CHAPTER SIXTY
CASH
Six Months Later...
Cash Hated these fittings with a passion…
It didn’t matter if it was a suit, a tux, or whatever the hell Brother Abdul was calling this long-ass robe he had him standing in. The answer was always the same. He hated it. “Hold still.”
“I’m holding still.”
“No. You’re breathing too fucking much.” Cash looked down at the old man pinning fabric around his waist. “You want the shit to fit or not?” Brother Abdul muttered without looking up. Across the room, Montana damn near fell off the couch laughing. “Yo, why he talking to you like that?”
“Because he know I won’t hit his old ass,” Cash said.
Brother Abdul was family, his mother’s first cousin and the best tailor in the city.
He dressed everybody who mattered: wise guys, politicians, and the handful of street niggas who could afford him.
Right now, he was fitting Cash for his Nikah attire, and he had no problem talking reckless while he did it.
“Keep talking and I’ll let you do this shit yourself,” Abdul warned.
Cash didn’t respond. He just stared at his reflection in the long mirror.
Fifty-two days.
That’s how long he had until the wedding.
Six months ago, the thought of marrying Zambia would’ve had him ready to crash out. Now? It just felt inevitable. They weren’t in love. They probably never would be. And after everything that happened with Jackie, Cash had stopped fighting what was already written.
He’d fucked that up enough. The least he could do was play his position with the woman who was actually going to be his wife.
Moving out to Media full-time had helped.
The distance gave him space to stop performing for everybody else’s opinions and actually deal with his own shit.
He wasn’t proud of how he’d handled things with Jackie.
But he was trying to be a man about it now.
His eyes moved around the room. Montana was on his phone.
Cal was arguing with one of the assistants about custom embroidery he didn’t need.
Jalil was recording everything like this was content.
Koi was in the corner talking business on the phone in what sounded like three different languages.
And Newdy… Newdy was just sitting there quiet, watching everything like he always did.
The same idiots he grew up with. The same ones he’d probably die beside.
Cash was about to say something slick when the door opened.
The energy in the room shifted before anybody even turned around. Najee stepped inside.
The room went quiet. Cash felt his jaw tighten on instinct.
He hadn’t expected him. Not really. He had sent the groomsmen invite months ago, but Najee never responded.
No text. No call. No RSVP. So seeing him walk through the door caught Cash off guard.
Najee wasn’t dressed like he was trying to make a statement.
Today he wore an all-black Alo sweatsuit, Grey Bottega Veneta Orbit sneakers, and his usual glasses.
He was low-key. Like he was just running an errand and just ended up here.
The room stayed quiet for a second too long. Brother Abdul was the first to speak.
“Dr. Cousin,” he said, already reaching for his tape measure.
“Look at you looking like yo daddy.” Najee gave him a tired nod.
“Don’t start Abby.”
Cash and Najee just looked at each other.
The last time they had been this close, they were throwing hands at the winter gala.
Cash could still remember the way Najee slipped those Range Rover keys into his hand and said, “she good now.” Cash didn’t even remember swinging on him.
But he knew he did, which led to the fight of all fights.
Six months later and here he was. Cash broke the silence first. “I ain’t think you would come.
” Najee held his stare. “What I look like missing my brother’s wedding?
” The words landed heavier than Cash expected.
Najee glanced around at the rest of them, then looked back at Cash. His voice dropped.
“I came here to get fitted,” he said.
“But I also came because I need your help.”
Cash frowned slightly, but Najee didn’t blink.
“Marcus is back in the city.”