The AirBnB was quiet like the city was, ground down by the days of Carnival.. The refrigerator motor kicked on and off in the kitchen. Somewhere outside, a car crept by over uneven street, tires hissing on damp pavement. The whole place smelled like stale liquor and something sugary that had been spilled and never wiped up right. Broken vases, bottles and glass littered the house.
Jordan sat sunk into the sofa, legs spread, phone in both hands. He scrolled with his thumb, eyes narrow in focus, then softened at whatever came in from Mireya. It was small, the smile, but it cracked through the leftover irritation he’d been carrying since his siblings had gotten to town.
From the kitchen came the sound of plastic crinkling, then a cap twisting, then a long, miserable swallow.
Grant’s voice floated out, rough and hoarse. “Bro, this shit tastes like ass.”
Lucas answered, even flatter. “We should’ve kept drinking so we didn’t get hungover.”
Jordan didn’t look up. He could picture them. Both of them slumped at the kitchen table with their heads down, the mess of bottles still crowding the counters as if the place had never fully stopped being a party. They’d kept going long after the parade route emptied, long after the city shook itself into Ash Wednesday and kept stumbling into Thursday. Jordan had watched them do it with the same mix of amusement and disgust he’d had his whole life.
He typed back to Mireya and hit send. The three dots appeared, disappeared. He stared at the blank space where her reply would land.
Footsteps thumped on the stairs. The sound hit the steps in a clean rhythm and grew closer until it stopped at the bottom.
Maddy appeared at the edge of the living room, hair neat as always, face composed in that way that made it look like she’d slept eight hours even if she hadn’t. She took one look toward the kitchen and didn’t bother lowering her voice.
“Fucking pathetic.”
Grant groaned, something halfway between a laugh and pain. Lucas didn’t respond at all.
Maddy stepped into the kitchen doorway and looked at them. Two grown men with their expensive clothes wrinkled and their bodies folded in on themselves, clutching bottles of Pedialyte.
She clicked her tongue once and then turned her head toward Lucas. “Did you find your wallet?”
Lucas kept his hand pressed over his eyes. “No.” His voice cracked on the word. He swallowed, then forced it steadier. “I fucking told you that shot girl took it out of my pocket.”
Grant let out a low laugh that ended in a cough. “I told you that you shouldn’t have trusted a girl giving you a shot from her mouth.”
“Shut the fuck up,” Lucas muttered, but there wasn’t any heat in it. He shifted in his chair and winced like his whole spine was sore. “Dad’s already sent me some money to get all the shit replaced when I get back to Chicago later.”
Jordan finally looked up from his phone, eyes cutting toward the kitchen. The thought of their father wiring money over something that happened because Lucas couldn’t hold his liquor made his jaw tighten. He didn’t say anything, just rolled his eyes and looked back down, thumb hovering over the screen.
Maddy walked out of the kitchen and crossed the living room. She dropped onto the couch beside Jordan, close enough that the cushion dipped and pushed his hip a fraction toward the armrest. She draped her arm along the back of the couch behind him. Her gaze slid down immediately, quick and casual, to the phone in his hands.
Jordan shifted the phone without thinking, angled it away, then set it face down on his thigh.
Maddy’s mouth curved. Not a smile. Something sharper. “Where’s your girlfriend?” She squinted. “Maria?”
Jordan lifted his eyes to hers, then let them drop back to his phone, forcing his voice even. “Mireya. She told y’all her name.”
Maddy waved her hand back and forth like the correction was a minor inconvenience. “Same thing. You know I’m not good with names.” She leaned her head back against the cushion. “Is that like fancy Maria? Mireya?”
Jordan exhaled, slow. He didn’t answer that part. He didn’t give her the satisfaction of watching him argue. “She had to work a double last night,” he said, eyes still on his phone, “because she’s taking her kid to see her dad next week.”
