The sun sat heavy on the block, pressed down on the roofs and the wires and the heads of everybody standing around. Heat bounced off the concrete and off the hoods of parked cars, turning the air into a slow shimmer. A Bluetooth speaker leaned in somebody’s window spilled a lazy beat into the street, bass low, snare soft. A bottle clinked against another somewhere behind them.
Ramon stood with his shoulder leaned into a post. Tyree and E.J. were a step out in front, talking like they always did when there wasn’t anything to do but be seen.
Tyree’s hands worked while he talked, cutting shapes in the air. “I’m telling you, she came out the back wearing just some draws, bruh. Bitch was creaming in them panties behind a nigga.”
E.J. laughed and shook his head, smoke sliding out of the corner of his mouth. “You always lying on your dick, nigga. Only thing you walking in on is Netflix and your hand.”
A couple of the other boys on the block chuckled. Ramon let a small smile pull at one side of his mouth and then let it go. His eyes kept moving. Cars rolled slow past the corner, one after another. A bike clicked by, back tire a little crooked. Further down, an auntie dragged a trash can back from the curb, flip flops slapping the cracked walk.
The porch sat up off the sidewalk, boards dulled to a gray that held old heat. Duke sat in the middle chair, leaned back just enough to look relaxed without looking sloppy. His elbows rested easy on the arms, fingers working something in his lap out of sight. Kevin was on his right side, chair tipped forward on its front legs, forearms on his thighs, cigarette between two fingers.
Duke took his time before he spoke. When he did, he didn’t raise his voice. “Ay. Ramon. Tyree. E.J. Come here.”
The words slid over the music and the small talk. Tyree cut his story off mid-sentence. E.J. tapped ash, then flicked the butt toward the gutter. Ramon pushed off the post.
They stepped up onto the porch, the boards creaking under the new weight. Duke’s gaze moved over each of them, cool and steady.
He dug into his pocket and pulled out a small roll of bills. Rubber bands bit tight into the middle. He snapped one off in his palm, then another, then another, and tossed a roll at each chest one at a time.
“Y’all been putting in work with them runs to Atlanta,” Duke said. “Making sure shit straight when y’all get back. I see that.”
“Appreciate it,” Ramon said.
“Appreciate you, big brudda,” Tyree echoed, grin wide as he weighed the money with his fingers.
“Good looking out,” E.J. added.
Kevin took a pull from his cigarette and blew the smoke off to the side. Duke gave a small nod that closed the moment. “Go on. Keep doing what y’all doing.”
They turned, the three of them stepping back off the porch. Tyree was already peeling his rubber band back, curious about the count. E.J. tucked his roll into the pocket of his jeans, fingers pressing it down past his phone.
“Ramon,” Duke called, voice the same as before.
Ramon stopped at the bottom step. He turned and came back up the steps, shoulders easy, face giving nothing away.
He stopped in front of the porch rail and waited.
Duke watched him a second before he spoke. “What you been looking for Junebug for?”
Ramon moved one shoulder in a slow shrug. “My girl wanted to know who he was,” he said. “Because of something he did to one of his girls.”
Kevin shifted in his chair. The legs came down flat on the boards with a quiet thump. He leaned forward, elbows digging into his thighs, cigarette hanging between two fingers. His eyes were on Ramon now.
“Your girl ain’t trying to go to the police, huh?” Kevin asked. “You know we don’t tolerate no snitching, lil brudda.”
Ramon shook his head once. “I told her there’s only one way that problem get solved,” he said. “She know the deal.”
He didn’t add any more on it.
Duke sucked his teeth, quiet and annoyed, but not surprised. “I ain’t got no love for him or his paw,” he said. “Neither his uncle. All them niggas just parasites. Take advantage of our sisters when they down bad.”
He let his gaze cut back to Ramon. “But I need you to cut that shit out.”
Ramon lifted an eyebrow, not high, just enough to show he heard the shift. “He ain’t cliqued up with nobody last I checked,” he said. “Not even 110.”
Kevin tapped ash over the edge of the porch and shook his head. “That’s the problem with you new niggas,” he said. “Y’all don’t never think about how shit ripple through. If we telling you to pump the brakes on that, then there’s a reason we telling you. That’s all there is to it. You heard me?”
Ramon’s face stayed still. Then he dipped his chin once. “Yeah,” he said. “I heard you.”
Duke watched him another beat, weighing whether he believed him. Whatever he saw must have been enough. He nodded back, slow.
“Hit up Ant next week,” Duke said. “They need some extra hands for something they gotta take care of.”
