Sara held the front door open with her hip and stepped back as the two movers angled the couch through the frame. The plastic wrap caught on the doorjamb and she reached over to press it flat so they could clear the opening.
"Just put it over there," she said, pointing toward the living room wall where the fireplace sat. "I'll slide it to where I want it when y'all get everything in here."
Both men nodded, adjusting their grip and shuffling across the hardwood. Their boots left faint wet prints from the front walk. They set the couch down where she'd pointed, one of them rolling his shoulder as they straightened up and headed back out toward the truck without a word.
As they crossed the threshold, Hector came through the open door behind them, stepping sideways to let them pass. He stopped just inside, hands in the pockets of his jacket, and looked around the room. His head turned slow, taking in the ceiling, the walls, the floors, the empty space still waiting on the rest of the furniture. He whistled, a single low note that rose at the end.
"Tu negrito has done well for himself, no?"
Sara rolled her eyes. "What do you want, Hector?"
He walked past her through the living room and into the kitchen, his shoes loud on the hardwood in the empty house. He reached up and touched a light fixture mounted on the wall, running his thumb along the base of it, turning the brushed metal under his fingers.
"I thought he was renting this," he said. "That's what mamá said."
Sara folded her arms. "He is. Fully furnished so he can charge more."
Hector moved to the kitchen table and gripped the edge with both hands, rocking it gently side to side, testing the legs against the floor. Nothing wobbled. He looked at the surface, ran his palm across it, then pulled a chair out and pushed it back in.
"All of this is brand new," he said. He let his hand rest on the chair back. "I don't see him putting anything like this in the house where he was raised for 18 years." He paused, his mouth pulling into something that wasn't quite a smile. "Well, 17, since we have to count the year he was behind bars."
Sara's jaw tightened and stayed where she was, arms still crossed, feet planted on the living room side of the kitchen threshold.
"What has your son contributed to the house?" she asked.
Hector's chin came up. "Saul is busy taking care of a child."
"Caine has been doing that for fucking years and you haven't cut him any slack, so I don't want to hear that shit."
Hector let go of the chair and turned to face her fully, leaning his lower back against the counter. He crossed his own arms, mirroring her posture from across the room.
"If you're just going to rent this out to strangers, you should've offered it to the family," he said.
"Caine did offer it to family." Sara's voice didn't waver. "He asked mamá if she wanted to live here. She said no."
"And the rest of us?"
Sara shrugged. One shoulder, brief. "Maybe you should've thought about how you were treating him back then."
Hector chuckled. He pushed off the counter and took a step toward her, then stopped, his weight settling into his heels.
"That's how we're playing this?" he asked. "After all we've done for you and that mutt?"
Sara scoffed, the air leaving her sharp through her nose. "Please. Don't try to fucking rewrite history now."
Hector shook his head as looked around the kitchen one more time, his eyes moving over the new fixtures, the clean countertops, the appliances still wearing their factory stickers. Then he turned and walked toward the front door, his steps unhurried, his hands going back into his jacket pockets.
He stopped in the doorway. He turned partway and raised a finger, pointing it at Sara, the knuckle bent.
" El karma siempre vuelve, hermanita," he said.
The truck's lift gate clanged outside. Footsteps on the front walk, heavy and uneven with weight. The two movers came through the door carrying a dresser between them, the wood a dark walnut that caught the gray morning light from the windows. Hector stepped aside without looking at them and walked out.
Sara turned away from where he'd been standing. She looked at the movers and pointed down the hallway.
"That's going in the back room."
~~~
Mireya sat with her thumb in her mouth and her index finger pressed up under her nose, her hand cupped over the lower half of her face. The wind pushed across the courtyard outside the university center and carried the smell of Frankie's wings toward her again. Soy sauce and grease, thick and sweet, coated the back of her throat before she could stop it. Her stomach turned over and she swallowed hard, pressing her finger tighter against her nostrils.
Frankie had a wing pinched between her fingers, pulling meat off the bone in one clean strip. Sauce pooled at the corner of her mouth, and she caught it with her tongue. Sena sat beside her with a container of rice and vegetables, chopsticks moving in small practiced motions. Students passed behind them on the walkway, backpacks swinging, voices rising and falling in overlapping conversations that bled into the hum of the campus.
