that’s when you find Smoke, standing a few feet from the bar. You take a few steps inside, slow and deliberate, hips swaying easily beneath the satin material, like you aren't in a rush, like you know he’s been watching the door all night just hoping you’d show. Cornbread tips his hat at you as you pass, and a couple heads turn too, the men whistling as you pass by but you ain’t paying them no mind.

Smoke straightens off the wall, putting out his cigarette in a nearby ash tray, while his eyes boring into you like a wolf watching if it’s prey is brave enough to run. He doesn't move toward you right away, doesn’t want to seem too eager, but he damn sure ain’t letting you walk in without sparking up a conversation.

You cut across the room slow, graceful, while Smoke is already making an effort to meet you halfway, the heat between y’all thick as molasses. Folks move out the way without even thinking about it, sensing something in the air, like some drama is stirring up.

Once Smoke is in front of you he takes in a small whiff of your scent, the smell of gardenias and honey filling his nostrils, making his heart settle at the familiarity of it. His eyes drag over your face, pausing at your lips, then finally settling in your eyes. “Ain’t think you was gon’ come.” 

“Ain’t think I was either, but my sister convinced me to show my face. Thought it would be good fuh’ me.”

You both stand there a moment, just taking in each other's presence, both of you secretly happy to see the other, even if your trying not to show it. “You look good,” his voice comes out rough like sandpaper but soft at the edges, his eyes gazing over each curve of your hips and the deep cut in your dress, accentuating the plumpness of your breasts. “Real good.”

You hum, trying to repress the smile that’s trying to creep onto your lips from the compliment, not wanting to let him off the hook so easily. “Ain’t gotta butter me up, Elijah. I’m here now but me showin’ up doesn't mean I forgot how we got here in the first place, how you jus’ up and left.”

His jaw ticks at the sound of his birth name in your mouth again, he ain’t heard it sound that pretty in years. And hearing it now, even with the sharpness behind it, it still makes his heart flutter. 

A flash of frustration passes through his eyes, he already can tell where this conversation is headed. You showed up looking like sin wrapped in silk, just to remind him of all the ways he failed you and your relationship and ready to rip him a new one.

He doesn’t wanna do this down here, not with all these nosy folks watching and trying to catch a whisper of y’all business, wanting to have something they can gossip about come tomorrow morning. He steps in closer, close enough that his voice dips into something just above a growl. “Come upstairs.” It’s not in the form of a question or a plea, just a demand.

And you blink, slightly taken aback since you haven’t heard him use that tone with you in years, the one that’s sprinkled with dominance. It’s the boldness, that edge in his voice, it’s what cuts through your self proclaimed armor. 

Still, you aren’t about to make it easy for Smoke, not after what he’s put you through. You tilt your chin up, squaring your shoulders like you’re thinking about telling him no, wanting him to sweat a little bit. After a few moments you nod slightly, lips parting as you murmur, “Lead the way.” 

He doesn’t respond, just turns and walks, weaving through the crowd without looking back, knowing you’re going to trail right behind him. While you’re walking you feel holes burning into your skull, knowing people are watching. You just ignore the eyes that follow y’all path, ignoring the hum of whispers and curious glances. Folks always did love a good reunion, especially a messy one like this.

You follow him up the creaky stairs, heart hammering louder with every step. The music fades behind you, replaced by the low thump of your own pulse and the sound of your heels clicking against the old wood. The second-floor hallway is dim and hot, lit only by a single bulb hanging from the ceiling.

He leads you down the hall and opens the door to a small room. It’s private, clean, and it’s far enough away so your voices won’t be heard downstairs. The room is just a table, chair by the window, a trunk full of the twins' guns and ammo, and a safe for their valuables. A fan clicks lazily overhead, doing little to fight off the heat but it does help. 

Once you both are inside, he shuts the door and leans against it for a beat, while you stand in the middle of the room, arms crossed tight over your chest. He watches you. Watches the way you shift your weight from one hip to the other, your expression trying to stay hard but your fingers twitching like you aren’t as composed as you pretend to be. “Why now, Elijah?” you ask softly, wanting some answers from him. “Why you come back here, after all this time?”

Smoke’s never been the type to show much emotion. But right now, the weight behind his eyes is heavier than you’ve ever seen it. When you talk to him in that tone, look at him with those hypnotizing eyes, he can’t help but become vulnerable, allowing you to break down his walls and get him to open up. “I ain’t know how to stay,” he says, pushing off the door and coming towards you. “I ain’t know how to look at you every night, wantin’ somethin’ I couldn’t give you.”

“You think leavin’ fixed that?” you ask, voice cracking in the process. “You think disappearin’ made the ache go away?”

“I ain’t know how to handle it. Felt like I failed you. Watchin’ you in that bed cryin’ and couldn’t do nothin’ but hold your hand. I felt like shit, like I was less of a man.”

The time y’all were together before he left for Chicago, your days were filled with doctor visits, herbs, prayers, and tears soaked into your cotton sheets. You cried yourself hoarse each time you found out you weren’t pregnant.

You and him were trying to conceive for a long time, trying to fill your womb with a child, wanting to bring a life into the world that was a mixture of you and him, but for some reason it never happened.

Any method you learned about in books or from talking to the neighborhood midwives who delivered more babies than you can count, you and Smoke tried and yet you could never become pregnant. You and Smoke tried to keep each other lifted up, tried to keep hope alive but after months turned into years it started weighing on both of you.

You both were at your breaking point so when Smoke had the opportunity to leave for Chicago, he was gone on the first train smoking, leaving you to deal with the pain of not being able to conceive alone.

“You was my man, Elijah.” you snap, your voice sharp and trembling, not being able to hold back the storm of emotions that’s been brewing inside you all these years. “I never wanted perfect. I never wanted you to fix the problem, I just wanted you but you ran. Like it was easier to vanish than stay and hurt wit’ me.”

Smoke swallows thick, chest rising with a breath, like he doesn't know how to hold right. “I didn’t know how to sit in that pain, not with you lookin’ at me with that hurt in your eyes. I felt useless to ya’.”

“You think I felt useful?” you spit, stepping toward him now, eyes flashing with anger. “Every month, bleedin’, gettin’ another reminder that I ain’t having your baby. Every time somebody else in town got pregnant and I had to smile like it didn’t feel like I was dyin’ inside? Having to see my friends take care of their kids and pretend I wasn’t jealous. All those times I needed you here, not runnin’ around Chicago like you ain’t got a woman at home.”

The silence between you crackles, heavy with grief, fury, and years of love stretched too thin because of sorrow. You’re both breathing hard now, standing in the middle of the room like two hurricanes about to collide. He doesn’t speak, not because he doesn’t have anything to say, it’s because you’re right.

After watching Smoke just stand there in silence, seeing the hurt in his eyes and feeling the sting of his actions in your own heart, that’s when you break.

You try not to, try to stay hard and proud, but the pain rips through you anyway. “You left me with nothin’ but an empty bed. You ain’t send me a letter, try to get a call to me, nothin’. I ain’t hear from you in seven years, Smoke. Seven damn years.” you whisper, voice raw and tired, tears starting to spill freely down your cheeks. “I hated you for it. I hated you so much, but I couldn’t stop lovin’ you either.”

At this point in your life, your tired of crying over Smoke, tired of the pain you just can’t shake no matter how much you try, but that’s what happens when you truly love someone. No matter how hard you try, you just can’t let them go, even if what they did is unforgivable.

He doesn’t ask permission, just crosses the room in large strides and pulls you into his chest like he’s been dying to touch you since the moment he saw you at the market.

His arms wrap around you tight, and your fists beat against his chest once, then twice, then a third. You try to fight his embrace, not wanting to weaken under his touch but after a few moments your arms fall limp, clutching his vest, resting your head against his shoulder while your tears soak his clothing.

Silence stretches like wire strung too tight before your voice cracks just enough to show the emotional bruise on your heart, showing the true wound that’s been hurting you for years, the thought that’s been plaguing your mind since he left. “I thought I wasn’t enough for you anymore. That without being able to give you a baby I was less of a woman, that I couldn’t make you happy anymore.”

Smoke’s breath stutters against your temple, your words splitting him clean down the middle. His voice is so low you barely hear it over the creak of the fan above but you catch every single word. “Don’t you ever say that, aight? You always been enough fuh’ me.”

He pulls back just enough to look you in the eye, tilting your head up at him and then pressing his fingers into your waist like he’s trying to make you feel every word before it even can leaves his lips. “You the only thang in this world that makes me feel whole. I left ‘cause I felt like I wasn’t enough for you, not ‘cause you ain’t.”

“Then why you aint jus’ say that? Why you ain’t tell me you was hurtin’ too?”

His jaw flexes again, and you can see it, shame, writing all over his face. It rolls off him in waves, thick as Mississippi fog. You can tell he’s ashamed of how he left things, how he practically abandoned you just because things were overwhelming. “I ain’t know how,” he confesses, his voice soft and vulnerable, a side of him you don’t see often but when you do it makes butterflies flutter around your stomach.

His way of being open, honest, and raw has always had that affect on you, even when you were kids. “Wasn’t raised to talk ‘bout no feelings. Wasn’t raised to sit in pain. All I know is how to survive, and I thought leavin’ was survivin’, tryin’ to find another way to provide for us. Tryin’ to forget the pain.”

And that’s when your breath catches, because you can tell he means every word. You can see it in his eyes. All the self-loathing, all the love, wrapped up in one tortured look. Your lips part, but nothing comes out, lost for words at the moment. 

He lowers his forehead against yours, the heat of his breath brushing your face, making your skin prickle. And for a second, it’s just the two of you, truly seeing each other past the masks you put on for other people. You see the pain brewing inside, the hurt of your past, and the ache of your love, weighing on both of you like a stone.

For a while Smoke just holds you. His arms don’t shake, no tremble in his hands, but his breath does, hitching in his chest as he leans into you, a single tear rolling down his cheek, another expression of his vulnerability and how apologetic he is about the whole situation, filling in the gaps where his words couldn’t. 

The fan creaks overhead, spinning slow and lazy, the outside noise muffled through thick walls and heavy heat, but none of it matters. In this room, it’s just him and you, buried under years of silence and heartbreak, finally getting things off your chest.

“I’m sorry,” he says, voice full of conviction and thick with regret. “sorry fuh’ how I left ya’. I’m sorry I made you carry all that weight alone. I ain’t askin’ for your forgiveness ‘cause I don't deserve it. But I wanna make things right, get back in your good graces.”

You stare at him, your hands still clutching his clothing, feeling the rise and fall of his chest. You’re quiet for a moment, like you’re testing the truth of his words by the rhythm of his breath. It’s clear to you that he means what he says, that he isn’t just telling you what he assumes you want to hear so you decide to give him some truth as well.

You pull back to look him in the eye, telling him the thing that’s been burning him up inside since he first saw you. “That baby you saw me with earlier…” you begin softly, brushing a tear from your cheek before wiping the one that’s cascading down his. “She ain’t mine. She’s my sister’s little girl.” you explain. “I was jus’ babysittin’ her cause she had to run some errands, is all.”

You didn’t tell him your true connection to the baby at the market because you wanted to see him hurt, wanted him to think you could just move on and sleep with another man, wanted his blood to run hot with jealousy. You had to give him a reality check, make him realize that the world doesn’t revolve around Smoke, that what he does hurts people, hurts you.

Smoke blinks slowly, shoulders drop in the kind of relief that’s so heavy it almost knocks the wind out of him. “Shit,” he murmurs, running his hand down his face, wiping the beads of sweat that’s surrounding his brows. “I thought—” he shakes his head, letting out a thankful sigh. “thought you moved on. Thought I came back too late.”

You shake your head, lips curling into something too tender to call a smile, followed by a bitter laugh coming from your lips. “I ain’t moved on, Elijah. Been stuck right where you left me.” Your voice cracks just a little, but this time with something softer. “I tried to forget you but no matter what I did, I still wanted you. Still do, even with all we been through.”

That does something to him. Smoke’s whole frame seems to shift, like his heart just lifted back into place within his chest. His jaw unclenches, his brow eases, and the way he’s looking at you now,  like he would fall to his knees and beg for your forgiveness if you asked. 

He cups your face with one calloused hand, thumb dragging slow across your cheek, wiping away the last wet trace of tears staining your skin. “I was a damn fool.” he says quietly, voice thick with grief, his tone apologetic. “But I ain’t finna be one no more. I’m gon’ spend every day tryin’ to prove to you that I still know how to love you right. That I’m worthy enough to be with ya’.”

You exhale softly, the heat in the room no longer stemming from the Mississippi heat or from Club Juke being packed from wall to wall with people. It’s the air between you, charged with years of everything unsaid, thick with all the thirst and longing for the others touch. Your fingers tighten around the front of his shirt, playing with the buttons. “Then show me, ‘lijah. Prove that you mean what you say.”

You barely finish the sentence before his lips are pressed against yours. It’s not gentle, at least not at first. It’s desperate, seven years of silence, hurt, desire, and love pouring out into a single kiss. His mouth claims yours like he’s scared you’ll slip through his fingers again if he waits too long, and you don’t resist. You part your lips leaning into him like your body remembers this rhythm, this man, the one it’s been waiting on all this time.

His other hand slips around your waist, pulling you flush against him, allowing you to feel the bulge growing in his slacks. The second your mouth parts and your tongue brushes his, everything changes. The kiss grows hotter, deeper, like you both just realized how much you missed this. You break the kiss long enough to whisper against his lips, “Lock the door.”

Smoke’s already two steps ahead of you. He pulls you backwards with him and he reaches behind blindly and turns the lock, the soft click making your pulse stutter with anticipation. Once it’s locked he’s back on your body, kissing you like he’s been starving for years, because he in fact has.

You start taking off his vest, taking loose the few buttons before taking it off him and starting the whole process over with his dress shirt. After fidgeting with one that’s giving you trouble, you just rip the shirt open and throw it on the floor once his arms are free, along with his gun holster.

Smoke doesn’t even flinch when you rip open his shirt, he doesn’t care about the buttons scattering across the floor like dice, he just lets it happen and allows you to take the lead. 

You pull up his white t-shirt, breaking the kiss long enough to pull it over his head, and once you see his body glistening before you, a small smirk curls at your lips.

His body is just as you remember, broad chest, taut muscles beneath his brown skin, a few faded scars and wounds carved into his skin, a reminder of everything he’s endured over his thirty-ish years of walking this Earth. You press your palms flat against his pecs, like you’re trying to memorize the feeling of him again after all this time.

You trace your fingers down the slope of his shoulder, down to the scar that runs over his ribs, a scar you remember from a fight with some hotheads back in 1923, a fight he got into because the men were catcalling you, saying some filthy things he ain’t appreciate being spoken about you. 

Smoke watches your hand move, eyes half-lidded with heat and memory, like the feel of your fingers on his skin brings him back to every piece of who he used to be when he was with you. Your touch is gentle but there’s a certain fire behind it, a look in your eye that tells him you want to swallow him alive.

“Ain’t nothin’ changed,” you murmur, dragging your hand back up to his jaw, tracing the stubble that has grown thick and rough around his lip and chin. Your hands trail down his chest, fingers grazing the faint trail of hair leading into his slacks.