“They on now?” Ramon asked.
Duke sucked his teeth again. “Kev just said this,” he said. “You ain’t only gotta work with niggas flying the same soulja rags as you. We getting money with them. Just help them take care of it. You, Tyree, E.J. Take Zo too if y’all need one more.”
Ramon let that sit in his chest. He nodded once. “Alright.”
Kevin leaned back again, chair tipping on its back legs, attention drifting out to the block like the conversation was already done. Duke lifted his chin toward the stairs in a small dismissal.
Ramon turned and stepped down off the porch. The heat caught him again as soon as his feet hit the cracked walk. Tyree had his roll open in his palm now, lips moving while he counted. E.J. was posting up on the rail at the edge of the yard, eyes halfway on the street, halfway on Ramon coming back.
“What that was about?” E.J. asked when Ramon reached them.
Ramon slid his own roll into his pocket, hand resting over it just long enough to flatten it against his thigh. “Make sure y’all schedules clear next week,” he said.
Tyree sucked his teeth and shook his head, laugh low in his chest. “Guess we going on a drill,” he said.
Ramon didn’t answer. He let his eyes run the block one more time, took in the cars, the wires, the burning tip of Kevin’s cigarette on the porch behind him. The beat from the speaker rolled on.
~~~
The drive up had burned the last of the morning cool out of the air. By the time they pulled into the public lot near Coligny, the sun sat high enough to bleach the tops of the palms and throw flat heat off the cars. Caine cut the engine and let his hand rest on the wheel a second, watching Laney scan the rows.
She had taken her time picking the spot, easing through once already to find a corner away from clusters of minivans with Georgia tags. Now her eyes moved over the lot again, checking faces, checking plates, making sure nobody from Statesboro had the same idea she did.
“See anybody you know?” Caine asked, voice easy.
Laney snorted. “Ain’t nobody drivin’ all the way out here this time of year,” she said. “That’s why I picked it.”
She opened her door, and the sound of the beach slid in. Distant waves. Kids yelling. Somebody’s Bluetooth speaker carrying something soft and old across the parking lot. She tugged her tote out from the back seat, shoulder already damp under the strap.
Caine came around to her side with their small cooler in one hand and the folded towels tucked under his arm. He locked the car and fell in at her shoulder as they followed the wooden walkover toward the dunes.
The boards flexed under their steps, sand dusted across them in thin sheets. Laney kept her sunglasses on and her chin set. From the corner of his eye, he watched the way she checked every cluster they passed, the small pause before she decided a stranger was just a stranger.
The path opened and the beach spread out ahead, wide and pale under the late-season sun. The crowds were thinner than full summer. A couple of families under bright umbrellas. College kids with coolers sunk in the sand. Older folks under hats, settled in chairs where the packed sand met the soft.
They staked out a spot halfway between the soft sand and the packed line near the water. Caine dropped the towels and cooler, pushing his heel into the ground to test it. The grains were hot enough already to sting.
She set her tote down and straightened, then reached for the tie of the cover-up around her waist. For a second she just stood there, fingers resting at the knot, eyes on the water. Then she pulled it loose and let the fabric fall, stepping out of it with a quiet shake.
Caine’s eyebrow went up before he could check it. The bikini she had on was bright against her skin, cut higher on her hips than anything he had ever seen her in. The top tied narrow at her neck, the knot tucked neat, the line of her shoulders bare.
Laney caught the look. “What?” she said, her chin tipping toward him.
He let his gaze run once and brought it back to her face. A small grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. “I just ain’t expect you to own that,” he said.
She laughed once and swatted his arm with the back of her hand. “That’s ‘cause I had to dig this out the back of the closet,” she said. “Been sittin’ back there so long it probably thought I forgot ‘bout it.”
“Was it behind all them swimmin’ dresses they used to wear back in the day?” he asked.
Laney rolled her eyes, but the smile stayed. “Boy, I will drown you out here, don’t play with me,” she said.
Caine spread his hands a little, still grinning. “Guess it’s a good thing I don’t fit all the stereotypes,” he said.
She snorted and turned away so he wouldn’t see how much her mouth softened. “Come on,” she said. “You brought me all the way out here, you gettin’ in this water.”
They left their things in a small pile and walked down together, the sand cooling as they neared the shoreline. Foam curled thin over their toes with the first wave, colder than the air. Laney sucked in a breath and then laughed, the sound catching in the breeze.
“Lord, that’s cold,” she said, but she kept going.
