CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
NAJEE
Najee was bored as hell.
And that was putting it lightly. It had been a long ass week, and his aunt’s fifty-eighth birthday dinner was the last place he wanted to be.
Everything about the night felt drawn out and performative.
Full of politicians who talked in circles and smiled too much.
On one side of him sat his father, whose calls he had been dodging since moving back to the city. On the other side sat Fatima.
Najee knew the seating arrangement wasn’t random.
It was deliberate as hell, and he could see the play from a mile away.
His aunt tried to play it off like it was an oversight, something thrown together last minute.
But Najee knew strategy when he saw it. They were trying to rebuild something, maybe even reignite an interest that had been dead for years. But Najee wasn’t moved.
Once upon a time, he had been deeply in love with Fatima and wanted nothing more than to make her his wife. That had been the plan for as long as either of them could remember. Until it wasn’t. People liked to say everything fell apart because she got pregnant. But that wasn’t really the truth.
Fatima fell in love, and once that happened, it was a wrap.
Najee had loved Fatima enough to stay. Enough to accept whatever came with her.
He would’ve raised her child like it was his own without hesitation.
That part never scared him. But love? Real love?
That wasn’t something he could compete with.
Fatima hadn’t just gotten pregnant. She had chosen another man altogether.
And Najee wasn’t about to fight for a future that no longer exist. So he let her go, and for a long time he carried a heavy heart.
But eventually he forgave her and did what he always did.
He locked back in, finished medical school and wrote his first best seller.
He turned his pain into discipline and began to live his life again.
Their families though, hadn’t been as forgiving.
They turned on Fatima quick. She was cut off financially, pushed out of the community entirely, and became a social pariah overnight.
Adultery in their world was frowned upon publicly but tolerated privately depending on who committed it.
Women almost never got grace, and Fatima was no different.
Najee never wanted Fatima punished, even in all his heartbreak and anger.
And despite everything, he still had love for her.
Fatima had been his friend before she was anything else.
Did she have to seek comfort in a wanna-be King Von ass nigga?
No. But she was young, lonely, away from home for the first time, and above all else human.
Which was why seeing her here now, back in the fold and around the family, actually felt right.
They had spent most of the dinner catching up.
Nothing heavy. Just light conversation that stayed on the surface where it was safe.
She showed him pictures of her kids. Told him she was back in the city, and that she and the rapper—Lil what-the-fuck-ever—were done.
Najee listened. Nodded when it made sense.
But he wasn’t interested. Not even a little bit.
There was only one woman on his mind, and it wasn’t Fatima Abdul-Muhammad. It was Jackie Brown.
Their last conversation had been tense.
He kept his composure because that was the clinician in him.
Always aware of timing, setting, temperament, and boundaries. Even when his emotions got involved. But if he was being honest—he had wanted to crash the fuck out.
Ironically, it wasn’t her actions that pissed him off, because deep down he believed her.
That had never been the issue. The situation looked messy enough for him to understand exactly why she moved the way she did.
What didn’t sit right with him, was the fact that she felt like she couldn’t just tell him the truth.
That part bothered him more than anything else.
Najee turned his phone over once in his hand.
He had thought about texting her more than once throughout the day.
Something light like, why you being weird to meeeee?
Or something closer to the truth like— Ayo, stop fucking playing with me.
Instead, he put his phone way, pushed his chair back, adjusted his jacket, and stood.
He was already over the night, already counting the minutes before he’d make his Irish exit.
His eyes moved across the room automatically, taking everything and everyone in the way they always did.
At the bar, Uncle Amin stood shoulder to shoulder with his father and a few other men locked into what looked like a quiet but intense debate.
Their voices stayed low, but the tension carried anyway.
Further down the table, Cash and Zambia were deep in conversation.
Something he never thought he’d see. Cassius even looked engaged, like whatever she was saying genuinely mattered to him.
Najee noticed that immediately. Then his attention shifted again until his eyes found Fatima.
She sat with his aunt and a few of his cousins laughing softly, already looking his way.
One of them lifted a hand, waving him over.
Najee gave a small nod of acknowledgment with absolutely no plans of ever walking over there.
Just then, a large boom of thunder cracked across the sky loud enough to pull everyone’s attention for a second.
Rain had been falling steadily since dinner started, but now it came down in sheets.
It hit harder against the windows, filling the quieter spaces between conversations with a steady rhythm.
Lightning flashed briefly across the room before everything settled back into its warm glow again.
Najee barely reacted to the storm itself.
But he registered the pressure in the air.
Then his phone buzzed. And the second he saw Jackie’s name flash across the screen, everything else around him faded into the background.
“Excuse me,” he said quietly, already stepping away before anybody could stop him for another conversation.
He moved toward the living room where the noise softened enough for him to think.
Rain streaked steadily against the tall windows as he stopped near the wall and opened the message. Jackie: I’m sorry…Najee read it once.
Then again. His expression barely changed.
But something in him shifted all the same as he stared down at the screen.
Because that? Wasn’t on his bingo card at all.
At least not from her. He was almost certain he would be the one making first contact.
There was no attitude attached to it, just accountability plain and simple.
Najee exhaled slowly, his thumb hovering over the keyboard while the rain continued tapping steadily against the glass behind him.
She came to him, and that meant something, and whether Jackie realized it or not—that mattered.
Maybe more than the actual apology. He let the silence sit for a second before finally typing back, and when he did respond he was short, direct, and said exactly what need to be said.
He didn’t do the word salad shit because words didn’t work on women like Jackie.Only actions.
Her response came quick, one after another.
And before he knew it they were back in the flow of conversation, minus the awkwardness.
Najee stayed leaned against the wall, eyes fixed on the screen feeling a tiny bit of relief that she wasn’t icing him out right now. He kept his responses measured, never over-explaining or filling space that didn’t need filling. Instead, he let the conversation unfold naturally.
And it did, right up until— Jackie: Tonight.
Najee’s thumb stilled briefly over the screen as something low and sharp settled in his chest. It wasn’t hesitation.
Or doubt. It felt more like recognition.
Of what that message actually meant. He glanced up once, gathering himself before looking back down at the phone again.
Then he typed the only response that mattered. Najee: On my way!