His breath hitches when you reach the waistband, your nails scraping against his skin, sending a shiver across his skin. “I still know every inch of you.” you whisper, lips trailing his neck, moving up his to his ear and swirling your tongue around his lobe, making him close his eyes and let out a groan. 

“Goddamn.” Smoke’s eyes flutter closed for just a second, jaw tightening as your tongue teases his ear, that sweet, warm breath of yours sending a bolt straight down his spine. He lets out a low grunt, deep, guttural, the kind of sound that vibrates from somewhere low in his belly, a sound he hasn’t let out in years, a sound only you can pull out of him. 

Your fingers keep tracing slow paths across his skin, like you’re relearning him, mapping out all the places you used to kiss, used to bite, used to hold when the nights got too heavy. His breath hitches with every pass of your hands, his body coiled tight like he’s only hanging on by a thread. 

You pull back just a little, your lips still brushing his throat, your voice coming out sounding like honey but your tone stern like you mean business. Asking him a question that’s been burning a hole in your mind since you heard through the grapevine he was living it up with Al Capone. “You let any women touch you while you was up there in Chicago?”

Smoke opens his eyes slow, looking down at you, holding your gaze steady like it’s the only thing that’s ever mattered. “No.” He says smooth as butter, without a stutter or crack in his voice. “Ain’t nobody touched me but myself. Ain’t want nobody else.”

You stare at him for a second with a raised brow before allowing a pleased smile to dance across your lips. “Good,” you mutter, dragging your nails lightly down his stomach again, teasing the waistband of his pants before pulling the loops out of his belt. “’Cause if you did, I woulda cut yo’ ass too thin to fry.”

That pulls a small smirk out of him, half amusement, half awe, but full of lust. “Shit, I believe ya’.” he murmurs, voice thick with heat, eyeing your full hips and pretty physique, licking his lips while he looks you up and down, feeling you pull his belt from around his waist and opening his fly, leaving only one more step before you see the part of him you missed the most.

In one swift motion, he grabs the back of your thighs and lifts you without warning, walking over and laying you down flat on the wooden table towards the back of the room.

Your breath leaves your lungs in a soft gasp, the wood cool against your back, your dress bunched up around your hips, thighs parted just enough for his body to slide between them. His hands slide down your waist, rough palms catching on the satin of your dress. 

You slip the straps of your dress off your shoulders, letting them fall before pulling the dress over your head, with some assistance from Smoke, helping you avoid messing up your hair even though he’s about to sweat it out.

Your body is now on full display, your full breasts sitting pretty in your brassiere, plump against your chest while your sex is being covered by your cotton panties, keeping the part of you Smoke desires the most hidden.

Smoke takes his time admiring your body, especially since he hasn’t seen it in years. His eyes move slowly, as if he’s savoring the moment, like every inch of you is a hymn he forgot the words to but still knows the rhythm of. He runs his tongue across his bottom lip, chest rising and falling with something too heavy to simply be called desire. 

What Smoke currently feels is hunger. Not the kind that lives in his stomach, but the kind that’s rooted in his veins. The kind that started the moment he walked away all them years ago and never died. Just sat there. Festering. Waiting for this very moment.

He leans over you, big hands dragging up your thighs, prying them open as he lowers his mouth to your belly, pressing slow and purposeful kisses against your skin. One kiss. Then another. Then one more just above the waistband of your panties. “You still the prettiest thang I eva’ seen.” he murmurs against your skin, voice raspy and raw, like it burns his throat as the words pass through.

Your breath hitches as you feel his hand reach up, thumb grazing the swell of your breasts, his lips trailing higher, brushing the valley between them. He doesn’t unclasp your bra just yet, he cusps them like he’s trying to mold a piece of clay, reminding himself what it’s like to have his hands on a woman’s body after having no intimacy for seven years.

You tilt his chin up, forcing him to look in your pretty eyes. “Then come get what’s yours.” And those words are all it takes for Smoke to finally unclasp your bra and toss it to the floor with all the other clothing that no longer matters. 

Your nipples harden under the air and his harsh gaze, and he leans down to wrap his lips around one, sucking slow and precise, his tongue swirling while his hand kneads the other, making you moan softly as your back arches off the desk. “Missed this mouth.” you whimper, running your hands along his arms, gripping onto his muscular arms.

He hums against your breast, switching his attention to the other side without missing a beat. “Missed you.” He mumbles while his hand slides down your belly, fingers hooking into the waistband of your panties and dragging them down your thick thighs, the same thighs he loves putting his head between whenever he gets the opportunity. 

He watches your body the whole way down like it’s some kind of sacred text he’s not worthy of reading but refuses to look away from. He lets out a sharp breath when he sees you bare. When his eyes fall into your wet core, seeing how your is slick smeared across your sex and how it makes your puffy folds glisten in the warm lighting, he can’t help but curse. “Damn, this pussy sexy.”

You grin through your blush, biting your lip while looking at him with darkened eyes, enjoying the feeling of having him worshiping your body again like the way he used to but also missing the feeling of his lips wrapped around your clitoris until you see stars. “Stop starin’ at it an’ do somethin’ then.”

And that he does. Smoke sinks to his knees, spreading your legs wider and planting wet kisses to the inside of your thigh that makes your breath stutter. Within a few minutes his mouth is attached to your pussy, tongue moving meticulously, licking long, lazy stripes up your slit before wrapping his lips around your clit and sucking it soft and steady.

Your fingers run across his coarse hair as your head falls back, a whimper escaping your throat. His hands grip your thighs tight, keeping you in place while he eats you like he’s been starving for years. He moans into your heat, like tasting you is the first time he’s been able to breathe since he crossed state lines out of Mississippi.

You grind your hips up into his face, one hand tugging his hair, and the other gripping the edge of the table, your chest heaving as your mind starts to become fuzzy. “Shit, Elijah…” you breathe. “Don’t stop.”

“Baby, I wasn’t plannin’ on it.” He says as he comes up for air before diving back into your heat. He sucks harder, tongue circling and flicking your shining pearl until your thighs begin to twitch. His nose presses into the mound of your pussy, his warm breath causing your skin to prickle.

The more he devours your sex, the more your whimpers and moans bounce off the wooden walls of the room. Smoke wants to warm you up as best as possible for what’s to come, so he places his fingers at your folds, scissoring them open and allowing your slick to collect on his digits and once there’s a good amount he slowly pushes them into your pussy, making you gasp from the sudden insertion.

You arch off the table, thighs tightening around his head like your body’s trying to trap him there, and honestly, he doesn’t mind one bit. You could be suffocating him and he would still be happy, knowing that he has the opportunity to taste your sweetness on his tongue.

Smoke grunts low in his throat, the sound vibrating through your wetness as he pumps his fingers in and out of you, slow at first, but picking up rhythm with every moan that spills from your lips.

His mouth never stops showing your clit attention, tongue flicking simultaneously with the curl of his fingers, still remembering how you like your body caressed and touched after all these years you’ve been apart.

You’re singing for him now: soft gasps, whispered curses, the kind of sounds that echo with the ghost of every lonely night you spent wishing his mouth was between your legs instead of your own fingers. Your voice comes out broken, barely hanging on, like the coil in your stomach is only a few moments, or a few kitten licks from snapping. “I’m so close, baby…” 

That “baby” unravels something in Smoke. It makes him groan deep and double down in your heat, making a sharp gasp spill from your lips. He adds a third finger, stretching you nice and wide, thumb rubbing circles where his mouth used to be so he can look into your pretty eyes while you fall apart from his touch.

“That’s it, baby.” he murmurs, looking down at you with those deep brown eyes that always make you buckle and listen to his every command when he speaks. “Gon’ ‘head and give it to me, mama. Let me see that pretty face when you cum.”

And you do just that. Your back bows off the table, legs quivering as they rest on his shoulders, a cry ripping from your throat so sharp it could make a mirror shatter. Your pussy clenches around his fingers like it’s trying to keep him inside, slick gushing down his hand and past his wrist as your orgasm rolls through you like a Delta heatwave.

Smoke doesn’t stop massaging the sweet spot inside you until your body jerks from the sensitivity, and your hand weakly pushes at his head, telling him you can’t take it anymore. He obeys this time, deciding not to push you past your limit just yet. 

He pulls away, pulling his fingers out of you slowly, making you whimper once you feel him exit. “Tastes better than I remembered.” He states, his voice thick with heat while he licks your juices off his digits. “Sweeter, too.” His lips curl into a soft smile, something he doesn’t flash often but when he does it warms your heart… and your pussy.

You blink up at him, chest still heaving, a lazy smile spreading across your lips. “That’s ‘cause I been waitin’ on you.”

Smoke’s gaze lingers on your face, soft now, as he leans over you, pressing a long, lingering kiss to your lips, allowing you to taste yourself on his tongue, making your toes curl at the sensation. “I ain’t ever gon’ make you wait like that no mo’.” he murmurs against your mouth.

“You better not, not after all this time.” you breathe, placing your hands around the base of his neck.

He chuckles low in his throat, the sound vibrating against your lips. “You gon’ punish me if I do?” Smoke has never been the type of man who would openly admit he likes a woman who’ll dominate him, but there've been multiple moments in your relationship where you had Smoke right under your finger, submitting to your every move so you punishing him sounds like music to his ears.

You smirk, dragging your nails lightly down his chest. “Damn right I will.” Your hands move down his body, running down his chiseled frame until you reach his slacks, pulling them down towards the floor, removing the last piece of clothing keeping him from being close to you as humanly possible. 

Once his pants are at his ankles, you take him in your hand, watching his brows knit when your palm wraps around his heavy length. His breath catches, head tilting back as you stroke him slow, feeling his thick, aching dick throb against your palm as his pre-cum leaks down your fingers.

He was already painfully hard from eating your pussy but feeling your hands wrapped around him, he’s hard as concrete. “Told you I ain’t let nobody else touch me,” he says. “Ain’t want nobody else, ‘cause nobody else makes me this goddamn hard.”

You grin at that, slow and satisfied, eyes flicking up to meet his while your hand keeps moving in smooth, steady strokes. “Good,” you murmur, voice thick with pride that your soul ties so deeply to Smoke that he can’t even look at another woman sexually or romantically.  “’Cause I ain’t lettin’ you go now that you back.” You grab him by the chin and pull him closer to you, putting your lips right against his ear, wanting him to hear every word. “ I’m gon’ keep ya’ so deep in this pussy, that you won’t ever wanna leave the Delta again.”

Smoke bites his lip and feeling your fingertips glide over his protruding veins, making him groan. Your words hit him just as hard as your precious touch. He watches you like he’s starving, like every inch of you is something he’s been fighting to survive without. 

Smoke’s eyes darken, the sound of you talking filthy tightens something in his gut. He places one hand behind your neck, the other stroking your cheek, his thumb dragging down to rest on your lip. “I’m gon’ fuck this pretty pussy so deep yo’ body ain’t never gon’ forget me, no matter how long I’m gone.”

As he mutters his last words, he takes his dick out of your hands and guides himself to your entrance, the tip of it dragging slowly through your slick-covered folds, making you moan at the feeling. 

He doesn’t rush. He teases, rubs, and takes in the way your pussy flutters and twitches for him, how it’s so wet and open, begging for his dick stretch you out. 

You whine, nails digging into his arms, tired of him playing around when he sees how much you’re aching for him. “Smoke, don’t play with me—”

He cuts you off with a roll of his hips, pushing into you slowly, creating a delicious burn to spread through your core. Your mouth falls open, back arching as you feel every inch of his cock fill you up. “Oh, fuck!” you exclaim, holding onto him like he’s the only solid thing left in the world.

The stretch burns at first, just like it always did but especially now since it’s been almost a decade since a man has been inside you. But it’s a welcomed pain, one you’ve missed more than you’re willing to admit. Your walls flutter around him, greedy and wet, clinging to every inch as he slowly thrusts inside you.

“Goddamn,” he mutters, brows furrowed, hand gripping your hip hard enough to bruise. “You feel so fuckin’ good.” As he thrusts his dick into your pussy, trying to reach that sweet spot before really doing some damage, he gets a moment of Deja Vu. 

The feeling of your walls tightening around him each time he kisses your skin or mutters out compliments that are dripping in pure filth, he remembers when you and him were just teenagers, pressing your bodies against each other for the first time, trying to express your love for each other in the best way possible.

Smoke presses his forehead to yours, his chest heaving as he pushes deeper into your warmth. The sound of your breath catching, the way your mouth hangs open, and the way your walls squeeze around him like you want to stay connected like this forever, edges him closer to his orgasm.

“Been thinkin’ ‘bout this every fuckin’ night since I left.” He grits through a moan, starting to move once he bottoms out, slow at first, dragging his hips back just enough to feel some resistance, then pushing in deeply, making your breath hitch. “Ain’t just ‘cause I missed yo’ pussy… I missed how you sound. Missed how you smelled. Missed everythang ‘bout you.”

You whimper beneath him, legs trembling from the deep drag of his thrusts. One of your hands moves to cradle the back of his head while the other claws lightly down his back, leaving faint trails on his skin, one of your methods to claim him as yours. “Missed you too,” you breathe out, voice catching on a moan as he rocks into you again, deeper this time. “Missed feelin’ you like this...”

“Yeah?” he asks in a growl, jaw tight as he sinks deeper into you, giving you one long hard thrust, while the heat of you squeezing around him like a vice floods his veins. “Missed this dick fillin’ you up?” He presses against your lower body, hand against the bulge his cock makes each time he thrusts inside.  “Missed feelin’ me reach yo’ stomach?”

“Yes, missed it so much!” You yell out before crying out his name, tightening your grasp around the back of his neck, holding onto him for dear life as he starts thrusting into you at an agonizing pace.

Smoke grits his teeth at the way you cry out, like your moans and cries are chipping away at his self restraint, like your body is begging him to release all seven years of pent up sexual energy into this very moment. 

His mouth presses against your throat, licking and kissing and sucking your soft and supple skin while his hips grind into you deep and slow, thick strokes dragging every sound you can make right out your mouth. 

Even through the lust-fueled heat and haze of endorphins, there’s a softness in the way he holds you, a type of gentleness that only comes from your souls being tied to one another. “You want me to stay?” he pants, his voice low and husky in your ears. “Huh? Want me to stay right here… keep ya’ full’a this fat dick?”

You answer him right away, nodding frantically while a fire starts spreading through your body, throwing your legs around his torso, locking him in place, wanting him to stay deep inside. “Yes, Smoke—don’t stop, please—fuck—you strechin’ me out!”

The back and forth between you and him continues, your bodies locked in a rhythm older than memory. You and Smoke match each other in every way: body, rhythm, desire. Smoke touches you like a man who’s been lost, finally made his way back home, and hoping what comes next will make up for the time lost.

His hand slides between your bodies, thumb circling your clit with just enough pressure to make your legs tremble harshly around his waist. “Damn, girl,” he pants in your ear. “You takin’ me so good… like this pussy know exactly who it belong to.”

“It belong to you,” you whimper, leaning more into his body, wrapping your arms around his back to hold him even closer, like you can pull him into your soul, like if you hold him close he’ll become fused with your body. “Always did.”

Hearing that makes his eyes flutter closed for a second. You feel the tremble in his arms, the way he slows his pace just enough to look at you again, to really look into the windows of your soul. He can see everything your feeling, even the things you haven’t voiced yet. 