Frankie licked sauce off her thumb and looked across the table at Mireya.
"Girl, I thought you'd finally landed yourself a ball player and decided to drop out of school," she said.
Mireya snorted a laugh through her nose, her hand still against her face. "I could already have one."
Frankie's eyebrow climbed. She held the stripped bone between two fingers, frozen mid-reach toward her plate.
Sena kept her eyes on her food. "Camila's dad plays football," she said, her chopsticks tapping once against the edge of the container.
Frankie set the bone down and turned her whole body toward Mireya, one arm draping over the back of her chair. "So, why you sitting across from me? Bitch, where he at? You need to be there with him."
Mireya dropped her hand from her face long enough to speak, her voice flat and even. "Los Angeles, and I'm good where I'm at." She brought her finger back under her nose.
Frankie leaned in, elbows on the table. "He like Black girls? Because if you don't want him, I'll take him. I always wanted to move out to LA."
Mireya stared at her. Her expression went blank, her eyes holding Frankie's without blinking.
Frankie held her hands up, palms forward, fingers spread. "My bad, girl. You said that like he wasn't your man no more."
Sena shook her head, a small motion, and set her chopsticks down across the top of her container. She looked at Mireya, her eyes moving over her face before settling.
"Where were you last week?" she asked. "We were worried about you."
Mireya's thumb came back to her mouth, pressing against her bottom lip. "I was in the hospital. Fell and hit my head at work. Got a concussion."
Sena's gaze dropped from Mireya's face to her hand, to the finger still tucked under her nose, palm cupped and wrist turned in. She tracked it for a second, her own hands going still on the table. Then she looked back up at Mireya's eyes.
Mireya sniffed and rubbed her finger under her nose, a quick back-and-forth.
"Are you alright now?" Sena asked.
Mireya tilted her head. "Define alright."
Sena's posture shifted forward, her forearms sliding onto the table. "Like, should you be driving and what not. I can come meet you in the mornings to help with Camila if you need me to."
Mireya shook her head. "No, I'm good."
Sena kept looking at her. Her lips parted and then closed. She held Mireya's gaze for another beat, her thumb pressing once against the side of her chopstick, then picked them up and turned back to her food.
Frankie reached for another wing, tearing it apart at the joint with a clean snap. She pointed the smaller piece at Mireya.
"I hope you filed worker's comp for that slip and fall, bitch."
Mireya shook her head again, slower this time. "You can't file if it's your fault."
Frankie sucked sauce off the tip of her finger and shrugged with one shoulder. "Shit, I would've did it anyway."
Mireya rolled her eyes, biting into the pad of her thumb, her finger pressed firmly against her nose.
~~~
Caine pulled the door open and held it for Tatum, who stepped through first, already scanning the room. The restaurant ran dim even with the light pressing at the front windows, a place that kept its lighting low on purpose. A hostess started toward them, but Tatum lifted his hand and pointed toward the back.
They walked past tables where a few people sat over coffee and plates of food that came in portions too small for the price, Caine's sneakers soundless on the carpet while Tatum's loafers marked every step.
Two men sat in a corner booth near the back wall. Both wore sport coats, one navy and one charcoal, open-collared shirts underneath. They spotted Caine before he reached them and stood, the one in navy extending his hand first.
"Caine, good to see you again," he said, his grip firm and brief before he turned to shake Tatum's hand. "Tatum."
The one in charcoal did the same, reaching across the table. "Glad you could make it out."
The four of them sat. Caine settled into the booth with his back against the wall, one arm along the top of the seat. Tatum slid in beside him, unbuttoning the front of his jacket as he dropped into the leather. The two boosters sat across from them, their water glasses already half empty, a bread basket between them that neither had touched.
Harry unfolded his napkin and set it across his lap. "How are you settling into life in Los Angeles? I know that move from Statesboro, Georgia must be a bit of a culture shock."
Caine shrugged, one shoulder lifting and falling. "It's been alright. Nothing I haven't been able to handle."
Tatum leaned forward, forearms on the table. "I've been trying to convince him to take y'all up on that car allowance so he can get himself an upgrade."
