CHAPTER SIXTEEN
JACKIE
Jackie had been at the venue for a little over an hour.
Debating whether she really wanted to do this alone.
The spot sat deep in the Badlands. Right on the corner of a dope block.
With the sun starting to set, she already knew what came next.
The block would turn into something out of Resident Evil.
Fentanyl addicts drifting through like ghosts, eyes glazed, chasing whatever high was left.
She regretted taking the deposit. But she was here now.
That was when she decided to swallow her pride and send Najee the pin.
She didn’t even know why she did it. She had every intention of handling everything on her own.
But then he sent her a text, reminding her he was still available to help, and somehow that small thing made her feel…
comfortable. Jackie wasn’t one to lean on people.
Especially men. Especially not new men who doubled as her son’s therapist. But something about Najee had her slipping, emotionally, mentally and now physically.
The boundary lines were getting blurry. What in the HIPAA-violating hell am I doing?
Jackie thought. Still, she found herself checking the time every few minutes, wondering if he would actually come.
Fat Daddy sat in the corner, head down. No devices.
Just him, a stack of homework, and a sheet of lined paper where he was supposed to be practicing his handwriting.
His little brows were furrowed like he had something to prove.
And maybe he did. Jackie couldn’t even be mad at him.
Not after the email Cash’s fiancée had the audacity to send earlier.
It had the nerve to be titled Concerned.
Full of fake concern and fake literacy too.
Something about Max’s “escalating behaviors, possible trauma exposure,” and the implication that Jackie might be allowing him to witness or experience “destabilizing environments.” Jackie had almost thrown her phone across the room.
She couldn’t wait to see that bitch in person tomorrow.
Just then the door buzzed, and Jackie froze.
She walked over, pressed the release, and peeked through the glass. And there he was.
Gone was the polished blazer and intellectual veneer. Tonight, he was dressed down in a heather gray Penn Medicine sweatshirt, matching joggers, and a pair of sneakers. Easy. Relaxed. And fine as fuck. Jackie opened the door, lips already parted to say you really came. But he beat her to it.
“I hope you don’t mind,” he said, nodding behind him, “but I brought some reinforcements.” Jackie blinked.
“You what?” She followed his gaze. And there they were.
A full line of FOI-coded brothers in black slacks, bow ties, and fitted tees.
The same men Cash used for security before.
Silent. Organized. Already moving in with tools and supplies like they were about to run a drill.
“Najee,” she said slowly, “I don’t need security.”
“They’re not here to secure,” he replied, unfazed.
“They’re here to hang things up, blow up balloons, and build your centerpiece installations.
” Then, like it was nothing, he added, “I’m licensed to carry.
And I definitely got it on me.” His gaze met hers, steady.
“So you don’t have anything to worry about.
” Jackie’s lips curved before she could stop herself.
“Yeah, it’s like that?” He didn’t flinch.
“Always. You good when you with me.”
“I don’t believe you called these men to do this,” Jackie said, hand on her hip, trying her best to focus, because low-key his tone was turning her on. Najee stepped fully inside, the scent of Creed Himalaya trailing behind him. “Listen,” he said, locking eyes with her.
“You giving me my marching orders or naw?” She squinted. “You’re serious.”
“As a diagnosis.” Jackie huffed out a laugh.
“Fine. You can start by stacking the thirty-sixes by color and laying out the garland wire. And please tell them to grab the ladders from the back. I want to hang some ceiling installations too.” He smirked.
“Roger that.” And just like he promised, by 6:58 p.m., everything was done.
Tables styled. Backdrop hung. Garland full and thick with no patchy gaps.
Even the dessert table was halfway prepped because one of the brothers just so happened to be a retired pastry chef from Baltimore.
Jackie stood in the center of it all, hands on her hips, brows raised.
“I don’t know whether to hug you or report you to the Nation.” Najee laughed.
“You forgot a third option.”
“What’s that?”
“You could make good on that cobbler.” Her eyes narrowed.
“You remembered that?”
“I don’t forget food. Or promises.” Jackie smirked.
“It’s gonna take at least two hours. And I don’t even have the ingredients.”
Najee stepped closer. Just a little. Close enough for her to catch that cologne again.
“Then I guess we’ll go get them.” Their eyes locked. And just like that, Jackie felt herself doing something dangerous. Trusting him.