“We need Messiah on this, man. We owe this nigga Hak too much money. We got to do this shit the old way. Two sets of hands ain’t enough,” Isa said as he wrapped a rubber band around a thick wad of money and tossed it into the pile that was building in the center of the table. “You niggas need to get out your fucking feelings so we can hop in this bag. Mo with her gangster boo ass got you niggas acting real fucking sensitive. That shit is getting in the way of the money.”
Ahmeek was silent. The quiet was answer enough. He didn’t even acknowledge that Isa was talking as he flipped through the bills in front of him. He was more precise than any teller, quicker than any money machine. He had been counting up thousand-dollar stacks since he was a young boy. “You fuck up my count and that’s ya ass,” Ahmeek stated.
“Fuck yo’ count, nigga,” Isa said, jumbling up the bills in front of Ahmeek. Ahmeek blew out a sharp breath and turned stern eyes to Isa. Isa stuck up a middle finger while pulling on the blunt he smoked. He blew smoke into the air and passed it to Ahmeek.
Meek exhaled sharply. “Fuck it.”
“Ain’t our shit; make that nigga Hak count it,” Isa said. “It’s all there. I ain’t with this shit, though, bruh. Hustling day and night to deliver the shit back to him. Right now, I’m ready to scream, ‘Fuck that debt and fuck Hak too.’ We can do the shit the hard way and get at him real proper. Send him to get fitted for them wings, real shit.”
“We aren’t there yet,” Ahmeek stated.
“You not there yet. I’m right there, my G,” Isa replied.
“Don’t misunderstand me, Isa. It’s not an option. That’s not the move. I’ve done the digging on Hak. He’s connected. We could put him down. My murder game is always proper, so yeah, we could, but we do that and that’s war, and I ain’t talking no corner-boy-turf shit. We play the game smart, we move fair, in the end, we’ll walk away with our respect, a couple Ms, and our life.”
“I ain’t seeing no Ms paying back this debt,” Isa griped.
“That’s temporary. We’ll climb out. Grind up. We ain’t making rash decisions that’ll cost us in the long run, bruh. I ain’t looking to die in this shit. Just get rich and get out. I got people to protect, man; it ain’t just about me now.”
“Like Mo?” Isa shot back.
Ahmeek hit the weed and held the smoke as Morgan and the twins ran through his mind. He pushed out a cloud of smoke as he choked out, “Mo don’t need me. She got it all figured out.” Pride forced those words from his lips, because all he really wanted to do was be the one she called on. She hadn’t, however. Not even a text from her had graced his phone, so in return, he hadn’t reached out either. Days had been long. Nights had been longer without hearing her voice. He missed the fuck out of Morgan Atkins but would never say it. “But you got a fiancé at home. We hit Hak, that’s her head in a bag on your doorstep. We want to move clean with this one. Just be patient. Once we back on track with Hak, the money gon’ triple. You got to trust me in this one.”
“You keeping that man breathing. He should be paying you for insurance,” Isa stated.
Ahmeek leaned back against the couch and kicked one boot up on the table as he lifted glazed eyes to the ceiling. The weed had taken him to another place, and he heard his heart slow as it beat in his ears. He swiped a hand over his mouth and groaned in conflict. A part of him wanted to move recklessly. The part that had some shit to get off his chest wanted to end niggas for no reason than just to make himself feel a little better, but he had outgrown that temperament. He had thought he had leveled up for a purpose … for a woman … but with her nowhere in sight, he questioned if caution was even necessary. She was his plan. His end goal. He never needed one before her, but once he got a taste of her, he realized it was a craving that had gone unfulfilled his entire life. Love. Ahmeek wanted the love of a woman to force him to get out, but he was learning there were no guarantees when it came to affairs of the heart. If he wanted to go legit, he would have to do it for himself.
Morgan’s phone rang, and she felt her heart skip a beat as Bash’s name popped up on her phone screen. His persistence was intimidating. Back to back, he had called her for hours. She hated it, and her stubbornness wouldn’t allow her to answer. She shouldn’t have to. I just need some space, she thought.
Voice mail.
Morgan silenced the phone and exhaled as she looked up at the only safe space in her life. Ethic’s home. Her eyes prickled a bit because she was home. In his care. He was right inside. Her entire family was within these four walls, and her heart pulled inside her chest. She watched Alani climb out of her Tesla and then walk over to Morgan’s door and open it for her.
“Come on. We’re prepping for Sunday dinner. You can help,” Alani said.
Morgan half smiled. She never thought she would see the day when she would be happy to be in the kitchen with Alani.
Morgan climbed out, grabbing one twin while Alani managed with the other. Morgan almost cried when she saw Ethic coming down the steps. Everything about him was regal and strong. He was so loyal. So loving. Her family. The thought of him being in jeopardy because of her made Morgan feel like crying. I really messed up this time, she thought.
“What up, Mo?” he said, kissing her cheek and then bending down to lift Yara off her feet.
“Pop-Pop!” Messari screamed as soon as he and Alani walked through the door.
Ethic was the deadliest man Morgan knew, but with her twins, he turned to putty. His tall frame lowered onto the staircase, taking a seat right where he stood as he pulled them both into his strong arms.
“This is the best surprise I’ve ever gotten. I didn’t know you guys were coming over,” Ethic signed. “Who are my favorite little people in the world? Huh?” He roughhoused them as if he were training baby pit pulls, and they loved it.
“Me,” Yara signed.
She hated to share him with Messari, and Ethic chuckled as he blew a raspberry on her cheek. She giggled and wrapped her arms around his neck as Messari sat propped on Ethic’s log of a thigh.