To anyone watching from a distance, they were nothing special. Just another young couple out on a Saturday they could have spent somewhere else. Him tall and loose at her side, her in that bright suit, hair pulled back.
They waded out until the water pushed at Laney’s hips and tugged at Caine’s shorts. She lifted her feet off the bottom and let herself float for a second, arms pushing against the current. When a stronger wave rolled in, she reached out, fingers slipping around his wrist on instinct. His hand found her waist and steadied her, grip firm but not hard.
She laughed again, breath close to his jaw. It was easier than the tight, careful smiles she wore in Statesboro. Here, no one called her Mrs. Matthews. No one watched who she stood next to. The ocean pulled and released around them. Caine’s hand stayed at her side until she found her footing.
After a while, with the sun climbing and the skin on their shoulders buzzing from salt and heat, they headed back to the towels. Laney shook water from her fingers and brushed at the sand already clinging to her legs. Caine dropped down first, stretching his legs so his feet dug into the cooler layer beneath the surface. He patted the space between his thighs.
“C’mere,” he said.
Laney glanced once toward the spread of umbrellas and chairs around them, then eased down, folding herself between his legs. Her back found his chest without hesitation. He adjusted once to make room, his thighs bracketing her hips, one arm hooking around her middle. The other hand planted in the sand for balance.
Her hair smelled faintly of coconut from the sunscreen she had rubbed on earlier. Damp fabric from the straps of her top pressed warm against his skin through his shirt. The rise and fall of her breathing settled into his ribs until the two of them felt like one steady shape against the towel.
For a long moment they just sat that way, watching kids chase each other with plastic buckets near the waterline. A gull argued with another over a dropped chip. The steady crash and pull of the waves filled the spaces where words could have gone.
Laney shifted, stretching one leg a little farther. The move hitched the hem of her bikini up her thigh and revealed the small hummingbird inked there. The colors had long since softened, the lines not as sharp as they once were, but the shape stayed clear. Wings spread. Beak tilted toward a flower that had faded almost to nothing.
Caine tapped the spot with two fingers, gentle. “You know,” he said, “I been meanin’ to ask you about this.”
Laney glanced down, then back out at the water. “’Bout what?” she asked. “That lil’ old thing?”
“You was out here gettin’ tatted back in the day?” he said. There was a smile in it. His fingers stilled on her thigh.
Laney huffed once through her nose and reached back with her hand, fingers finding the macaw on his chest. Her thumb traced the edge of the wing there without thinking. “Comin’ from somebody with half his chest covered,” she said, “I don’t think my lil’ tattoo can be considered gettin’ tatted.”
He made a small sound in his throat that was close to a chuckle. Her hand stayed where it was, palm warm against him.
“Not that many people know about it,” she said. “It’s just somethin’ I did with my best friends. Taela an’ Nevaeh. They got the same thing.”
He nodded, fingers still moving slow over the ink on her thigh. Tracing the outline. “I see,” he said.
The waves kept rolling in, steady. A breeze moved across the sand and cooled the damp on their skin. Laney shifted again so she could see more of the water, her shoulder pressing deeper into his chest.
“How many people know?” he asked after a beat.
Laney squinted toward the horizon, thinking back. “We got ‘em when we was sixteen, so I don’t know,” she said. “Like sev—”
She broke off, her head turning just enough so she could look back at him over her shoulder. One eyebrow climbed, the corner of her mouth pulling up. “You think you slick, huh?” she said.
Caine laughed, low and easy in her ear. “Hey, I was just wonderin’,” he said.
Laney shook her head, but she settled back against his chest, the two of them just watching the waves on the ocean.
~~~
Mireya let her head tip back against the vinyl, breath easing out slow as the bass from the main floor thumped through the walls. The VIP room still smelled like sweat and cologne. The blue light overhead buzzed low. Her heels dangled off her toes, straps digging into the soft skin of her ankles.
“Come on, mami.” Jaslene’s voice was warm at her ear. “Up.”
Jaslene’s hand slid under her forearm and helped her sit forward. Mireya let herself be pulled, abs catching, thighs still trembling. The back of the chair squeaked as she pushed off it. Jaslene held her steady with one hand and shook out the robe with the other, the satin catching the low light.
Mireya lifted her arms. The robe settled over her shoulders, cool against damp skin, the tie hanging loose at her sides. She rolled her neck once, hair clinging to the back of it.
Behind them, the older white man was still putting himself back together. His face was red, the flush spreading down to the collar of his dress shirt. He dragged his pants up over soft hips, fingers a little clumsy as he worked the zipper and button. His breathing was loud in the small room.