Maddy’s head snapped forward. Her eyes widened, then narrowed. “She has a fucking kid?” Her voice carried into the kitchen, and Grant made a noise like he was listening now. “Are you fucking serious, Squirt? You couldn’t find anyone else?”
Jordan’s posture stiffened. He lifted his chin. “Could’ve been your life.”
Maddy laughed, loud and sharp. “No, because I got a fucking abortion like someone with a brain. You better not tell mom and dad that you’re fucking some Mexican girl from New Orleans who has a kid.”
Jordan’s eyes flashed, defensive heat moving up his throat. “They wouldn’t care about her being Mexican.”
Maddy reached over and smacked him in the back of the head, not hard enough to hurt but hard enough to make the point. “It’s the whole thing, dumbass.” She leaned closer, voice dropping just a fraction, but the words still cut. “What are you trying to be stepfather of the year?”
Jordan’s fingers curled around the edge of the phone. He kept his face steady. “You’re being a bitch, but that’s everyday for you.”
Maddy ignored that. She tilted her head, eyes narrowing again. “Where’s the kid’s dad? Don’t tell me in jail. Please don’t tell me jail.”
Jordan shook his head once, quick. “He goes to college in Georgia.”
Maddy blinked. The pause was small, but it was there. Like she’d been ready for one kind of disappointment and got handed another that still fit, just different. Then she huffed a laugh and leaned back, her arm still stretched along the couch.
“So let me get this straight,” she said, dragging the words out, “she’s a single mother, who goes to a cheap school like UNO, baby daddy lives hundreds of miles away but she’s walking around with a fresh set, six hundred dollar Golden Gooses and wearing L’Agence?”
Jordan lifted one shoulder. “She spends a lot of time on Depop.”
Maddy stared at him. Then she laughed again, softer this time, more disbelief than humor. “Depop,” she repeated. She shook her head once. “Have you ever seen her at work?”
Jordan’s mouth tightened. He held his eyes on hers. “No.”
“Why not?”
“She works late at night,” he said, clipped, “when the businesses they clean are closed.”
Maddy rolled her eyes. She lifted her hand and flicked the air like she was swatting a gnat. “Didn’t know taking out trash did such a number on people’s thighs and backs.”
Maddy pushed herself up off the couch. She stretched once, casual, then turned toward the kitchen.
Jordan tracked her with his eyes. “What?” he asked.
Maddy didn’t turn around. She walked into the kitchen, voice tossed over her shoulder. “Mom will be happy to know that you aren’t fucking enough to bring any bastards home.”
Jordan’s stomach dropped in a quick, ugly way. He sat up straighter. “What does that mean?”
Maddy didn’t answer.
She reached Grant at the table, and without slowing she smacked his arm from under his head. His elbow slipped. His chin hit the table with a dull thud.
“Goddamn,” Grant groaned, lifting his head with watery eyes. “What the fuck, Maddy.”
Maddy kept moving, already past him, like the sound didn’t matter.
Jordan stared after her for a second longer than he meant to, throat tight. Then he looked down, flipped his phone back over in his hands.
The screen lit up again.
A new text from Mireya sat there.
~~~
The studio was chilly, the heater out commission and forgotten about until another day when paying customers would be inside. The mirrors along the wall reflected chrome poles and scuffed flooring and five women spread through the space.
Mireya was upside down, her hands and arms locked onto the pole, shoulders carrying all of her weight. Her body hung inverted above the grip, core tight. Her feet almost touched the ceiling tiles, legs moving in exaggerated steps as she moved around the pole.
She walked that way, upside down and in the air, as if the ceiling were the floor. There was no rush in it, no shaking, no scramble for balance. She seemed as comfortable as would be on the hard wood below.
Drawing her legs inward, she wrapped her thighs around the pole, then released her hands and spread them outward, pulling her upper body away from the chrome.
For a brief instant, she looked down at the floor.
