Chapter 4 Ace
Ace
“Ace still got hops,” Titus announces to the crew.
I drive past him and sink the layup, grinning at him as I jog in the other direction.
“Muscle memory,” I say. “I didn’t forget how to cook.”
Bron snorts. “You ain’t cookin’ shit.”
“Yet somehow, I’m beatin’ yo ass, ain’t I?”
Bron waves me off as Jovan dribbles to the center of the court.
I gotta say, it’s been weird since we got here. We’re still balling, still laughing, still clowning, but it’s not coming as easy as it used to. It almost feels forced in some places.
Sweat slicks my back and stings my eyes, but I lock in, determined to end the game on a high note.
Dayton is guarding me tighter than usual. Bron won’t quite meet my eyes when we line up for a check. Jovan’s jaw is clenched tight like he’s holding something back, and Titus’ silence-filling jokes are off, landing a few seconds too late.
But we ball. We’re going hard, playing until our lungs burn and our legs start to wobble. When the game finally ends, I’m up, and I’m satisfied with my performance.
We collapse at the picnic tables under the trees. This is the place where we usually shoot the shit, but it’s quiet today.
I pull my shirt off and down two bottles of water. The cicadas scream from the trees while the sun beats down relentlessly. Still, there's a slight chill in the air.
It’s Dayton who finally breaks the silence.
“My wedding’s almost here,” he says out of nowhere. “I ain’t heard from you, Ace.”
“I told you I was in,” I say sharply. “I guess you don’t see the irony in all this, though, do you?”
Bron blows out a breath. “Finally.”
“What that mean?” Dayton demands.
“It means let’s finally squash this shit,” Bron says. “It’s been tense as fuck in this group since…”
I watch him as he trails off and brings his eyes to mine.
“Since y’all didn’t stand up for me,” I finish.
Dayton sits up a little straighter. “We weren’t trying to disrespect you. It wasn’t even about you. It was about her.”
“She got a name,” I snap.
“It was about Raya,” he corrects. “All the shit we knew about her. We just didn’t wanna cosign it, I guess.”
I shake my head. “It ain’t for you to cosign or not. I’m a grown ass fuckin' man.”
“Ace—“
“And let’s just be clear. Once I made the decision to marry her, it stopped being about whether you trusted her. It became about whether you trusted me.”
Jovan nods. “You spittin’ right now.”
“I ain’t done,” I say. “After everything we been through together, it shouldn’t have even been a fuckin’ question.”
I turn to Bron. “You quit your job to chase that food truck dream with no savings. Who helped you move that busted ass trailer at five in the goddamn morning?”
He inclines his head.
I look at Jovan. “You brought a bitch to Thanksgiving after she busted the windows out your car. Did I lecture you, or did I invite her to my birthday?”
He nods.
“Day, before you got engaged to Shara, you were running through the whole goddamn city. Who went to the clinic with you?"
He looks down at his feet.
“And Titus…man…I don’t even—“
“Need to say anything,” he finishes. “I know. But I was up there with you when you said 'I do.'”
“Yeah. You were. And I appreciated it. But the rest of y’all niggas were sitting in the cheap seats. That shit…”
I wanna say it hurt, but I settle for, “That shit wasn’t cool. And I would never do y’all like that.”
Silence ensues again, heavy and long. It’s not an awkward silence this time, though. It’s thick with something else.
Shame.
I can feel their shame, and that shit makes me feel better. It's rolling through my veins like heroin, and I needed the hit. Them niggas should feel ashamed of themselves.
Day finally clears his throat and holds out his hand. “I’m sorry, bruh. For real. I didn’t realize how much that would matter to you.”
I dap him up. “I appreciate that.”
“Same,” Bron says. Jovan nods, and one by one, the two of them dap me, too. Titus just sits there smiling, probably happy he don’t have shit to apologize for.
“About my birthday,” Jovan says, perking up. “I’ma have a little kickback next weekend. It would be cool for y’all to come through. Maybe we can get to know Raya. Bring her into the circle where she belongs.”
“We’ll be there,” I say immediately. “She’ll like that.”
But as soon as the words leave my lips, I wonder.
Will she like that?
It’s entirely possible that she hates these niggas right now. And forever. I don’t know if it’ll be a good idea to subject her to them—or them to her.
But we're a unit, so we move together. If it's a disaster, then it'll be our disaster.