Chiana
I watched him across the table, his jaw flexin' tight as he ended the call, tossin' his phone face down like it disgusted him. He went back to cuttin' into his steak and eggs, actin' like the weight of the world wasn't sittin' heavy on his back. Today was the grand opening. Me and Juste had ended up at Waffle House at some early ass hour this morning, still riding the high from being up all night. Laughing, talkin', touchin' on each other like we was scared sleep might snatch the moment away. Lately, it was like that with us—real clingy. Needy. I didn't just love him, I needed to be in his skin.
I picked up my orange juice, takin' a slow sip before askin', "What'd your daddy say about Evie?"
Juste wiped his mouth with a napkin, voice real dry. "Say her counselor don't feel like it's a good idea for her to come out yet. So she stayin'. However that go."
He brushed it off, but I caught it—the little flicker of hurt in his eyes before he smothered it with pride. He'd been actin' real cold when it came to Ms. Evie lately. I didn't blame him.
I leaned back in my seat, lettin' the sunlight catch on the simple gold ring he liked me wearin' on my right hand. "After this grand openin',"
I said, lookin' him dead in his eyes, "let's do somethin'. Just us. No phones. No business. No drama. You and me. "
Juste sat back too, like he needed to let that sink in. His fingers tapped the table once, then he picked up his phone, scrollin' through somethin' real focused. I frowned. "Mmhmm. What you over there plottin'?"
He smirked a little, still scrollin'. "So look... White boy Mike been tryna pay me back for some shit he owe me. At first I kept tellin' his white ass no, but now that you say that—"
He turned the phone around and slid it across the table to me. It was a picture of a small yacht—two bedrooms below deck, big ass upper deck, looked like it had been renovated real clean. It wasn't no flashy billionaire shit—it was real, real nice. "I can't drive dat muthafucka, but I can damn sho' pay a nigga to,"
he said, serious as hell. "What you say, baeeby? After all dis, let's take off. Jus' you and me."
I stared at the screen for a second, then up at him—the man that risked it all for me, loved me so hard it scared me sometimes. A slow smile stretched across my face, my heart damn near spillin' out my chest. I nodded, whisperin' around the lump in my throat. "
Let's do it."
After finishing up, we left Waffle House. The truck rumbled low as we cruised down the backstreets, the Waffle House smell still clingin' to my clothes, my stomach full, my heart a little lighter. I leaned my head against the window, smilin' to myself, just lettin' the ride rock me. I had no idea where we was headed—and for once, I didn't care. Then, the truck slowed, the tires crunchin' over loose gravel, and I lifted my head, blinkin' at the street we was turnin' down. A street I hadn't been down in years.
I turned in my seat, frownin' at Juste as he eased the truck to a stop under the heavy moss-draped trees. "What we doin' here?"
I asked, my voice small, caught somewhere between confusion and fear. He killed the engine, sittin' back in his seat, eyes steady on me. "When the last time you been to see your people, ?"
he asked, real soft but real firm. "Today's a big day for you, baeeby. They deserve to know how far you done came."
For a second, I couldn't even find my breath. His words cracked somethin' wide open in my chest. Tears threatened, but I blinked 'em back fast. Without another word, I got out the truck, my feet crunchin' against the gravel. I hesitated, then turned, glancin' over my shoulder. "Come with me?"
He didn't even answer—just nodded and climbed out, fallin' into step beside me, a quiet, solid force at my side.
The graveyard was quiet except for the soft rustle of the wind. I weaved through the crooked headstones until I got the one that mattered most. My parents. I dropped down to my knees in front of it, layin' my palm gently against the cold stone. I stared at their names, the dates carved underneath. It had been too long. Way too long. I took a breath, the air heavy in my chest. Then I started talkin'.
"Hey, Mama. Daddy. It's me... Chi."
My voice cracked, but I pushed through it. "I know it's been a minute... life got real messy after y'all left. I haven't always been perfect, neither. I made mistakes. I lost myself a few times. Thought I would never feel whole again after y'all died."
I swallowed hard, wipin' at my cheek where a tear slipped free. "But I got back up. I finished school. I built a life. I'm runnin' my own business now. , Mama—you woulda been proud of the grown woman I am."
