CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
JACKIE
Three weeks later…
October had finally arrived in the city, and the hawk was out for real.
It wasn’t winter yet, but the chill in the air was just as disrespectful. Days like this made Jackie want to disappear under a blanket, phone on Do Not Disturb, and binge-watch Scandal for the fifth time. But unfortunately, that wasn’t her life. Not even close.
Instead, she was being pulled in a million different directions. Max had his first Pop Warner practice Saturday, his first official day as a Fairmount Falcon. And Jackie was already dreading it.
Not because it was one more thing added to her never-ending list of responsibilities.
But because practice meant facing Cassius.
This would be their first interaction since the club incident, and just the thought of it made her chest tighten.
Then there was Syxe, completely ignoring the doctor’s orders, waddling around the house, still trying to be supermom.
The baby would be here in two weeks, and Syxe refused to stay on bed rest or hire another nanny.
So Jackie had been splitting her days between Syxe’s house and On Bended Bean.
She dropped Max off in the morning, then headed to the coffee shop to check on the staff and fill in where needed.
Syxe all but forced her to take a salary.
Something Jackie initially refused. In her mind, this was what friends did, and she didn’t need to be paid for it.
But Syxe insisted. And honestly? The extra money helped.
Jackie’s event planning business, Jackie of All Trades, had slowed down significantly.
Jackie had a few bookings lined up for November and December, but her bills were due now.
Syxe’s salary was the only thing keeping her afloat during this dry spell.
Because of it, Jackie had finally been able to handle a few things around the house.
She had her hot-water heater fixed instead of replaced, which felt like a small miracle.
Her radiators were still on bullshit, hissing and clanking like they were possessed.
She managed to replace the radiator in Max’s room, and the one in the living room.
As for the one in her bedroom, she would just have to thug it out with a space heater until she got some extra funds.
By some miracle, her car was still running.
Barely. It was unpredictable as hell. Jackie only used that car to go from point A to point B, and most days that was enough.
She knew the likelihood of her car surviving the winter was pretty slim.
But she intended to drive it until the wheels fell off. Literally.
Now, Jackie stood in front of her mirror, towel knotted around her chest, staring at her reflection like she owed it answers.
She exhaled, letting the towel drop so she could moisturize the rest of her body.
Her movements were slow, deliberate. Anything to keep her mind from drifting to the one place she was trying her hardest to avoid.
Najee. His name alone tugged at something under her ribs.
It had been three weeks since that night, that soft, impossibly gentle night, three weeks since he touched her like she was something rare, delicate, and worthy of care.
Yet here she was, trying to make sense of how a man could hold her like that… then disappear. Jackie’s jaw tightened at the thought of it. She could still picture that night so vividly, as if it had been etched in her memory. The whole night was a masterclass in sensuality and softness.
And that’s just how Najee left her feeling...soft.
Soft enough to trust the moment, soft enough to trust him.
Especially after he made sure Kormia made it in safely, that’s when she finally allowed her guard to slip and soften to the idea of him.
So soft that, for the first time in forever, Cassius didn’t cross her mind.
Not even once. Even when she turned her phone back on and saw the sea of notifications—fifteen missed calls, six unread messages, two voicemails…
all from him. She deleted everything, didn’t even bother to open them.
Instead, she blocked him. Undressed for bed, showered off the night, and went to sleep with the faintest smile on her lips.
Because for once, she had chosen herself.
Cassius and his halal-Barbie could run off in the sunset for all she cared.
Jackie was done. Done with the half-steppin, done with the mixed signals, and more importantly, Jackie was done with being treated like she was less than.
Najee had created space for her. Given her something she could feel, and it wasn’t sexual. It was tender and felt a whole lot like possibility. Which made the silence that followed cut deeper.
The next week, when Jackie showed up to Max’s session, she didn’t see Najee.
Instead, she was greeted by his new therapist, Dr. Ishmael.
Dr. Ish could not have been a day over twenty-five.
He looked like he picked up his degree last night.
His whole vibe gave “substitute teacher.” He wore Birkenstock sandals, paint splattered cargos rolled up above the ankles, a black Kufi and a graphic Tee that read: Cry like a Boy.
Jackie was five minutes away from canceling the session, marching to Sister Malika’s office and telling her to be very fucking forreal.
But then Dr. Ish spoke, and it hit her instantly.
Najee. Not his voice. But his training. His confidence.
Dr. Ish carried that same quiet certainty.
But where Najee was serious, almost clinical, Dr. Ish was lighter. He was playful, animated and engaging.
He specialized in art therapy and play therapy.
Shit Jackie didn’t even know existed until that day.
And the way he was able to explain his technique, with so much conviction and enthusiasm, it was obvious this man believed in the work.
Dr. Ish described his therapeutic approach as integrative, pulling from various techniques including sensory-based healing, child led emotional expression and even arts and crafts.
Max connected with him immediately, probably because he looked like one of those streamer niggas, he worshiped on the YouTube.
Jackie wanted to be mad, pop her shit, go in the office pointing fingers and demanding answers.
But Dr. Ish was so good with Max she couldn’t stay angry.
Up until that point Najee had always kept her in the loop. So, him not mentioning this? Hit different. Jackie was trying her hardest not to internalize it. But it was hard not to, and it didn’t help he was M.I.A. for the next three weeks. When he finally returned, his energy felt different.
