Caine sat back in Laney’s chair like it belonged to him, one ankle resting on his knee. The chair creaked a little when he leaned, not enough to complain, just enough to remind him it wasn’t built for idle weight. He spun the keys around his finger, the metal flashing dull silver each time they came around. The shed key was heavier than the rest. It made the ring dip and correct itself every rotation.
Laney stood to his left, hip against the edge of the desk, arms braced behind her palms flat on the wood. Her blouse pulled tight across her chest when she leaned back like that. She watched the keys spin for a second before looking down at him.
“You know,” Caine said, voice even, casual, “we could get a lot more fucking in if you’d tell your brother-in-law he can’t work here anymore.”
Laney rolled her eyes, but there was a smile playing at the corner of her mouth. She dropped her chin, looking at him through her lashes. “It’d be real fuckin’ suspicious if I suddenly told Blake he ain’t got a job here no more, don’t you think?”
Caine shrugged, the chair shifting under him. The keys never stopped moving. “Just tell his ass to go take a piss test. I know he gonna piss dirty. His ass probably doing the purest China white right now.”
“They say they gettin’ clean,” Laney said. Her voice softened just a hair on the word say. “Tryin’ to anyway.”
Caine tilted his head, watching her face instead of the ceiling now. “I believe ol’ girl might be tryin’.”
Laney’s brows pulled together. “Nevaeh,” she said, correcting him without heat.
“Nevaeh,” he repeated, nodding once. “She worried ’bout doin’ the right thing for her lil’ one. I don’t know if I see Blake’s ass doin’ that. That motherfucker got lifelong junkie written all over him.”
Laney opened her mouth, ready with something to respond with, then closed it again. She pushed off the desk and turned halfway, then back. She sighed, long and tired, and shook her head.
“Maybe so,” she said. “But I cain’t do nothin’ but take him at his word and hope he keep it.”
The keys slowed. Caine let them dangle once, then started them again. He didn’t argue it.
A car door slammed outside. The sound carried clear through the thin glass.
Caine leaned back farther and reached up, flipping one blind just enough to peek through. The parking lot shimmered pale with sun. Mrs. Ethel was easing out of her sedan, purse tucked tight under her arm as she made her way toward the daycare entrance.
He dropped the blind and pushed the chair back. It scraped once against the floor. He stood, keys going still in his hand, and looked down at Laney.
“I’m gonna see you later?” he asked.
She tipped her head up to him, nodding. “I’ll come by your apartment later ’fore I gotta go get the boys.”
Caine smiled and leaned down, catching her mouth with his. Laney melted into it, her hand coming up to his chest, fingers spreading there. She pushed him back just enough to break it, smiling as she did.
“Go on now,” she said. “You know Mrs. Ethel always come in here askin’ me if I want coffee.”
Caine lifted both hands, palms out. “I’m going, I’m going.”
He took two steps toward the door, then stopped. Turned back.
“Rylee been acting weird lately,” he said. “What’s up with her?”
Laney turned away from him, straightening the folders she’d shifted earlier to lean on the desk. She tapped the stack square, once, then again. A soft laugh slipped out of her.
“’Cause she wanna be with you,” she said.
Caine’s mouth twitched. “I ain’t gonna turn down the chance to have her on the side for when you busy,” he said. “But you don’t seem too bothered by that.”
Laney moved around the desk and sat, smoothing her skirt under her thighs. She crossed her legs slow, deliberate. “’Cause I know my sister,” she said. “She gonna get over that by the end of spring. That girl scared to date.”
Caine raised an eyebrow. “What you want me to do until then?”
Laney shrugged, already turning slightly toward her computer. “I told her not to mess with you last year when y’all had that thing,” she said. “’Cause you got a kid and everythin’. That ain’t stop her. And I cain’t exactly say don’t do it now ’cause he mine.” She glanced back at him. “So unless you wanna shut it down now, you gotta wait it out.”
Caine lifted his hands again. “Alright. Just wanted to put it out there.”
Laney’s fingers hovered over the keyboard for a second, then she stopped. She turned fully back to him, eyes narrowing.
“You bet not fuck her, Caine.”
He shook his head, a low laugh slipping out of him. “Why would I wanna do that,” he said, “when I got the more experienced sister addicted to the dick?”
