Saul's car swung around the corner hard enough that the tires screamed against the asphalt and the back end kicked out before the wheels caught and pulled him straight, scattering two dealers who'd been standing near the curb into the yard behind them, one of them grabbing the other's arm and pulling him back while their hands went under their shirts before they saw it wasn't a threat. He slammed the brakes and the car lurched to a stop in front of where Ramon and Tyree sat on the steps of one of the houses that lined the block.
Saul threw the door open and got halfway out before the car rolled forward an inch and he dropped back in to shove it into park, the gearshift grinding under his palm. He killed the engine this time and stepped out, leaving the door hanging open behind him as he crossed the strip of dirt between the street and the steps where Ramon sat with a toothpick between his teeth and Tyree leaned back on his elbows with his legs stretched down the steps in front of him.
Ramon held his hand up before Saul's mouth could open. "Before you say whatever you about to say, just remember where you at." The toothpick shifted to the other corner of his mouth. "Hope you thought about that after you texted me."
"Kayjuan and Maine fucking shot my friends!" Saul's voice cracked on the last word and carried across the block far enough that one of the dealers at the corner turned his head. "One's in a coma and the other one is paralyzed."
Tyree tilted his chin up. "They ain't bust back?"
"They didn't even know!" Saul said. "They thought I was in the car."
Ramon pulled the toothpick from his mouth and held it between two fingers, turning it once before he pointed it at Saul. "Then you should consider yourself lucky that you wasn't or you'd be in that hospital bed."
Saul took a step closer to the bottom of the steps, his chest rising and falling fast under his shirt, his hands balled at his sides. "You're talking like you don't even care. Like you didn't put me in this position."
Ramon pressed the toothpick against his own chest. "Me?" He turned his head toward Tyree, eyebrows lifting. "Did I make him sell weed?"
Tyree shook his head. "Seems he did that all on his own, big brudda."
"Y'all are supposed to be Caine's boys," Saul said.
Ramon looked at him for a beat, the amusement draining out of his face until what was left was flat and still. "Caine understand the game. You should've thought about that, too." He slid the toothpick back between his teeth. "Either you gonna go spin on them boys or you gonna go get back in your car and go home and forget this ever happened."
Tyree leaned forward off his elbows and reached over, tapping Saul on the chest with the back of his hand, two quick hits against the sternum. "If I was you, I'd go spin on them niggas."
Saul sucked his teeth and stepped back from the contact, his jaw working. "Now, y'all want to act like y'all above this."
"Never that," Tyree said. "It's up for 110 forever. Your shit just not our business anymore."
Ramon nodded, slow, one dip of his chin. "Yep, we got you out the jam you were in. You gotta figure out what you gonna do with that shit now."
Saul's hands came out of their fists and hung open at his sides. "So, what am I supposed to tell their parents?"
"Niggas get shot in New Orleans everyday, brudda." Ramon's eyes left Saul and tracked a cop car rolling down the far end of the street, its pace slow and deliberate, the driver's window down, an arm resting on the door. He watched it until it passed beyond the row of houses and turned the corner, and then he pointed over Saul's shoulder toward the car still sitting at the curb with its door open. "Go home, bruh."
"But—" Saul started.
"Go home," Ramon said.
Saul stared at him. Ramon looked back, the toothpick still between his teeth, his hand dropping back to his knee. Tyree settled onto his elbows again and tipped his face toward the sky.
Saul turned and walked to his car, pulled the door shut hard enough that the frame shook, and sat there with both hands on the wheel.
~~~
Sara and Nicole walked down Frenchman Street with the sun warm on their shoulders and the sidewalk crowded enough that they had to adjust their pace every few steps to let someone pass or move around a couple who'd stopped in front of a gallery window to argue about whether the painting was worth what the tag said it was. A trumpet player sat on an overturned bucket near the corner with his case open at his feet, a few crumpled bills and some loose change sitting in the velvet lining, the brass of his horn catching the light every time he lifted the bell between songs.