Paul picked up his water glass and took a sip before he spoke. "I'm surprised that you haven't already done that. Most kids do that before anything else."
Caine drummed his fingers against the table. "I already got a car. Don't need more than one of them. I figured if I held out long enough, that'd just get sent to my bank account as a check."
Paul and Harry both looked at Tatum. Tatum held his hands up, palms open, and shrugged.
Harry set his glass down and leaned back. "Can't fault a man for trying to maximize his earnings. Looking ahead instead of what's right in front of you. That's going to take you a long way in this town."
A server appeared at the edge of the table with menus. Caine took one without opening it and set it flat in front of him. Tatum took his and flipped it open, scanning it with the speed of someone who had eaten here before.
Paul folded his hands on the tablecloth, his fingers laced. "The reason we wanted to speak with the two of you today is because one of the contributors to the collective is launching an anti-drug campaign and,"
"I ain't doing that," Caine said.
Paul blinked. "What?"
"I ain't doing that. It would be fake."
Harry shifted in his seat, his sport coat pulling at the shoulders. "Surely, you're against drug use."
Caine looked at him, his expression even. "I ain't got no business telling people what to do with their free time or do with their money."
Paul glanced at Harry, then back at Caine. "It's $25,000 for a 15 second ad."
Caine shrugged again. "I'm still passing on that. That ain't what I want to put out there when people trying to figure out who I am."
Tatum looked over at Caine, held the look for a beat, then turned back to the boosters. "We'll take it back and workshop it. See if we can make it something else."
The two boosters looked at one another. Harry's fingers drummed once on the tablecloth, then stopped. He picked up his menu, glanced at it, then set it down again.
"What about a brand deal with a local tequila brand?"
Caine scratched his chin, his nails catching the stubble there. He nodded. "I can fuck with that."
~~~
Mireya had her knees on the mattress, her back arched so deep that her chest pressed flat against the sheets. Her face turned into the fabric, her breath coming back warm against her own mouth. Von's hands gripped her hips, his fingers pressing into the skin, pulling her back into each thrust. The sound of skin hitting skin filled the room over the music still playing low from the speaker on the nightstand. His grunting came in short bursts.
Her phone started ringing from her jeans on the floor.
She stayed where she was. The vibration buzzed against the carpet through the denim, the screen lighting up and casting a pale rectangle on the wall near her shoes.
Von slowed. "You, uh. You want to get that?"
Mireya shook her head, her forehead dragging against the sheets. "Keep going."
He picked the rhythm back up. The phone stopped ringing. Then it started again, the same vibration, the same pale rectangle on the wall.
Von stilled, his hands loosening on her hips. "You sure you don't want to get that?"
Mireya exhaled hard through her nose and pulled forward, his hands falling away from her. She sat back on the bed, her legs folding under her, and leaned over the edge of the mattress, reaching down to grab her jeans from the floor. She pulled the phone out of the back pocket, her thumb already on the screen before she turned it over.
The number on the display stopped her chest mid-breath.
She hit accept and brought the phone to her ear. "Hello?"
"Hi, Mireya. This is Stephanie. We spoke the other night. How are you doing?"
Mireya’s thumb went to her mouth. "I'm fine."
"That's good to hear. I called because the hospital put in your file that you didn't show up or call to reschedule your OB appointment."
Mireya looked over her shoulder at Von. He stood at the foot of the bed, his weight shifted to one side, his hands hanging at his sides. She turned back and pressed the phone tighter to her ear, dropping her voice lower.
"I'm sorry. I forgot."
Stephanie's pause on the other end lasted a beat too long. "Are you safe right now?"
"Yes, I am. I'm just on campus."
"Okay. They're going to reschedule the appointment for you. It's important that you go to it, Mireya."
Mireya dropped her hand and her jaw tightened. She pulled her knees up, curling her body in on the edge of the bed, her elbow on her thigh and her forehead resting against her palm. "I can do this myself."
"I know you can, but I'm going to level with you so you understand what's at stake. If you develop a pattern of not showing up for appointments and something happens to you or your unborn child, the state may find that reason to launch an investigation into you, and with presenting with acute distress, they may find you unfit to care for Camila." She paused. "I don't want that to happen to you, Mireya."