“Not just you,” Ethic signed. “Both of you. You two are my favorites. You know that right? I love you.”
“Luh you too!” Messari said, scrambling by him. “Eazyyy! I’m here! Eazy!” Messari took the staircase with his hands and knees until he scrambled all the way to the top. “Where is him? Pop-Pop? Where him is?”
Ethic smiled while standing with Yara. “He’s in his room. He has headphones on. Go get him.”
Messari took off. He knew the home well enough to find his own way, and he knew the rules even better so he wouldn’t make mischief along the way.
“Come on, Pop-Pop. You can watch a movie with your girls,” Alani teased. He kissed her lips, a quick peck, but a peck from Ethic Okafor held a lifetime worth of love. Alani led the way into the great room as Ethic wrapped an arm around Morgan’s shoulders and pulled her in close. Yeah. Little Morgan was home, and it felt amazing.
“You want to talk about it?” Ethic asked. Morgan didn’t know how he knew something was wrong. He had always been a master at all things Morgan Atkins, and he read her effortlessly. He knew at first glance that something was heavy on her heart.
Morgan shook her head. “I want to watch the movie,” Morgan said simply. “Just be here with y’all and watch movies.”
“Well, when you’re ready, you know I’m here. Don’t wait too long, or I’ma force the issue. If you’re bothered, I’m bothered, Mo, and when I’m bothered, I’ma see about you. You got me?”
Morgan nodded. “I promise. It’s nothing. Let’s just watch a movie. All of us. Like we used to when I was little. That’s exactly what I need right now.”
“What about you, Yolly Pop? You want to watch a movie, princess?” Ethic signed.
Yolly’s eyes twinkled in interest, and she nodded.
“I’m making popcorn—and don’t worry, Mo, I got your ranch seasoning for it. Y’all set it up,” Alani said.
Ethic walked toward Alani and placed his free hand to her hip. “I’ll grab the popcorn. Get off your feet. Keep my boy in there for a little longer,” he said.
Morgan swooned. God, how she wanted what they had. Something beautiful and lasting and true. Something so organic the rain from a storm couldn’t destroy it. E&A’s love was like a seed—the deeper it was pushed down into the dirt, the more it strove to bloom. She watched Ethic as he whispered something in Alani’s ear. The way Alani’s brown cheeks deepened to a burgundy and the way her lips pulled in a smile was beautiful. He went from her lips to her belly, and Yara followed suit, planting a kiss on Alani’s swollen belly. Morgan wondered if she truly knew what love was, because she wasn’t sure she looked as exquisite when love reflected off her. Ethic’s love made Alani glow differently, like he shined a light down on her. She was the spotlight of his life. Morgan didn’t have a choice but to respect something so potent. She made her way to the great room.
“Where’s B?” Morgan asked.
“She’s shopping with Nannie. They went to the outlet sale in Birch Run,” Alani said.
“Since when is Bella so thrifty?” Morgan asked, chuckling.
“Since Nannie got her hands on her,” Ethic answered as he walked in. He set Yara on her feet as Eazy walked in with Messari.
“Y’all watching movies without me?” he asked. “That’s cold, Dad.”
“Boy, get your ass in here and be quiet,” Ethic said, smirking as he gripped the back of Eazy’s neck.
“Come on, baby boy,” Alani said. “You can sit next to me, cuz Daddy stay hogging the covers. Come on, Ssari. You too,” she said, lifting the blanket she was using. Her boys flocked to her, and Ethic opted for a seat beside Morgan. Yara scurried into his lap while Morgan used his shoulder as a cushion.
Ethic was the captain as he flicked through the movie options.
“What are we watching?” Eazy asked.
“Home Alone?” Alani asked.
“It ain’t Christmas,” Ethic said.
“When does it ever have to be Christmas to watch Home Alone?” Alani shot back.
“What’s Home Alone?” Eazy asked.
“I swear before me you are raising these kids ass backward,” Alani said in disgust.
Morgan laughed.
“I meannnn,” she said, grimacing as she giggled joyously.
“Don’t agree with bullshit, Mo,” Ethic said.
They laughed, and the room was filled with the sound of love as Eazy wisecracked with Ethic. Morgan felt frozen. Like she was watching outside a glass dome. Like this scene was supposed to go inside a snow globe because it was beautiful. It was family. Something the Okafors had worked hard for. Morgan’s phone rang and snatched her focus away. Her heart clenched at the sight of Bash’s name.
“I’m going to take this. I’ll be right back. Don’t start without me!” she shouted as she rushed to her feet and out the door. The makings of fall greeted her as she pulled the door shut behind her. A shiver crept up her spine as she pressed the green button. She had been gone for a few hours and had been ignoring him all day. She knew he was imagining the worst in his head. Morgan wasn’t trying to fan the flames; she just wanted a little me time. She put the phone to her ear, but before she could utter one word, a clear threat was made.
“It takes fifty-five minutes to drive from where you are to this doorstep,” Bash said.
“How do you know where I am?” she asked. Bash ignored that question, and Morgan felt sick, like she would throw up.
“I’m trying hard with you, Mo. Harder than I’ve ever tried with anyone before you. I’ve been patient. I’ve been understanding. I’ve been taken for granted and made a fool of. It’s not even close to being acceptable anymore. Get home before I get upset.”
The line went dead, and Morgan pushed out a timid breath. Her eyes prickled, and she fisted the crown of her head in dismay. He sounded so mad. No doubt she was headed home to a fight. Morgan didn’t know what she was feeling, but the walls seemed to be closing in on her.
Beep! Beep!