Then she dropped fast, sliding down the length of the pole, hands flared out wide before snapping back to catch herself just before the floor. The momentum carried through her body as she rolled against the pole and onto her feet, settling into a low squat. She spun around at the bottom of the pole on the floor and popped her ass a few times.
Against the wall beneath the mirror, Jaslene and Alejandra clapped exaggeratedly, tacos balanced between them on a paper plate.
“Damn,” Jaslene said. “Siempre tan sexy.”
Hayley leaned against the far wall, one shoulder pressed against it, phone up in her hand. Her thumbs kept moving, but her eyes flicked up long enough to catch the end of the drop before returning to the screen. Sydney stood a few feet from the nearest pole, arms folded tight across her hoodie, watching like she’d just seen someone step off something too high and survive.
Jaslene tipped her chin toward Mireya. “Remember when she was scared to get up there?”
Alejandra laughed around a bite of tortilla. “That was before she learned doing shit like that makes the money.”
Mireya smiled as she let herself slide back to sit against the pole, spine resting against the cool metal. “Solo estás enfadado porque ya no eres el único que puede hacer esta mierda.”
Alejandra snorted. “I’m not bothered.” She wiped her fingers on a napkin. “They still love me more because I take it in the ass and don’t complain.”
The room broke into laughter. Jaslene bent forward, nearly tipping the plate. Hayley threw her head back, phone forgotten for a second. Mireya laughed with them, shoulders shaking, breath loose.
Sydney’s mouth fell open. She looked from Alejandra to Jaslene to Mireya, still green around them.
Jaslene wiped at her eyes and gestured toward the open pole nearest Sydney. “Okay, chiquita. Your turn. You can’t just keep swaying around the pole and expect to keep making money.”
Sydney shifted her weight. “I don’t trust myself to catch the pole before I hit the floor.”
Hayley pushed off the wall slightly, eyes finally leaving her phone. “You don’t have to do all that,” she said, nodding toward Mireya. “But you should know how to keep the pole spinning at least.”
Sydney hesitated, then said, “C.J. was telling me that her go-to is to just get naked as fast as possible then just stay around the rail.”
Alejandra let out a sharp laugh. “That’s why all of them have to go to work every night.” She shook her head. “Nadie tira la plata to them. Don’t listen to them.”
Mireya stretched one leg out, rolling her ankle once. “I don’t know. A lot of these motherfuckers love the white girls.”
“Hey!” Hayley shouted from across the room.
Mireya laughed immediately. “Sorry, girl, but it’s true. Y’all don’t have to do as much.”
Hayley pressed a hand to her chest like she’d been personally wounded. “I’ll have you know that I throw ass with the best of them. Don’t lump me in with C.J., Brooke, and Maren.”
Jaslene looked back at Sydney. “What she’s saying is stay inside for a couple weeks and dye your hair blonde then you can just put the chucha in their face, no dancing.”
Sydney laughed, shaking her head. “I don’t think that will work.”
She glanced at Mireya. “You haven’t been doing this that long. How’d you get good so fast?”
Mireya shrugged. “I like that I’m good at it. Can’t say that about too many things in my life. If I didn’t want to be a nurse, I’d be okay dancing.”
Alejandra waved her hand sharply. “Basta ya. Enough with the sappy shit.” She pointed to Mireya. “Get your ass back up on that pole, puta, and show her something else to make her jealous enough to try.”
Sydney shook her head. “I don’t think that works like that.”
Mireya just shook hers, already standing. She took a couple steps back, eyes narrowing on the pole, body settling into focus. Then she launched herself forward, caught the pole with one hand, and spun, throwing her legs into Vs to twist her body around as she went.
~~~
Ava sat against the headboard with her laptop open across her thighs, legs bent and angled toward Saul. The screen glowed steadily, the brightness adjusted low enough that it didn’t strain her eyes. She scrolled carefully, stopping to reread each section before making small changes, fingers moving with the concentration of someone who knew mistakes mattered. The room was quiet except for the soft clicking of keys and the faint hum of the air vent pushing warm air through the house.