Mireya's hand tightened on the phone, her knuckles going pale, the plastic edge of the case biting into her fingers. "Yeah, I got you."
"Can I call to check in on you in a week or two after your appointment? To make sure you're doing okay?"
Mireya clenched her teeth. Her hand came up to her temple and her fingers pressed in, rubbing in a slow circle against the bone. "Yes, that's fine."
"Okay, Mireya. We'll talk then. Please be sure to get to the rescheduled appointment."
"Okay. Will do."
She pulled the phone from her ear and ended the call. She looked at the screen for a second, at the call duration blinking back at her, then threw the phone at the floor. It hit the carpet near her jeans and bounced once, the screen going dark.
Von shifted his weight behind her. "Hey, you good?"
Mireya slid back across the bed, her knees finding the same spots on the mattress, her back arching, her chest pressing down into the sheets until her face was buried in the fabric again. She turned her head just enough to speak.
"Get back to fucking me."
Von shrugged and stepped back up behind her, his hands grabbing her hips.
~~~
Asia was sprawled across the armchair with her legs hooked over one arm, a crochet hook moving through yarn in her lap. The yarn ran from a skein tucked between her thigh and the cushion, feeding through her fingers in a steady pull as the hook looped and caught, looped and caught. The hat was starting to take shape, the brim curling in on itself as she worked the rows.
Ramon lay across the sofa on his back, one arm behind his head, the remote balanced on his stomach. American Gangster played on the TV, Frank Lucas walking through Harlem in a chinchilla coat, the camera pulling wide to show him against the city. Ramon's eyes tracked the screen without moving his head. The light came through the curtains in thin strips that landed across the carpet and the edge of the coffee table, catching on a glass of water Nina had left there before she went to work.
Asia looked over at him, her hook pausing mid-stitch. "You should feel bad for how you be laying up on Nina without no job and shit."
Ramon's head stayed on the pillow. He turned his eyes toward her, the rest of his body not moving. "Ain't you doing the same shit? And I got a job."
"I got a job, too, nigga." She pulled the yarn taut and started the next stitch, the hook dipping and catching. "I'm just saying. She good people."
"Obviously, she letting you stay your ass up in here and ain't gotta pay a lick of nothing."
Asia sucked her teeth. She shifted in the armchair, pulling one leg up underneath her, the skein of yarn rolling against her hip. "'Cause she know I'm saving up to move out of the city. Probably gonna go up north. To like Tallulah or Natchitoches, Grambling or something."
Ramon's eyebrows pulled together. "Fuck you going to them places for? Ain't no Black people up there."
Asia's hook stopped. She looked at him, her head tilting off the back of the chair. "'Cause it's hard staying sober when I'm in the same place I was doing the dope, nigga. I know you ain't finish high school, but I know you ain't this fucking stupid."
Ramon shifted on the sofa, his arm adjusting behind his head, his eyes going back to the TV where Frank Lucas was counting money at a kitchen table. "I mean, I don't get it because ain't no way I'd leave the city for no fucking Tallulah, but that's on you. Whatever you gotta do to make sure I ain't waste my money sending you to that rehab."
Asia's jaw tightened. Her fingers stilled on the yarn, the hook hanging from the last loop. "You ain't gotta keep saying it like that."
"How else you want me to say it? It is what it is and that's what it is. Ain't no way around that."
Asia rolled her eyes and looked back at her crocheting for a second, the hook turning once through the loop before she spoke again. "You ain't never want to experience living somewhere else?"
Ramon scoffed, the sound coming from deep in his chest. He reached up and scratched the side of his jaw, his nails catching the stubble there. "You sound like Nina and that nigga E.J. I already did that when I was a juvie, remember? New Orleans in my blood. I ain't going nowhere but down in that dirt right here where our people at."
"That's so narrow-minded." Asia shook her head, the yarn pulling through her fingers as she started another row. "That's how people end up addicted to shit. 'Cause they set in they ways and refuse to change."
"Rather be that in New Orleans than something else somewhere else."