He can feel a yearning in your spirit, not for him, but something else, something you’ve wanted for years, even since you were a little girl and honestly what he’s been wanting since the day he met you. 

Smoke opens his mouth and speaks low, almost like it’s a secret between just you, him, and the wet sounds of your bodies colliding. “Still want that baby?” Smoke asks softly, like he’s scared of what your answer will be, like he’s in some type of uncharted territory. 

He knows he’s been gone for years, and he knows that trying to have a child is one of things that put a strain on your relationship but he can’t stop thinking about bringing a beautiful baby into the world with you. 

The question makes your breath hitch, makes your eyes snap open at the mention of a baby. Even in the midst of his dick continuously pushing against your womb, sweat dripping down your skin, and insides being rearranged, the question still lands heavily in your mind. 

It takes you by surprise for sure, you weren’t expecting this conversation so soon, let alone in the middle of sex but you aren’t opposed to talking about it since you know it’s one conversation that has to be discussed.

You blink up at him, eyes glassy with tears you refuse to shed, overwhelmed by the feeling of finally having him in your arms again and what could be if you become pregnant. Your hands cup his face as you repress a moan, your voice a little breathy from all the physical activity but still clear as day. “You still wanna give me a baby? You… you still want that wit’ me after everything?” 

Smoke’s eyes searched yours, raw and honest in the dim light, holding every ounce of hope and fear tangled inside the pit of his stomach. “‘Course I do.” he whispers with a strong tone, gliding his thumb across your skin and whiping the tear you finally allowed to roll down your cheek. “I still want that baby. I want our baby. Never wanted anything else.”

You swallow hard, the weight of his words pressing against your chest, flooding you with a mix of longing and cautious hope. You’ve dreamed of this moment many times, but hearing it spoken from his lips and not your imagination makes your heart swell in a way you hadn’t expected. 

“I want it too, Elijah. I always did. Ain’t never stopped wantin’ a baby with you.” Your fingers trace slow, delicate circles on his cheek, feeling the roughness of his facial hair beneath your touch. “I wanna get round with yo’ baby. Carryin’ somethin’ of us both inside me.”

Smoke’s eyes soften even more, like a weight lifts off his shoulders once he hears that you and him are on the same page. He leans in, pressing his lips against yours, breath and saliva mingling with yours. Smoke starts thrusting again but this time his hips jerk into you a little harder than before. 

“Then I’ma give ya’ one. Gon’ make you a mama jus’ like you want.” he promises, voice shaking as he starts to lose control, his need of wanting to breed you taking over. “Gon’ make sure my seed sittin’ deep. You gon’ walk outta here wit’ it drippin’ out of ya’.”

Before responding to him vocally, you place your hands on the sides of his face, pulling him in for another kiss, sliding your tongue so far down his throat you can taste a mixture of yourself and the beer he was drinking earlier. 

The kiss is full of fire, passion, love, and all the above. In the beginning, this escapade was just full of hot passion but now, talking about trying to make a baby, it quickly turns intimate, making both you and him soften up.

Your lips part from his, swollen and slick from the kiss, and you keep your forehead pressed to his, eyes fluttering shut as your hands rest on his shoulders. His weight, his warmth, it’s all wrapped around you, and for the first time in years, it feels like you can finally breathe again.

Smoke rolls his hips into you at a delicious pace, each thrust deeper than the last, but not rushed. It’s slow and sensual, something both of you have been craving since you and him were apart. 

His hands slide under your back, holding you delicately like the diamond you are. Your arms wrap around his neck, pressing his body against yours, clinging to him like a lifeline. Your bodies move together in a perfect rhythm, the kind born from years of loving each other, of knowing every scar, every mole, and every inch of skin by heart.

“God, I missed you.” you whisper into the crook of his neck, your voice breaking as you feel the tip of his dick pressing against your cervix.

Smoke groans low, the sound vibrating from deep in his chest. “Missed you too, baby. Gon’ stay right in the Delta with you. I swea’.”

He buries his face into your neck, inhaling the scent of your skin that intoxicates him every time he inhales. His breath is shaky and warm against your throat, causing your skin to prickle. The gentle rocking of his hips turns more deliberate and forceful, and you can feel the difference almost instantly.

Every stroke is intense, every moan and whimper he pulls from you feels like a prayer. Your fingers thread through his hair, nails grazing his scalp, and his arms tighten around you like he is trying to mold your body to his. You whisper against his ear, voice trembling as your words become vocal, “So deep, baby… feel so full.”

Smoke lifts his head just enough to look at you, sweat glistening along his brow, jaw tight from the effort of holding back, not wanting to completely wear you out during the first round. “I love you,” he says in between kisses against various areas of your body. “And this pussy.”

Your eyes fill again, tears catching in your lashes, but you don’t blink them away. You allow him to see it, see how much he still moves you. How much you still love him. He brushes a kiss over each cheek, then your lips, then your chin. His mouth lingers everywhere and each place his lips touch leaves a trail of fire behind.

Soon he starts to tremble. Hips stuttering, breath going ragged, while you feel your own release stirring inside you, slow and consuming your body and soul. It wraps around your spine, makes your toes curl and your walls tighten around him. “I’m close,” 

“Me too,” he grits through another surge of pleasure, hands slipping down to hold your hips steady. “ Let it happen, baby. Come wit’ me.” His speed doesn’t lessen, it only rapidly increases, making it feel like his dick is reaching the depths of your soul. 

Every drag of his hips feels like he’s trying to make up for every night you cried and every moment you thought he forgot you. And with every moan you make, arch to meet his movements, and whispers of praise, you let him know that never stopped wanting him. 

Your second orgasm hits hard: tighter, deeper, it makes your body quiver as your walls convulse around him. Your mouth parts in a moan that sounds like his name, your legs trembling around his waist, as your juices splash against his pelvis and your cream surrounds the rim of his dick. 

And that’s all it takes for Smoke to follow, his hips stuttering as he buries himself deep, groaning into your neck as he spills his seed into the depths of your womb, not wanting a drop of it to escape because every droplet counts when trying to have a baby.

Once he releases he doesn't pull out right away. He just stays buried inside you, allowing his seed to travel inside you to its rightful place. Both of you are breathing hard, bodies tangled, skin slick with sweat, and your hearts pounding in sync. He runs his fingers along your jaw and gently kisses you, like a man who’s finally at peace. 

You run your fingers along the strong line of his back, the soft curve of his nape, eyes closed and body humming with the aftershock. “I hope it takes.” you whisper, gliding your hand against the back of his head.

Smoke doesn’t respond right away, first he kisses the curve of your shoulder, then soft of your cheek, and lastly he looks in your eyes. “That baby already on the way,” He mumbles, reassuring you while moving a few strands of your hair out of your face. “I can feel it.” He places his hand on your stomach, rubbing your skin like he already feels something growing there. 

You laugh softly, feeling a flutter in your chest when you see him acting as if you’re full of his child already. “Don’t play. Once you get me pregnant, you stuck with me fuh’ good.”

Smoke lifts his head, eyes locked on yours with a serious expression on his face. “I wanna be stuck. Wanna have a house full of kids,” he murmurs while his hands still linger against your skin. “Want all of ‘em lookin’ jus’ like you.” You smile when you hear him say that, Smoke has always had a way of saying the words that make you feel all mushy inside. 

You pull him in for another kiss, allowing your lips to linger against his before pulling away. After you and him take a few moments to gather yourselves, you find yourself tangled together once again but this time you're on top, you can’t let have Smoke have all the fun of being in control.

For the rest of the night it's just you and him in the little office. Rekindling your love, fucking each other senseless, while the scent of sweat and love lingers in air. For the first time in a long time, both of you are right where you want to be, in each other’s arms. 

—

ONE MONTH LATER….

The morning started slow, like most have lately. You’re sitting at the small wooden kitchen table, sunlight slipping through the curtains and beaming on the tablecloth your mama gifted you years ago. The smell of frying pork fat still hung in the air, and the biscuits you made sits half-eaten between you and Smoke.

You’re wearing one your many nightgowns, cotton thin and soft against your skin, while your feet are propped on the edge of his chair, knees bent. He’s eating quietly, calm as always, big hands steady as he sopped up syrup with a piece of biscuit. 

He doesn’t seem to have a care in the world but your mind has been running wild all week. Something in your body has been feeling off. You’ve been nauseous almost every morning, tired all the time, snapping at Smoke for no good reason, and your breasts have started to to become tender. 

There’s a weight to you now that wasn’t there before. A stretch behind your ribs, a mysterious heat low in your belly. You’ve been trying to brush it off. Tell yourself it’s too early to get your hopes up, reminding yourself it will take a while before your in the family way. But this morning you can’t hold it in anymore. “Elijah?”

He glances up, chewing slow, then wiping his fingers on a napkin. “Hm?”

You hesitate at first, fidgeting with the food on your plate, pushing the scrambled eggs around with a fork, before speaking. “I… I think somethin’ goin’ on wit’ me.”

His brow crease as he straightens up in his seat. “What kinda somethin’?”

“I don’t know. I jus’ feel different. Been tired, sick in the mornin’, and my body been achin’. I think i’m comin’ down with somethin’.”

You look up at him for the first time since sitting across from him, searching for any sign of emotion in his face. At first Smoke doesn’t blink. He just stares for a beat, then his face softens just a little, making your heart flutter. “I been watchin’ you.” he says, voice low and still filled with sleep. 

Smoke is an attentive man, his eyes are always on you no matter what. So when he noticed you moving slower, how you could no longer stomach certain foods, and how your emotions have been all over the place, his mind started to spin with his own ideas of what could be going on. “Baby, ion think you sick.” He looks down at your belly, then back at you. “I think you pregnant.”

Your heart clenches at the mention of a baby possibly forming in your womb. You set down the fork and rest your hand on your stomach, feeling your nerves begin to get the best of you. “You think so?”

He nods, standing firm in his statement. “Don’t jus’ think it. I feel it.”

“I ain’t wanna get my hopes up. Not after all we been through…” You express to Smoke. With everything you and him went through years ago, all the emotions it brings out of you and the strain it can cause on your relationship, you don’t want to go through that again. You know you won’t be able to handle it a second time and Smoke does too.

“I know.” Smoke says as he takes a deep breath, reaching across the table and lays his palm over your hand that’s tapping nervously against the wood. “But this time feels different. You feel different.”

You sigh sharply, feeling yourself calm down just a little when you see how confident Smoke is about you being pregnant even though there’s a nagging voice in the back of your mind telling you it’s impossible after you’ve only been trying for a month plus all the prior failed attempts. “You think Annie would come by? Check me out?”

“She’ll come,” Smoke reassuringly tightens your hand before standing up, reaching for his tweed jacket thats hanging off the back of his chair. “I’ll go get her myself.” Before he walks out the door, he places a kiss on your temple, making a soft smile come across your lips.

After almost thirty minutes, Smoke shows up with Annie trailing behind him inside the house, basket in hand with all of the supplies she needs for a full exam, her haint blue dress hugging her full figure. Annie is your closest friend, and you trust her to guide you through this journey more than any backwoods doctor or midwife. 

She’s caught babies all across the county and laid hands on sick folks so long, folks say her touch can pull a fever right out the skin. Her first love is hoodoo but her second is bringing new life into the world. She sets her basket down with a thud and gives you a look, letting you know that something sassy is about to roll off her tongue. “You gon’ make me dig around or you gon’ tell me what’s goin’ on first?" 

“I’m late,” you say quietly, fidgeting with the lace pattern along your dress that you changed into before she arrived. “Been sick, tired. I jus’ wanna see if I’m...”

Annie knows how hard it has been for you and Smoke to conceive, and how long you’ve yearned to become a mother so she understands the weight of this moment, and how its hard for you to allow the word “pregnant” to slip through your lips until you know for sure. She flashes you a soft smile and gives you a comforting hand on your shoulder. “Alright then. Let’s see what’s goin’ on.”

You lead her to the back of your home where your bedroom resides and you lie down on your bed, with Smoke right by your side. Most men don’t want to be around for exams like this, thinking it’s just “womanly work” or gross but Smoke is far from that mindset, he wants to be included in every phase. Plus, you don’t want him far. You’ve separated from each other for far too long and you need him right by your side holding your hand, whether it’s good or bad news.

Annie’s touch is gentle as she presses and prods your body, asking you a series of questions, humming under her breath while her eyes are half-closed like she’s feeling more with her spirit than her fingers. She uses a series of instruments, including a Pinard Horn, searching for a fetal heartbeat to fill her eardrums.

After what feels like hours of long silence and tension so thick it can be sliced with a knife, she completes her routine exam. When she first looks up at you and Smoke, her face is neutral, not really showing any sign of emotion until she flashes a smile. “Honey, you with child.”

Your throat closes and it feels like you can’t breathe for a second. The air leaves your lungs in a rush, chest heaving while tears immediately fill your eyes. You cover your mouth with your hand, trembling all over. “Really? I’m… I’m pregnant?” The word finally emerges from your throat, your tone sounding like you barely believe what Annie despite her many years of expertise.

Annie nods, her smile growing even wider. “Yes, y/n. You pregnant. Belly’s already startin’ to swell. You ain’t too far along. Maybe five, six weeks, but it’s a baby in there, no doubt.” She says, rubbing your belly softly. “Baby strong too. I heard that heartbeat clear as day.”

The tears fall freely now, spilling down your cheeks as you turn your face into Smoke’s shoulder. He’s already there, leaning down, wrapping you up in his arms before you have the opportunity to fall apart. “Breathe, baby,” he murmurs against your temple, voice calm despite his own brewing excitement, soothing you in the moment. “You hear that? You carryin’. We gon’ have a baby.”

“I can’t believe it,” you say, fingers clutching at his jacket, holding on like you might drown in your own of tears and waves of emotion. “we tried for so long. I thought— I thought it would never—”

Smoke tilts your chin, forcing you to look at him. His eyes are wet too, though he hasn’t allowed a single tear to fall. He just looks at you with his usual brooding intensity, but much softer now. “Believe it. I told you. I felt it. From the night I put it in ya’, I knew.”

You choke on a laugh, even through the tears, not believing he said that right in front Annie without a care. “You so sure of yo’self.”

Annie clears her throat gently, gathering up her things, wanting to give you and him some time alone to reflect on the joyful news. “I’ma leave y’all to it. Let her rest, Smoke. Don’t you let her lift nothin’ heavy, and make sure she eat good.” She gives you a wink, letting you know that you and her will be talking later, before slipping out the door, leaving the two of you wrapped in silence.

When she’s gone, you lie back against the pillows, still trembling, your hands covering your belly as if you could already feel something moving inside. Smoke gets in the bed with you, pulling you close to him until your skin presses against his own. 

His hand rests on yours, circling his thumb against your very slightly swollen belly while a warmth spreads through him that he’s never felt before. Since that night in Club Juke he believed you would become pregnant, he just didn’t know exactly when but now that the day has come he is the happiest man on Earth. 

He can now become a “Papa” to little boy or girl. “Thank you,” he whispers with a vulnerability you haven't heard from him since that long talk you and him in his office. “Thank you for givin’ me a second chance. For givin’ me this baby.”

You run your fingers through his hair, caressing the strong line of his nape, then smoothing over the crown of his head, something you know he loves, something that always makes him melt a little no matter how hard he tries to hide it.