Morgan rolled her pretty brown eyes toward the long driveway, and her heart ached when she saw Messiah sitting in there in the passenger side of Isa’s BMW. She hadn’t even heard him pull up. Or had he been there the entire time? She had no clue, but she had an unbelievable urge to run to him. It felt like Bash’s eyes were on her. Like he was spying on her. Like if she went to Messiah, he would witness it, and it would only make the situation between them worse.
“Fuck you looking back for like you need permission, shorty?” Messiah asked. “Get over here.”
Morgan’s feet moved before her mind had time to tell her to stop. “What are you doing here?” she asked as she wrapped herself tighter in her jean jacket to protect against the wind. He popped open the door, and weed smoke drifted out of the car as he placed one wheat Timberland to the pavement. He made no move to stand.
“Come here,” he said.
“I can’t fit, Messiah,” she protested.
He pulled her fingertips, forcing her into the car, right into his lap. He hit the blunt that he pinched between his tattooed fingers and gripped her chin, pulling her near as he blew the smoke out of his mouth slowly into her face. Morgan inhaled it, held it, then tilted her chin to blow it out. She licked her lips, then focused on him.
“Let me get that,” Messiah signed, licking his lips, a conceited smirk lifting the corner of his mouth.
“Don’t do that,” Morgan signed back.
“Is that a yes? Three squares, two snacks, shorty,” he reminded.
Morgan’s face flushed red as she remembered the things he had done to her body.
“I know it’s wet,” he signed. “Tell me it ain’t.”
He pulled his lip into his mouth and licked it so slowly that Morgan felt a jolt travel through her entire vagina.
“Messiah, stop,” she whispered, swiping her hair out of her face, tucking it behind both ears. She was frustrated, exasperated, fucking bothered. She didn’t want to do too much in front of Isa, because she didn’t want things to be misconstrued. She and Messiah were not a thing, and she didn’t need Isa or anyone else thinking otherwise. Messiah hit the blunt and chuckled at her discomfort.
“What are you doing here?” Morgan asked, irritated.
“My girl is here. Where else would I be?” he asked.
“Messiah. I haven’t been your girl for a long time.” The sadness in her tone surprised them both.
He placed his hand to her cheek, staring at her through lidded eyes. He was high. She could see his mind spinning as he took a trip to the past through her stare. “You always gon’ be my girl, Mo.” He was inches from her face, and Morgan closed her eyes.
“You can’t be here,” she whispered.
“I can be wherever the fuck I want to be, Mo. That’s the difference between me and you. I go where I want. You go where you’re told. How that happen, shorty? Where the girl I made a woman out of?”
Messiah kissed her bare skin, where the jacket slid down.
“Yo, that shoulder gon’ get you in trouble,” he said.
Morgan hollered in laughter. Only Messiah would find her shoulder seductive.
“Keep playing with me,” he said. “I know that nigga ain’t hitting that shit right.”
“Messiah!” she shouted.
“Yep, that too, calling my name and shit. You want a nigga to fuck you real good,” he snickered.
Morgan turned so red that she felt her face warm.
“Y’all wild as fuck, man,” Isa said, snickering. He popped open the door. “I’m about to go get a plate. I know Alani in there cooking the fuck out of some shit.”
“Nigga, ain’t you vegan?” Messiah said, laughing. Morgan raised a suspicious brow in Isa’s direction.
“Not when Alani’s on the stove, my nigga. You brought a nigga one plate one time, and I been jonesing for her shit ever since,” Isa said. “I’m vegan-ish, G.”
Messiah and Morgan fell out in laughter as Isa climbed from the car.
“Ethic gon’ shoot yo’ skinny ass!” Messiah yelled after him.
“I’ll risk it!” Isa shouted back.
“Just go on in,” Morgan said. “They’re in the family room.” Isa disappeared inside the house, and Morgan focused back on Messiah.
“Ahmeek in there?” Messiah asked.
“He isn’t really speaking to me these days,” Morgan whispered.
Messiah nodded, biting his bottom lip. “College boy in there?”
She shook her head.
“Good. I ain’t got to kill nobody today,” he stated as he hit the blunt. He passed it to Morgan, and she reluctantly took it, lifting it to her lips. One hit and she passed it back.
“Not today,” she choked out. “Have you talked to Ahmeek?”
Messiah tapped her ass, causing her to rise. “Don’t ask me about that nigga, Mo.” Messiah’s brow bent as he continued to smoke. “Get in on the other side. I want you to drive me somewhere.”
“I can’t just leave, Messiah,” she said.
“We ain’t going far, shorty. I just want to rap with you,” he said.
Mo bit her bottom lip and looked down at her phone.
“Yo, you look down at your phone one more time and I’m gon’ call that nigga and tell him what’s good. I don’t need permission to do shit with you, Morgan Atkins, you hear me?”
Morgan pushed out a sharp breath and hurried to the driver’s side. She started the car, and the sound of a guitar oozed through the speaker.
Love you like the Westside
Fingers out the sunroof, won’t you let your wings loose
Look at how your stress fly
Morgan lifted eyes to Messiah, and her heart flipped upside down. He just wrung out her insides. Every time she was in his presence, he made her sick.
“Drive, shorty.”
Morgan reversed the car and then switched the gear to drive before pulling off.
“What about Isa? Ethic’s really going to kill him.” Morgan laughed.
“He’ll be a’ight. He’s a big boy.” Messiah snickered. “Big Homie definitely gonna kill him, though.”