He was still present, technically. After all he did sit in on both of Max’s sessions with Dr. Ish, but only in an observational capacity, and even then, he was distant.
Polite but distant. He hardly looked her way during those two sessions, barely even spoke and when he did his tone was professional and clipped.
All the warmth and softness she had grown to expect from him. Gone.
Just Dr. Amin-Rashid and his legal pad, clicking his pen looking everywhere but at her. It was almost as if that night never happened. Like he hadn’t held her half naked, in his arms three weeks ago. Like he hadn’t told her she was beautiful with his whole chest, as she climaxed in his lap.
Jackie felt like a sucka falling for it.
The shit felt familiar, too damn familiar.
Warm one minute, cold the next, a damn Amin-Rashid Pattern if she’d ever seen one.
Which is exactly why Jackie had no business dragging her ass to this week’s break-out session.
She knew it would probably be some of the same distant-ass- energy.
But Jackie told herself she would go, because it the end of the day it was for Max.
The session would be held at his Private Practice in Rittenhouse according to the email his secretary sent.
She should’ve canceled then, pulled a no-call, no-show, like he did these last few weeks.
But here she was like a dummy. Getting dressed, curling her hair, moisturizing her entire body and trying to decide between knee-high boots or Ankle ones.
She felt like a goddamn simp. Because deep down she still cared.
She should’ve blocked his some-timey ass.
The same way she blocked Cash, ignored the calendar invite and just got back in the damn bed.
But instead, Jackie found herself deep in her closet, looking for her favorite sweater dress.
The Cashmere one, that hugged her body just right and made her feel feminine.
Jackie wanted to act like her fit was effortless, and she was just throwing something on.
But the dress was intentional, so were the over-the -knee boots.
She even wore her favorite fragrance. YSL Libre.
Jackie made sure she sprayed behind her knees, across the base of her throat and behind her ears.
She was doing the absolute- fucking- most, and she knew it.
Jackie hated she still wanted to look pretty for him…
even if he didn’t deserve it. She moved to the bathroom, did a little eye liner, before applying a coat of Better than sex mascara, and finally finishing with a little Fenty Glass Slipper on her lips.
Her hair was bouncing and behaving, yet here she was, still in the mirror telling herself she could face him.
Jackie’s plan was to keep it cute and not crash the fuck out.
She inhaled slow, bit a piece of a weed gummy for an additional layer of calm, then headed downstairs.
Jackie had no intention to drive into town, especially to Rittenhouse Square.
It was Thursday, before noon, and Jackie knew PPA was “outside” lurking around like ICE agents, and she wasn’t finna risk her only mode of transportation.
And she damn sure wasn’t catching SEPTA.
She could call a Lyft, but she knew it surged this time of morning, and she wasn’t bout to pay forty dollars to ride Ten minutes.
She was just about to call Kormia when she heard a faint knock at the door.
Jackie swung the door open, just as an older man in a Dark Car coat made his way down her steps.
“Can I help you sir?” Jackie asked as he turned around and instantly, she recognized him as one of the Malcolm X- coded brother’s Najee and Cash seemed to have on speed dial.
Before she could gather herself, he began to speak.
“Are you Ms. Brown?” he asked. “Uh… yes?”
“Well, I’m here to take you to Dr. Amin-Rashid.”
That’s when Jackie saw the all-black BMW X4, double parked in the middle of the street.
The older man moved swiftly to the back of the car, standing outside the door, waiting on her like she was VIP.
Jackie just stood there, trying her hardest not to be affected by the gesture.
But it was too late, her heart felt like it was about to jump out her chest. She stood there frozen, before going inside grabbing her purse and jacket and locking her door.
She reminded herself to stand on business.
He didn’t get to ghost her, give her the cold shoulder all week, and then send a black car like it was supposed to fix anything. He had her fucked up. Jackie straightened her shoulders, armored up the best way she knew how, stepped forward, as he opened the door for her.
“Also, per Dr. Amin-Rashid’s instructions, don’t forget to smell the roses.
“The what?” Jackie frowned, then glancing in the car…
and her breath caught. There waiting in the seat next to hers, sat at least eight dozen of roses, plum, mauve and blush.
Thick stems, petals soft as silk, wrapped in linen and tissue paper, arranged with the kind of intention that made them look like art.
This wasn’t no supermarket bouquet either.
That’s when Jackie saw the Toussaint’s ribbon, and immediately she knew he spent a pretty penny.
Jackie sat down slowly, careful not to crush a single petal.
The scent filled the car. Beautiful. Overwhelming.
And if she had gotten these two weeks ago?
She might’ve cried. But now? Looking at them, even in all their glory—Jackie didn’t know what it all really meant.
She wanted to be hopeful but based on his recent movement, she had no reason to be.
Unfortunately, Jackie knew how this movie ended, even if she wanted to pretend, she didn’t.
Jackie didn’t touch the flowers for the first few minutes of the ride, she was just about to reach for the bouquet when she remembered that Mariah the Scientist lyric, that had been stuck in her head, Bitter me, how sweet of you to…
Ask if I'd be your muse and go and paint me blue.” It pretty much summed up the last three weeks in a nutshell.
“Every time Jackie tried to wrap her mind around his recent moves, it gave her a headache and a heart ache if she were being honest. She opted to leave the flowers untouched and look out the window instead.