He cleared his throat. “Now that,” he said, breath still rough, “that was somethin’ else.”
Mireya glanced over her shoulder, the robe gaping. He was smiling, that satisfied, dazed look men got. He dug into the pocket of his slacks and pulled out a folded bill.
“A tip for that show,” he said, holding the money between two fingers.
Before Mireya could move, Jaslene stepped in, her laugh soft and bright. She plucked the bill from his hand with red-tipped fingers, flashing him a sweet smile.
“Para dos, papi,” she said, voice sing-song.
He chuckled, still looking down the line of Jaslene’s body. “Oh, yeah. Yeah, of course.” His hand went back into his pocket. Another hundred came out, crisp and clean.
This time Mireya moved first. She reached out and took it from him, the paper stiff under her fingers. She tucked it into the pocket of her robe.
“Gracias, papi” she said.
He gave them one last look, eyes lingering, then shuffled toward the door. The bouncer cracked it open for him and the noise from the club rushed in—bass heavy, men shouting, someone laughing too loud. Then the door fell shut again, muting it back to a steady thump.
They stepped out of the VIP room and into the narrow hallway that fed into the back of the venue. The floor vibrated under their heels from the speakers out front. Red light washed over everything, making the scuffs on the walls stand out.
The hallway opened into the dressing room, and the temperature shifted again, warmer with all the bodies and blow-dryers and leftover smoke.
Alejandra and Hayley sat side by side at the long vanity, heads bent, stacks of bills fanned out in front of them. A small desk fan on the counter turned slow, pushing hot air around more than cooling anything. The mirror was smudged with fingerprints and lipstick, the bulbs around it bright and unforgiving.
Mireya dropped into the empty chair beside them. The cushion hissed. She slid a hand into her robe pocket and pulled the wrinkled bills free, the hundred from the VIP and the rest of the ones and fives and twenties from earlier. She let them spill onto the counter, a messy little pile of color and faces. Jaslene mirrored her on the other side, the soft slap of paper on wood echoing hers.
They both started sorting without talking, practiced fingers flipping bills, smoothing edges, straightening corners. Mireya’s nails clicked against the counter as she counted under her breath, lips barely moving.
Hayley leaned over, peering at their stacks. “I might fight you two bitches,” she said, voice half whine, half laugh. “’Cause all anyone wants to talk about is Sol and fucking Luna.”
Mireya snorted, a short burst of laughter. She licked her thumb and slid another bill into place.
“Don’t knock the hustle,” she said.
Hayley made a face at her in the mirror. “’Scuse me for not thinking to match my stage name with one of the other white bitches in here.”
Alejandra barked out a laugh, shoulders shaking. “Ay, mira.” She turned toward Mireya, eyes bright. “I’m just proud of you, Mexicana, for finally realizing you shouldn’t be scared of the money. Even though Jaslene shot this same thing down when I brought it up last year.”
Jaslene rolled her eyes, even as she kept counting. “That’s because you not coachable,” she said. “Mireya still new.”
“Not too new for you,” Mireya said, mouth curving.
Jaslene laughed, low and pleased. “I sell it for them,” she said.
“Yeah, okay,” Mireya answered, not looking up from her stack.
Alejandra clapped her hands once, the sound sharp in the room. “I like this,” she said. “Spicy.”
Hayley groaned. “Now if I said that, y’all would’ve started talkin’ about me in Spanish.”
Jaslene shifted her weight, turned toward her with one hip propped against the counter. “Porque tú eres una gringa,” she said, words smooth. “No nos puedes llamar picantes.”
Mireya shook her head, smiling. “Nos llamaba mayonesa para decirnos que éramos picantes,” she added.
Hayley pointed at them both, eyes narrowed even as her mouth curved. “One day, I’m tellin’ y’all,” she said. “I’m gonna find a sweet Mexican man to teach me Spanish.”
Alejandra threw an arm around Hayley’s shoulders, pulling her in. She pressed a noisy kiss to the side of Hayley’s head. “You got the hair for the Mexican men, rubia,” she said through a laugh.
Hayley swatted at her but leaned into the hold anyway, grinning.
Mireya and Jaslene kept their hands moving, fingers brushing as they traded bills back and forth. A twenty slid from Jaslene’s stack to Mireya’s, then a ten went the other way, neither of them having to ask or count out loud. They worked through the pile until it sat in two neat, even stacks in front of them, their haul split clean down the middle, fifty-fifty.