Smoke’s hand never leaves your belly, he just rubs gently against your skin in a way that calms your soul. His head dips towards you, his full lips pressing against your temple, your damp cheek, and then the curve of your jaw. Your tears quickly turn into sniffles, chest still hitching as you let out a trembling laugh while Smoke’s lips continuously press against your skin. “You gon’ smother me, Smoke.”

“I ain’t smotherin’ you. I’m lovin’ on you.” he corrects, wrapping both of his arms around you while giving you one last kiss. “You, me, and this little one. We gon’ be alright.” Despite Smoke’s seven year absence, he’s a good man, you know that. One thing he’s always been is devoted to you, even hundreds of miles away.

Now that Smoke is going to be a family man, his devotion and love for you will only grow stronger, he’ll never cross over state lines without you by his side.

One thing Smoke loves about you is how nurturing and loving you are, how strong you care for the people you love. In his eyes, you have all the qualities to be a perfect mother to your baby boy or girl. “You gon’ be a good mama.”

“And I already know you gon’ be the best papa.” When he hears that he can’t help but smile. With all the trauma he experienced with his own father, he’s always vowed that once he had children he would treat them with love, kindness, and most of all respect. 

He leans down and kisses for the millionth time, slow and sweet, like there’s nowhere else he’d rather be than by your side. “We gon’ have a house full of babies. Jus’ like I told you.” The words run off Smoke’s tongue so easily, like he’s already planning future pregnancies before you can even complete your first trimester.

You giggle softly, shaking your head at the seriousness in his tone. “One thing at a time, Smoke. Lemme give birth to this one first before we talk about havin’ more.”

In this moment, with Smoke’s warmth around you and the spark of new life growing inside your womb, you feel like all the trials and tribulations that you and Smoke went through in your relationship is worth it. 

Everything you’ve ever wanted in life has now fallen into place. Smoke has come back into your life, your womb has been filled with a child, and your relationship couldn’t be better. In the end, all the pain, crying, longing, and tears were worth it. Your heart is now complete.

𝑻𝑨𝑮𝑳𝑰𝑺𝑻 — @Yungblud423 @nostlicions @loveabledovee @secretisme4 @pinkkycherrish @bl3ssyn @shamansha @queenofklonnie22 @rios-st4rs @Secretlifeofpreshap @bxrbie1 @t-wylia @bendoverboo18 @milesf4vg1rl @secret89sblog @gabbysbl0gg @li-da-savage @minyara-kun @st4rrdrexm @rose-bliss @sajoi @plan3tch1ld @queenofklonnie22 @n-ae-vis @3tallions @weirdwhimsicalblackgirl @avatar4eva @d1gitalb4rbie @deexoxomuah @tnychellee @moundbayou @sweet13aby @whammyy @n-ae-vis

Ten days out from their wedding date, Annie started out sweet. “Another one” she insisted, her voice enticing as she tilted her mouth toward Elijah’s after he kissed her. Until he had kissed her over a dozen times, and her lips felt overly warm and she could see need melting something deep in him. But he would always pull away, clearing his throat and shaking his head slightly. But Annie was nothing if not persistent. Eight days out, she held onto Elijah’s forearms as he kissed her, keeping him close to her as they kissed. And she could feel it working, could feel his breath straining, feel the tension steadying his arms and his frame and she leaned into him soft and pliant. In between kisses Annie studied him, saw the determination in his gaze twisting with something else. It reminded her of how powerful she felt beneath him those years ago,when they were only children. Only she could pin that neediness and softness to her Elijah, and after all that each of them had seen in their time apart, only she had seen him like that. But instead of giving into that, giving into her, Elijah stood up straighter, locked something inside him in place, and kissed her on the forehead, tender and sweet and not the direction she wanted to take him. Day six, with less than a week left, Annie added her Creole. She and Elijah were alone in the front room of her store and her home,the space they always came back to. They had spent the day solidifying details that Annie had no context for, listening to Bo and Stack poke fun and keep secrets like they were all still fourteen,which put a bug up her skirt and made her extra needy for affection. “Again.” she commanded her obliging Elijah, who leaned down again to kiss her mouth. “Mon amour.” she breathed into his waiting mouth, melting into Elijah’s arms, making him pull her closer to steady her. “Tanpri, bébé” she continued, her voice low with want. “Please, baby.” “Now they were pressed together, no room for Elijah to pull away from her need” Ou konnen sa mwen vle.  Mwen konnen ou vle sa tou.” Annie spoke, feeling her voice shake. 

She could see Elijah register her words,  “You know what I want. I know you want it too.” Annie could see him holding himself steady against her swaying words and her body against his. She could see his jaw tight and working, see the fire in his eyes as they bore down on her. “Baby.” he said, his voice breaking a bit like they were teens again. He was trying hard, Annie knew. But she also knew she could try harder. Annie reached down between them, finding space where there was no space. She grazed his manhood, and found it hard and arching toward her, defying his will, and she grasped it, making Elijah buck into her hand and bite off a cry that filled the room. Annie moaned in response. Their first time was quiet with their intention and their emotions and their lack of experience, but this time their bodies were crying out in need. “Baby- Annie, wait.” Elijah said, his voice sounding like the man in front of her and the boy who showed up every night to rub her sore feet. Full of need he was trying with all his might to contain so that it didn’t overwhelm her. But now, just like them, Annie could handle him. “I need you. Need you to give me a lil more time baby. I promise I’ll make it worth it. I wanna make it right, make it good for you. I promise.” Elijah said, his shoulders bowed so that his breath was warm directly in her ear, ghosting over her chest and. He was trying and failing to pull himself out of her grasp, and Annie knew she was so close to getting what she wanted. She massaged Elijah through his pants, hearing and feeling his breath shudder at her touch. “Donn' li mwen, bèl.  I'm mwen.” she insisted, leaning into him more, so that their hips were grazing “Give it to me, love. It's mine.”

 “I will.You know I will.” Elijah responded, placing kisses on the curve of her shoulder where his head rested, walking her backward. Annie had already given into his touch so she gave no thought to where he was leading her, and only realized when the back of her thighs hit the front counter. “Annie. God. What are you doing to me.” Elijah said. She didn’t answer, she had lost her words to the feel of his mouth on her, but she thought ‘the same thing you doing to me. And like he had a way of doing, Elijah read her mind loud and clear as he hoisted her up onto the counter, stepping in between her legs. “You been thinking ‘bout this baby? This what you been getting at with all them kisses?” he asked, standing up straight, looking down at her intently. Annie nodded, holding onto his arms to brace herself. At first she had folded in his arms with the intention of pulling him closer, but she had long since lost control. “I know, baby.” Elijah soothed, kissing her on her mouth again, his tongue slipping into her mouth and taking her by surprise. “I know I been denying you. I don’t wanna be mean. You know I hate the thought of hurting you. It hurt, baby?” he asked her, finally reaching his fingers up her skirt. 

Seeing Elijah bend to her will was always thrilling, but this was better. Seeing him sure and knowing exactly what she needed. “Uh-huh.” Annie breathed as his fingers grazed the meeting of her thighs. “I know, I’m sorry.” he cooed, and then he kissed her again. She was burning in arms, sure that he could feel it, could just feel what he was doing to her, and sure that now, after all this time, he would give her what she wanted. But then he pulled his fingers away from her and from under her skirt, wet with the evidence of her soul deep need. “I really am sorry baby, but it’s only a lil while longer. And I’ll never make you wait again.” Elijah said, looking down at her. He brought his glistening fingers up to his mouth and kissed them the way that he had kissed her, then put them in his mouth, his lips working. Annie’s mouth fell open in bewilderment. Elijah wanted her, she saw it, she felt it, and not just in his hard dick in the palm of her hand, in the way that he breathed and looked at her. She knew and he knew. And he was just dragging it out to torture her. “You’re being mean.” Annie said, her voice slightly shaking, with need and with anger. “No more mean than you being to me.” he tsked, like he was her father and not her man. “Tempting me, eyes all soft, baby please, baby please.Knowing I can’t say no to you.” “You saying no right now.” Annie argued. “I’m saying not right now.” he countered in that logical way that he always had. “Damn it, Elijah. Is 6 measly ass days going to ruin whatever plan you got working, to just give me what I want.” “Yes, if I take you and fuck you in the front room where you stand on your feet selling plates and medicine and shit to hungry and sick people all day, instead of laying you down soft and taking my time like you deserve.” “So in a week when we come back to this house after the wedding, it’ll magically be different?” she asked him, her eyes burning up into him. “Yes, and don’t you worry about how.” he said, stepping from between her legs, the proof of his desire still tenting his pants.This was just as much her Elijah as the sweet, obliging man she had been interacting with since he came home. The Elijah that was stubborn and strong willed and held to his principles over anything.But she was still her too, and nobody but her  had ever decided what was best for her.

 For the next three days, where Elijah was busier than ever being secretive with his brother and Bo, and where their first adult argument sat unaddressed between them, Annie simmered. Her patience had gone from thin to nonexistent. Her understanding was gone, as she felt Elijah’s was for her and what she felt. When Elijah came by in the evening, she was not waiting at the door to greet him. When he came in, she was often busy mixing or packaging something, sweeping or cleaning something, and did not approach him with her smiling mouth tilting up toward his for a kiss and another and another. When he came to her, smiling soft and disarming, she did not smile back, only asking what he needed from her. And even though that smile made her inside flip, Annie held strong, even when he said “I only ever needed you, baby.” But she did let him kiss her. As many times as he wanted. 

It all came to a head the afternoon before what Elijah had decided was their wedding day. Annie was still working, and she was explaining to Tawny Jackson’s husband Eddie how to administer the tea she had blended for her after her most recent birth, which had been a bit difficult. Annie didn’t acknowledge Elijah as he walked in, just kept telling Eddie that the St. John’s wort was to lift her mood, and the shepard’s purse seed and yarrow extract was to help with the bleeding, and that if things got too crazy, at any time, he should send for her immediately. Day or night. “You gone be a lil indisposed for the next few days.” Elijah spoke, locking the door as Eddie left out and walking toward the counter that Annie stood behind. “I’m sorry, I’m not looking at this like my life is ending tomorrow night. I still got work to do.” Annie spoke, busying her hands with cleaning up the materials she had set out for Eddie and Tawny. “Naw, it’s beginning.” Elijah said, conservative with his words as he eyed her from under the brim of his hat, looking down at her with wolflike eyes. “That party ain’t gone go for days, is it?” Annie questioned, keeping her voice flat, and the tremble out of her fingers. She saw Elijah eyeing her slow moving hands before he spoke. “No, but then it’s you and me. And we got some lost time to make up for.” he responded, his eyes not lifting from Annie’s fingers. Annie dropped the satchel that she was holding in left hand, and covered it with her palm like that would somehow stop Elijah from seeing how thoroughly he was undoing her. 

Annie never quite saw the Smoke Moore that most people knew. She saw traces of him, steely and calculating and resolved. Mostly in the way people treated him, like he was a bomb with a deceptively long fuse. She knew Stack, he couldn’t help but be the flashy powder keg that he had always been, full of life and attaching to any whim, but Elijah was always more compartmented. There was a part of him that she rarely saw, and a part that only she saw, and right then, at her serving counter, those two parts were mixing in a way that was dangerous for her resolve. Quietly, he came around the counter and into her space. Something charged between them, and Annie couldn’t move out of fear that it explode into something she had never witnessed before. Elijah stepped closer, impossibly closer, and lifted her hand by the wrist, delicately and slowly. Annie struggled to draw in breath, but said “I got work to do.” “I don’t see nobody.” Elijah responded simply, his gaze never lifting off her. “Somebody could come, it’s midday in the fields. People always need something.” Annie said, her voice high and tight and strained, sounding even more wound up as it opposed Elijah’s which was low and syrupy and intent. Annie exhaled. “Door locked.” he said, his torso stood still at her side. He lifted her hand, delicately by the wrist, up to his mouth where he kissed her fingers. Like he had the other night. Annie’s body warmed with recognition, and she saw that Elijah saw what he was doing to her. She saw that smile, different from the one he kept just for her. This was the smile of a man who got what he wanted, and was working toward getting what he wanted then and there. 

“You don’t see them windas?” Annie asked, her vernacular slipping into her Creole, like it always did when Elijah was making her body respond before her mind could. Soon she would be babbling, “Mon ti bébé, mon amour.” and who knew what else. “I see ‘em, I picked ‘em out special for you. Did I tell you we got them windows from an old farmhouse? I got em because they so big, and I wanted you to always take in all the light.” Elijah spoke, his voice low in her ear, her wrist still in his fingers. “They nice and big, and anybody can see in ‘em from a mile away.” she responded, ignoring the emotion that Elijah’s words had brought up in her. “You right as usual, darlin. But I got a fix for that.” he replied low, stepping directly behind Annie. “I don’t think I told you, baby, about what else I learned over there in Europe.” Elijah said, his voice ghosting over her. He let go of her wrist, and Annie clenched her fist, free of his touch and not exactly wanting to be. She could feel his smirk, could feel his seeing eyes taking her apart. And it was always so easy for him to do so. “After them women told me about they weddings, and it was just all us men, we talked about the wedding night. They told me that it was something else I could do that we didn’t that night before I left.” His presence felt like a pressing weight behind her, physical even though they weren’t touching. 

“I was going to save it for tomorrow, after I took you home, but you breaking my heart, love. You know it make me crazy when you mad at me.” he said, leaning down in her ear from behind, his words soft in the shell of her ear, but still intense. Annie barely suppressed a shudder. “Don’t seem like it.” she said shortly, shifting her legs so her thighs pressed together. “It’s true, baby. You know I can’t stand to tell you no, especially when you look up at me with big ol eyes. And with you mad at me? Not talking to me? No kisses? I been going crazy counting down the days until I could make it up to you, to tell you I’m sorry.I been running around so much I ain’t been giving you what you need” he said to her, pressing his body to hers, gently and with intention. Annie felt the weight of his sex pressing onto her from behind. It was maddening, this was what she wanted. What her body had been crying out for since she heard someone come and report that Elijah and his brother were driving through the cotton fields toward the center of town.”You know I’m sorry, right baby?” he whispered in her ear, as close as possible to her as he could get without being inside her. 

Annie nodded quickly and wordlessly. She felt him move away from her a bit, giving her blessed and cursed space to think and breathe, which she did and didn’t want. But then she felt him lowering behind her. “I know people can see, love. But I need you. Been needing you, and I need to give you what you need.” he said, ducking his head under her long work skirt. His hand came up her front, encircling her, and bent her slightly at the waist, pushing her ass closer to his face. Annie couldn’t speak or think or retort or move away from him. Elijah had her, he had her at his mercy and he knew it. He bent her further, so that she had to brace her forearms on the counter. “You know all i wanna do is take care of you forever.” he said simply, the air from his breath teasing her upper thighs. Annie stood on her toes, instinctively, bringing her sex closer to the warmth of Elijah’s mouth. “There she go.” Elijah said, like he was greeting an old friend. And then the fingers on his free hand pulled the damp seat of her panties sideways, exposing her pussy to him fully, and his full, playful, knowing, perfect mouth was on her intent on taking her out of herself. Annie gasped loud and sharp into the quiet of the room now that Elijah’s mouth was on her. Her breath sawed out of her loud as she pushed her throbbing pussy into his mouth, her forearms taking on more weight as Elijah removed the arm that was around her waist and used both hands open her up, his thumb hooked into the seat of her panties holding them to the side as he licked and sucked on her. 