I smiled sadly. "I'm still me, Daddy. You'll be happy to know your baby girl don't take no shit."
Juste stood a little ways behind me, arms crossed, head bowed like he was givin' me my moment but ready to jump in if I needed him. I stared at the headstone, my voice softenin'. "And... I found somebody. Somebody real. Somebody who sees me, even the broken parts, and love me anyway."
I turned, glancin' back at Juste. "He ain't perfect. Lord knows, he get on my last nerve sometimes,"
I laughed watery, "but he loves me hard. Protects me like it's his only job on this earth. When I'm with him, I feel safe. I feel... home."
I turned back to the stone, whisperin', "His name's Juste. And he the best thing that's happened to me."
I wiped my hands on my jeans and stood, brushin' the dirt from my knees. Juste stepped forward then, real slow, and wrapped his arms around my shoulders from behind, pressin' a kiss to the side of my head. We stood there like that for a while, lettin' the breeze wrap around us. I knew right then—no matter what storms came, no matter how hard life tried to knock me down again—I had a home now. Right there in his arms.
_
I stood in front of the mirror, takin' a slow breath as I checked myself over one last time. The black, one-shoulder dress clung to every curve just right—fitted without screamin' for attention. It hit just at my knees, classy but sexy enough to make Juste stare. I sprayed a soft mist of perfume at the base of my neck and wrists, the sweet, airy scent wrapping around me like armor. Slidin' the diamond tennis bracelet he'd surprised me with around my wrist, I smiled to myself. It caught the light with every little movement—a small reminder of how far we'd come. I stepped into my simple black red bottoms, the ones that made my legs look a mile long, and gave myself a once-over in the mirror.
This wasn't just another day. This was the day we opened a door for our people. The day the St. Jean legacy expanded more than I even knew. I made my way down stairs. Juste was dressed to match me in a pair of black Levis and a Polo shirt. We left the house and headed to Thiloux. We were already running a few minutes behind. The parking lot of the brand-new St. Jean Development Co. buzzed with life. A huge banner stretched across the entry gates, snappin' in the warm Louisiana breeze: "Welcome to the Future of Thiloux — St. Jean Development Co."
Balloons bobbed in the air—black, gold, and white. The smell of BBQ and fresh shrimp and crawfish hit me before I even opened the door. Vendors were lined up around the perimeter: big pots steamin', trays of pralines glistenin' under the sun, food trucks servin' everything from fried catfish to homemade lemonade. Kids ran wild between the bounce houses and face-painting booths, laughter and screams mixin' with the thump of music playin' live from a DJ tent.
I stepped out the truck, the heat kissin' my skin, my black dress catching the sunlight just right. The gold anklet I wore winked with every step I took across the pavement. My heart swelled as I took it all in. Saint stood up near the main tent with Noles, Pierre, with Amina clinging to his side, and Jules. Nia was running around with the kids. Security was tight, even at a celebration. Juste climbed out behind me, adjustin' his watch, hand lightly resting on my lower back, like always. I let my eyes scan over everything—the crowd, the booths, the smiles—and it hit me.
I'd been through hell. Damn near died. Watched myself crumble into somebody I ain't even recognize. But right here, right now, I was part of something that mattered. Seeing the smiles stretch across the kids' faces, watching the older folks nod they heads in approval, it filled something in me I didn't even know was still empty. Yeah, the development was a front—to wash money, to flip dirty into clean—but this was real. The laughter, the opportunity, the pride coming' back into Thiloux. It mattered.
I stood near the front entrance, the sun kissing' my shoulders, the soft breeze flirting' with the hem of my black dress. Vendors shouted out deals over the music bumping' in the background, kids tugged their parents toward the food trucks, and people from every corner of town pulled up with their folding chairs, ready to post up for the day. Juste stood a few feet behind me, talking to Pierre and Jules, his eyes steady finding' mine every few minutes, like he couldn't help it. Every time he looked at me, it made my stomach flip. Saint stepped up to the front of the crowd, microphone in hand. The low hum of conversation died out, all eyes fallin' on him. He wore a crisp black linen shirt, slacks, his stance wide.