Sara had her sunglasses pushed up on her head and her purse strap crossed over her chest, her hands free at her sides, and Nicole walked close enough beside her that their shoulders bumped when the sidewalk narrowed between a sandwich board and a man selling bottled water out of a cooler.
"You know the worst part about it all is that I expected it," Sara said. "When he was acting shady, I knew it would be something like him being married."
Nicole shook her head. "I don't think anyone expects that. And for damn sure doesn't expect to be told that the guy they're dating is fucking hookers."
Sara shrugged, one shoulder lifting and dropping as she stepped around a man carrying a box that took up half the sidewalk. "Not much I would put past people in this city."
"Well, again, I'm so sorry that happened to you," Nicole said. She reached over and squeezed Sara's arm once, her fingers pressing into the muscle above her elbow before letting go. "I really hoped that would work out."
Sara’s her eyes following the crack in the sidewalk ahead of them where a weed had pushed through the concrete and was growing flat against the surface. "On the plus side, I now know that I'm clean so maybe that'll give me a leg up on the competition next time."
Nicole snorted a laugh, her hand coming up to cover her mouth for a second. "It should. Especially here."
Sara sighed, shaking her head, her eyes tracking a couple who walked past them holding hands, the woman leaning into the man's shoulder as they moved through a stripe of shade thrown by one of the balconies overhead. "You know what's the weirdest thing, though?"
"That this man somehow managed to avoid every way I know to look someone up?" Nicole said.
Sara laughed, her head tipping back for a second before she brought it forward and looked at Nicole. "No, he sounded afraid and I swore that I heard a woman's voice on the other end."
Nicole raised an eyebrow. "It was probably his wife."
Sara shrugged again, her pace slowing for a second as they waited for a group of tourists to clear the intersection ahead of them, all of them clustered around a phone screen trying to find something on a map. "Probably so. I'm just glad that ended before I did something stupid like start picturing a future with that man."
Nicole let that sit between them for the length of a few steps, the two of them moving together past the tourists and through a stretch of sidewalk where the trumpet player's music faded behind them and the sounds from a restaurant's open doors took over, glasses clinking and voices stacking on top of each other inside.
She adjusted her purse on her shoulder and looked straight ahead when she spoke. "We're all stupid when it comes to relationships. You just gotta hope that the person you're with doesn't take advantage of that."
"You're right," Sara said. "Better luck next time, I guess."
"Better try a woman next time," Nicole said.
Sara rolled her eyes. Nicole's laugh came fast and full, her arm hooking through Sara's and pulling her closer as the two of them kept walking down the street.
~~~
Laney picked through the plate of wings in front of her, pulling one free from the pile and turning it in her fingers to find the meatiest side before she bit into it and set the bone down on the napkin she'd spread beside the plate. Sauce stuck to her thumb and the corner of her mouth. Gabrielle sat beside her with a glass of wine held by the stem, the red catching the light from the neon beer sign hanging over the bar whenever she turned it, her other hand resting on the counter with her fingers laced together.
"It's days like today that I wish I lived somewhere bigger," Gabrielle said. "Dallas. Austin. Somewhere like that."
Laney wiped her fingers on the napkin and reached for her own drink. "Sounds like you sayin' I'm bad company if I ain't know any better."
Gabrielle laughed, her head shaking once. "You're more than welcome to come live with me in Dallas and we can pretend we're a couple of them women from one of those Taylor Sheridan shows."
"I don't think he writin' no women like me in them scripts of his," Laney said.
"He might," Gabrielle said. She took a sip of her wine and set the glass down, her fingertip tracing the base where it met the bar. "Just not everything."
Laney snorted a laugh, her chest moving once with it as she pulled another wing from the plate. "And we know what he'd be leavin' out."
"The best part." Gabrielle leaned back on her stool and crossed one leg over the other, her heel catching the rung. "There's a reason women love all those romance novels."
"'Cause they ain't gettin' none at home and ain't no man gonna write about another man who ain't gettin' none," Laney said, the wing pausing halfway to her mouth as she delivered the line before she took the bite.
