Chapter 4
Eric
Everybody Got a Past. Mine Just Knows How to Comment.
I knew something was wrong before Monica stopped texting back.
Call it instinct.
Call it experience.
Call it the way peace can leave a room without making a sound.
One minute, I was sitting in my truck outside her building, making sure she got upstairs safe. The next, I was staring at my phone while my last message sat there looking lonely.
ME: You inside safe?
Nothing.
I waited.
Maybe she was taking off her shoes. Maybe she was talking to Tameka. Maybe she had dropped her phone, gone to the bathroom, started eating leftover wings, or whatever women did after a good date when they were pretending it didn’t shake something loose in their chest.
So I sent one more.
ME: Monica?
Still nothing.
I leaned back in my seat and looked up at the windows above the salon. One light was on. A shadow moved behind the curtains, but I couldn’t tell if it was her or Mrs. Pearl being nosy enough to qualify for government work.
I should have pulled off.
But I didn’t.
Because I knew that silence.
That wasn’t busy silence.
That was retreat.
I sat there with one hand on the steering wheel, replaying the night in my head.
Dinner went good. Better than good.
She laughed for real. Opened up a little. Let me hold her close while we danced. Let me kiss her forehead even though I knew she wanted more and was scared of what more would mean.
I didn’t push.
I didn’t rush.
I didn’t do anything to make her feel like she was just another pretty woman on a rooftop.
So what changed?
My phone buzzed.
Not Monica.
Dre.
I answered. “What?”
“Why you sound like somebody stole your dog?”
“I’m busy.”
“With Monica?”
I didn’t answer.
Dre laughed. “Oh, the date went that good?”
“It did.”
“Then why you sound like the pastor called an emergency meeting?”
“She stopped responding.”
There was a pause.
“Stopped responding how?”
“How many ways are there?”
“Did you say something weird?”
“No.”
“Did you get too romantic?”
“Dre.”
“Man, some women get scared when you treat them good. They be like, ‘Why he opening doors? Is this a setup?’”
“She was fine when she went inside.”
“Then something happened after.”
I rubbed my beard. “Maybe.”
“You post anything?”
I frowned. “What?”
“Did you post anything? Story, picture, rooftop, food, anything?”
“I posted the rooftop earlier.”
Dre made a sound like he had just seen a mouse. “Mmm.”
“What?”
“You check the comments?”
I sat up.
I had posted a photo of the rooftop before I picked Monica up. Just the lights and the view. No table. No food. No her. Caption was simple. I didn’t think anything of it.
But now?
I opened Instagram while Dre stayed quiet on the line.
The post had likes. A few regular comments.
Proud of you, bro.Can’t wait for the opening.This look grown grown.
Then I saw it.
LATRICE BELL: Still taking girls to rooftops, Eazy? Some things never change.
My jaw tightened.
There it was.
Messy, loud, thirsty for attention, and timed like the devil had Wi-Fi.
“Latrice,” I said.
Dre exhaled hard. “Lord. That woman got a smoke detector for happiness.”
I stared at the comment. “Why is she even on my page?”
“Because blocking is free and you don’t use your resources.”
“She wasn’t a problem.”
“She is literally a problem in writing.”
I clicked on Latrice’s page. Private, of course. Bio full of lashes, lip gloss, and lies. I hadn’t dealt with Latrice in months. And even when I had, it wasn’t serious. We went out a couple times, she wanted more, I didn’t, and she acted like I had broken vows in front of a congregation.
The rooftop comment was cute to her because she knew it sounded like history.
But it wasn’t.
Not the way she wanted it to be.
I had brought women to events at Loyalty. Investors. Friends. Family. A couple dates before the place was even finished.
But tonight?
Tonight was different.
Tonight had Monica’s laugh under string lights and her hand in mine while she tried not to trust me too fast.
And Latrice had stepped right on it with dirty shoes.
“I’m deleting it,” I said.
“Too late,” Dre said. “If Monica saw it, deleting looks guilty.”
“I’m not leaving it up.”
“Don’t delete the whole truth trying to hide the lie.”
I hated when Dre made sense.
“What you suggest?”
“Call Monica.”
“I did. Texted.”
“No, call. Like a man.”
“I don’t want to overwhelm her.”
“She already overwhelmed. You might as well be useful.”
He had a point.
I hung up, found Monica’s contact, and called.
It rang.
And rang.
Voicemail.
I didn’t leave a message.
Not yet.
I sat there another minute, then pulled off from the curb. I could have gone home. I could have given her space. I could have waited until morning.
But I wasn’t built to let a lie sleep comfortably between me and a woman I actually cared about.
And yeah, I cared.
Fast or not, I cared.
That was the part people didn’t understand. Time didn’t always decide weight. Sometimes one moment had more truth in it than months of convenience.
I drove toward Loyalty, because if I went to Monica’s door right then, she might feel cornered. And the last thing I wanted was for her to think I was another man who didn’t respect her no.