Morgan let the windows down and opened the sunroof as Messiah leaned back in his chair. She didn’t care that Michigan was skipping fall and heading straight to winter. It was freezing outside, but the heat between these kindred souls kept them warm as Morgan sped down the block. The frigid winds didn’t bother Messiah. He liked what she liked and didn’t say one word about the air coming inside. His head bobbed to the beat as he licked his lips and hit the blunt. He blew the smoke into the air, and the wind carried it away instantly. Morgan’s hair whipped wildly, and Messiah lifted one foot, resting it in the corner of the window. His hand found its way to her thigh, and Morgan sucked in a breath, holding it, because even something as simple as fingertips to her skin ignited her. She stole glances of him, and her eyes thanked her, misting in appreciation because even in anger it was a pleasure to see him. There were days she didn’t think she would ever see him again. Just his scent pleased her. It was all in her psyche, and she was so grateful, because she had cried for days when it had disappeared from her memory years ago. He sat beside her, kite high, eyes closed as he rocked to the music. He wore his low cut with a line so sharp that it looked like it had been painted on. He was handsome. Distinctively so, in fact, but Morgan couldn’t help but miss his signature locs.
“Stop staring, shorty,” he signed without opening his eyes, and then he tossed up double Ms. Morgan fought hard against her smile and drove. She had no idea where she was going until she pulled into the entrance of the old tourist attraction.
“Crossroads Village?” Messiah asked, frowning as he sat up, looking out the windshield. Flint didn’t have much, but this was an iconic piece of happiness. Every little girl and boy had memories of this place. It was booming during Christmas season, but on a random fall day, it was a ghost town. There wasn’t a soul in sight besides the workers manning the place. Mo and Messiah had the entire place to themselves on this day. The life-size gingerbread-style houses and old-fashioned shops were empty.
“My daddy used to bring me here every year for Christmas. Just me and him. Raven and my mom never came. They hated the snow, but I loved it. It was our time. He would carry me on his back, and we would go from shop to shop eating cotton candy, getting souvenirs, looking at the Christmas lights, riding the carousel and the train. It was my favorite place when I was a kid. I haven’t been here since he died. Ethic tried to bring me, but I always said no.”
Messiah opened his door, and Morgan didn’t move. She just sat there gripping the steering wheel until he opened her door too. Still she sat there frozen. It was as if she were glued to her seat. Messiah reached for her hand, and only then did she slide from the car.
“It’s cold outside, Messiah. I’ll freeze. I didn’t grab my coat,” she said.
Messiah took off his Moncler jacket, and helped her into it, then flipped up the hood to the jean jacket he wore beneath.
“Now you’ll freeze,” she scoffed, smiling.
“I been in Michigan my whole life. I can take a little cold, shorty. Come on,” he said, grabbing her hand.
Messiah took one last hit of the weed before extinguishing the tip on a tree, then flicking the roach. He tilted his head back and blew smoke from his mouth as he dragged Mo along to the entrance. He pulled out a knot of money, all hundreds, and paid admission for two.
“It hasn’t changed. It seemed bigger when I was six,” she said, scoffing again as she folded her arms in front of her chest. Messiah pulled her under one arm.
“It’s plenty big, shorty,” he said. They walked over the uneven gravel as they made their way through the little town. Her phone rang, and she pulled it out of her purse to see it was Bash.
She silenced it and put it back into her purse.
She saw Messiah’s jaw clench, and it surprised her when he didn’t say anything. He kissed the side of her head, then pulled her into the trinkets shop.
“I used to have one of these,” she whispered as she fingered the antique jewelry box. A hand-carved ballerina stood in the middle of it, and she smiled. “Mizan broke it. He threw it at Raven’s head one day when she was late coming home from the hair salon. I cried all night, and she begged me to be quiet so I wouldn’t make him mad.”
Messiah steeled as their eyes met. He could see the damage hanging from her soul like wet laundry on a clothesline. “I don’t want to talk about them, Mo. Why don’t we just keep it right here … me and you? I don’t want to think about nobody else … just for a few hours. I ain’t never really asked nobody for shit, but if you can give me that, just today, I’ll be a happy nigga, Mo. You can go back to hating me as soon as I drop you off.”
It would have been easy to just tell her Mizan wasn’t his brother, but he knew the timing wasn’t right. They had so many things to talk about. There were too many hard conversations to have between them. Morgan barely gave him the time of day. He didn’t want to ruin this rare moment of peace between them with mentions of her childhood. He didn’t want her to do too much thinking at all because it would cause her to pull back.
She folded her lips inside her mouth and looked off, snatching her stare from his because she got lost in his eyes. They steered her down memory lane. “Okay,” she whispered.
Messiah picked up the jewelry box. “Yo, my man,” he said to the white man behind the counter. “We’ll take one of these.”
He paid, and Morgan smiled as he peeled off another hundred-dollar bill. Her eyes sparkled as he turned to her.
“Thank you, Messiah,” she said.
He nodded. “You’re welcome, shorty,” he replied.
He led her back out into the cold, but she turned back for the store. “I’ll be right back.”
When she emerged, she carried a blanket and two cups of hot chocolate. She handed him the Styrofoam cups and opened the blanket wide. “Come on, we can both fit,” she said. “You’re going to get sick out here with no coat.”
“I’m good, Mo, as long as you’re warm,” he said.
“You either get under this with me or take your coat. As a matter of fact, it’s too cold for this anyway. Let’s just go back.”
“A’ight, shorty. I’ll get under the fucking blanket,” he yielded. He took one end and she took the other, hanging it over their shoulders and then tying a knot in the middle in front of them. It forced them to touch, the heat from their bodies warming the space inside. An M&M burrito. She rested her head on his shoulder as she took one of the cups from him.