Gabrielle laughed harder this time, her hand coming up to press against her collarbone. "You have such a way with words."
Laney set the bone down and faked a curtsy with both hands, pinching invisible fabric at her sides, her chin dipping with mock formality before she dropped her hands back to the bar and reached for her napkin again.
The two of them sat with the sound of the bar between them for a beat, the fryer hissing behind the counter and a country song playing from the speaker mounted in the corner above their heads, the bass turned low enough that the melody came through thin and tinny.
"So, have you figured out what you're going to do in a month?" Gabrielle asked.
Laney set the napkin down and picked up her drink, holding it without bringing it to her mouth. "Cain't do nothin' but go back to the way I was livin' before."
"I don't know," Gabrielle said. She turned her wine glass by the stem, watching the red slide up one side and settle back. "You could give that open thing another go."
Laney sat back in her chair and looked over at Gabrielle, her hand still wrapped around her glass, her eyes steady on Gabrielle's face.
Gabrielle shrugged, one shoulder lifting. "What? He did it before. He'd do it again."
"Yeah, if I ain't goin' outside him," Laney said.
"Yeah, but this is different now," Gabrielle said. She uncrossed her legs and planted both feet on the floor, leaning forward on the bar. "Now, he'll think he's got the upper hand so he'll agree to it. Just mope around a bit and let him think he won."
Laney raised an eyebrow. "I don't know if you should be tellin' your husband's sister this."
Gabrielle waved the comment off, her hand sweeping through the air between them and falling back to the bar. "I ain't telling you anything but what I do at work when I want to get my way in these negotiations. Show a little leg, a pout, pop a couple buttons?" She picked up her wine and held it near her mouth, eyes bright over the rim. "Tell me where to sign."
Laney laughed, the sound breaking open and filling the space around them, her shoulders shaking against the back of the stool, and Gabrielle joined her, her own laugh layering over Laney's.
~~~
Caine walked through the football center with his bag over one shoulder and his hair still damp from the shower, his cleats traded for slides that slapped against the tile with each step. A couple of the younger guys from the scout team passed him going the other direction, one of them lifting a fist that Caine tapped without slowing. He turned the corner past the equipment room and spotted Tatum leaning on the reception desk with one elbow planted on the counter and his body angled toward Jessica, who sat behind it with her chin in her hand and a smile on her face that said she'd been listening to whatever he was saying for longer than she should've been. Tatum's linen shirt was rolled to his forearms and his watch caught the fluorescent light every time he moved his wrist
Tatum looked over and saw Caine coming down the hall. He straightened off the desk and held his arms out wide, his grin opening up across his face. Caine reached him and Caine dapped him up, Tatum's hand pulling him in for a half embrace before letting go. Tatum turned back to the desk and picked up a leather folder sitting near Jessica's keyboard, tucking it under his arm.
"I'll call you later," he said to her.
Caine raised an eyebrow as Tatum fell into step beside him and gestured toward one of the conference rooms down the hall, his hand sweeping ahead of them.
The two of them walked inside and Caine pulled the door shut behind them. He dropped his bag on the floor by the door.
"You know Jessica's got three or four kids, right?" Caine asked.
Tatum pulled a chair out and sat down, crossing one ankle over the opposite knee, the folder landing flat on the table in front of him. "Good thing I like fruit snacks as much as the next man."
Caine shook his head, a laugh coming out through his nose, and pulled the chair across the table from Tatum and sat down, leaning back with his hands folded behind his head for a second before he brought them down and rested his forearms on the table.
"Got Derrick to book this room for me," Tatum said. He opened the folder and started pulling pages out one at a time, laying them across the table in a row, each one printed with columns of numbers and school logos and highlighted sections circled in red ink. His hands moved fast and deliberate, arranging them so the pages sat side by side. "By the way, they said they'll find another twenty-five if you stay another year."
"I think a few people out there would beat my ass if I turned down millions of dollars for twenty-five grand," Caine said.
"I know," Tatum said. He pointed at Caine with two fingers. "I'm one of them."