But tomorrow?
We were talking.
Face-to-face.
No comments. No screenshots. No outside voices.
Just us.
When I pulled up to the lounge, Dre was already sitting on the hood of his car eating fries from my leftover bag like betrayal had no calories.
“You ate my food?” I asked, getting out.
“You abandoned it emotionally.”
“I’m not in the mood.”
“I can see that.”
He hopped down and followed me inside. The lounge was dim except for the bar lights. The gold accents glowed warm against the black walls, and for a second, the place looked exactly like I wanted it to feel.
Safe.
Grown.
Mine.
Then my phone buzzed.
Quan.
I almost ignored it, but little brothers had a way of turning ignored calls into police reports.
I answered. “What?”
“Where you at?”
“Lounge.”
“You alone?”
My eyes narrowed. “Why?”
“Just asking.”
“Quan.”
He sighed. “Marlo tripping.”
Of course.
Dre’s face changed when he heard the name.
I put the phone on speaker. “What did you do?”
“I ain’t do nothing.”
“You owing two thousand dollars is something.”
“I told him I needed a few days.”
“And?”
“And he said he coming by Loyalty.”
My whole body went still.
Dre whispered, “Here we go.”
I stepped toward the back office. “When?”
“I don’t know. Tonight maybe. Tomorrow. He just talking.”
“No. He threatening.”
“Bruh, I can handle it.”
“You couldn’t handle the debt.”
“That’s different.”
“It’s exactly the same.”
Quan got quiet.
I lowered my voice. “Where are you?”
“At Ma’s.”
“Stay there.”
“Eric—”
“Stay there, Quan.”
I hung up before he could argue.
Dre leaned against the bar. “We got a problem.”
“I know.”
“This ain’t just about Monica now.”
“It never was just about Monica.”
But it was about her too.
Because if Marlo came to my lounge, if things got loud, if the block started whispering, Monica would hear about it. And the version she’d hear wouldn’t have context. It would have drama, exaggeration, and somebody saying, “Girl, I told you Eazy still got street stuff around him.”
I had worked too hard to clean my name for a young fool with a balance due to drag dirt across it.
“Call Marlo,” I said.
Dre lifted an eyebrow. “You sure?”
“Yeah.”
“He hot right now.”
“Then he can cool off on the phone.”
Dre pulled out his phone and made the call. It rang twice before Marlo answered.
“What up?” Marlo said, voice sharp.
“It’s Dre. Eric here.”
“Put him on.”
Dre handed me the phone.
“Marlo,” I said.
“Nah, don’t Marlo me. Your brother playing with my money.”
“My brother don’t have your money.”
“That’s what I’m saying.”
“You not coming by my lounge.”
He laughed. “That right?”
“That’s exactly right.”
“Man, you think because you bought that old building you own the block?”
“No. I think because I’m talking to you directly, you don’t need to make a scene.”
“He owe me.”
“And you’ll get paid.”
“When?”
I looked at Dre.
Dre shook his head like, Don’t you dare.
But I already knew what I was going to do.
“Tomorrow,” I said.
Marlo went quiet for a beat. “Tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow. Then you leave Quan alone.”
“Man, I don’t want your money. I want him to learn.”
“He’ll learn from me.”
Marlo laughed again, but it was less sharp this time. “You always cleaning up behind that boy.”
“And you always doing too much for somebody who claims he wants to be respected.”
Silence.
Dre closed his eyes like I had just kicked a beehive.
Marlo’s voice dropped. “Watch how you talk.”
“I am. That’s why I’m still talking.”
Another silence.
Then he said, “Tomorrow. Noon. Detail shop.”
“Fine.”
“And tell Quan stop moving like a little boy.”
I hung up.
Dre stared at me. “You enjoy almost dying?”
“He not going to do nothing.”
“You sure?”
“No. But I’m not scared of him.”
“Those are different sentences.”
I walked behind the bar and poured myself a glass of water. My nerves were tight, but my face stayed calm. It always did. That was the thing about growing up around chaos. You learned to let your face lie while your blood pressure filed complaints.
Dre studied me. “You planning to tell Monica any of this?”
“Not tonight.”
“She needs to know.”
“She barely trusts me after a comment. You think adding my brother’s debt and Marlo’s threats is going to help?”
“I think hiding it won’t.”
I hated that too.
I took a drink of water and set the glass down.
“I’m not hiding it,” I said. “I’m handling it.”
“Same outfit, different shoes.”
Before I could respond, my phone buzzed.
Monica.
My chest tightened.
It wasn’t a text.
It was a missed call notification.
I called back immediately.
She answered on the second ring, but she didn’t say anything at first.
“Monica,” I said.
“Eric.”
Her voice was calm.
Too calm.
That kind of calm usually came after a woman had already cried, cussed, prayed, and screenshotted something for the group chat.