Her bedroom was familiar and settled, the kind of space that hadn’t been rethought in years. The furniture matched. The dresser drawers closed smoothly. A bookshelf along one wall held a mix of novels, old school binders, and framed photos leaned casually against the spines.
Saul sat beside her on the bed, close enough that their shoulders brushed when she shifted. He leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on his knees, hands clasped together. He watched the screen even though he didn’t fully understand what she was adjusting, eyes following her movements with quiet attention. Every so often he glanced at her face instead, checking her expression before looking back down.
Ava scrolled again, paused, then exhaled. Without looking up, she asked, “Have you decided if you’re going to college?”
Saul’s hands tightened briefly before he answered. “I decided I ain’t,” he said. “I probably couldn’t get in anyway.”
She finally turned her head toward him, eyebrows lifting just enough to show she didn’t agree. “It’s not that hard to get into college as long as you’re not trying to go to Tulane.”
He leaned back on his hands and stared at the ceiling for a moment, jaw set. “Yeah,” he said. “But I’d rather go later if I want to go and go get a job so you can focus on school if you want.”
Ava pressed her lips together, the muscles in her face tightening before she caught herself. She closed the laptop slightly so the screen dimmed but didn’t shut off, then shifted her body so she was facing him more directly.
“Saul, you have to stop worrying about that,” she said. “I’m going to be fine. We’re going to be fine.”
He shook his head once. “That’s easy to say now,” he said. “In six, seven months, it ain’t gonna be.”
Ava held his gaze, steady. “I don’t want you to start resenting us because you had to give up on your dreams to support me.”
He moved closer without thinking, sliding his arm around her shoulders. His hand settled there naturally, thumb resting against her sleeve. “I’d never,” he said. “I didn’t want to go to college anyway. That’s why I got a 2.2 GPA.” He shrugged slightly. “Since, you know, Cs getting degrees and all that.”
Ava laughed and shook her head. “Lord Jersus.”
He smiled at that, small but sincere, and squeezed her shoulder once.
The laptop chimed.
Both of them looked down. Ava reopened it fully, eyes flicking to the notification that had popped up at the top of her inbox. She clicked it without hesitation. The email loaded, text filling the screen.
Saul leaned in closer, eyes going straight to the bottom where the total sat bold and unavoidable. He let out a low whistle. “And you said I don’t need to worry.”
Ava glanced at the number, then shrugged. “My dad’s insurance pays most of this.”
She leaned back slightly and looked toward the doorway, listening for a moment to the sounds of the house beyond her room. After a beat, she shifted forward and began to stand.
“Let me go make sure my mom got this, too,” she said.
She rose carefully, one hand braced on the mattress as she pushed herself up, moving with the caution that had become instinctive. Saul watched her cross the room, his arm falling away as she stepped past him. She paused briefly in the doorway, then continued down the hall, calling for her mom as she went.
Saul stayed where he was. The bed dipped slightly when she left, the space beside him suddenly empty. He looked back at the laptop screen, eyes returning to the email, to the numbers that now seemed heavier without her sitting there.
He swallowed, chest tightening as he stared at the total, the quiet of the room pressing in while the sound of Ava’s voice faded down the hall and the dread settled deep in his gut.
~~~
Ant shut the engine off and sat still for half a second, eyes forward, hands resting loose on the wheel. Trell opened his door first and stepped out, the cold hitting his face in a dull, familiar way. The air stayed heavy, damp enough to cling to clothes, enough to settle into bones if you let it.
Ant followed him out, locking the car with a short chirp that cut through the quiet street.
The house sat back from the road just enough to give the yard a clean line, grass cut even despite the season, bushes trimmed down to low, rounded shapes. The place looked watched.
Ant slowed and lifted his hand, pointing down the street without stopping. “That’s his bitch’s house.”