“Shit” Annie forced out, like she was shocked, which was partially true. What Eliijah was doing to her from behind was like nothing she had ever ever felt before, even when she touched herself out of missing him, and also like exactly  what he should be doing to her. Annie’s mind blanked as she let Elijah feast on her, his tongue sliding up and down her slit warm firm, before he settled low wrapping his tongue and lips around her bud, sucking and making it feel like her blood was lightning, like she wasn’t human, like she was just whatever feeling Elijah inspired in her, like she was just the pleasure he was wringing from her. And while Annie was panting, incapable of making words in Creole or English, Elijah was speaking to her through her pussy. “Oh my God, baby. You taste so fucking good.” he growled, his voice muffled. “You taste so perfect, Annie. I could eat you forever and not get enough.” Annie felt her legs go weak, her heart was beating so hard it felt like it would tumble out of her chest. “You know that baby? That you the best thing I ever tasted?” “Non.” Annie answered in a shaking breath, too caught up in feeling to do anything but respond honestly. “Well you is.” Elijah said firmly, landing a solid smack on her bare asscheek that made her whole body start shaking. “Damn, best thing I ever seen, too. You look so good bent over for me like this, baby. So fucking good. The prettiest thing I ever seen, all soaking wet for me. All shaking. You bouta cum baby? I need to see it.” Elijah said before wrapping his lips back around her button and making her lose what little control she had left. Annie’s arms gave out, and her torso was laid against the counter, arching her lower body up even more and giving Elijah even more access to torture her with his tongue, to make her vision blur with tears and make her cry out with stuttering  words that weren’t words. She was incoherent, a babbling shaking mess, gushing everywhere. 

Annie’s mind was thinking a million partial thoughts. She loved this man more than anything. She wanted this feeling every day forever, but she couldn’t take it, it was too much but she didn’t want him to pull his mouth away. She felt herself come into an understanding that so many women knew all too well. Understood the women who beat down her grandmama’s door begging for roots to bring their men home, with what Elijah was doing to her, she could understand the desperation to never have him make anyone else feel how she felt; open and completely his. She got the knowing glances grown women shot each other, the meaning behind phrases like “he bought the woman outta me” and “he just got a hold on me.” Because as Elijah drove her pleasure higher and impossibly higher, Annie felt the exact same way. He had her, he could have whatever he wanted from her, if he wanted to wait another month to make himself hers, she would wait. If he wanted to cancel it all and take her back to her bed, she wouldn’t hold the wasted time against him. Then Elijah slipped his middle finger inside her, and all conscious thought fled. She was only feeling, only an extension of what Elijah was doing to her with his hands and his mouth knowing exactly where and how to touch her to make her shake apart into tiny pieces that he held in his hands. Annie tried to pull forward, away from the blissful torture of Elijah’s mouth and his hands, but he was intent on keeping her right where she was. His hands, steady even as they were wet with her, pressed into the soft flush of her hips, holding Annie still against his mouth as it gently and insistently took her apart. Outside of herself, Annie could hear that her loud cries had softened into whimpers that harmonized with Elijah’s low growls of satisfaction and praise. She could feel that she was only being held up by the counter in front of her and the man behind her. It was all too much, but she didn’t have the words to stop it, or the desire to. So Annie let Elijah take her where he wanted her to go. 

Annie awoke without realizing she had been asleep. It was night, she could see no traces of the sun, and she was in her bed, in her night clothes. And Elijah was standing, leaning against the doorway, watching down at her with a satisfied smile. “What time is it?” Annie asked, her voice raspy as she sat up. Her bones felt loose, like she was less held together than before. Elijah had sat a glass of water beside the bed, which Annie was glad for and savored. “Round 8 o'clock.” The response made Annie jump out of bed, eyes searching for the dress Elijah must have taken off her after she fell asleep. “Has Eddie been back here?” Annie asked, thinking of the nervous man that she saw that afternoon, and the baby that he was looking after. Annie was no midwife, that had always been more of her mama, but she had been at her elbow enough to see how quick an infant and its mama could take a bad turn. “Nah,  don’t think so. I stepped out for a bit to take care of something but there was nothing-” Elijah started to explain before Annie cut him off with a look, kissing her teeth. She didn’t speak as she redressed, mind already on how she would get to Eddie and Tawny’s at that hour to put eyes on the family herself, just to be sure. It was dark out, but not too late, she could get there in around 45 minutes if she walked fast, and she already had a bag ready with some essentials that she always kept on hand. “Baby it’s late.” Elijah said, his tone soothing as he read her intent, “and we have an early day tomorrow.” “I got a job to do.” Annie said sharply, tossing a look over her shoulder at him as she headed toward the door. “I still had things to take care of, and I had no intention of sleeping the day away. But lately it don’t seem like what I want, who I am, really matters as much as your plans for me.” Annie said. 

This was no time to have this argument, but with everything that she had held back, and the wedding looming, Annie couldn’t hold her tongue. Couldn’t become one of them women who bit her tongue for her man.“It’s not like that, baby.” Elijah said, stepping toward her as she moved around the room. “That’s what it’s seemed like since you came back here. You been planning this wedding, talking about our future, with everybody but me. I don’t even know what the damn dress looks like, Elijah. But I never cared about any of that, I just wanted to be with you. And I knew that all this meant a lot to you, so I didn’t complain; when you didn’t tell me what was going on, not when you made decisions about me with your brother and Bo… Not when you didn’t touch me.” Annie said, her voice breaking at the end. “Annie, I didn’t mean for it to happen like this.” Elijah explained, his hands reaching for her. But Annie didn’t let him touch her, remembering the way that he had transfixed her with his touch the night before, made her soft and open underneath his hands and his mouth and his attention on her. “But that’s what happened, and I let it happen. Because I love you, Elijah. But this is my work. It’s who I am, and people need me.” Annie told Elijah, her voice low and efficient. She was ready to go and tend to the Jackson family, but she had to finish her piece first. “Life didn’t stop when you and your brother left Mississippi.” Annie said, finally facing Elijah who stood still in the middle of the room, his body rigid, his eyes intent on her. What she didn’t say- life didn’t stop when you left me- hung in the air between them. They both felt the heaviness of the statement when Annie spoke again. “You left and I understood. I waited for you to come home to me safe and whole. And I waited so for us to get married and start our life, like we always wanted, like you said that you dreamt of since we was fifteen. But my life didn’t stop, Elijah. My life kept going with people needing me and loving me and me loving them. It might not have been traveling across the world, seeing and doing all kinds of things that two sixteen year olds couldn’t have dreamed up, but it means something to me. My life is here, it’s gone be here, and it matters just the way it is.” Annie said. 

Elijah looked struck by her words, his brows lowered like the words that she had said were working their way through him, paining him. He had never been the best with words, Stack was always better at explaining for the both of them, but Annie knew where to look to see his emotions play all over his physical self. The furrow of his brows, the pull of the corner of his lips like he was fighting the deepening frown, the way he held his body stark still like any little thing would send him to pieces. With everything laid out between them, the entire room felt heavy. Annie by the door, her bag packed to do be a part of something that Elijah wasn’t privy to, him still and wanting her to stay, to be with him. Annie took no joy in the reversal. Before they could speak Annie heard something approaching from the distance, snatching her attention. As quick as it could, an old mule was hauling Eddie Jackson toward the storefront, his body tense. It was almost like this is what made Annie wake up, made her get dressed and grab her bag and be by the door. Annie met the worried man where he was practically jumping from the nag to get to her. “Annie, thank God. The baby won’t stop crying, and Tawny can barely keep her head up. It wasn’t like this with the first baby.Please, you said send for you, please.” Eddie rushed out. Annie smiled softly at him, her tone soothing “Already got my bag packed, Eddie. Let’s go see about that lil one.” “Annie” Elijah called from the doorway behind her, but she didn’t turn to acknowledge him. Instead she mounted the sturdy mule behind Eddie. Even if Elijah didn’t quite see it, people needed her here, and she would always be there for them. Tawny and the baby were fine- it was a mixture of a very large and hungry baby, an exhausted mama and an incredibly nervous daddy. Annie stayed the night though, mixing pap milk for the baby, Hezekiah, who drank eagerly, and making some Mother’s Milk tea for Tawny, who appreciated Annie’s presence and her reassurance through the night. Every time the baby made a sound louder than a sigh, Eddie looked over to her for assurance, and every time Tawny drifted off to sleep he scooped his son into his arms, checking him over, picking up his arms to look at his plump hands, sniffing that soft baby smell at the top of his head. Annie felt like she was witnessing something magical, and even though she had seen many a baby born it always felt like something holy. Her mama used to say that helping a child come into the world was as close to God as she ever felt and even though Annie had chosen to follow her grandmother’s root work, it was times like that, seeing a family open up to accommodate a new life, Annie understood the gravity of what she meant. 

 Annie woke in the early morning with the sunrise and Eddie’s departure to the fields as he had leased himself for Sunday work while Tawny was recovering and could not work, and the first thing that she thought of was her wedding day. It was a day that she had thought of as a far off fantasy when she waited for Elijah to come home from across the ocean that felt worlds away, something that played in her mind when she drifted off to sleep at night missing him the most, something that tangled up with the memory of their last night before he left, all soft and tender. And when Elijah returned, it was a desire that she wrestled with alongside her desire to give Elijah what he wanted after years of not being able to be there for him even when that’s all that she ever wanted to do since she looked into his eyes. After the fear and anger of living under his father became the fear and anger of living in the town who knew for years the hell those boys lived through and suddenly had opinions after they saved themselves. Annie had gone through the widest range of emotions thinking about becoming Elijah Moore’s wife; and as she packed up her bag, checked on Tawny and the baby once more and headed out of the intimate family home and into the early morning. The cool and the quiet of the early morning was fading as the sun rose and the Sunday workers and worshippers with it. Most people were walking and riding with a purpose, headed toward church in their good clothes for Sunday worship, but Annie was more aimless. She should have been rushing home to be put into her dress and whisked off into Elijah’s fantasy and their lives together, but Annie felt herself dragging as she walked which she never did. Deep in thought, Annie walked against the tide of people who called to her on their way to their destinations. Every step of her relationship with Elijah, Annie felt a calm of a right decision. From the day that he stood up to give her directions and she walked with him, to the day that she let him go off into the world, Annie felt the bone deep calm of knowing that she was making the right choice because she felt the approval of her ancestors all around her. In the safety that she felt with the boy who started off as a stranger, and in her own ability to decide what was right for herself because she had her ancestors as guides.That was one of the first things that she learned in life; one of her earliest memories were her grandmama teaching her to pay reverence to their ancestors, the alters and the prayers and the rituals that thanked them and called to them and kept an open conversation through everything that Annie did. Usually she didn’t even really have to ask for advice, only look for the signs that they left for her, that morning though, Annie’s usual calm that she felt with her decisions was replaced by an unease that sat on her skin and settled into her making her feel twitchy and anxious.

Annie realized where she had walked to before she realized that she had walked there. If she hadn’t been meandering she wouldn’t have ended up there, she hadn’t been there in years- a spot that one of them had found that only kids could, a small low area in between two large farms that had been abandoned for as long as any of them could remember, only marked by the large tree that had long since stopped producing any fruit. All one of them had to say was “meet me by the big tree, and they would be there, sitting on the raised roots of the tree to talk about whatever was urgent in their young minds. They had spent hours and hours there, Annie and the twins and Bo and Mary when she could make the trek because she lived the furthest away. Sometimes Grace when she was able but they always ended up walking to the store to catch her up to the conversation. Annie had never been to the big tree alone; after the twins left it didn’t feel the same anymore, like that part of their childhood was over. But Annie found herself there, a slight ache in her back from sleeping on and off in a chair all night, perched on a root that she had probably sat on a hundred times before, thinking more about her past than her future. None of them had had it easy; the twins had it worst off and they all knew it, their mama and their goddamn daddy, the busted lips and the cigar burns and the anger that they inherited and tried to shake off in their own ways- Stack trying to outrun it by being everybody’s favorite and Elijah by being everybody’s protector. And Mary, growing into a woman and suddenly straddling two worlds, both violent in their own way, both dangerous for her to be in but one leaving her much more of a target and unprotected in ways that none of them could do anything real damn thing about. Bo, one of the only people like him in all of the surrounding counties,  taking over his daddy’s store as he grew older, taking on more and more that he wasn’t even sure if he ever wanted. Knowing that he would probably never see his home again. And Annie, dealing with the death of her daddy just because some white men only liked how good he was at cards when they weren’t winning even though her mama had told him over and over that money from them people always came at a deeper cost. Annie, never able to go back to Louisiana because once her daddy was gone and there was just a house full of women, the man that they leased their land from was demanding more and more money, coming around in the evening and letting himself in, eyeing them all; so they picked up and left before he decided to charge a price that they all knew would come due. 

They all had it hard, just like everybody that they knew. But they had each other, and as she sat in the shade of the big tree that  belonged to all of them, Annie realized that that is what she was feeling the lack of since Elijah came home to her. Not the fact that he was making her wait to marry when that’s all they talked about before he left, or the fact that he was holding fast to the fact that he didn’t want to touch her even when it was obvious that they both burned red hot for each other after all that time. It was the fact that he was shutting her out of something that meant so much to him. They never hid anything from each other, even the difficult things, even the dark things. Annie knew him like the back of her hand for as long as she remembered, except for their wedding, and it hurt more than she had let herself feel. She wrote it off as a bump in the road of their life, she let him have it because it meant so much, she focused on the future, but it felt like a dismissal. Of Annie’s thoughts, of her desires, of the life that she had carried on, shaped for herself and was proud of. That was the crux of it, and even though she knew that Elijah meant well, that was what it was. And Annie sat with that, the weight and reality of it. She had forgiven Elijah for a lot; for the ways that he acted out of hurt and anger sometimes,  leaving when he did and how he did, because he was hers even when he was flawed just like she was his. But he knew how seriously Annie took her work and her life, and she didn’t know if she could forgive that disregard. Didn’t know if she could start a life with him if it meant her life became lesser. 

Annie didn’t know how long she had sat there in her contemplation, with no urgency to go back to her home where she knew that the plans that were made without her suddenly needed her. She thought about the women that she knew and loved and learned to be a woman from- how they were full of good ideas and strong opinions, how they moved through the world getting what they needed and giving to others, and she imagined how it would feel to be any other kind of woman. She thought about Elijah and what he must have been thinking and feeling, and if he knew how he had hurt hurt. She thought about the people who would always need her and love her and come to her because they knew that she would help them. She didn’t know how long she was thinking, just felt the sun rising around her and the world fully waking up. And then she felt more than saw Stack coming through the field toward her. She knew it was him the way that she always did, not just because he carried himself differently than his brother, or that she had spent years knowing him, but because he didn’t make her heart wake up the way that Elijah did when he looked at her. Stack didn’t speak when he sat on the ground near her, between two tree roots. “How you know where I was?” Annie asked him. He was dressed sharply, like he and Elijah had been since they came back, he looked like a man who had been around the world, but in that moment he most looked like the boy who used to tell all of them about how one day he would leave Mississippi and never come back, his eyes on her pulling her into his ideas. “Ain’t nowhere else you’d be. I went to go get Smoke early this morning to go pick up the, to go get something.” he corrected himself “and he said you had left, he wouldn’t tell me why but I had an idea. And sure enough you right where I thought you was. I never thought I would come back here, even though I thought about this tree a million times when we was away. I thought about somehow walking up and seeing you and Bo and Mary like no time had passed. I could never tell if it was a good dream or a bad dream, but I was always happy to see ya’ll.” 