"Thiloux, we here today,"
he started, voice low but strong, the kind that demanded attention without ever having' to yell. "We here to open up a door for the future. For every lil' boy and girl that been told they ain't gone make it. For every mama that had to stretch a dollar 'til it screamed. For every daddy that worked two jobs and still ain't had enough."
Murmurs of agreement rippled through the crowd. "This here,"
he lifted his hand, motionin' to the colorful buildings behind him, "this ain't charity. This ain't no favor. This our birthright. Ownin' somethin'. Buildin' somethin'. Passin' it down."
I felt a lump rise in my throat. "Y'all support this. Protect this. Grow this,"
Saint finished. "This ours."
The crowd clapped, some folks hollered, and I couldn't help but beam with pride. Saint turned, lifted the giant silver scissors from the table, and motioned for the rest of us to join him. Juste slid beside me, slidin' his hand onto the small of my back as the photographer shouted for everyone to smile. I pressed into him lightly, feelin' that solid wall of comfort he always gave without even tryin'.
Pierre, Noles, Jules, Saint, a few other partners and vendors all gathered around. The sun flashed off the scissors as Saint handed them to Juste. Together they cut the thick gold ribbon stretched across the main entryway. Snip. And just like that, we was open. Official. The crowd roared louder, cameras flashed, and the band struck up a brass second line beat that made a few grandmas start shufflin' their feet on the spot.
I laughed as Juste pulled me closer for a quick kiss on the cheek. "This just the beginning, baeeby,"
he murmured low, that promise sittin' heavy between us. ", did you bring the bubbles for the kids?"
Nia asked, popping up beside me, squinting against the sun. "Oh, yeah I did,"
I said, shading my eyes. "Left 'em in the car. I'll go run and grab 'em real quick."
I didn't think twice. The vibe was too good, the day was too perfect. For the first time in a long time, I wasn't scared to breathe. I made my way across the lot, heels clicking against the pavement. Kids zipped past me laughing, balloons bobbing in the breeze. music thumped from the speakers, mixing with the chatter of families and the buzz of the vendors. The truck was parked at the back, tucked away near the edge of the lot where the grass started. It was quieter back here. A little pocket of peace away from the noise. I smiled to myself, feeling it. Really feeling it. I was proud. Of me. Of us. I was alive. I was happy.
I pulled open the door, leaned inside, grabbing the bag off the passenger seat. I spotted the bubbles, and while I was at it, grabbed the extra speaker cord we might need later. I smoothed my dress down with a quick swipe of my palms, still smiling to myself as I turned around— Maseon was there.
A twisted, sweaty, demonic version of the man I once knew. My heart dropped so hard it felt like it cracked my ribs. Before I could scream, before I could even think— He lunged. His hand slammed around my throat so hard my feet damn near left the ground, the back of my body hitting the truck with a sick thud. The door handle stabbed into my spine, the air whooshing clean out of me. "You really thought you could hide behind that nigga?"
he spat, breath foul and thick with liquor and something sharper. "Thought you could just forget me?!"
Spit flew into my face, his words slicing through the thin shield of peace I'd built.
His face—God—his face wasn't even human anymore. Bloodshot eyes bulging. Nostrils flaring. His nose running. Sweat pouring down his forehead. High as a fucking kite. One look and I knew: he was strung out, twitchin' on something he couldn't control. I clawed at his wrists, nails digging, scratching, fighting for air. "Maseon—let me go!"
I gasped out, the world already starting to tilt around me.
Instead, he slammed me even harder against the truck, rattling the whole frame. His free hand yanked at my dress, rough and greedy, the fabric tearing at the seams. "You always been mine, bitch,"
he growled, voice low, ugly, feral. "Always. And you gon' give me what's mine."
Tears burned behind my eyelids—not from fear. From pure, undiluted rage. Not today. Not like this. Somewhere deep in the back of my mind, instinct roared to life. The truck door was still open. The center console wide open. I just had to move.
With a burst of adrenaline, I twisted, bucked my body like a wild thing. His grip slipped—just barely—but it was enough. I ducked low, spinning out from under him, my elbow grazing the rough asphalt. I dove into the truck, scrambled over the seats, my hands shaking so bad I almost missed it—The pen. My fingers closed around it. Cold. Small. My only chance. I turned just as Maseon lunged again, spit flying, fury making him faster, crazier. Without thinking, I drove that pen straight into his neck. Thunk.