Trell followed the gesture. The house Ant pointed to sagged under its own neglect. One shutter hung loose, banging faintly when the breeze moved through. A chain-link fence leaned forward at the corner, posts pulling up from the ground. The gate sat half open.
Trell shook his head once. “Got his baby mama and his kids living in fucking squalor,” he said. “Nasty work.”
Ant snorted under his breath. “Yeah,” he said. “Some niggas ain’t got their priorities in order.”
Before either of them stepped up on the porch, the front door opened hard. A young man came out fast, shirtless despite the cold, breath puffing faint white as he stopped at the top of the steps. His chest and arms were crowded with ink, every piece loud, every line deliberate. Gang affiliations filled the space. He planted his feet wide and looked down at them.
“Who y’all niggas is?” he said.
Trell stopped at the first step and looked up at him, calm, unbothered. “You Shad brother, huh?” he asked. “Kam?”
Kam’s chin lifted. “Yeah,” he said. “That’s me. Fuck y’all want with Shad?”
“Tell my boy his boss here,” Trell said.
Kam laughed sharp. “Boss?” he said. “What you mean boss, nigga?”
Ant’s hand slid under his hoodie. “Just go get him, lil’ nigga.”
Kam took two steps down off the porch, slides hitting concrete hard. “I’m really like that, yeah,” he said. “Whazzam, bitch?”
Ant pulled the gun free in one smooth motion and thumbed the hammer back. The click was clean and loud in the quiet street. “Shit,” he said. “You ain’t saying nothing but a word.”
Trell glanced sideways and lifted his hand, palm out, moving it back and forth once.
Ant held Kam’s stare for a beat longer, then slid the gun back into his waistband, the motion just as smooth as when he drew it. His face didn’t change.
Before Kam could say another word, the door flew open again. Shad came running out, hopping as he yanked one shoe on, dragging the other behind him.
“My bad,” Shad said, breathless. “I was in the shower.”
Kam turned on him immediately. “Who these niggas?”
“I work for him,” Shad said.
Kam stared like he didn’t believe it. “You ain’t trying to clique up with 110 but you cliquing up with random motherfuckers?”
Trell didn’t wait. He turned back toward the street, already moving, gesturing once toward the car. “Come on, lil’ brudda,” he said. “Y’all can argue about this later. We got shit to do.”
Shad hesitated a fraction of a second, then shrugged at Kam, a look that was half apology and half finality. He jogged after Trell and Ant as Ant unlocked the car again.
They all got into the car and Ant started it up, pulling away from the curb slowly. Kam stood in the yard, watching them as they went.
Trell leaned back against the seat and looked out the window as they passed the broken house. The curtain twitched, then fell back into place.
He looked over his shoulder at Shad. “You been doing good these last couple months.”
Shad nodded, a small smile breaking through. “Thanks, big bro,” he said. “I’m just trying to learn the ins and outs of everything.”
Trell glanced at Ant. Ant shrugged, eyes never leaving the road.
“Yeah,” Trell said. “We can see that. Especially on this Boogie shit. You showing you know how to keep your mouth shut. And doing that even though he put you on. Some niggas feel more loyalty to those kind of niggas instead of the family.”
Shad shook his head. “Can’t trust them niggas.”
Trell chuckled. “Not at all.”
~~~
The couch sagged slightly in the middle where Caine sat, his back settled into it. Laney straddled his lap, knees on either side of his hips, the magazine spread flat across her thighs as she worked the paper between her fingers.
She leaned forward just enough that her hair brushed his shoulder while she broke the weed up, methodical, unhurried. Caine watched her without saying anything at first, his palms resting at her waist. His thumbs traced slow circles on the strip of skin just above the waistband of her panties. It was idle and familiar and deliberate.
“Who knew,” he said, voice low and even, “that all it would take was for some felon to come rolling into town for you to turn into Lane Dogg.”
Laney rolled her eyes without looking up. She tipped the magazine slightly to keep the weed from spilling, then licked the edge of the paper and sealed it with a smooth pass of her thumb.
