Ayida #3
It hit me so hard my breath cut short. I ripped my hand away from her like her skin burned me.
Filesha stumbled back a step, startled. My knees wobbled.
The chandelier above us blurred. The whole room tilted for a second lights, people, voices, everything blending into one dizzy smear.
I reached for the only grounding thing in the room , Noles.
My fingers dug into his hand so tight he turned instantly, eyes searching mine.
His jaw flexed. His brows pinched. Without speaking, he pulled me into his chest, one hand cupping the back of my head, lips brushing the top of my hair .
Behind us, Nia's voice trembled. "Jules, let's just go." She was scared. But before she could move him, Nash reached out and grabbed her hand. And brought it to his lips. Kissing it. Intimate in the worst kind of way. A shiver crawled across my spine, every hair on my arms standing up.
Jules moved so fast it felt like the air got sliced in half. He yanked Nia back with so much force she stumbled, her heel catching the leg of a chair. She gasped, clutching his arm. Jules' eyes were wild, rage pouring off him like heat, shoulders squared, body shaking with a fury deep as blood.
Nash didn't flinch. If anything. He smiled.
Filesha tugged on his sleeve desperately, whispering something quick, urgent but Nash didn't move.
Not until Juste stepped forward. Juste didn't raise his voice.
Didn't puff his chest. Didn't posture like men did when they tried to intimidate.
He stood between them with a stillness sharper than violence. "Not the time or the place," he said.
Calm.
Cold.
Final.
Nash chuckled under his breath, a dark, entertained sound, before letting Filesha tug him away. "Can we go?" I whispered, staring up at Noles with tear-bright eyes. He frowned, studying me like he could feel something tearing inside my chest.
He nodded once. But as we stepped away from that table, one thought chilled my bones, Even with his arm around me, even with his presence solid and warm beside me, This was something deeper than we all understood.
Something old and blood bound. Something that had been waiting on me to catch up to it.
The ride home passed in silence, but it wasn't peaceful.
Streetlights blurred past the windows in long yellow streaks, and every red light felt too bright, too sharp, like it was trying to wake me up from something I wasn't ready to see.
I stared straight ahead, hands folded tight in my lap, fingers twisting around each other like they were trying to pray without words.
Noles kept glancing at me. I felt it every time his eyes left the road and came back to my face, like a question hovering between us. He didn't rush me. Didn't push. That alone told me he already knew something wasn't right.
When we pulled into the yard, he didn't cut the engine right away.
The headlights stayed on, washing the front of the house in white light like a spotlight.
He turned the radio down until the music disappeared completely, then reached into the glove compartment and pulled out a blunt he'd rolled earlier.
The sound of the lighter flicking felt loud in the stillness.
Smoke rose up between us, thick and slow.
"What happened to you back there?" he asked finally. Concern wrapped in control.
I swallowed hard, eyes fixed on the front porch like it might give me answers if I stared long enough.
"Nash and Filesha," I said quietly. He took a slow drag, held it in, exhaled through his nose.
"What about 'em?" My chest tightened. The words felt too big for my mouth.
Too heavy for the space between us. "They're my brother and sister," I whispered.
The smoke froze in his lungs. He turned toward me so fast the seat creaked.
"The hell you talkin' 'bout, Yi?" I stayed facing forward, pulse thudding in my ears.
My heart felt like it was trying to crawl up my throat.
Then I saw Realization settling in behind his eyes like pieces clicking into place.
"Fidel yo daddy?" he asked slowly. "You never told me that, Yi." He shook his head once, disbelief laced with something else before taking another drag like he needed it to ground himself. Noles stared at the windshield like he was watchin’ a movie only he could see, jaw workin’ slow, eyes empty but lit at the same time, like a match struck in a dark room.
"Well, it's not somethin' I go around talking' about," I said, heat rising in my chest. "Considering' he was married.
With a whole family." I rolled my eyes, but it didn't land the way I meant it to.
My voice trembled just enough to give me away.
"We married, Ayida," he said, irritation creeping in now.
"Ain't nothin' you shouldn't be able to tell me. That shit lame as hell, forreal."
The word married hit harder than anything else.
I turned toward him then, finally. "It's not somethin' I'm proud of, Noles," I said quietly.
"You come from a perfect family. Two parents.
Big house. Traditions. It never felt like the right time to bring up my mama's life.
" My lips pressed together as old shame crept up my spine, cold and familiar.
He stared at me for a long second, jaw tight.
"You gotta cut that shit out," he said. "Forreal.
" He took another drag, eyes narrowing in thought.
"They know?" he asked. I laughed once, hollow and tired, then leaned my head back against the seat.
"If Filesha as spiritually inclined as her mama is," I murmured, "I'm sure she do now. "
The silence stretched again. Then he spoke, slower this time. "I remember Ma on the phone years ago," he said. "Talkin' 'bout how they mama put roots on a lady Fidel was creepin' with. Folks said it killed her. Everybody and they mama talked 'bout that shit back then."
My stomach dropped. Cold rushed through me like ice water.
I started rubbing my hands together without realizing it, palms sliding against each other over and over, like I was trying to wipe something off that wouldn't come clean.
Fear crept in sideways, not loud, just sharp enough to cut.
Fear that he knew too much. Fear that he knew everything.
Fear that he might say the one thing I wasn't ready to hear.
I hugged myself, suddenly freezing. "That was your Ma?" he asked. I nodded. He nodded back, lips pressed together. "That shit crazy," he said quietly. Then he reached over, took my hand, rubbing the back of it with his thumb the way he did when he was thinking but didn't know what to say yet.
The way he did when he was trying not to lose control.
"Call and talk to your grandma," he said finally. That was it.
No sermon.
No pressure.
No questions I wasn't ready to answer.
Just a door.