He staggered back, eyes going wide in shock. Blood sprayed hot against my hand, my face, my dress. But he didn't stop. Still snarling. Still reaching. "You stupid ass bitch!"
he howled, voice gurgling now, thick with his own blood. I screamed and stabbed him again. And again. And again. The pen broke off inside him with a sick crack, but I didn't stop. I hit him with my fists, elbows, knees—anything I could.
He stumbled forward like a dead man walking, finally collapsing on top of me with a heavy, wet thud. I hit the ground under him, pinned, dazed, breathless. The metallic smell of blood flooded my senses. It soaked into my dress, my hands, my skin. I could feel the heat of it pooling around me. I blinked up at the sky, the sun suddenly too bright, too loud. My ears rang. My body wouldn't move. My mind spiraled, stuck on one loop: Get up. Get up. Get up.
"!"
A voice broke through the ringing. Footsteps pounding like war drums. ", baby!"
Juste.
I tried to lift my head, tried to call out, but all that came out was a cracked whimper. Suddenly strong arms yanked Maseon's body off me like he was nothing but trash. Then Juste was pulling me into his arms, cradling me so tight against his chest it hurt. I shattered. I clutched at his shirt, sobbing, shaking, gasping for air between broken cries. "I—I had to,"
I choked out against his chest, my voice raw, unrecognizable. "I had to, Juste... he—he tried—"
"I know, baeeby. I know,"
he murmured into my hair, rocking me gently like I was made of glass. His voice broke on the words, thick with rage and heartbreak all tangled up. "You safe now, you hear me?"
he whispered fiercely, kissing the top of my head over and over. "You safe. Ain't nobody gon' ever touch you again. Not while I'm breathin'."
The world spun around us—sirens wailing in the distance, people screaming, chaos erupting—but in that moment, it was just me and him. Just Juste's arms, his warmth, his vow.
_
Three Years Later
Killing Maseon had took its toll on me. It wasn't some quick, clean move on situation like I thought it would be. Some nights I cried so hard my chest felt like it was caving in. Some mornings, I woke up with the weight of it all sittin' heavy on my chest, my mind racin' through all the what-ifs and why-me's. Guilt gnawed at me like rats in a dark corner, leaving bite marks I couldn't show anybody. But if there was one constant through all that darkness, it was Juste. He had dedicated his everything to seeing me through. That man loved me outta the hole I damn near fell in. When I couldn't find my way, he lit the path. When I couldn't breathe, he breathed for me. And Lord, I loved his ass to death for it. Real, ugly, ride-until-the-wheels-fall-off kinda love. Not the fairy tale shit. The kind you feel in your bones.
We spent a lot of time out on that boat — that damn boat from white boy Mike felt like a joke back then. But it ended up saving my life in ways therapy couldn't even reach. Out on that water, where the sky kissed the ocean and the whole world felt muted, I found peace again. Out there, it was just me, Juste, and God — sometimes a bottle of tequila too, a lot of times weed, but mostly God.
A week after they lowered Maseon's body into the ground, me and Juste packed a bag, sent a text to the family, and eloped. No big wedding. No fancy church. Just us, a small island officiant that barely spoke English, and vows that solidified our love. I could still hear the way his voice cracked when he said, "
I know ya feel obligated to me and all wit the way a nigga got you, but Baeeby, I choose you. Ain't no question."
Still feel the way my hands trembled when I slipped that ring on his finger. We ended up cruisin' the Caribbean, island-hopping in love. Jamaica, Turks and Caicos, St. Thomas — each stop another memory, another piece of healing stitched into my heart.
Looking back now, it was crazy as hell to do, just up and disappear like that. The family was hot. But I didn't regret a minute of it. Not one damn minute. Because that was the beginning of me finally choosing me. Finally choosin' us. And for the first time in my life, the world didn't feel so heavy. It felt like ours.