“I love these lights,” she said. “I forgot how much I loved this.”
The “this” she was talking about wasn’t just the lights. It was him. It was being connected to him while being removed from everything and everyone else. They had loved each other in a bubble, not caring about the risks they had taken or the people who hadn’t liked it. M&M forever, like her 1:00 a.m. tweet that went out every Friday. It had been a beautiful thing while it lasted, and then it had ended tragically. Morgan was still struggling with that, their demise, all these years later.
“Yeah, it’s dope. Seems like something you’d like,” he said. He sipped the hot chocolate. “Yo, this shit needs some liquor in it.”
Morgan burst out laughing. “Just like you. Got to corrupt something innocent,” she teased.
Messiah bit his lip. “If I remember right, you liked that shit,” he snickered.
The cold didn’t exist anymore because Morgan’s entire body warmed, and her face flushed crimson. “That was a long time ago,” she said sadly.
“Yeah, I guess it was,” he stated. They strolled through Crossroads Village for hours, picking up trinkets, laughing, talking, joking. It felt like old times. He was taking her on a trip down memory lane, and when she came across the carousel, her heart stopped.
“Wow, Messiah. It hasn’t changed. This is the exact same one my daddy used to take me on.” He followed her stare to the amusement ride ahead. She closed her eyes to stop the burning she felt. Her nostrils flared, and her chest lurched in emotion.
“Come on,” he said.
He walked over to the ticket booth and bought two passes. Mo stalled a bit at the entrance of the ride, and he grabbed her hand, intertwining their fingers, their souls, tied … in that moment, she wondered if they had ever really come undone. She had always felt him. Even when she had been told he had died. It was like he was alive inside her, like she felt two hearts beating inside her chest. They tossed the drinks before stepping onto the carousel.
They stood on the platform, and Mo’s smile broke through her somberness.
“What you want? A horse, shorty? You want the bench? You want the throne? Where you want to sit?” he asked.
“I want to stand,” she said. “I want to stand with you while it spins and close my eyes. I want to feel dizzy like I used to.” She bent her head back and looked up at him, surrendering to the moment as the carousel began to turn.
He knew the dizzy feeling she was speaking of. The sick feeling. He had felt it too. He felt it now. Always felt it. Ever since the day he had decided to love her, he had been dizzy over her. This one young-ass girl affected him deeply.
He placed his hands on her hips and pulled her close, bodies touching, sharing a breath, and her eyes sealed. She laughed as the cold wind kissed her skin, and Messiah was glad that she wasn’t looking. Had she been paying attention, she would have seen his eyes gloss over as he took her in. He pressed his forehead to hers and closed his eyes too, and the spinning made it seem like they were being transported back in time … to a place … to a moment in space … when no resentment lay between them … back to that tiny-ass apartment where he used to sit between her legs and let her grease his scalp with coconut oil. His chest ached as he hooked his fingers in the belt loops of her jeans and his lip quivered. Morgan Atkins could do no wrong. He was mad as hell at her—livid, in fact—for her moving on, for her choosing College Boy and for having the nerve to have a bit of Meek on the side. That tore him up inside, but he couldn’t do shit but admire her from afar because losing her was his fault. He had done this, pushed her too far, cut her too deep, and now she was lost. Now she was searching for something she used to find in him. The thought hollowed him out like someone had cut away at him with a knife.
Morgan placed her hands on his chest and then moved flat palms up and around his neck, massaging the nape of him. People didn’t put hands on Messiah. He was like a temperamental dog—an aggressive breed that might bite—but Morgan didn’t care. She was his owner, and the silk of her fingertips against his skin made Messiah weak. A tear slipped from her eyes, and Messiah’s tongue was on it before it could reach her chin. He showed emotion in the oddest of ways. The licking of tears and such. Morgan loved it. She opened her eyes as the wetness he left behind made her face cold.
“I hate that you cut your hair,” she whispered. “I loved it. I loved you, and you changed up on me. You left me.”
“I’ve done a lot of shit, Mo, but leaving you is the worst. It’s the fucking worst,” he whispered. “You hear me? I thought about you every day. Every fucking second. Even when it hurt too bad to think about anything, I always thought about you, shorty. For two years.”
“But you didn’t call me. You didn’t trust me to choose you, Messiah. I would have. I was terrified of you after I found out who you were, but I still wanted you. You crushed me. I just wanted you.”
“I know, shorty,” he said. “I’m a sorry-ass nigga, but I couldn’t stay, Mo, and I couldn’t bring you. There was some shit I had to do alone,” he whispered. He couldn’t tell her about the cancer. It made him feel weak. It made him seem weak. He couldn’t let her know that he had disintegrated to almost nothing … that he’d had to build up his strength to even come back. That he’d almost checked out. He just wanted her to always think of strength when she thought of him. He kissed her, filling her mouth with his entire tongue. Morgan swallowed him. Moaning. Weakened. Defeated. The deepest kiss she had ever received. He inhaled her, sucking on her whole face—chin, nose, both lips. She was sure he was imagining her pussy on his tongue because it was the exact way he used to devour those three meals and two snacks she would prepare him. They kissed for three minutes as the carousel spun, but it was Messiah that made her dizzy. When it stopped, he put his head in the groove of her neck, pulling that blanket around them tighter, then planted a feather kiss on her neck. Morgan trembled there.
“You’re freezing. Come on, let’s get you back. It’s getting late.”
He said it, but she didn’t move. She knew that once he dropped her off, she would have to go back to fake smiling. She enjoyed what authenticity felt like. He stared down the bridge of his nose at her.