“I don’t know if I can do it.” Annie said plainly, laying out the thought that she had been wrestling with for longer than she had realized. Stack didn’t speak, watching her silently. Annie continued. “I pictured marrying your brother a million times, knew that was what I wanted one of the first times he came to my house just to rub my feet because I said they had been aching. I knew, we were just fifteen and I was sure, and now I’m not. And I never been unsure about Elijah.” Stack didn’t speak for a long moment, rare for him, and they sat in silence. “My brother-” he started, and Annie imagined the next sentence- that Elijah was sorry. Or that he had meant well, or that all he wanted to do was start his life with her. All things that Annie had thought. But that’s not what he said. “My brother, he scared.” “Scared?” Annie asked. She had seen emotions from Elijah that she was sure most people never would, and she had never seen fear out of him. Even after he came to her in the night, explaining how that last time with his father had been the last time for good, his face was set with more determination than anything. She had seen him weather things at such a young age that would break most other people, so Annie had never associated him with fear. Stack turned to her, not concerned with the dirt on his pants “Our whole life, Smoke felt like he was just there for the bad shit. He know how to clean up any mess, especially mine, he know how to fix something and turn it right, and he know how to muscle through. And I think he just took that on, like that’s what he was made for. But you, you always been so good. Good for him, good to him and to everybody else, and I don’t think he know what to do.” 

“He don’t have to do anything.” Annie said like she was talking to Elijah himself. “You know he never gone go for that.Smoke feel like anything good he get he gotta work five times as hard for. And you the best thing that ever happened to him, besides me” Stack said, bumping his knee with hers. The realization washed over Annie like a wave, swaying her foundation. Her Elijah, always hers, always there with whatever she wanted no matter how fickle, he was scared to what, lose her? Break her heart? Not be enough for her? She had never even considered any of that, but she could see it clear as day. Stack must have seen how the realization was hitting her, because his next words were soft and measured. “I can’t dictate about love to nobody, you know that.” Stack said, his voice taking on a tone Annie understood, knew he was thinking about the girl that hehad left in Mississippi. “But I know my brother wanted to be with you everyday that we was over there fighting that fucking war. He never talked about it, and he wouldn’t let me bring it up neither, like talking about it around all that death and all that misery would taint it.But I saw it in everything he did.” Annie thought about her times in the dawn and the dusk, wrapped up in that quilt and their memories, practically feeling him there with her. She knew there was a time difference, but Annie wondered if he was thinking of her at those times too. Annie felt herself softening, and thought about her morning, what her hands knew and what her heart loved and how that was always just as important. “So you think that I should just go with this, be this woman on a shelf so that Elijah never got to worry about breaking me?” she asked. 

“Naw, that’s not what I’m saying. I know you would never go for that even if I was. I’m saying that fear make men move stupid sometimes. That my brother loves you even when he’s being stupid, and that if the only thing standing between ya’ll getting the life you want is him being scared to hurt you and you being scared to lose something of you, then that’s a easy fix. Easiest fix in the world.” Stack said, and he was staring out at the grass, somewhere partially in the past. Again, Annie knew he was thinking about Mary, and everything that was standing between the two of them. She thought about the pair of brothers, both missing home and the women who made it home, and how different it must have felt coming back to both of them being women in the world. And she knew that she was going to forgive him, knew that she always was. She was going to tell him to get out of his own way, and she was going to tell him that she didn’t give a damn about what anyone else’s marriage looked like because she was her and he was marrying her not some woman living in a castle, and she was going to kiss him the way that she had been missing and get be his wife by the end of that day even if she had to wear a dress she had never seen. 

“Where is he?” Annie asked Stack, who unfolded his legs from underneath him and extending a hand to pull her up in one motion, knowing what she meant without speaking. “Well he should be at Willie Keyser’s barn, but he’s with Bo. And don’t tell him I told you about the barn neither.” Stack said, walking to the car that he had left off the side of the road. The meandering that she was doing earlier was replaced by a purpose that pulled her toward Elijah. Stack drove to match her pace without her having to explain, and they were pulling up to the store, Annie jumping out and walking to the entrance before she thought about what she would say. It was afternoon and lots of people were in and out of the store doing their shopping, but Annie only had eyes for one person. “Hey Annie.” Bo said from behind the counter, hisbrows raising, his eyes taking her in, and Stack out by the car. “Bo, where’s Smoke.” Annie asked, ready to be talking directly to him about them. “Back room.” Bo said, nodding his head toward the door. When Annie entered, Elijah was sitting in the corner by the window, his energy taking up most of the room. It was heavy, making the air in the room move slow, and when Annie walked in, shutting the door behind her, she was in it with him. He stood immediately, moving slowly toward her. Not like  the night before, like Smoke, like he was closing in on her to get what he wanted, but like he was the boy that she first met what felt like decades ago, like he was scared that his feelings would overwhelm her. “Why you hiding back here?” Annie asked him when he stopped and stood in front of her, close enough to touch. “Didn’t know where else to go. Bo came by to get the day started, he was gonna shut the store down for the day, but I told him to hold off.” “Bo? Shut this place down?” Annie asked “I had to tell him I’d pay him a flat rate for the day.” he explained. It felt like there was something else between them, and that was the last thing that Annie wanted. 

“Stack came and got me.Over by the big tree” Annie said, and saw Elijah clench his jaw slightly, steeling himself, or maybe remembering the same way that she had been, a time when things felt more simple even when they all had less control of their lives. “But I wanted to come and talk to you. I thought a lot this morning.” Annie said, watching as he nodded, jaw still tight. She hated to see him tense for a fight, he looked the least like himself when he was on the defense. “I’m different than the girl you left here.” Annie started, watching as Elijah’s gaze swept over her, her mind going to the previous night before she bought it back. “And I know you different in a thousand ways too. But what we wanted is still the same, I think” Annie said. “It is. I want you to be my wife. I want to be your husband, I want to be with you and that’s all that matter.” he said. “But that’s not all that matter. I love you and you love me, but our lives ain’t never been just us. You got your brother, I got my work, we got friends and loved ones and a long life ahead of us that’s gone be full of a million things we gone have to deal with. And I mean we, you never gone have to deal with any of it alone.” Annie said, stepping closer to him, closing the distance. “It’s probably never gone be easy, but the life I got is yours,Elijah Moore. Every day of it, even when you was away. I don’t need a big service, I don’t need what them rich women got, I don’t need a veil to be your wife.” she continued, watching something soften behind his eyes. “I feel like I took so much time from us.” he spoke, his arms at his side like he was stopping himself from holding her, until he apologized for his transgression. “And I wanted to make it all worth it. I wanted to be the man you always deserved.” “You always was.” Annie replied, stepping closer, putting her hand on his chest, feeling the satchel that tied there right against the steady beat of his heart those years ago. He still didn’t move into her comfort, holding himself back. 

“I don’t know how to be a husband. I never thought about how to be a man, I just did what I had to do. But I wanted to be a good husband for you, and I- I  was selfish,baby. I know that, I’m sorry.” Elijah said to her, his voice low and steady, like he was marching the words out of his mouth. Annie knew that he was giving his all to her then and there. “I took a moment that should have been about us and made it about me, about proving that I could be the man you deserve. I know what people think about me and my brother, what we are. And I didn’t want that hanging over us. I wanted to be good enough for you.” he said, leaning into her touch like he was spent. Annie thought about what Stack said, how hard Elijah always worked to be good for her. “Elijah, you was always everything I ever wanted.” she said simply. There was so much more that she could say, she could tell him that what anybody else thought about them never crossed her mind. She could tell him that he was perfect for her, that she’d known that years ago, but she had years to tell him that with her every breath and every moment that they spent together. Right then, Annie just wanted to be his. She had been patient, and she had been impatient, but now she was just ready. She leaned in, tilting her head up for her lips to meet his, feeling the soft exhale of tension leaving his body. When their lips met, Elijah wrapped his arms around her, pulling her closer to him, where she belonged. They didn’t have to say anything else about it. That was the beauty of loving Elijah since they were practically children. Annie knew him. And with what Stack told her, there was still more to learn and love about him and that was what Annie wanted to do for the rest of their lives and after that. 

They had kissed plenty since Elijah’s return- he had obliged her every time she asked, soothed her as he asked her to be patient, but this was different. It wasn’t about Elijah or about her, it was a reunion, and a long awaited one. As they kissed in the back room of Chow’s Groceries, among boxes and sacks and dust Annie poured into Elijah, her front pressed into him, her arm looped through his casually. It felt like their future- easy and natural and intense with the satisfied longing of two people who were made to be together and finally were.  After a time, Elijah pulled his mouth away from hers and called out above her head. “BO” “What?” their friend called through the door and the din of the customers. “Stack still out there?” “Nah” Elijah’s mouth tightened in that way it only ever did because of his brother. His eyes took her in, then moved back to the door. Annie felt him forming some type of plan, but before she could ask he called out again. “Lend me your keys.” “The keys to my damn car, Smoke? Hell no” Bo yelled back, before saying something too low for neither she or Elijah to hear, most likely to a customer. Elijah’s face took on that firm set determination that it did when something was between him and what he needed before he looked down at her, his brow softening. “Be right back baby.” he said softly, putting space between them that felt harsher than whatever he was thinking about the stubborn shopkeeper. And he was out the room, walking at a quick clip that he always had, charging forward steady and like he had what he was after already at his fingertips, all he had to do was grab it. And Annie was alone again, for the first time since she sat amongst all of their memories this morning. In this room that she had spent plenty time in and out of back before she had her own work to tend to full time, Annie thought about the course of the day, of the days since the Smokestack twins, mostly the quiet one who hung back like he had nothing that he had to say until he did, had reappeared in her life and knocked it off kilter again just like they had when she was fresh from the Bayou with all of the loss and all of the love that she had swirled up inside of her. 

When Elijah came back, he spoke before Annie had a chance to ask. “Annie, can I take you home?” he asked, holding what she assumed was Bo’s keys in his closed hand. “Home?” Annie questioned, confused. She had been ready to marry him, sure of it after talking to Stack and after seeing Elijah look at her with those same brown eyes that had always softened just for her like he was looking at something delicate. And now he was taking her home? She had been ready to put on the dress and be whisked off, and now he was dropping her off to go and be away from her? Annie felt her breath quicken, her earlier affection  burning away to a quick anger that tempered the old hurt underneath. “I wanna go home with you.” Elijah said simply, from the doorway. “But the wedding-” Annie started. “That don’t rightly matter to me no more, just you. I let Bo know, all I wanna do is take you home, Annie.”He said it like it was simple, his mind made up. “You did all that secret keeping, and I know you had to spend some money. And now we just going home?” Annie asked, her eyes narrowing in scrutiny, making Elijah dip his head to deflect her gaze which only made her step closer to him. “I don’t wanna argue.” he said low, lifting his eyes to her, open and soft. “I thought I knew what I wanted when I came home, I had it all planned out. But when you walked out last night I realized that all I wanted was to be home with you. Your house was the last place I was before we left Mississippi. I left your bed and me and Stack got on the train with the clothes on our backs. And I thought when I came back I- I just wanna be home with you Annie, please.” he said. He didn’t need to beg, or look at her like she was the only thing that could offer him reprieve. Even when she told Elijah off, even when she stormed off without a look back, she had not wanted to make it hard on him. Life had been hard enough for him, and for her. And she was sure that they would have more hard times. All she wanted was to be with him, that’s all she’d ever wanted. “Okay, take me home.” Annie told him.

When the pair reached Annie’s house, Stack was there, clearly just done moving something out the back of the car. “I wanted to be out ya’lls hair, but ya’ll damn sure move fast. Lucky I’m faster.” he said, flashing a smile at Annie and Elijah and as they exited the car. Stack approached them, his grin wide,the kind of smile that Annie knew meant that he was into something. Elijah met his brother halfway, with Annie on his heels. Something passed between the brothers before Annie’s eyes; Elijah leaned in and hugged Stack, engulfing his twin and placing his hands on his shoulders when he pulled away. “Thank you.” Elijah said simply, his eyes intense. “ ‘Course. I couldn’t stand the idea of all my hard work goin’ to waste. And nobody wanna be around all that moping.” the younger twin joked. “One of us should get the girl we dreamed about in them trenches.” he added, the smile he bore pulling downward for a moment before it returned brighter than before as he addressed Annie. “Ya’ll lucky two I know how to make a party jump no matter what. I’m gone get to that dance floor. Sad you won’t get to see it, but I did what I could.” he said. Annie was curious to know what Stack meant for her and Elijah more than whatever dancefloor he mentioned, and because Elias Moore never lingered after the fun was done, he was already departing. “Run this back to Bo.” Elijah requested, and with one hand Stack grabbed the keys to the borrowed car and with the other he deposited the keys to their car which he’d driven over into his brother’s open palm. “You always been the picture of a blushing bride, Annie. Don’t go too hard on my big brother,Annie, this was his planning but it was all for you from the beginning.” Despite the very Stack-like tilt of his grin and the slouch of his body as he stood in between the fiances and the party that he was going to throw, there was something stonelike and serious in his eye like his brother always carried, and that made Annie call out to him before he left and got into whatever mischief was calling to him. “Don’t these things need a witness?” Annie called out to Stack, making him turn that grin back on her, now full of the fire of an idea forming. “Ya’ll want me to put a few words on this thing?” Stack questioned. Annie looked up at Elijah who was looking down at him, his face subtly questioning. “Well, who else would?” responded. Annie watched Elijah shoot his brother a silencing look that made him laugh out loud, and then all 3 of them were headed inside. 

The twins let Annie cross the threshold into the space where she lived and worked first, allowing her to take it all in while they filed in behind her. Stack had understated the work that he had put in, and it was clearly only a fraction of what they all must have put in for whatever Elijah had originally cooked up.Flowing sheer crepe curtains covered the large front window, unmoving in the still of the afternoon turning to evening and making it feel like her store and her home, which were always open to anyone in need feel like it was secluded and separate from everything but she and Elijah. Stars cut from something silver and shiny hung suspended in the air like they fell from the sky, all in varying sizes, catching the light that stubbornly shone through the window’s covering. Annie turned to the twins, who were both watching her take in the scene with disparate expressions. Stack’s face was one of wide open glee, excited that she was excited. And Elijah’s was more difficult to read, the corner of his mouth was arched upward in a smile, but there was something intense storming in his eyes, something rolling in hard and fast that Annie couldn’t interpret. “I love it, Stack, Thank you.”Annie spoke finally, her voice unexpectedly low with emotion. “Got something else up my sleeve, like always.” Stack joked “go freshen up while I get it ready.” he urged- his excitement obvious,  flinching when his twin shoved his shoulder and adding “if you’d please.”