~~~
The house sat back off the street, sagging on its cinder blocks, paint peeled down to gray wood. Weeds pushed through broken concrete in the front yard. A single porch light burned dull in the afternoon, giving off more heat than any real brightness.
Trell stepped up first, shoulders easy. Ant moved half a step behind, his weight quiet on the warped boards. The screen door whined when Dez pulled it open from the inside and nodded them through.
Heat and chemical air met them in the front room. Plastic covered the windows from the inside, taped around the edges. The living room had been stripped down to its bones. No couch. No pictures. Just a folding table pushed against the far wall and two hotplates sitting on it, cords hanging dead for now. Pots rested on the burners, lids tilted. Glass jars waited in a cluster near the middle.
Boogie, Dez, and Yola stood behind the table. Their shoulders filled the space between the wall and the backs of the younger boys who worked in front of them. The two young ones had bandanas pulled up over their noses and mouths, hats low, even though nothing smoked yet. Sweat had already started at their hairlines.
One of them tapped a spoon against a pot. The metal ring cut through the low hum of a window unit that barely pushed any air.
Ant unslung a backpack from his shoulder and dropped it onto the end of the table. The thud made the jars tremble. Dez pulled the zipper open and dug in, his fingers closing around a wrapped brick. He hauled it out and set it down, the plastic cloudy but tight.
Dez slid the package to Boogie. Boogie flicked a knife open with his thumb and ran the blade through the edge of the plastic, careful but fast. The cut opened clean. Underneath sat the white powder, packed and pressed.
Trell’s gaze left the brick. He watched the two young ones instead. They kept their eyes on the table, spoons idle now, shoulders stiff.
“Y’all know this ain’t for play, right?” Trell asked.
Both boys nodded. One swallowed hard under the bandana.
Trell pointed once with his chin toward Dez, Boogie, and Yola. “First time you fuck up, one of them going to bat the piss out you.”
He shifted his hand to Ant without looking back. “Second time, Ant coming talk to you.”
Ant’s voice stayed calm. “And I don’t fight.”
The younger guys glanced at each other. The one on the left gave the smallest shake of his head. The other pulled in a breath through his teeth and nodded deep. Then the first one nodded too.
“Good,” Trell said. “Cook that shit up quick. I don’t give a fuck if it take all night.”
He lifted his hand toward Dez, a short motion that still carried weight. “Come run it with us, right quick.”
Dez closed the backpack, wiped his palm once down the front of his jeans, and stepped out from behind the table. Boogie flicked the knife open again and went back to cutting the plastic the rest of the way open for the kids. Yola kept his eyes on the younger pair, watching for any shake in their hands.
Trell turned and walked for the front door. Ant fell in behind him. Dez followed, the three of them moving through the stale air and out onto the small porch.
Outside felt different but not better. Heat pressed up from the cracked steps. The street out front sat mostly empty, a couple of parked cars with dust on their hoods. Somewhere down the block, music leaked thin from another house.
Trell stayed on the bottom step, one foot on the concrete, one on the last board. Ant stood off to the side near the rail, arms loose at his sides. Dez came down a step and stopped in front of Trell.
“You wanna move up?” Trell asked.
Dez nodded once, quick. “Yeah, you know I do, big brudda.”
Trell’s eyes went past him to Ant for a second, then came back. “Next week, Ant gonna make a run to Lafayette with some 39 niggas. I need you to drive one of the vees.”
Dez’s brows pulled in. “That’s it?”
Ant cut his eyes at him. “You serious, nigga? We not going to play at fucking Top Golf.”
The words hung there, thin in the hot air. Dez let the weight of them settle. His jaw worked once. He looked from Ant back to Trell, reading what sat in both of their faces.
He pulled a breath through his nose, let it out slow. “Yeah,” he said. “I’m down.”
A tight smile showed on Trell’s mouth without reaching much else. He stepped in close, hand landing on Dez’s shoulder with steady pressure. Then he let it slide up and popped Dez in the face twice with open fingers.
Trell turned away and walked toward the car parked half on the curb, keys already in his hand.
Ant stayed a moment longer. His stare sat on Dez, heavy and unblinking. Then he pushed off the rail and followed Trell down the walk.
Dez stood alone on the steps. The front door hummed faint with the window unit’s tired push. He dragged air deep into his chest and blew it out, shoulders rising and falling once.
Then he turned, opened the door, and went back into the house.
~~~
Mireya turned onto the narrow street slow, headlights sweeping over a row of dark houses until the numbers on a brick mailbox matched the pin Trell had sent. The AirBnB sat back from the road, porch light burning warm over a short run of steps, the rest of the block quiet. She eased her car into the strip of gravel out front and cut the engine. The tick of hot metal settled into the stillness.