“I got something for you,” he said. He pulled a piece of paper out of his back pocket. It was folded and wrinkled.
“What’s this?”
“Your Christmas gift,” Messiah said.
Morgan giggled. “But it’s not Christmas,” she answered.
“Yeah, I missed a couple,” Messiah said. “I bought it last year.” Morgan looked up from the paper and into his eyes, stunned. If only he had come back then.
“The last time I gave you a Christmas gift, you said it didn’t feel like a gift. I hope this is better. It ain’t really nothing a nigga can wrap, but it’s yours,” he said.
Morgan unfolded the paper and read the words on it.
“You named a star after me,” she gasped. It was the most thoughtful thing anyone had ever done. It was sweet, and Messiah didn’t do sweet, so she knew the effort it had taken.
“It’s corny. You can tell me if you don’t like it. You’re just so far from me, Mo. You’re living with another nigga, wearing his ring, having his kids. I can’t see you when I want. When I look up, I can see that. It’ll always be there.”
He pointed to the sky, and Morgan looked up. They had been out all day, and the night sky sparkling above them was proof of that. “It’s that one right there. You’ve always been a star, shorty,” he said. “It’s dumb, right?”
Morgan shook her head as large droplets of emotion fell from her eyes. “It’s not,” she whispered. “I love it, Messiah.”
“Come on, let’s get you home before I smack fire from that corny-ass nigga for blowing up your line,” Messiah said.
Morgan chuckled, and Messiah pulled her under his arm as they headed toward the car. The drive home was silent, but no discomfort existed between them. It had been a long time since Morgan had been in his presence without being angry, and it felt good. Her hand in his, her pointer finger drawing a circle in his palm … the rhythm it kept making him calm. When they pulled in Ethic’s driveway, Morgan’s stomach plummeted. It signified the end. Morgan could get out of this car and go back to her life, or she could follow her heart. In this moment, her heart didn’t want this night to end. Her heart was open to the possibility of what life could be like with Messiah. The house was still. The only light that glowed from the inside came from the family room. Morgan knew that her kids were asleep inside. Ethic and Alani hadn’t even called to see where she had disappeared to; they had just stepped up because no matter what, they would always have her back. She waited for Messiah to exit and open her door.
She stepped out, and he walked her to the front door.
“Do you want to come in?” she asked.
He shook his head. “Nah, I’ma break out,” he declined.
“I would have done anything for you,” she said as they stood face to face. It was the saddest he had ever heard her sound. “I just wanted you to want me like I wanted you. You have no idea what I’ve been through. What you put me through. Thinking you didn’t love me. I’m still not sure if you ever did…”
She saw a streak of hurt corrupt his face.
“I’ma love you until the last breath leaves me, shorty. I don’t give a fuck about nobody else. Just you. That’s all I fucking care about, and I know I fucked shit up, but I’m never fucking with nobody else the way I fucked with you. You’ve got your family, and I get that. You got your doubts in me, and I placed them there, so I understand that too, but I’m just letting you know. In case you see me out, in case you think I’m trying to replace you. It will never happen, Mo. If at any time you want to let a nigga come home, I’ll come running. I’ll take care of another nigga kids and all, so if that’s the issue—” He paused, and a sob broke through her quivering lips. “I’ll take whatever is a part of you, Mo. Let me come home, baby. You promised I could come home. That you were home, and that home would always be there.”
He had tears in his eyes, and Morgan lifted hands to his face. Morgan was in the worst predicament. She had a fiancé, one who was forcing her to stay. One who held deadly secrets over her head, and two men on the side whom she loved dearly. Messiah and Ahmeek. Somehow in this moment, none of that mattered, however. He was tapping into the part of her heart where only M&M existed. No one else dwelled in that part of her. Just Messiah. He was and would always be the one who’d loved her first. He gripped her wrist and kissed the inside of it, where that moth was tattooed.
“I’m sorry, Mo. I’m trying to be patient, but I need you. You’re my Shorty Doo Wop. What I’m supposed to do without you? I’m dying, Mo. I thought it would get better, but if I got to die, I want you to be the last face I see. I can’t live without you, Morgan. It’s driving me crazy, shorty. Just let me come home,” he said as he lifted her left hand. The ring she wore sent fire through his entire body. “Fuck this nigga, shorty. Fuck Meek too. I don’t even give a damn about none of that no more. I just want you. Let’s go grab your kids and break out.”
Morgan’s stomach tightened. She felt sick as she stood there, crying as the snow fell around them. She couldn’t hide from him. She couldn’t continue lying to him. She was terrified to admit the truth, but she knew that dying feeling he was describing. She was dying. Her twins were dying. They were half living because Daddy wasn’t home. Their daddy … Messiah … her daddy … Messiah. A part of their unit was missing in their lives, and it was a slow death. She knew. At least she thought she knew what he was going through, and she couldn’t bear it any longer.
“They’re yours, Messiah,” she said. “I tried to tell you. I tried to call you a thousand times, but you just left. The twins. Messari and Yara. They’re yours. They’re ours.”
The revelation crashed over him like waves, drowning him … the weight of her words was an anchor around his feet, pulling him under. He wrapped his large hands around her wrists and pulled her into him hard, jerking her. “Don’ t say that to me, Morgan … don’t…”
“They’re yours, Messiah!” she cried.
He took a step back, pushing her off him as balled fists went to his temples in anguish. “And you kept that shit from me?” The words were spoken in disbelief.
Morgan took a step toward him and reached for him, but Messiah slapped her hand off him, like she were infected, like she were contagious. His brow furrowed in distress. He was enraged. “Keep yo’ scan’lous ass the fuck over there before I slap the shit out of you, Mo.”