Annie prepared herself for her wedding in a tender, efficient manner, the same way that she had prepared countless people for the biggest moments of their lives. She stripped out of the clothes that she had worn all night, and bathed herself in water  with rose oil for love, sage and spikenard oil for clarity and High John for everything that she needed. She twisted her hair into a crown around her head, looking in the mirror at herself in the setting sun, and she wished that her mama and her grandmama were there with her in the physical. Her grandmama had always known that Annie and Elijah would end up together, in that quiet, sure way that she knew everything. Even though they were young, and church ladies whispered that them Moore boys were sure to grow up into wild and uncontrollable things, with no mama and the daddy they had; Odette saw the tie binding her grandchild the wounded eye boy that went where she went like a flower turns to the sun, like the tide pulls to the shore- like it was the only thing natural for him to do. And her mama saw who Annie was with the boy. The sure and firm girl softening in subtle ways, that slate hard look she had in her eye since her daddy’s passing replaced with the mellow look of love that Hannah knew all too well because she’d been on the receiving end of it with her own firm lover until he closed his eyes the last time. And as Annie stood in the bedroom that the women shared, she felt them all around her. She picked up her grandmama’s ivory comb with Jasmine flowers carved into it that she kept tucked deep in the dresser drawer and hadn’t worn since her funeral. She hummed ‘Let Me Call You Sweetheart’, a song that made her think of her father. How he wrapped his arms around her mother in the evening, his lips by her ear as she cooked at the stove in the dimming light, always coming home to her.

Annie was awash in memory, softened by the love that was always with her even when the people were gone from her. And then, as she sat in front of the mirror in her bedroom, her grandmama and her mama and the care they had for her sent Mary into the room.Their eyes met in the mirror, Mary’s mouth curled up in that mischievous smile she wore when she got to run with her friends like she wanted to. Annie had seen it a million times, Mary running up in a too nice dress, the hem miraculously free from dirt so she could slip back into wherever she’d escaped from unnoticed, Mary under Stack’s arm, her cheeks flushed, her eyes bright. Now she was smiling that smile, her gaze misty. It had been a while since the two women had seen each other; Mary’s obligations were harder to escape from nowadays, and they weren’t gangly children anymore- Mary drew looks wherever she went. “Oh, Annie.” her friend spoke, her tone almost one of awe as she stepped closer. Mary laid something that she carried in her arms onto the bed and walked up to Annie, her hands replacing Annie’s to finish her hair, pinning the comb to the side  and placing a kiss onto Annie’s temple. Their eyes met in the mirror, and everything that they didn’t say passed between them. They both loved men who the world made it  hard to love, and they both knew that beyond a shadow of a doubt, loving those men was what they were born to do. When they were still girls with their heads in the clouds, Mary dreamt aloud to Annie about marrying Stack, talking about how the second they were old enough he would whisk her away from Mississippi and all of the people who acted like she was something to be coveted, bought and tucked away. They would move up to Memphis, the big city where they could be anybody they wanted, and they could be together. Annie talked about marrying Elijah like it was a foregone conclusion- like it was the next natural step. Of course the pair would get married, what else would they do? They would move into a house and she would pick up her work and she and Elijah would be together because since they had met they had not been apart.

“Ms. Odette would be grinning so hard right now.” Mary said as Annie pulled on her undergarments, moving to her closet for her special occasion dress, the deep blue one. “You know she loved being right.” Annie laughed, glad that her friend’s mind was in accord with hers. “She always knew what was going on with us, no matter- Nuh-uh. I have something for you.” Mary said, interrupting the memory and steering Annie from the chest of drawers to the bed, her mischievous smile back even though her eyes were misty. Mary picked up the bundle that she had carried into the room and presented it to Annie. It was a dress, her wedding dress. A creamy white satin dress that looked delicate and almost other worldly as it was extended to her. It was floor length and short sleeved with the edges of the sleeves scalloped and accented with small flowers, each with a cluster of small pearls sewn into the center. The neckline of the dress was subtly curved, with more of the pearl flowers. It looked like it was made out of moonlight, it looked like it was something out of a dream Annie didn’t remember that she’d had. She pictured Elijah, exacting as he was, describing it to a dressmaker, watching with that firm set to his face to ensure that it was exactly like this, perfect like it was in front of her now. “Turn” Mary instructed, bending to have Annie step into the dress, which she did. The whisper soft material slid up her ankles and thighs as Mary pulled it up before she began buttoning the pearl buttons that aligned with her spine. Annie thought back to standing on her weary feet as Grace measured every inch of her in that thorough way the woman had, muttering as she turned Annie this way and that. Annie had no idea how those numbers turned into this, this dress with the drop waist that flowed over her and ended right at her feet, just missing sweeping the floor. Mary’s hands turned Annie to face the mirror again, stepping out of the reflection and letting Annie see herself. 

Annie’s breath caught as she saw herself. She looked as soft as  the dress that flowed down her body, the brown of her skin mixing with the cream of the satin perfectly. She had never had a dress that wasn’t cotton or worse coarse linsey-woolsey. Leave it to Elijah to give her something that she hadn’t even known that she had wanted. “How do I look?” Annie turned and asked her friend, who was watching her with tear softened eyes, her gaze taking her in. “You look perfect. Annie I swear I’ve never seen a prettier bride. Smoke’s going to fall out when he sees you, and if he doesn’t it’s because he’s too stubborn to take his eyes off of you. You are a dream.” Mary said. “Oh, wait- here.” she continued, reaching up and pulling off her earrings, simple pearl clusters, and taking Annie’s hand turning her palm upward and dropping the jewels into her hand. “They belong with this dress. It would be a crime for me not to give them to you, Annie.” Mary insisted before Annie could protest. Again, something they didn’t need to say passed between the friends. We both dreamt of this, and you are doing it. Please take a piece of me with you while you do.” Annie put the earrings into her ears, and opted to go barefoot into the storefront to go and be wed.

Everyone knew that the Smokestack Twins got what they wanted, in ways that shocked people. She had seen the looks on the faces of people as they encountered what the brothers made happen, the shock that turned to awe, the confusion as everyone struggled to grasp just how they pulled it off. Annie had never felt that way, she knew the men too well to be pulled into the mythology of them; but as she entered the space that she had just left less than an hour before, she suddenly understood what it felt like to be wowed by the twins. The storefront where she had spent every single day for most of her life was transformed even further. Along every surface, lining each shelf and all along the counter were long, white tapered candles. They flickering flames caught the twinkle of the stars above her, making them burst with light and catch on the dress that she wore, giving it an unearthly gleam. And cutting through the center of the room was a deep blue runner, lined with magnolia heavy branches, making the room heavy with the fragrant smell of the flower that made Anne’s heart swim with  thoughts  of Louisiana and of her parents and of love. At the end of the runner, Mary had joined Stack’s side as he stood looking like he had snapped his fingers and made all of this appear and that it took no effort at all. And beside him, just feet away from her, was Elijah.

He stood straight and still,wearing a dark suit that made him look refined and almost too handsome to be safe, his face intense on hers like it always was. Like it had been since they were young. Like if his gaze strayed from her she would disappear and he wouldn’t know what to do. Elijah’s eyes felt almost physical on her, heating her skin as he took her in from afar, pinning her to where she stood. He had made this dress with her in mind, had done God knows what to make it happen amongst rations and restrictions, and he looked indulgent in his success, his examining gaze taking on a satisfied glint. Annie forgot there was anyone else in the room as she began to move toward Elijah, seeing only him, surrounded by stars and the warmth of 1,000 candles, the early evening sun pushing softly through the flowy curtains on the windows. Mary caught her gaze, stopping Annie before she walked into Elijah’s arms and signaling to the counter beside her where a bouquet sat. The bundle of flowers was bursting with the creamy white of calla lilies and magnolias, the shock of brightness tempered with the deep blue of the interspersed blue bells and the soft sky color of tiny, star shaped blue star flowers. Annie picked up the bouquet, pressing it close to her as she stepped onto the runner that would lead her to Elijah, finally. 

The silence in the room felt like soft grass as Annie walked the runner, her bare feet padding over the soft material, her steps short and measured and her gaze on Elijah and his gaze on her. The moment stretched comfortably and unrushed as Annie made her way, and then she was at the other edge of the runner, meeting Mary, Stack and Elijah where they stood to receive her. Up close, close enough to reach out and put her hand on his chest and feel his heartbeat and the warmth of him, Annie felt his eyes on her even more intensely. The heaviness of Elijah’s deep brown gaze as he took her in, his head tilted down toward her, was tempered with something soft - like the sun breaking through storm clouds, like night giving way to dawn. Inevitable and natural and God given. “Annie.” Elijah breathed out his voice low, cutting through the soft silence around them. “Elijah.” She smiled up at him,meeting his gaze squarely. Stack cleared his throat dramatically, making Mary stifle a giggle before he continued, his voice and cadence taking on the tone of a preacher as he spoke. “We are gathered here today.” he began as Annie stepped off the deep blue of the runner and onto the warm hardwood to situate herself in front of Elijah.  “We all know why we here- and it’s been a long time coming. Like Jacob and Rachel, Annie and Elijah’s love story is one that shows the perseverance of a love at first sight. These two been in love since we was kids, and since the first time he saw Annie my brother knew that he wanted her to be his wife, because he told me all about it.All across the world, the one thing that he was sure of was that he was coming home to Annie, and that she was waiting for him.” Stack spoke, and Annie felt the length of time that they spent apart dissipate between them like it was nothing, like the things that had kept them apart were of no consequence. “And now here we are, after all this time. I can’t think of any two people who deserve to be husband and wife more than Annie and Elijah. Annie, my mean ass brother love you more than anything, he always has. You make him better, and you always been his home to come back to. And I can’t wait to see ya’ll two finally get to be together, like you always should have been.”

Annie heard less and less of what Stack was saying as she stepped closer to Elijah, taking his hand in hers. Stack was still speaking but it felt like it was just she and him. Like there was nothing keeping them apart anymore. Annie watched the words wash over Elijah, softening his gaze and his demeanor as he held onto her hand, and that was what kept her anchored to the moment and to him. She heard herself respond “yes” to the question that Stack asked, and she heard Elijah respond “yes” to the same. Then Mary, quick as a flash, pulled a short broom with its handle wrapped in satin, its straw bristles heavy with babie’s breath, and laid it on the floor in front of them. Annie locked eyes with Elijah and as natural as breathing they both  turned with their hands still clasped and jumped. “I now pronounce you man and wife. What God has joined together, let no man separate.” Stack said with flourish. Then Elijah wrapped his free arm around her waist, pulling her so close that there was no space between their bodies. So close that she could feel the thudding of his heart in his chest. And then he kissed her, a searing kiss with all of the fire that they had burned between them since Annie could remember. He breathed himself into her, making Annie tremble in his arms, but she could not be sure that it wasn’t him shaking. Around her, Mary was clapping and Stack was chuckling that indulgent laugh that he did, but all Annie could register was Elijah. All she could hear and feel was Elijah. All that mattered was Elijah. “Congratulations ya’ll.” Annie heard from somewhere far away, and she felt more than heard Stack and Mary make their leave. And then it was just her and her husband. 

Elijah’s hands were firm all around her, and Annie had to step out of his grasp to have the world start spinning again, to gain some kind of control of herself again. “You know how much I love you.” Elijah said, his voice matter of fact. “I do. You know I love you, Elijah. More than anything.” They were still so that Annie felt his breath coasting off of her cheek as he spoke. Annie didn’t even look at the ring that he slipped on her finger as they stood in the flickering light of candles and the setting sun, not wanting to take her eyes off of Elijah. For all of his plans and intentions, it was Annie who took the next steps. Annie dropped the bouquet in her hand and placed her hands on his shoulders and easing him down to the floor onto the deep midnight blue that he’d laid down just for her. There were no words to describe the heady power Annie felt standing above Elijah as he gazed up at her, his lids lowered with heated focus. It was like time folded in on itself, as it had the tendency to do, presenting itself again anew. He looked like the man that she knew and the boy that she had loved, open to her and burning for her making it impossible for Annie to do anything but love him with everything she had inside of her. 

Focused on Elijah and him alone, Annie lowered herself between his open legs reaching her hand down to unzip Elijah’s pants which were tenting with his desire for her. As Annie braced herself with Elijah nudging at her entrance, the heat of him making her quiver, she watched as he received her like she was coming down from heaven itself. Annie felt his hands slip underneath the satin of her dress and slid up her thighs and settled on her hips, holding her steady as she slid onto his manhood, thankful for the mooring as she felt herself coming apart around him. Annie gasped as she fully seated herself on Elijah, her body accommodating the size of him as he looked up at her his eyes blazing on her. Using the strength of her thighs, Annie rose back up and Elijah arched beneath her to meet her causing a chain reaction. Annie arched her back at the onslaught of sensation, pushing her chest toward Elijah whose gaze took on a hungry flint, then his steadying hands were off of her thighs and at her spine and the buttons of her dress. Annie felt his fingers trembling through the thin material, and then she felt him pull impatiently and the top few buttons pop, heard them scatter on the floor, then heard Elijah mutter “I’m sorry baby, I’ll fix it, I had to.” before his mouth was on her nipple open and hot with greed. Annie could barely form a thought as the wave of sensation washed over her, let alone assure him that she felt the same way. All she could do was feel. Feel Elijah moving inside her, measured and all for her like he always was. Feel his mouth on her needy  and insistent on pulling pleasure from her. Feeling feelings that she didn’t even know she was capable of feeling. Like lightning was striking inside of her, on that spot that Elijah wouldn’t let up on. “Goddamn, Annie.” Elijah ground out, his voice like smoke, simmering and dark. Then Annie was looking up at him and the stars on the ceiling, and Elijah’s hand was between them, rubbing on her and making her thighs tense and quiver around him. Elijah braced himself around her, his brows lowered with intention as he looked in her eyes. He had shed his suit jacket and pushed the sleeves of his white shirt up his forearms, the brown of his arms almost glowing in the candlelight. And as if he couldn’t overwhelm her anymore, Elijah dropped his mouth right by her ear, the same way that he did at the counter the night before. “You feel so good for me baby, and you look even better. I wish you could see how pretty you look like this. But that’s just for me, huh. This all just for me?” he asked, pistoning into her, his hips sinking into her softness, drawing out an indulgent moan from deep in Annie’s chest. Annie nodded, incapable of speaking while Elijah was doing what he was doing to her. She could barely think,could only feel as he pressed himself into her guided by his pleasure and hers. 

Then, like he could read her mind, Elijah sat up and took his hand- the one that wasn’t wrenching her pleasure from her- and sunk his long, strong fingers into the pliant flesh of her upper thigh and wrapped her leg around his waist. It was like that single reposition opened up something deep inside her, and like only he knew how to do, Elijah pursued the depth of her, making Annie jerk with the onslaught of pleasure. “Mo- mo pa ka.” Annie stuttered out, feeling like she was coming out of her body with what Elijah was doing to her, but with him on top of her there was nothing she could do but absolutely come apart. “You can, baby. This all for me, right?” he asked her. “Fuck Annie, you dripping baby. It’s everywhere. All for me.” Elijah spoke, his hips jerking once then once more. He was throbbing, she could feel it around her own shaking, the pulse of him making her finally lose all control and thought to the pleasure that he was giving her. Annie was suddenly a gasping, whimpering, trembling mess beneath Elijah, both of them still in their wedding clothes. But she didn’t feel weak for him, at his mercy like she did the night before. He was her husband, and her man, and he was a shaking mess of his own above her. Looking down on her, his eyes narrow as he fought to focus, his finger on the center of her pleasure still working more out of her Elijah looked as wide open for her as she was for him. Then he dropped his mouth to her chest, pulling her nipple into his mouth and groaning around it like it was the best thing he had ever tasted. The throbbing that Annie felt intensified before Elijah pushed himself impossibly deeper into her, seating himself so fully and completely inside her that Annie felt more of him than she did herself, like her body was his and not hers. And she felt him give more of himself to her, warm and pulsing and carnal. 

