Chapter 32- Zane
I hadn’t had my nails done in months. Not since before the morning sickness kicked in and life started moving fast and loud and messy.
Sam told me he was taking me to get them done.
I knew he was trying to keep my mind off Mark.
He’d called my lawyer the night after the restaurant incident and demanded I meet him before he would sign the papers.
Neither my lawyer nor Sam thought that was a good idea.
We pulled up to a Black-owned spot in Tampa I’d heard about on TikTok. Sam opened the door for me and planned to try. The smell of lemongrass, peppermint oil, and cocoa butter hit me first.
I was waiting at the reception desk when Sam grabbed my face and turned me so I was looking at him.
He smiled—that same cocky, melt-you-down smile he always had when he was up to something.
“What?” I asked, half-frowning. “You said you wished you had a friend to go baby shopping with—for the baby, the shower, and all that…” I blinked at him, confused.
“Okay… and?” “So why not the OG? Your day one?” “What are you—” “Look,” he said, stopping me mid-sentence, pointing toward the back of the shop.
I turned my head and saw her. Tocara. Thick and glowing, standing behind the reception desk like she owned the damn place. Big curls piled on top of her head, gold hoops swaying, her eyes locking on mine. “Bitch,” she breathed.
I almost cried. “Tocara?” My voice cracked, and I didn’t even care.
I moved before I could think, wobbling around the desk with my belly leading the way.
She met me halfway, arms already wide. We hugged so tight my chest burned.
“I been looking for you since I moved back two years ago,” she whispered.
“You disappeared.” “I got married,” I choked.
“So much happened.” She pulled back, holding me at arm’s length.
“I heard from your man. Girl, we got catching up to do.”
Sam slid out like magic, telling me he had errands to run. He left his card at the front and told the receptionist, “Whatever she wants, she gets.”
Me and Tocara talked like no time had passed.
She did my nails while grilling me like a big sister.
I told her everything—Mark, the divorce, Sam, the baby.
“He really loves you,” she said, eyes warm.
“I can tell. We talked a few times since he contacted me. And I’m not just saying that ’cause he brought your ass back to me. ”
We stayed at the shop for two hours, then grabbed dinner at a little Cuban spot Sam picked out for us.
Tocara was in the middle of telling me about her fiancé and why she moved back to Florida.
“Found out he was community dick,” she said, chasing the words with a bite of black beans and rice.
“Caught him in my damn bed with this bitch named Shandra. My bridesmaid. Supposed-to-be business partner.” My mouth fell open.
“In your house?” “Leaving cum stains in sheets I bought. Candles I liked, even listening to the playlist I made. All I heard was moaning and Tank.” I gasped.
“Tank is sacred!” “Right?!” she said, shaking her head.
“I’m standing there with a bag of shrimp from Publix, talking about, ‘Babe, I got your favorite—’ and there go Shandra, tooted up, airing her ass out on my shit like she paid rent.
” I clutched my chest. “What did you do?” She didn’t even blink.
“Dropped the shrimp. Grabbed the bat. Beat the both of them out my house, naked.” I nearly choked on my drink.
“Noooo.” “They tripped over each other trying to get out. She tried to press charges on me and everything,” she said proudly, then sipped her drink.
“I don’t do betrayal. You gon’ feel me if you fuck over me.
” I nodded, heart squeezing. “That’s why I needed you back.
This baby needs aunties who don’t play.” Tocara reached across the table, her fingers grazing mine. “And you gon’ have me.”
Right then, Sam appeared at the table, hand brushing my shoulder.
“Sorry to interrupt, but I think we should head out. You’re getting tired.
I’ve been watching you for the past five minutes, your eyes lolling.
” I opened my mouth to protest, but Tocara smiled knowingly.
“Go on, mama. Let your man take you home. I’ll call you tomorrow. ”
We stood, hugged tight like no time had passed. She promised to come with me to my next ultrasound and threw out baby shower themes before we parted ways.
I didn’t know how much I needed that. I felt full. Not just from the food—but from life. From friendship. From something that felt like real joy.
Sam pulled up in the truck, already out the driver’s seat, passenger door open for me. “You good?” he asked, brushing hair from my face. “I’m perfect,” I said. “Thank you.”
He grabbed my arm to help me in. I pulled away to face him.
“I got a question. What is wrong with you? You’re too perfect not to be hiding something.
” The thought had me staying up at night.
It didn’t make no sense how fucking good this man was to me.
“What’s wrong with me?” he repeated, like he was trying the words on for size.
“Plenty.” I raised an eyebrow. “I got a temper I’ve spent years learning how to leash.
I fucked over a lot of women. I don’t like being questioned too much.
I can be mean and abrupt. I ain’t perfect, Zane. Not even close.”
He looked me in the eyes. “But I’m honest. I’m yours.
And I don’t play about people I love.” His voice softened.
“So yeah, maybe there’s shit wrong with me.
But none of it will ever affect you or my child.
” He raised his hand, bringing his thumb to my lips to trace the curve of the bottom one as he leaned in.
“You lucked up, baby. You fucked around and found me after I finally became a man.”
Swoon. I swear I almost melted right there into the sidewalk.
“Say something. You got this weird look on your face,” he murmured, his deep voice sliding right over every nerve ending I had.
“I think…” I swallowed, blinking slow. “I’d fight a bitch over you.
I ain’t never been in a fight, but I would.
” I said, then slid into the car while he threw his head back and laughed.
We were pulling into the gravel drive of the Airbnb where it all started. We would be there for another three months while our house was being renovated. I was halfway out the car when a hand grabbed my upper arm and yanked me fully up.
“What the fuck—” I didn’t even get the sentence out.
Mark. His face was red, his eyes wild, and his breath hit me in the face, stinking like cheap liquor and anger.
“I saw you. You have a lot of nerve parading around town like this. As if I’m not still your husband?
” “Let go of me!” I shoved at him, panic flaring in my chest, my heart threatening to break out of my rib cage. “Mark!” I heard Sam yell.
Mark had me in his grip. Then he didn’t. Sam snatched him off me with the force of a wrecking ball. They stumbled back, and Mark swung on Sam first. His punch was sloppy, wild, hitting nothing but air. He missed. Sam didn’t.
His fist connected with Mark’s jaw so hard I heard it and flinched. Then Mark lunged at Sam, taking both him and Sam to the ground, fists flying, limbs tangled, cursing loud enough to wake the neighborhood. “Stop!” I screamed. “Stop it!”
But it was too late. Someone must have called the police, because soon red and blue lights painted the driveway, and stern voices shouted commands. By the time the officers pulled them apart, Sam's lip was split, Mark's eye was swelling shut, and both men were breathing like enraged bulls.
When the police asked me what happened, I told the truth. It didn't matter—they cuffed them both anyway. “Just procedure,” one officer said, as if that made it okay.
As they led Sam to the squad car, our eyes met. He didn't look angry, just calm, steady—like this was just another obstacle we’d overcome. “Don’t worry,” he mouthed.
I glared at Mark as I clutched my belly and watched them both being driven away in the police cruisers. Tears spilled down my cheeks. I didn’t even try to stop them this time.
Mark had lost his damn mind. That wasn’t what love was supposed to look like. But Sam fighting for me, protecting me, made it feel like it was.