Asia shook her head again and looked down at her lap, the hook catching the next loop, her fingers settling back into their rhythm. The yarn fed from the skein in a steady line, the hat growing row by row under her hands. Ramon turned his eyes back to the screen, his thumb finding the edge of the remote on his stomach and resting there.
~~~
Caine pulled the Lexus to the curb and cut the engine. The house sat back from the street behind a short driveway, white stucco with a flat roof, the landscaping trimmed tight along the walkway. He got out and closed the door, his eyes going to the driveway where a Lamborghini Urus sat next to a G-Wagon and a BMW XM, all three of them clean, all three of them parked close enough that the side mirrors nearly touched.
He reached into his pocket and pulled his phone out, checking the address Alonzo had texted him against the numbers on the house. He slid the phone back into his pocket and walked up the driveway, the sun warm on the back of his neck.
He reached the front door and knocked, three solid hits with his knuckle. Music pushed through the door from inside, bass heavy enough that he could feel it in the wood under his hand. He stepped back and waited, his hands going into his pockets.
Moments later, the door pulled open. Alonzo stood on the other side, shoes in one hand, socks bunched inside them.
Alonzo waved him in with the hand holding the shoes. "C'mon. I ain't think you were going to get here so fast."
Caine stepped inside. The entryway opened into a living room where two ring lights stood on tripods, their circular glow pointed at a large sectional sofa. Cables ran across the hardwood floor to a power strip near the wall. A camera on a small tripod sat on the coffee table, angled toward the couch cushions.
Caine stopped, taking it in. "Fuck you got going on in here? Some porno shit?"
Alonzo laughed as he crossed to the kitchen table, pulling a chair out and dropping into it. He lifted one foot onto his knee and started working a shoe on. "I mean, yeah, basically."
Caine's eyebrow lifted. He stayed where he was, his hands still in his pockets, his eyes moving from the ring lights to the camera to the sofa and back.
A woman walked from the hallway at the back of the house into the living room. She had dark hair that fell past her shoulders, tattoos running down both arms, down her legs and across her collarbone, and lingerie that covered almost nothing. She moved through the space without adjusting, comfortable in it, her bare feet padding across the hardwood.
She waved at Caine. "Hey, how's it going?"
Caine nodded. "What's up?"
Alonzo looked up from tying his shoe. "Bae, you about to stream?"
She lowered herself to the floor in front of the ring lights, settling cross-legged, the glow catching the ink on her skin. "Yeah. For a couple hours."
"Alright." Alonzo pulled the laces tight and reached for the other shoe. "I'm gonna text you before I come back so I don't bust in this bitch if you still online."
She tilted her head, her fingers already reaching for her phone on the coffee table. "I might need you later anyway."
Alonzo nodded as he stood, the chair scraping back. "Cool. But not none of that weird shit that one nigga wanted the other day."
She just laughed, her thumbs already moving across her phone screen.
Alonzo looked at Caine. "You want me to drive?"
"Yeah, brudda. I don't know where I'm going."
"You right, you right."
The two of them walked toward the front door. Caine glanced over his shoulder as Eve set her phone on a tripod on the table and leaned back against the sofa, adjusting one of the ring lights with her free hand.
They stepped outside. Alonzo pulled the door shut behind them. The air hit them, warm and dry, the sun lower now and throwing long shadows across the driveway from the cars.
Caine looked back at the closed door. "You meant that porn shit, huh?"
Alonzo laughed and pulled his keys from his pocket, clicking the fob. The G-Wagon chirped. "That's my girl Eve, bro. She do OF."
"You cool with that?"
Alonzo pointed at the three cars sitting in the driveway, his finger moving from one to the next. "Yeah, I'm cool with that. It's gonna be niggas out there that seen your bitch pussy anyway. Might as well get some paper from it. And she make a lot."
Caine shook his head as they walked toward the G-Wagon. "Y'all fucking different out here."
"I can hook you up with one of her homegirls if you want." Alonzo opened the driver's side door and climbed in. "They all freaks."
Caine held his hand up as he pulled the passenger door open, waving off the offer. "I'm good, brudda. I got enough crazy shit in my life."
Alonzo shrugged, the engine turning over. "You missing out, cuz."