“No,” she said, “I just ain’t have nothin’ stressin’ me out like you fuckin’ do.”
The corner of her mouth curved as she said it. The smile stayed there, soft and knowing, and that was enough. Caine’s grip tightened just a touch. He let out a quiet breath through his nose.
She lifted the joint to her lips and reached back for the lighter on the armrest without looking. The flame flared, then steadied. She took two short pulls, cheeks hollowing slightly, then one longer one. When she handed it to him, her fingers brushed his knuckles on purpose.
Caine took it and leaned back, eyes half-lidded as he inhaled. He held it for a beat, then shook his head as he exhaled. “This some shit weed, by the way,” he said. “Like actually terrible.”
Laney laughed. “You think Rylee able to get good shit?” she said. “She probably gettin’ this from some dude who ask her to suck his dick instead of payin’ him.”
Caine huffed and tipped his head to the side. “Can’t re-up from your plug if you gave away all the work for head.”
She took the joint back, tapping the ash into an empty cup on the table. “That what you learned in the streets of New Orleans?”
He took another pull when she offered it, eyes on the ceiling now. “We ain’t sell nothin’ to suburban white girls,” he said. “And for damn sure not no nicks and dimes.”
“My bad, Pablo Escobar,” Laney said, laughing again. “I ain’t know I was fuckin’ such a well connected man.”
Caine smirked, finally looking back at her. “Now, you know.”
They settled into a rhythm after that. The joint passed from hand to hand, smoke curling up toward the ceiling fan that wasn’t turned on. Neither of them rushed it. Laney shifted slightly on his lap, adjusting her weight, her thigh pressing closer against his side. Caine’s hands stayed where they were, thumbs still moving.
For a while, there was nothing but the sound of their breathing and the faint noise of a car passing outside. The joint burned down between their fingers. Ash fell again into the cup.
“You know,” Caine said eventually, looking down at what was left of it, “I been thinking’ next season and shit.”
Laney tilted her head. “What ’bout it?”
He watched the paper darken as it burned. “I don’t know why everyone always talks about me like I got to transfer,” he said. “Like I can’t just stay here with the school that put they neck on the line for me in the first place.”
She listened, her hands resting on his shoulders now instead of his chest. “Ain’t nothin’ wrong with showin’ some loyalty,” she said. “If everyone else pulled out, I’d go with the people who didn’t.”
Caine snorted before he could stop himself. “That was crazy.”
Laney stared at him for a second, brows drawing together. Then it clicked. Her hand came back, the back of it landing against his chest with a light slap. “You fuckin’ nasty.”
He laughed, the sound breaking out of him easy. “I guess that’s why you stick with me,” he said, “’cause you know I ain’t doing’ that. Pullout game non-existent.”
She rolled her eyes, but the smile didn’t leave. “Movin’ on,” she said. “So what? You not wantin’ to transfer anymore.”
Caine shrugged, the motion small. “I don’t know yet,” he said. “I just don’t know why everyone talk about it like it guaranteed. It ain’t 1974. If I’m gonna get to the NFL, it doesn’t matter where I’m playing’.” He paused, then added, “I just think if everyone put more into being’ a little more loyal, we wouldn’t have the problems we got out here.”
Laney nodded, letting the words sit between them. She lifted her hand and gestured lightly from him to herself. “You get there some irony here after you sayin’ that, right?”
Caine smiled again. “I ain’t say nothing’ about blind loyalty,” he said. “That shit gotta be earned.”
She didn’t answer. Instead, she leaned forward just enough to grab her phone from the cushion beside him. The screen lit her face for a second as she tapped it. “I got thirty minutes,” she said, glancing back up at him, “before I gotta go get the boys.”
Caine’s smirk came back slow. “Well, then. We better make use of that.”
Laney smiled and slid off his lap onto the couch next to him, leaning down toward his waist, her hand slipping into his shorts.