Trell was already there, just like his text said. He stood by the front walk in a plain T-shirt and sweats, shoulders loose, a blunt burning between his fingers. Smoke curled around his head and drifted off into the night air. The glow at the tip flared when he pulled, then dimmed again.
Mireya sat for a second with her hands on the wheel, the weight of the shift still in her shoulders, then pushed the door open. Humidity met her first, heavy and familiar. The faint sweet smell of the blunt rode on top of it. Her cropped hoodie brushed her ribs when she slid out. Sweatpants hung low on her hips, glitter still clinging in faint specks at her wrists.
He watched her walk up. The blunt rode easy in his hand.
He held the blunt out between two fingers, offering.
She shook her head, one corner of her mouth tipping up. “Nah. I’m good.”
He shrugged, not pressed. He took another pull instead, exhale slow through his nose.
For a beat they just stood by the front walk. Somewhere farther off, a car rolled past on another street, tires whispering over asphalt. Some insect buzz filled in the quiet around them. Then he tilted his chin at her.
“Good night?” he asked.
Mireya let out a quiet breath that wasn’t quite a laugh. “You really interested in how much money I make,” she said, looking up at him.
A smirk slid across his face, more in his eyes than his mouth. “I like to hear hustling success stories,” he said. “And you always seem to be getting to that paper. I respect that.”
She rolled one shoulder, the movement small under the hoodie. “It was alright.”
“Alright, it is,” he said. He flicked ash off the blunt with his thumb. “C’mon.”
He stepped up to the brick column by the steps, pressed the blunt out against it until the tip died, then tucked what was left away. He pulled the front door open without looking back to check for her. Mireya followed, keys caught between her fingers.
Inside, the air hit cooler. The place was nicer than an eighty-dollar-a-night spot. Wide plank floors, a sectional couch that hadn’t seen kids or cousins, wall art that matched. The kitchen opened straight into the living room, island long and sleek with stone that caught the light.
Trell moved straight for it, like he had been there a while. A glass decanter sat near the sink, amber liquor waiting on a small tray. He reached for it, twisted the stopper off, and poured into a short glass. Ice cracked soft as he tipped the bottle back over it.
Mireya let the door fall shut behind her. Her eyes moved over the room, taking in the clean lines and the little touches. She stepped around the couch, fingers grazing the back, and watched him at the island.
“Why are you here,” she asked, “if you got a whole house you could be at?”
He lifted the glass and took a slow sip before answering. “Sometimes I get tired of the noise,” he said. He looked at her over the rim, the look steady. “Would you prefer to be there?”
She shifted her weight to one hip, gaze drifting across the high ceilings and carefully staged throw pillows. “Don’t make a difference to me,” she said. Her voice stayed even.
He nodded once, accepting that. He set the decanter back where it had been, lined up on its tray.
Mireya drifted away from the island, letting the cool floor pull a little ache from her feet through the thin soles of her flip flops. She moved slow, giving herself time. Her eyes caught on the big flat-screen mounted clean on the wall, then a tall plant standing in a white pot in the corner. Everything looked expensive and untouched.
At the far side of the living room, glass doors ran nearly the whole width of the wall. She stopped in front of them. Beyond the glass, the backyard lay washed in soft light from below. An in-ground pool cut a bright blue shape through the dark, steps curving down into it. Small lights dotted the edge, sunk into the concrete so the water glowed. The rest of the yard stayed in shadow, fence and shrubs holding it in.
Trell came up beside her, the ice in his glass knocking once against the side when he moved. He didn’t crowd her. He looked past her shoulder to the pool, then reached for the handle and slid the door open. Warm air pushed in around them again, carrying a hint of chlorine and wet stone.
“Hop in,” he said, tipping his chin toward the water. “Somebody got to take advantage of it.”
She looked at him for a second, then back at the pool. Her hand found the strap of her bag. She walked it over to the small table by the door and set it down, the weight landing with a soft thump. Then she kicked her flip flops off, one then the other, toes flexing against the boards.
The hoodie came first, tugged over her head in one motion. Her hair shook free as she pulled it off, night air sliding over skin where the fabric had held heat. She pushed her sweatpants down over her hips and stepped out of them, folding nothing, leaving the pile by the chair. Under the light spilling from the house, her skin picked up a muted shine.
She didn’t rush. She walked to the pool steps, movements unbothered, eyes on Trell as he watched from just off the edge of the deck. His glass hung loose in his hand, shoulders relaxed, his gaze fixed on her.
