CHAPTER TWENTY-TW0
JACKIE
Jackie had barely left her bed all week.
It was like the world kept moving, but she couldn’t seem to.
Every morning started the same, and with the exception of taking Max to school, cooking, and keeping the house from falling apart, she’d done little else but sleep.
The visit with MJ had done a number on her.
It did her heart good to see her boy—to touch him, hold him, smell him. But it also broke something in her.
The drive home played in her head every night, like a reel she couldn’t turn off.
And at first, she thought she had something.
That jersey. Overbrook Panthers. Clear as day.
It felt like a sign. Like her baby had left her something to follow.
So she searched. Sitting up in bed with her phone lighting up the dark, typing, scrolling, clicking anything that even looked close.
But it was too many results. Too many possibilities.
And No real direction. Just a name that led everywhere and nowhere at the same time.
And just like that, what felt like hope turned into another dead end.
The way he looked at her. The things he said about Marcus.
The fear in his voice when he talked about moving.
That was the part she couldn’t shake. Still, there was comfort in knowing he was alive and safe.
It helped… but only a little. Luckily, Max had been her saving grace.
He’d nearly jumped out of his skin when Jackie gave him MJ’s jersey.
It swallowed him whole, but he didn’t care—he wore it every day under his uniform shirt now, said it made him feel close to his big brother.
Watching that, seeing how much love still flowed between her boys even from miles apart, eased something heavy in her chest. But the ache was still there.
By the following Friday, Jackie was starting to feel like herself again, or close enough.
The fog hadn’t completely lifted, but she could breathe without crying.
That morning, she decided to do something for herself.
Something small. Something that reminded her she was still here.
She woke early, stripped her bed, and stripped herself—literally and metaphorically.
Cut her sew-in out, washed her hair, and called Bri to slide her in for her signature bust-down side part.
After that, she hit South Street and stopped by The Naked Pear for a wax, her first in months.
The pain made her hiss through her teeth, but even that felt like release—like she was shedding something old in preparation for something new.
She ended the day in Kormia’s chair, letting her cousin shape her nails into perfect stilettos with her signature American French finish.
Kormia had been grinning since Jackie sat down.
“Oh, so we outside?” she teased, popping her gum.
“’Cause I was wondering when you was gonna let me bless these hands—and those toes. It was giving Myra off Martin vibes.” Jackie rolled her eyes but smiled.
“Mind your business and fix my cuticles.”
Kormia laughed, loud and dramatic as always.
“Seriously, you look good, Jackie. I’m glad to see you taking care of you again.”
“I’m tryin’,” Jackie said quietly, eyes still on her nails.
Jackie’s momma had taken Max for the weekend, which surprised her.
The woman didn’t miss Friday night bingo for nobody.
But Jackie knew this impromptu babysitting gesture had Kormia’s name written all over it.
She could picture it now—Kormia begging, bribing, and charming her way into getting her momma to agree.
If there was one person that old woman couldn’t say no to, it was her baby sister’s only child.
Now, Jackie’s house was finally quiet. Too quiet.
Jackie told herself she was gonna chill tonight and finally take advantage of having the house to herself.
Max had Face Timed her twice since being at her momma’s, both times complaining about the food.
“Mommy, Mom-Mom made gizzards again. Please, can I get Uber Eats? Just one time.
” After the third call, Jackie gave in, ordered his spoiled behind a personal pizza and fries, and figured that’d be the last she’d hear from him until Sunday.
The plan had been simple. She should’ve been relaxing.
Practical Magic queued up on the TV—one of her low-key favorites, especially in the fall.
A pre-roll in the ashtray. Buttery microwave popcorn.
Loose sweatpants. A chilled glass of Honey Peach Stella.
Autumn Vibes by Replica burning on the coffee table.
Just one quiet, kid-free night to herself.
But no. Instead, she was bent over her bathroom sink, sucking in her stomach, trying to zip up this little, and she meant little—black corset dress she had pulled from the back of her closet.
A light beat on her face, lashes curled, edges laid.
She even ran a few curls through her hair—soft, bouncy, with just enough body to make it look like she had somewhere important to be. And she did.
“Bitch, you really got me doin’ the most,” Jackie muttered at her reflection, tugging the zipper the rest of the way up. Kormia had sworn up and down that this new hookah lounge in Olde City was the move. Some exclusive spot fresh on the scene. Classy. Not on the YNs’ radar yet.
“It’s upscale, sis. Very low-key,” Kormia had said, voice full of promise. “No broke niggas, no bottle girls fighting over sections. Strictly big spenders. We got VIP, bottle service, the whole nine.”
“Courtesy of who?” Jackie asked, side-eyeing her. “My gentleman friend, Mr. Cleotis,” Kormia replied, not meeting her eyes, “and a few of his homeboys from D.C.”
“Cleotis?” Jackie repeated, dragging the name out like a curse word.
“Girl, his ass sound ancient.” Kormia rolled her eyes.
“He older, yeah, but he solid. Jamila introduced us.”
Jackie’s expression stilled. “When you start talking to Jamila again?”
“I mean, if you and Syxe can fix y’all relationship, why can’t me and Jamila?
” Kormia responded, intentionally not meeting Jackie’s eyes.
Jackie wanted to laugh. To warn her. To say, because Syxe ain’t a male-centered, clout chasing, superficial, deadbeat groupie hoe that burns bridges everywhere she go.
But she didn’t. Some lessons had to hurt.
So she said nothing. Kormia filled the silence.
“Anyway, Cleo and his homies are some grown-ass men. No baby mamas, no drama. Just money, vibes, and a good time.” She smiled, standing behind Jackie in the mirror.
“And you overdue for a good time , cuzzy,” she added softly.
“Let somebody take care of you for once.” Maybe she was right.
Jackie thought. One night outside wouldn’t kill her.
Maybe she’d laugh, enjoy herself, and just breathe without feeling guilty for it.
Jackie studied her reflection one last time.
Then she heard the black truck pull up outside, she sighed, and finally said, “fuck it.” She was almost certain Kormia was withholding a key detail about the night, but at this point, Jackie was doing it for the plot.
Sliding into the back seat, Jackie found Kormia already in rare form—1942 cracked open, ring light clipped to her phone, grinning like she’d just pulled off a heist. “Baddie, baddie, shot o’clock!
” she sang, tipping the bottle toward Jackie’s lips.
Jackie took the shot, smooth but burning, feeling it warm her chest. “Kormia, these niggas better not be a mess,” Jackie warned, laughing but dead serious.
Kormia smirked. “Just trust me. You gon’ thank me later.”
Kormia had already taken control of the aux cord, Nicki Minaj’s FTCU blasting through the speakers as the city lights blurred past. Jackie leaned back, let the bass vibrate through her chest, and snapped a quick selfie—her first story post in weeks. Captioned: ??Outside.