Caine laughed, his shoulders moving once. Tatum flipped the sheets around so the text and numbers faced Caine, then leaned forward and tapped a circled figure on the first page with his fingertip.
"This is what we're looking at right now if the portal opened today and you hopped in," he said.
Caine looked over the pages, his eyes moving across the numbers, his head tilting a fraction as he read through the columns. "One and a quarter ain't bad."
Tatum nodded, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms over his chest. "But you can get more if you keep up your level of play through the playoffs."
"I ain't expect to start being trash tomorrow, bruh," Caine said.
Tatum laughed, his head tipping back before he brought it forward and pointed at the pages again. "You never know the things that could throw someone off their game. But what I'm hearing is if you get these guys to the CFP again, easily number one in the portal, definitely number one quarterback."
"That's gonna change these numbers?" Caine asked.
"Absolutely." Tatum uncrossed his arms and spread his hands flat on the table on either side of the folder. "At least double, if not more."
Caine whistled, the sound low and short, and leaned forward over the table again, his eyes moving back to the pages spread across the surface. He scanned each circled number one more time, slower now, his finger tracing from one sheet to the next.
He sat back in the chair and let his head rest against the top of it, eyes on the ceiling for a second before they came back down to the pages. He rested one hand on the armrest, his fingers tapping once against the plastic.
"Guess I better keep cooking these motherfuckers."
~~~
Mireya had her chin propped on her folded arms where they rested against Jaslene's sternum, their bodies stacked lengthwise on the couch, close enough that Mireya could feel Jaslene's breathing lift and lower her with each cycle. Jaslene had one hand tucked behind her own head and the other tracing a slow, absent line up and down Mireya's spine.
Behind them, Diego moved through the apartment, a drawer opening in the bedroom and then closing, the bathroom faucet running for a few seconds before it cut off, his footsteps crossing from one room to the next at a pace that said his shift was still hours away.
"You didn't tell me that you started letting Diego stay here," Mireya said.
Jaslene looked over the top of Mireya's head toward the hallway where Diego walked from the bedroom into the kitchen, brushing his hair back with one hand and checking his phone with the other as he passed through the living room without stopping. She laughed, her chest moving under Mireya's chin, and her fingers continued their path along the ridges of Mireya's spine. "I told you that I was going to do the same thing that you and Trell do."
"He's never been to my apartment," Mireya said.
"Supongo que eso es algo especial solo para mi," Jaslene said.
Mireya snorted a laugh, her breath warm against Jaslene's collarbone. "Algo asi."
Diego came back into the living room from the kitchen with a glass of water in one hand and his brush in the other, working it through the front of his hair. He stopped near the arm of the couch and looked down at Jaslene.
"Have you seen where I put my laptop? I swore I left it in the kitchen."
Jaslene tilted her head back against the cushion to look up at him, her chin lifting, Mireya's weight shifting on her chest with the movement. "It's in the spare room because you were making all that noise last night. Remember?"
Diego snapped his fingers and pointed at her, the brush still in his other hand. "You right. You kicked me out of bed."
"You gotta learn one way or another," Jaslene said.
Diego shook his head, already turning back toward the hallway, his bare feet soft on the hardwood as he disappeared around the corner toward the spare room.
Mireya watched him go, her eyes following his back until he turned the corner and disappeared, then she turned to Jaslene again, settling her chin on her crossed arms, her body pressing heavier into Jaslene's as she let her weight go fully into the couch. "What's he think about this?"
"Probably that he's gonna have a threesome with us," Jaslene said, her mouth curving into a grin, her fingers finding the dip at the base of Mireya's spine and tracing a circle there before continuing back up.
"He's not my type," Mireya said.
"You'd do it if I asked, mi amor," Jaslene said.
Mireya flicked a hand out from under her chin, the gesture quick and dismissive, her wrist turning once before her arm folded back under her head. "I'd tell you to kick him out if you did. No voy a compartirte si no me pagan por ello."
Jaslene laughed, the sound vibrating through her chest and into Mireya's arms. "Fair enough."