The first step put her ankle under. The water met her warm from the day. She went down another, calves submerged, then another until the surface brushed her thighs. At the last step she pushed off and slipped forward, letting the pool climb over her waist and chest, then her face as she ducked under fully.
Sound dulled for a beat. The pool’s light turned the world around her soft and blue. She opened her eyes long enough to see her own hands cut through clear water, then pushed up again. When she broke the surface, she was in the middle, hair slicked back, water streaming off her shoulders.
She drew in a breath and rolled onto her back, limbs opening. The pool held her up easy. No grit brushed her palms. No harsh bleach burn crawled up her nose. Just clean water and the faint chemical tang.
Above her, the sky stretched dark and wide, bits of it caught in the glow from the pool and the house. A small smile tugged at her mouth as she stared up, muscles easing one by one.
She let herself drift, arms spread just enough to keep balance. The water carried her slow across the center, little ripples touching the tiled edge and sliding back.
On the deck, Trell stayed close to the pool, watching. He lifted his glass and took another drink, throat moving in a short swallow, eyes never leaving her.
“I’ve never been in water like this,” she said, voice floating up and out across the surface.
“I can tell,” he said.
She didn’t answer that. She kept her gaze on the sky, on the dark line where the fence cut the yard off from whatever was beyond it. Her body rode the water, shoulders rocking with each small wave.
Behind her, wood scraped softly. Trell dragged one of the deck chairs closer, the metal legs bumping over the boards. He set it near the edge where he could see all of her and sat down, one leg stretched out, glass still in his hand. He leaned back, settled in, and kept watching her as he sipped his drink.
~~~
Laney stayed up long after the boys had gone down, the house sunk into that thin late-night quiet where every sound landed too hard. The TV in the living room was off. The only noise was the AC cutting on and off and the faint hum from the fridge in the kitchen. The ocean was still in her skin, the burn on her shoulders reminding her of the day at Hilton Head.
Her phone lay on the dresser where she had tossed it after they got home. The screen lit her face when she picked it up. Caine’s last message sat at the bottom of the thread, him asking if she made it home. She stared at it for a second, thumb hovering. She knew she should just leave it alone. Her thumb still moved.
She told him to come over, then locked the phone and set it down again. After, she moved to the front window.
The yard was dark past the thin wash from the streetlight. Out back, she could see the shape of the camper parked by the fence. No lights in it now, but she knew Blake was out there. Knew he could decide he needed something at any time. Her mouth pressed into a line. She thought about texting Caine back, telling him never mind. She didn’t.
When the knock came, it was soft against the front door. Three quick taps. She was already there, hand on the knob, body turned so anyone passing from the street would only see her shoulder. She cracked it an inch and saw him on the other side, eyes on her only.
They didn’t say anything. She opened enough for him to slip in, then shut it and turned the deadbolt slow so it wouldn’t click loud. They stood in the dim entry, listening.
She lifted a finger to her mouth and started down the hallway. Caine followed with his steps light on the runner. The blue night-light glow leaked out at the bottom where the door sat open a crack. Laney paused, head tilted. Three slow breaths. Nothing. She nudged the door in with two fingers until only a sliver of light showed.
She slipped in first, then waited while Caine closed the door behind them. The click of the lock sounded louder than it was. She flipped the small lamp on the nightstand. Soft yellow washed over the dark bedspread, the dresser, the mirror.
Laney crossed to the wedding photo, fingers already reaching. She turned the frame over in one practiced motion, felt the felt back under her palm. It stayed there a beat longer than it needed to. Then she let it go.
Caine watched her from by the door, shoulder leaned to the wall, hands loose at his sides. His eyes tracked her hand when she flipped the picture, but he didn’t say anything about it.
She turned back. He was already pushing off the wall, crossing the space between them. As soon as she reached for the lock to make sure it was set, he was close enough that his breath touched her neck. She flipped the latch with her thumb even though it was already down, then turned into him.
They started kissing before either of them spoke. His mouth found hers like he had been waiting on it all day. Her fingers slid up under his hoodie, catching on the cotton of his T-shirt, pulling him down to her. The taste of salt on his skin dragged her back to the beach again, to the way she had laughed with her head thrown back and not worried about who was watching.
He bent enough for her to get her arms around his shoulders. She pushed up on her toes, then up higher, feet leaving the floor when she hooked one leg around his hip. Caine’s hands caught under her thighs, lifting her the rest of the way. She wrapped herself around him without thinking. He turned toward the bed, steps steady, shoulders set to keep them both balanced.