Morgan’s heart sank, and her eyes widened. “You weren’t here, Messiah! You left me!”
“They think that nigga is their daddy!” Messiah barked the words at her, screamed them so loudly that Morgan recoiled.
The porch light came on, and Ethic pushed open the screen door, carrying Yara in his arms.
“Mo, come inside,” he said.
Messiah froze when he saw his daughter, and tears came to her eyes.
“Ethic, I just need a minute with him—”
“Fuck you, Mo,” Messiah scoffed. “Time’s up, shorty. I ain’t got shit for you. I’m done. You got another man raising my kids. They call him Daddy.” Messiah’s fists wrapped around the railing of the porch, and he lowered his head as he tightened his grip. He was breaking. He was falling apart. His fight to live, to come back for her, had destroyed his ability to have children. The chemo had killed his manhood, made him sterile, and here Morgan was with two living, breathing, mini versions of him right in her possession. He sobbed, and Morgan reached for his shoulder.
“Ssiah…”
“Don’t touch me!” he said. “Don’t fucking touch me!”
Morgan’s heart was shattered.
“Morgan, inside,” Ethic stated. Morgan rushed inside, crying, and Ethic opened the door wider for Messiah. “You too.”
“I’ma need a minute,” Messiah said, his chest quaking. He clenched his jaw so tight that his teeth hurt. My kids. She had my babies. Spittle flew from his mouth as his cries broke through his stubborn lips. He bent his head, chin to chest, as his grip on the wrought iron porch bars tightened. He was trying to gain control of himself, but he couldn’t. He sobbed uncontrollably.
Ethic placed Yara down inside the house and stepped out into the cold, placing a hand on Messiah’s shoulder. Messiah pushed Ethic, and Ethic grasped his wrists, arresting Messiah with his strength before wrapping a hand around the back of Messiah’s head and pulling him into his body. Ethic gritted his teeth as he embraced Messiah, sniffing away his own emotion as Messiah broke. The young gunner, the menace, the beast, that Messiah Williams had cracked. A pretty little butterfly named Morgan Atkins had broken him, and pain was spilling out. Oh, the mess she had made.
Messiah fought Ethic, uncomfortable with affection, because physical contact with another man in his past had been abuse … unspeakable acts committed against him that had made him afraid to trust another.
“Trust me Messiah. I ain’t here to hurt you. Nobody’s going to hurt you,” Ethic said through gritted teeth, reminding Messiah that with him, he was safe. He fought Ethic until finally giving in, wrapping his arms around his mentor and sobbing. He had to scream it hurt so bad. Two years had passed, and he had almost died, had fought to get back to her. He had been back for weeks, and she hadn’t said one word. He had missed so much time. He had kids. Twins. A boy and a motherfucking girl to bring him karma.
Messiah pulled back from Ethic and lowered his head, pinching the bridge of his nose and sniffling uncontrollably. “She had my kids, man. I got kids.” The words struggled their way out of his mouth because he couldn’t stop crying. “I missed two years. Two fucking years … they don’t even know me.”
“It’s never too late to be a father, Messiah. It’s time to put away childish things. That rage you keep in your heart is dangerous. It’s no good for you, and it’s a danger to Mo, but this isn’t about either of you. It’s about these two babies in here. You got to be willing to do anything for them. Anything. Even put the aggression away. If you’re going to be here, you got to man the fuck up. Man up. You missed two years. What are you going to do with the rest of them? You can’t misstep with them. I gave you one pass. One. There won’t be another. You don’t pass down none of the pain Bookie caused you. I know what he did.”
Messiah’s eyes widened in horror at the discovery that his deepest secret was being spoken. That it was tangible and audible and released into the night air. It made him feel see-through. “Mo doesn’t know. I’m the only person breathing who knows. Anybody else who knew is no longer breathing.” Messiah’s chin quaked as he met eyes with Ethic. Bookie was gone. Ethic had made sure of it. For Messiah. Ethic had killed the man that had molested him as a young boy. Messiah knew that had taken some effort, some discerning, because Ethic had changed his life. Ethic was on a journey to be a better man for the woman he loved. For Alani. His wife. He had taken a detour to avenge the trespass that had been done against Messiah, and everyone knew that Ethic only killed for the people he loved. For his family. Messiah was family, and if he hadn’t known it before … felt it before, he felt it now. Messiah nodded in understanding, and Ethic placed a hand around Messiah’s shoulders. “Come hold your babies.”
Messiah nodded and stepped over the threshold to Ethic’s palace. Morgan stood anxiously waiting, tears wetting her cheeks, as she held their daughter in her arms.
“Messari’s asleep,” Mo said. “Messiah, this is Yara Rae Atkins.”
Messiah froze. He had seen the little girl before, but standing there in front of her as her father was different. It was humbling, it was terrifying, and Messiah felt gutted, exposed, like all his insides were being pulled out and put on display for the room to see. He didn’t know what to say. What to do.
Ethic removed Yara from Morgan’s arms and carried her over to Messiah.
“Say hi, Yolly Pop,” Ethic signed with one hand as the pretty little girl with the feather-soft hair and the deep-set brow sat comfortably in his arms.
Yara waved.
Messiah scoffed in disbelief. “She’s mine?”
“She’s yours,” Ethic confirmed.
“This is your daddy,” Ethic signed.
Yara’s brow furrowed deeper. Confusion.
“That’s not my daddy,” Yara signed. Messiah’s stomach plummeted. Nothing could have hurt him more. His daughter, his deaf daughter, didn’t even know who he was. He had left her for two years. The grief was overwhelming.