Laney sucked her teeth and waved him off with two fingers. “Bye, Caine.”
He laughed, hand already on the door. He opened it slow, listening to the hallway, then slipped out and pulled it closed behind him as quietly as he could. His footsteps faded down the hall.
~~~
The restaurant sat low and wide off the highway, the kind of place that caught soldiers on their way in and out of town and families who didn’t feel like cooking after work. Booths lined the walls, their backs worn smooth and cracked from years of bodies sliding in and out. The air smelled old. Outside the windows, late morning traffic rolled by slow and steady, sunlight flashing across windshields.
Tommy sat with his back to the window, shoulders squared. His name tape was stitched clean across his chest, edges frayed just enough to show it had been washed too many times. He rested one forearm on the table, fingers loose, the other hand curled around a sweating glass of water.
Across from him, Claire lifted her own glass and took a measured sip. She didn’t rush it. Her eyes stayed on him over the rim, unblinking, assessing. When she lowered the glass, she wiped the faint lipstick mark from the edge with her thumb, a small, tidy motion, then set it down carefully on the coaster.
Tommy noticed.
He raised an eyebrow. “What’s on your mind?”
Claire leaned forward slightly, forearms coming to rest on the table. The movement closed the space between them. “Remember when you told me you were only going to do your four years and then get out?”
Tommy’s gaze dropped before he could stop it. His eyes flicked to the stitched letters on his chest. When he looked back up, his mouth pulled into something that wasn’t quite a smile.
“That’s when I thought that’d get you to not leave me,” he said. He shrugged, one shoulder lifting. “Seemed worth a try.”
Claire shook her head once, slow. “Seems to me you’re misremembering what I said. I said—”
“That you were leaving if I enlisted at all,” Tommy cut in.
Claire’s eyebrows lifted. Not high. Just enough. “Don’t do that.”
He lifted his hand immediately, palm out between them. He didn’t look away. “Habit.”
She leaned back into her seat, the vinyl creaking softly under her weight. She crossed her legs at the knee, posture composed, voice calm. “You’ve picked up a lot of bad habits with her since the last time.”
Tommy snorted under his breath. “You’d know that’s part of being married if you’d finally let someone put a ring on your finger.”
Claire laughed, a short sound that didn’t carry far beyond the table. “I’d hope it’s not part of marriage that your spouse brings out the worst in you.” She tilted her head. “You should’ve never married her and you know it.”
Tommy didn’t take his eyes off her. “Shouldn’t have done a lot of shit I did in my younger days.”
“I know you’re not going to divorce her,” Claire said. She didn’t phrase it as a question.
Tommy’s jaw tightened, then relaxed. “Boys need their father in the house.”
Claire studied him for a beat, eyes moving across his face. “Then why don’t you let her do what she wants and you do what you want?” she asked. “You were willing to do that before.”
Tommy’s fingers curled tighter around the glass. His voice came out strained, irritation bleeding through the control he usually kept tight.
“Because she goes out there and fucking embarrasses me.” He paused, eyes flicking to the other tables, to the couple near the window, to the group of soldiers two booths down. His voice dropped when he continued. “Imagine her getting knocked up by one of those ni—”
He stopped himself. Looked around again before finishing, quieter and sharper. “One of those motherfuckers that she likes. Absolutely fucking not.”
Claire snorted, leaning back farther. “So, if she’d just fuck white men then we wouldn’t be having this problem?”
Tommy lifted his glass and took a long drink, buying himself a second. He set it down harder than he meant to. “It’d be a hell of a lot easier to stomach the chances that I’d have to explain where a little blonde boy came from than where a little black boy came from.”
Claire shook her head, lips pressing together before she spoke. “Men and their egos.”
Tommy still didn’t look away. “Yeah,” he said. “Well, I can’t be anything but honest.”
~~~
Jordan’s couch dipped under their combined weight, cushions already warm from the way they’d been pressed together. Mireya straddled his lap, knees planted on either side of his hips, her hands at the back of his neck, fingers threaded into his hair. The apartment smelled faintly of laundry detergent and something citrusy. Outside the window, traffic passed in a steady wash of sound, tires hissing on pavement, a horn blaring somewhere farther off and then cutting out.