Mireya looked over at the clock on the wall above the television, the second hand making its way around the face, then brought her eyes back to Jaslene's. "I don't feel like going in tonight."
"Want to stay here?" Jaslene asked, her hand pausing on Mireya's back and then pressing flat, holding her there. "I'll stay home to keep you company."
Mireya nodded, her chin rubbing against Jaslene's chest with the motion. "Sounds good to me."
Jaslene smiled, her eyes softening, and then she turned her head toward the hallway and raised her voice. "Diego, order us some food before you go!"
Diego's voice came back from down the hall, muffled by distance. "You make more money than me!"
Jaslene looked back at Mireya and winked. "He's gonna do it."
Mireya laughed, the sound easy and loose, and moved her arms out from under her chin to lay her head flat against Jaslene's chest, her ear pressing over Jaslene's heartbeat where it pushed steady and slow against her ribs. Jaslene's hand found her back again and resumed its path, fingers tracing the same line from her shoulders to the base of her spine and back, over and over.
~~~
Trell sat in the lobby of the bank with one ankle crossed over his knee and his phone held low in his lap, his thumb scrolling through a thread while the tellers worked their lines and a woman two chairs down bounced a toddler on her knee. His suit was charcoal and fitted clean through the shoulders and chest, the jacket buttoned once at the center, a white shirt underneath with the collar open and no tie.
A door opened at the end of the row of offices along the back wall and a man stepped out, younger than Trell by a few years, his own suit a shade lighter, his tie loosened an inch from the collar. He spotted Trell across the lobby and his face opened up.
"Mr. Robinson!"
Trell stood, sliding his phone into his breast pocket, and held his hand out as the man crossed the lobby toward him, the two of them meeting halfway between the chairs and the teller line. "How's it going, Jay?"
Jay shook his hand with both of his, the grip warm and held a beat longer than business required. "Can't complain. Just bought my wife something for her birthday, drained the bank account, but that's what we do for love, right?"
"What'd you get her?" Trell asked.
Jay held his hands out in front of his chest, palms cupped, fingers spread, and laughed. Trell laughed with him, his head shaking once, his chin dipping with the grin that spread across his face.
Jay dropped his hands and gestured over his shoulder toward the hallway where his office sat with the door already open, the light from inside falling in a rectangle across the carpet. "Come to my office. Let's see how we can help you today."
The two of them walked back together, Trell falling into step beside him, their shoes landing on the carpet at nearly the same pace. Jay held the office door wider as Trell stepped through and took the chair across from the desk, the leather creaking once under his weight as he settled back and re-crossed his ankle over his knee. Jay came around behind the desk and pulled his own chair out, sitting down and adjusting his monitor with one hand before he folded both hands on the surface in front of him.
"Can I get you anything?" Jay asked. "Water? Coffee? Louis XIV?"
Trell laughed and shook his head. "I'm good."
Jay nodded, his smile tightening into something more focused as he pulled a pen from the cup beside his keyboard and clicked it open against his palm. "Depending on what we're doing, I might need to break out that Louis for myself."
"You might," Trell said. He reached into his breast pocket, his fingers sliding past one of his phones, and pulled out a folded sheet of paper that had been creased twice into a tight rectangle. He unfolded it against the edge of the desk, pressing the creases flat with his thumb, and slid it across the surface toward Jay. "I need you to make those transfers between my accounts then I need to open a CD and take out a loan against it."
Jay picked up the paper and held it in front of him, his eyes moving down the page, his pen tapping once against his bottom lip before he set it on the desk and nodded to himself. "We can get that sorted out for you. How much for the CD?"
"A hundred," Trell said.
Jay looked up from the paper. "I assume you mean thousand."
Trell leaned back in the chair, his hands coming together over his stomach, fingers lacing. "Now, Jay, you know I don't talk small numbers."
Jay smiled, the expression settling across his face as he turned to his computer and pulled the keyboard closer, his fingers already finding the keys. "And that's why you're my favorite client."
what would Pastor Hadden think