Her laugh broke against his mouth, half breath, half sound, and then it cut off.
A sharp knock tapped against the window glass.
Laney froze. Her hand flew to his shoulder and pushed. “Shh,” she hissed against his jaw.
Caine set her down quick but controlled, feet back on the carpet. The warmth of his hands left her thighs, then he was dropping low, taking one smooth step backward until his shoulder brushed the side of the mattress. He eased down the rest of the way, rolling onto his side so he could scoot into the thin space between the bed and the wall. The shadow of him disappeared below the line of the mattress.
The knock came again, a little harder. Laney’s heart punched once against her ribs. She pulled the hem of her T-shirt down out of habit, then realized she still had on the old pajama pants she’d changed into after her shower. Her fingers shook only once when she reached for the curtain.
She pressed two fingers into the fabric and edged it back enough to see.
Blake’s face sat right there in the dark, framed by the window. His eyes looked a little too bright, skin drawn tight across his cheekbones. Nevaeh stood slightly behind him. Her smile was already fixed, loose and lazy, pupils blown wide even in the thin spill from the back porch light.
Laney unlocked the window with a quick twist and pushed it up just enough to get her head out. The night air slid in, cooler than the house. She kept her voice a whisper sharp enough to cut.
“What do y’all want?” she asked. “I’m tryin’ to sleep.”
Nevaeh’s smile widened but she didn’t say anything. Her head tipped to the side, hair falling forward. She blinked slow.
Blake wiped a hand down his nose and sniffed. “We need to use the bathroom,” he said. His words slurred at the edges, not sloppy, just soft. “Camper toilet’s stopped up and I can’t get the hose off. Shit’s backed all the way up.”
Laney clenched her jaw so she wouldn’t curse loud enough for the boys to hear. She slid the window down to a gap and stepped back from it. The bathroom door sat three strides away. She moved quick across the carpet, flipped the light on and grabbed a roll out of the closet. The fan hummed when she hit the switch by accident. She turned it off, leaving only the dim hallway glow.
By the time she got back to the window, Blake had leaned his forearms against the sill, like he was waiting for her to complete an order. She shoved the window up again and set the roll right on the wood between them.
“Go in the woods,” she whispered. “Y’all done worse.”
Blake stared at the roll, then at her. “Are you serious?” he asked, voice low but insistent. “C’mon, Laney.”
Her mouth twitched. “Deathly,” she said. “You can keep the roll.”
He snatched it off the sill, fingers snatching harder than they needed to. The cardboard tube bent under his grip. He shook his head and turned away from the house, muttering something under his breath that she didn’t bother catching.
Nevaeh stayed a half second longer, eyes still on Laney. Her smile didn’t move. She drew in a slow breath and let it out through her nose.
“That cologne smells good,” she said, words floating up through the window.
Laney didn’t flinch. She knew what Nevaeh smelled. Knew Caine’s scent hung in the room now, threaded through the fabric of her shirt. Her chin lifted a touch.
“I’ll let Tommy know you like the scent,” she said.
Nevaeh’s smile flickered, then settled again. She gave a small nod, the kind that could mean anything or nothing, and turned to follow Blake toward the dark edge of the yard where the trees started.
Laney pulled the window down until it met the frame. The lock turned with a soft click. She let the curtain fall back into place and smoothed the fabric once, palm flat, as if that might erase the interruption.
When she turned, Caine was no longer on the floor.
He sat at the edge of the bed now, hands braced on his knees, body still. The shadows from the lamp cut across his face, but his eyes were clear and steady.
“Heroin?” he asked.
She stopped midway between the window and him. “How did you—” The question died on her tongue. She shook her head once. “Sometimes, I forget why I know you.”
He lifted one hand and curled his fingers in. She closed the space between them. When she reached his knees, he caught her hand, tugging her to stand right between his legs. The heat of him rolled up off his chest. His thumbs hooked into the waistband of her pajama pants, resting there, not pushing yet.
“You know we just almost got caught, right?” she said. Her voice had lost the sharp edge. It sat lower now, threaded with the leftover adrenaline.
Caine nodded, eyes still on her face. “Yeah,” he said. “But I figure ain’t nobody gon’ believe a couple people on drugs.”
Her mouth pulled into something that wasn’t quite a smile. She put her palms on either side of his jaw and moved his head just enough so his eyes met hers straight on. Then she leaned down and kissed him, swallowing whatever else he might have said, the room shrinking to the press of his hands as he pushed the waistband of her pajama pants down over her hips.