Jordan’s hands were at her waist, thumbs brushing the skin where her shirt had ridden up. She kissed him again, slower this time, dragging it out until she felt his breath change. When she pulled back just enough to tug her shirt up and over her head, the fabric snagged for a second on her hair before coming free. She tossed it aside without looking.
Jordan’s eyes dropped immediately. He leaned in, mouth finding her collarbone, one hand sliding up her back. His fingers found the clasp of her bra, already working it loose by feel.
“Wait,” Mireya said, breath catching despite herself. She pressed a palm to his chest, stopping him. “I got you something.”
Jordan leaned back against the cushions and ran his free hand through his hair, pushing it off his forehead. He looked at her with a crooked smile, half amused, half annoyed. “That can’t wait? I like what I got right here.”
She shook her head, already climbing off his lap. The loss of her weight made the couch shift, cushions rebounding as she stood. She walked over to her backpack where it leaned against the wall by the small dining table. She bent at the waist and started to unzip it slowly, deliberate.
Jordan’s gaze didn’t follow her hands. It stayed fixed on her, on the curve of her ass, the way her jeans pulled tight as she bent. He didn’t bother pretending otherwise.
She glanced back at him and caught him staring. Her mouth tipped into a smile. “Close your eyes.”
He blew out a breath and leaned his head back, one arm thrown over the back of the couch. “You’re killing me, Mireya.”
She laughed softly, the sound light, unforced. The zipper rasped open the rest of the way. She reached inside and pulled out the shoebox, lifting it with both hands before straightening. She walked back over, set it down on the couch, then climbed back onto his lap, knees settling where they had been before.
“Alright,” she said, shifting her weight until she was comfortable. “You can open your eyes now.”
Jordan opened them and froze for half a second when he saw the box. He leaned forward, reaching for it. He lifted one of the shoes out, turning it in his hands, whistling low.
“Damn,” he said. “You got me some nines? These are like three hundred dollars.”
Mireya shrugged, watching his face more than the shoes. “You’re always looking at shoes. You got like fifty pairs in your room.” She paused. “One of the girls at work was talking about getting her man a pair, so I figured I’d treat you too.”
He looked up at her then, one eyebrow lifting. “Oh, I’m your man, huh?”
She rolled her eyes and ignored the question completely. “You like ’em?”
Jordan nodded immediately. “Of course.” He hesitated, the shoe still in his hands. “But you didn’t have to spend all this on me.”
“I wanted to,” she said. “Just consider it a birthday present.”
He put the shoe back with its pair and set the box aside on the couch, careful with them even as he reached for her. He pulled her down into a kiss, one hand firm at her lower back. She kissed him back, then pulled away before it could deepen.
“Where’s Kobe?” she asked. “I haven’t been seeing him when I come over.”
Jordan dropped his head back against the cushions, a laugh slipping out of him. “You know what you’re doing.”
She shook her head, smirk already there. She leaned down toward him but stayed just out of reach, her hair brushing his cheek. “Your siblings get to town yet?”
He opened his eyes and looked at her, assessing. “You really want to talk about everything right now, huh?”
“We got time,” she said easily. “I don’t have class for another two hours.”
“That means we can talk after,” he said.
She leaned back into a sitting position, hands resting on his shoulders. “So your siblings?”
“Nah,” he said. “They’re getting in on Thursday.” He watched her closely. “Did you decide if you’re going to let me introduce you to them?”
There was the briefest pause. A flicker that passed through her expression and was gone just as fast.
“Yeah,” she said. “I’ll meet them. I have to work most of the weekend, but I can meet y’all Tuesday for Zulu and Rex.”
Jordan smiled, the corner of his mouth pulling up. “Almost makes me think you’re waiting for them to get plastered for five days so you know you’ll make a good impression.”
She shrugged, grin widening. “That’s exactly what I’m doing.”
He shook his head, laughing. “Alright,” he said. “We’ve talked. Enough talking now.”
He lifted her easily and flipped them in one smooth motion so she was laid back against the couch and he was between her legs, hands braced on either side of her. She laughed through the whole thing, loud and real, the sound filling the room and bleeding out into the hum of the city beyond the walls.