“She don’t know me, man,” Messiah said, chin quaking violently.
“That’s okay. She will. She’s yours,” Ethic coached. Morgan went to take a step toward them, and Messiah backpedaled. He retreated as if Morgan were someone who had abused him, someone whose touch would injure. As if he were afraid of her.
“Yo, Ethic, keep her away from me. I can’t even look at her. I’m just here for my kids. I just want to know my kids, man.” Every word out his throat broke apart. His voice was vulnerable.
Morgan had hurt this man. The strongest and most callous man she knew was devastated at the discovery of seeds he had planted. Morgan had grown them inside her body, and he hadn’t gotten to touch her bulging belly one time, hadn’t even gotten to see it … he was nowhere to be found because he hadn’t known. It was the one thing that would have brought him back to town, and she hadn’t said one word. She had allowed him to miss it, and then she gave his kids to another man.
“Messiah—”
“We’re done, Mo. Shit’s unforgivable. I’m done. I just want to see my kids.”
“Messiah, don’t say that … Don’t do this … You can’t do this to me again…”
“You did it, Mo,” he said as he pulled Yara from Ethic’s arms. He placed his lips to the side of her head and lost it as just her scent invaded his space. Instinct made him press her tightly to his body. He squeezed his eyes shut and sobbed into her. He couldn’t believe she was his. Blood of their blood, flesh made from their flesh. She was proof that his life had been worth something. The twins were the things in life he had gotten right, no matter how badly he had fucked everything else up.
Ethic walked to Morgan and placed two hands on her face. He could see her unraveling as she looked at Messiah holding their daughter. “Give him time with her. Give him time, Mo. Just let him get to know them. The rest can be worked out later, but that part can’t wait any longer. A man and his kids. That can’t wait. You got to let him have this. Go upstairs.”
“I’m going to lose him again!” Morgan cried.
“Maybe, but they won’t, Mo. You got to step outside yourself, baby girl. I know that’s hard for you. This is about the twins right now,” Ethic said.
He kissed her forehead, and Morgan closed her eyes, sending tears cascading down her face. Everything was so fucked up. She didn’t know how it had gotten so far out of control, but somehow she was on the outside of her family looking in. Messiah was home, but not for her, for them, their kids, and Morgan was now the bad guy. The tables had turned, and she was sick. She clung to the banister at the bottom of the staircase, watching Messiah place kisses on Yara’s face as he pressed his forehead to hers. He was sick. Crying as their daughter’s small hands wiped the tears. It was heartbreaking, and Morgan just wanted to run to him, but she couldn’t. She couldn’t take this moment away from Yara or Messiah, so she allowed her weak legs to carry her up the stairs. Before she was completely out of sight, she heard his voice.
“Morgan.”
Her heart fell into her stomach. Morgan. Not Mo. Not shorty. Not Shorty Doo Wop but Morgan. He may as well have called her ma’am. It was a formality coming off his tongue because he never called her that. He said it like he would rather be saying any other word, calling any other name besides hers.
She looked down at him.
“Bring me my fucking son,” he said.
She shot desperate eyes to Ethic, who only nodded, urging her to do so.
Morgan rushed up the rest of the stairs and into the master bedroom, flicking on the light.
“Alani, please, please, you have to wake up!” she cried, blubbering, rushing to the bedside and stirring Ethic’s sleeping wife.
“Mo?” Alani called out, confused, stuck between her dreams and her frantic stepdaughter. When the urgency in Mo’s voice resonated with Alani, she swept the covers off her instantly, sitting up. “What’s wrong? My God, Mo, what’s going on?” Alani asked.
“Help me, please, Alani!” Mo cried. “He knows. Messiah knows about the twins, and he wants nothing to do with me. He’s going to leave me again. Alani, please, you have to help me.”
Alani’s eyes misted, her hormones from pregnancy not allowing anything other than for her to share this heartbreak with Mo. She stood and wrapped her arms around Mo. “Oh, baby girl,” she said, consoling her. “Shhh. Shhh.”
Ethic appeared in the doorway carrying Messari.
Alani placed concerned eyes on him.
“Keep her here. I’ll be downstairs with Messiah and the twins,” Ethic said before closing the door.
Morgan collapsed into Alani, so hurt, so broken. “He left me. He left. How can he hate me when he left me?! He told me he loved me, and he walked away.”
Alani sat on the bed, and Morgan sat beside her before leaning over to place her head in her lap. Morgan tucked her hands between her thighs, bent her legs back, and cried. Alani’s strokes to her hair were little comfort to the torment she felt in her soul. Messiah hated her. She saw it in his eyes, could hear it in his tone. Even during their worst fight, she hadn’t heard this type of disdain in his voice. He wanted nothing to do with her. What she had done was unforgivable, and having him be a part of the twins but disconnected from her was killing her. She would never be okay with that, but she had no choice. It was the life she had chosen; now she had to be a big girl and live with the decisions she had made.
Morgan heard the front door slam, and she rushed to the window. The sight broke her down. Messiah was stuffing her kids into the back seat of Isa’s car.
“He’s taking them?” Morgan asked. She turned on her heels, rushing out of the room. “He can’t take them! Where is he taking them?” she shouted as she rushed down the stairs. Ethic caught her in his arms. “Ethic! He can’t take my kids! Why would you let him take them?! How could he take them and leave me!” she shouted hysterically. She broke down, panicking, crying as Ethic wrapped her in his arms. Alani stood at the top of the stairs with one hand over her mouth. Morgan unraveled right before their eyes. The secret was out, the fallout was monumental, and Morgan could feel the agony of it in her bones.