Even after it was over, Annie didn’t feel like it was over. The sun has fully sunk around them, cooling the air slightly  and making everything more alive. The multitude of orange flames flickered, combating the all around blue of the night and making everything about Elijah golden as he rolled over onto the lush blue they laid on. Elijah’s gaze was still all-consuming, still hot on her even when every other feature on his face was softened; his brows weren’t in that usual severe slant, his mouth was curved in a gentle smile that made the firelight glimmer off the gold sheen of his teeth as they showed through his full lips. His hand never left the curve of her hip, feeling weighty and permanent. Annie stretched her legs, groaning indulgently as her toes brushed the magnolia flowers, sending their bright smell throughout the air. Annie rolled over fully onto her back, arching her back and feeling her body the way that it was after Elijah, even though it didn’t feel like an after. She could still feel him, like everything in her was now in Elijah, and the same was true for everything that was in him was in her, but Annie had felt like that since the first time he had taken her hand to guide her to the inside of the road while they walked to her grandmother’s. Annie felt her husband’s eyes feasting on her body as various parts of it slid out of the now wrinkled silk of her wedding dress. One sleeve slid down into the crook of her elbow pulling that side of the neckline down her breast, and the hem of the dress had ridden up to right of the meeting crux of her thighs which were slightly parted. Elijah spoke suddenly, rising up on his elbow right beside her and saying “let me get you up.” Then Annie was up in the air, against Elijah’s chest as he carried her back toward her bedroom- his arms firm underneath her knees, his other arm cradling her back. The picture of a bride.

He laid her in the bed, then bought in several of the lit candles to illuminate the darkness of her bedroom. “I’ll be right back, baby. I’m coming right back to you.” he said softly before turning back into that efficient Elijah that he always was. When he came back, his arms were full before he knelt before the foot of the bed. “Here.” he said before gripping Annie’s ankles and pulling her to meet him. “Wanted to clean you up.” Elijah explained, the weighted heat of his shoulders by her knees and the feel of his breath on her thighs made Annie shift on the mattress and resparking something in her quicker than she imagined possible. Elijah reached up and pulled the soft whisper of her dress down her body, her undergarments long gone.Then the soft splashing of water and the warm rag was on her thigh; Elijah’s movements slow and deliberate and light on her as they moved up. After sudsing and rinsing her legs, with the back of his hand Elijah nudged Annie’s thighs further apart and he was between her legs. He washed her with firm swipes, and Annie rose up on her elbows as she felt Elijah move closer and closer to her. He placed a soft kiss on her still damp thigh, like he couldn’t help but kiss where he had touched, mirroring his attention with a kiss on her other thigh. Annie felt her body respond to Elijah, like she knew where he intended to go and then his mouth was on her expertly and full of intention. It was quick, how Elijah took Annie to the peak of her pleasure, making her buck with pleasure in what felt like moments. 

not when he was born. not during check-ups. not during thunderstorms. he made little sounds, sure—a coo, a giggle, a hum—but never a cry.

“just a peaceful soul,” stack would say, eyes wide in wonder as he cradled ezra. “ain’t got a thing in the world to holla’ about.”

you tried to believe it. maybe some babies were just... easy and you got lucky like your mama said

so, to ease your troubled motherly mind, you made a routine for your little family. every day, around 5:30, you’d take ezra out on the front porch and wait. you’d sit in that old rocking chair, wrap ezra in a soft quilt, and watch the horizon. the sky would turn a bruised peach, then bleed into indigo and like clockwork, just before the sun vanished, he would appear.

never missed a night. but he also… never walked in anymore.

he stopped coming inside during the day. said work had him running night shifts. said the sun gave him migraines now. he used to barge through the front door like he paid every bill inside. called out your name like a hymn. but now? now he waited.

right at the bottom step.

so you started inviting him in.

“c’mom, baby,” you’d call with a little laugh, beckoning him up with ezra in your arms. “get in this house before the skeeters eat you alive.”

and only then would he step inside.

you were suspicious, of course. you’d always had a sharp gut and an even sharper tongue, but you’d learned to pick your battles. he came home, didn’t he? he held ezra in the evenings. he smiled—tiredly, but he smiled with the same love that ran deep for the both of you. maybe it was a joke to him. some new game. y’know something to keep the blood pumping in your marriage with this new addition in your family.

you just didn’t ask questions.

until the night he didn’t show.

the sun dipped low. the porch light flickered on. ezra hummed against your chest like he always did, and you rocked, and waited, and prayed.

but the road stayed empty.

you went inside, heart sinking. something wasn’t right. you lit a candle and whispered, “lord, bring him home safe.”

and then—

knock.

knock.

your head snapped toward the door.

stack was finally home.

but something inside you flinched. some instinct, soft and quiet, curled around your ribs like a warning bell.

still… your gaze flickered down.

ezra was calm. heavy in your arms. his tiny breath, warm against your collarbone. a little fist curled against your chest like he trusted you with the whole world.

that grounded you.

that gave you the strength.

you pressed a kiss to the crown of his head and whispered, “c’mon, baby boy. let’s get you to bed.”

you passed through the house, candle flickering in your grip, and stepped into the nursery. the mobile above his crib spun gently, catching light in its soft golden arcs. you laid ezra down slowly, smoothing a hand over his chest until he gave that gentle sigh in his sleep.

you lingered.

then, finally, you made your way back to the living room. you faced the door.

you didn’t move at first.

your feet felt like they were rooted to the floor. that same slow chill crept up your spine like it had the last few nights. that silent, creeping feeling that the man who used to bring laughter into every room was slipping further and further away.

but you made yourself move. your hand hovered over the knob. behind it—him. you felt it in your bones. he was there. and still… something inside you whispered don’t. just like it had been whispering for weeks now. but you swallowed that voice down.

you had to.

fingers trembling, you unlocked the latch, cracked the door. he was standing in the moonlight. not quite shadow. not quite light neither.

“evenin’, sweetheart,” he said quietly, voice low and heavy.

you stared at him for a second too long.

still, you smiled—out of habit, out of hope. you stepped aside, voice lighter than you felt. “you just gon’ stand there, baby?”

he didn’t answer. just stepped forward. slow. silent, crossed the threshold with the same ghost of a swagger he always had, but now it looked… borrowed.

he had on the shirt you liked—the soft blue one with the little white collar, though the buttons were uneven, and the fabric looked stiff in places. his hands twitched at his sides, like he didn’t know what to do with them.

you softly smiled at him, even though your stomach turned.

you stepped up to him like you always did, wrapped your arms around his waist and tilted your chin for a kiss.

he kissed you back—but the moment your lips touched, your face twitched.

something was wrong.

he didn’t smell like himself. not like sweat and cologne and cigarettes like he usually did. this was something sour beneath it.

feral.

metallic.

still, you held him.

you pulled back with a soft little laugh, trying to keep your voice steady.

“lord, stack… you smell like the bottom of the river,” you teased, nudging him playfully. “you need to go wash up before you touch that baby.”

he gave a little sound, something like a laugh— it didn’t reach his eyes. and now that you were up close…

you saw the dried blood on his shirt cuffs.

not fresh—faded dark like rust. and his eyes—wild, ringed red, darting like he couldn’t look at you for long.

you smiled again, but slower this time because something inside you had just started to scream.

you watched intensely as he looked down at the basket by the door. “clothes wet,” he noted, and you heard a trace of the old stack—mock-annoyed, nose scrunched, like he was about to launch into one of his goofy rants. “tsk. gonna mildew, baby. what i always tell you?”

you let out a short breath of amusement, grateful for the flicker of normalcy. “i was just about to hang ’em. baby finally went down easy, so i figured i’d knock it out before it got too dark.”

he nodded again, but didn’t offer to help.

didn’t grab your waist like he used to. didn’t steal a kiss or whisper something filthy in your ear just to make you blush.

just… nodded.

his gaze lifted from the basket to your face, and for a second, something wild flickered in those red-ringed eyes.

maybe fear. not entirely guilt.

more like… pleading.

a silent ‘don’t leave me’. a look that rooted your feet for a moment too long. “…i’ll be quick,” you said softly, trying to soothe it away. “ezra’s sleepin’. you just got in—sit, rest a bit. i won’t be long.”

he didn’t nod this time. didn’t say much either. he just looked at you like he didn’t trust himself to open his mouth.

that dread you’d been keeping buried all evening crawled higher up your spine. still, you kissed his cheek, your hand lingering on his jaw. he leaned into it—barely.

“i’ll be right back,” you whispered. you stepped around him, grabbing the laundry basket. you paused just before opening the door.

“stack?”

he looked up again.

“i love you.”

his lips parted like he might say it back but just left it as a half smile

so you stepped outside, the air was cooler than it had been all day. it was late now, close to midnight. the moon was out— big, pale and round as a silver plate. the yard was cast in blue and shadows, and everything felt still.

too still.

you worked quietly, clothespins clicking soft against the line. ezra’s little onesies fluttered like ghosts in the wind, and the damp cotton chilled your fingers to the bone.

from somewhere near the trees, a fowler’s toad let out a long, low trill.

you paused, listening.

that sound always reminded you of summer evenings down by the water—porch lights humming, bare feet on the steps, and stack whistling something under his breath while he bounced ezra in his arms.

ezra loved that sound. would blink slow and still at it like it soothed something deep in his tiny chest.

again you remembered he never cried.

not when he was born. not when stack bumped his head pushing through the screen door too quickly. not even when he had his first fever.

‘lucky’, people always said. ‘strange’, others whispered. but you knew it was just him—your quiet little boy. never once had to hear his voice twist in pain or fear.

and then— a noise. from inside the house.

muffled.

low.

off.

your breathing stopped for a moment. a wail? no. no, ezra never—

your blood turned to ice in your veins.

the clothespin slipped from your fingers and hit the grass, forgotten.

your feet moved before your thoughts did, stumbling toward the porch, screen door already creaking as you pushed it open with shaking hands.

inside, the house was too quiet. the kind of quiet that rings in the bones. that’s when you heard it.

a creaking.

from the nursery. your heart dropped.

“stack?” you called.

no answer.

you moved quickly, your footsteps soft but your breath loud in your ears. “stack, i told you—stop botherin’ the baby when you get off from wor—”

you pushed open the nursery door. it groaned. the scent hit you first—lavender oil from ezra’s diffuser, sweet and familiar, but underneath it, something else lingered as well. metallic. raw. wrong.

your eyes darted around until finally found stack. sitting in the old rocking chair, back to you, moving in that slow, steady rhythm. rocking. facing the crib. his hands limp between his knees. his frame slumped like the weight of the world had folded him in half.

something cold bloomed in your stomach.

“stack?”

his shoulders twitched. he didn’t turn around.

“i—i just wanted to know…” he murmured.

your voice cracked trying to stay calm. “stack, baby… know what?”

“it was supposed to be really quick…”

your hands curled into fists. you took a cautious step inside.

“…elias.”

he flinched. visibly. like if he has no birthright to be called by his name by you.

“what was supposed to be quick?” you asked again, stepping in closer now. “matter of fact…”your throat went dry.

“…where’s ezra?”

silence.

that was the moment something broke open inside you. the kind of panic that didn’t feel like screaming, but sinking.

your eyes searched frantically around the room like the baby might’ve crawled somewhere by miracle—like maybe he’d be under the crib, or swaddled on the changing table. but nothing moved.

no sound. no coo. no breath. you felt dizzy.

“elia—elias?”

you staggered a step forward, heartbeat thundering. “elias moore, where is our son?”

he still wouldn’t turn.

“i should’ve told you,” he whispered, voice splintered. “‘bout my demons… before they followed me home.”

“no…” you took another step. “where is my baby, elias!?”

still nothing.

then something inside you snapped.

“you face me when I ask about my baby, damnit!” the chair stopped rocking and he stood.

not like your stack—not with that smooth, cocky ease that used to drive you crazy. he stood like he was dragging chains behind his spine. like he didn’t know how to be a man anymore. he turned to you and it like a punch to your gut, how all the air left your lungs.

his face—gaunt. blood smeared down from the corner of his mouth to his jawline. his eyes, once warm and full of mischief, were glassy. hollow. starved. his shirt was soaked at the collar. his hands… glistened.

red.

but worse than that?

he looked like he knew he couldn’t take it back.

“oh god,” you whispered, hand over your mouth, knees starting to tremble.

“i’m sorry,” he said. “i—i came to see him.”

you blinked, stunned. “what?”

“i missed him,” stack rasped. “missed you. i just… i just wanted to hold him. see his face. remind myself why i still breathe.”

he sounded like he was confessing to god.

“i thought i could just sit with him. rock him a little. tell him somethin’ he wouldn’t understand yet. just so i could feel like his father again. even for a moment.”

tears stung your eyes, threatening to fall—but you didn’t blink.

stack’s voice broke lower, smaller.

“i thought i could handle it…”

then his voice dropped to a hoarse whisper.

“but… he cried. he was crying, and i—i held him. i was trying to soothe him, y/n…”

his eyes flickered, lost and broken.

“then… i smelled him. that warmth. that heartbeat. like sunlight and i—i wasn’t me anymore.”

his knees buckled, and he sank to the floor like his body finally gave up trying to hold it in.

“i tried to fight it,” he whispered. “i swear to god, i did.”

he looked up at you, fresh tears streaking through blood and filth. “i was tryin’ to be his father. just for one second. i thought i could still be that. that i could still be yours.”

he shook his head. “but i ain’t. not anymore.”

the words settled like ash. quiet. final.

for a moment, all you could do was stare at him.

this was stack.

the man who once painted ezra’s nursery while singing off-key to blues records. the man who kissed your swollen belly every night and whispered promises into your skin. the man who, just a week ago, still sat beside you at dusk to kiss your forehead before the stars took over the sky.

but now?

now he looked like something that didn’t belong in this world. not anymore.

there was blood on his mouth. god, there was fresh blood there and behind him… the crib stood still.

empty.

too motionless.

like the breath had been pulled from the entire room, from the house, from the very walls that once echoed with ezra’s soft gurgles and your laughter.

your hand flew to your mouth, but it didn’t stop the sound that left you.

it wasn’t a scream.

it was something lower. deeper. unprocessed.

a choked moan of grief that clawed up from your gut and collapsed your knees under you.

you hit the floor hard.

the weight of it all—what stack had become, what he’d done—suffocated everything else. you couldn’t move. couldn’t blink.

ezra was gone.

and the man you loved had taken him.

stack inched forward on his knees, hands trembling like he wanted to reach for you, to comfort you—but he didn’t dare touch you.

“i’m still me,” he croaked. “i—i swear, somewhere in here… i’m still me.”

but you didn’t look at him.

you couldn’t.

because your eyes were fixed on that empty crib behind him. a crib that would never hold your baby again.