~~~
Trell stood at the dresser with his weight shifted onto one leg, the hardwood cool under his shoes. The bedroom was quiet in that contained way that came from good walls and a house built to keep sound where it belonged. The light coming in through the window hit clean, bouncing off polished surfaces and pale fabric.
He picked up the framed picture and tilted it slightly, studying it from an angle. Cass stood in the middle, arm hooked around Peanut’s waist, her smile wide and easy. Peanut leaned into her, chin lifted, already wearing the look he always had when he thought he was untouchable. Lil’ Peanut sat in front of them, gap-toothed and proud.
Trell snorted under his breath.
“Pussy ass nigga,” he said, more amused than angry.
He set the frame back down where it had been, nudging it so it lined up with the edge of the dresser, then straightened just as the bathroom door opened.
Cass stepped out wearing an open robe and nothing else, fabric falling loose against her sides, skin bare underneath. Her hair was damp at the ends, curling slightly where it brushed her shoulders. She walked across the room without rushing and sat on the ottoman at the foot of the bed, leaning back until her shoulders rested against the mattress. The robe parted as she settled, one knee lifting slightly before she let her legs fall open again, comfortable in her own space.
“You got to get out of here before Lil’ P get home,” she said.
Trell turned, leaning his elbow against the dresser, posture easy. His eyes passed over her without apology, slow and deliberate. “That boy done seen me in here a million times,” he said. “I’m basically that lil’ nigga uncle.”
Cass rolled her eyes. “He got uncles,” she said. “He don’t need no more of ’em.”
She shifted her legs, adjusting her position on the ottoman before continuing. “I heard Stevie and them coming down here for Carnival.”
Trell’s eyebrow lifted. “How you know that?”
“You keep forgetting I been in this,” Cass said. “Stevie love me. As soon as they decided they was making the trip, he texted me.”
Trell laughed, pushing off the dresser just enough to stand straighter. “I guess that pussy got some power on it, huh?”
Cass looked at him flat. “Look how it got you standing in my bedroom just looking at it.”
The room went still for a beat. Trell didn’t answer right away. He let the words sit where she put them, eyes steady on her, mouth tugging at the corner.
“So,” he said finally, “that mean you wanna be in the room when Stevie in town?”
Cass tipped her head. “Y’all discussing business?”
Trell shook his head. “I ain’t plan on it. Just trying to show them a good time to smooth over problems.” He shifted his stance, one foot crossing in front of the other. “I already gotta go out to Montgomery for that. I don’t want to be worried about Jackson.”
Cass nodded slowly. Then she looked back up at him. “You gonna have your little Mexican there?”
“Yep,” Trell said. “She don’t talk as much as you do. Just do what she’s told.”
Cass laughed once, sharp. “Because she work for you and I don’t.”
Trell sucked his teeth. “She my bitch. She don’t work for me.” He tilted his head. “You closer to that than she is.”
Cass shook her head. “Don’t let me get in the way of you defending a bitch you slutting out to every nigga in the city.”
Trell shrugged. “Ain’t Peanut have you busting it open for every nigga in the Southeast?” he asked. “Seemed like a good idea so I took it.”
Cass’s jaw tightened. “You could’ve just asked me to do that,” she said. “You ain’t need to go find some bitch scared of being around hood niggas.”
Trell laughed, the sound easy. “Maybe,” he said. “But her shit tighter and she give better head.”
Cass sucked her teeth. “Now I know you lying, nigga.”
Trell lifted both hands. “Maybe.”
He reached for his phones on the dresser, stacking them in his palm, then turned and headed toward the door. His hand was already on the handle when Cass spoke again.
“Trell.”
He stopped and turned around.
“Where you going?” she asked.
“Business,” he said.
Cass waved the answer away with one hand. “I want some dick.”
Trell smirked. He walked back to the dresser and put his phones back down.
Fuck you think she is, nigga? Mary? About to have some immaculate conception out here? 
Anyway, why a shoe gotta drop? 
Chick tells you she has a job that she's always at. Why would you just assume it's something untoward? Imagine flipping out on your girl because you think she's doing something shady and her ass an overnight stocker at Wal-Mart. Now, you look dumb.