Three years later, and life was... softer. Not perfect, but softer. Some days, I still woke up tangled in my sheets, heart racing from dreams I couldn't remember. Some days, the guilt still whispered in my ear when the world got too quiet. But most days, most beautiful days, I could finally breathe again. I leaned against the side of the boat, the late sun painting the sky a slow, syrupy orange, and closed my eyes, letting the breeze tangle in my braids. My mind wandered, the way it did sometimes when everything finally slowed down. I thought about us... and then I thought about everybody else.
Nia and Jules.
Lord, those two. They been to hell and back. But they stuck it out. Real love — the ugly, stubborn kind that don't fold when it get hard. Marriage counseling helped, but really, it was them choosing each other every day that made the difference. And now they had another baby girl, Julise. Little thang with fat cheeks and a mean side-eye. She had Jules wrapped so tight he couldn't even breathe without her permission. She brought the two of them together. I smiled to myself, seeing Nia's smile flash in my mind. They deserved that happiness. She did for sure. They fought for it.
Then there was Amina.
Wild, beautiful Amina. Somewhere in Germany right now, thirty thousand feet above ground, unbothered. Her and Pierre... whew. They grew to love each other, but loving somebody and being ready for them ain't the same thing. They were still learning that the hard way. Still, I prayed they found their way back to each other — if not for them, then for the version of themselves that fit so damn perfectly.
And then there was Ms. Evie.
I chuckled under my breath, shaking my head. Still loud. Still bossy. Still Ms. Evie. But changed too. Rehab had humbled her in ways none of us thought possible. She hadn't gambled and they'd cleaned up all of her debts. Saint stayed by her side. They were working it out slow, piece by piece, like two folks stitching together a quilt that had been ripped clean down the middle.
And Thiloux?
It was breathin'. Growing'. Storefronts opening'. Kids laughing'. Old folks posted up at the park benches watching' the world turn. It wasn't just a front anymore — it was real. Real legacy. A stamp in the dirt .
I sat on cushioned deck seat, letting the warmth of the sun melt into my skin as the boat gently rocked against the dock. The air smelled like salt and sweet southern heat — a scent I had come to love, a scent that smelled like peace. My hand drifted instinctively to my belly, the small but certain swell there grounding me in ways words never could. I smiled to myself. Seemed like every time I got on this damn boat, I left off it pregnant.
The sound of small sneakers slapping against the deck made me lift my head, just in time to see two little bodies sprinting toward me full speed — pure joy on tiny legs. Chi'lo (Key-Lo) and Chi'nari (Key- Nari) My wild little hurricanes. We had the twins 2 years ago. Chi'lo, all dimples and defiance, was the spitting image of his daddy — right down to the way he cut his eyes when he didn't get his way. Chi'nari, though? My twin. Big bright eyes, stubborn chin, quick to smile... but boy did my baby have a temper.
They raced toward me, their laughter louder than the seagulls overhead, their little hands sticky with what looked suspiciously like powdered sugar from the beignets we brought aboard earlier. Behind them, movin' a little slower but smilin' just as wide, was their daddy. Same low swagger. Same dangerous grin. Same eyes that held a whole lifetime of promises he made good on every day. "Y'all slow down before y'all bust y'all asses,"
Juste called after them, his voice carrying over the water, half-laughing, half-fussin'.
I opened my arms wide and they crashed into me, both trying to climb into my lap at once. "Mommy! Mommy!"
"Guess what! We saw a crab! Daddy almost stepped on it!"
Chi'lo yelled, waving his arms so hard he almost smacked his brother in the face. Chi'nari huffed, shoving him. "No, I saw it first, Chi'lo! You was cryin'!"
"I wasn't cryin'! You lyin'!"
he yelled back, face frowned up . I laughed, pulling them closer, breathing them in — sweat, salt, baby powder.
"Aye, break it up, lil' gangstas,"
Juste drawled, dropping down beside me. He leaned over, brushing a slow kiss against my temple, hand sliding protectively over my belly next to mine. "You good, baeeby?"
he asked low, the way he always did when he needed to check the temperature of my soul. "I'm good,"
I whispered back, meaning every word. More than good. I was whole.
He leaned back, pulling me against his side, his arm draped over my shoulders. Chi'lo climbed into his lap, still fussin' about the crab, while Chi'nari snuggled closer to me, yawning without even realizing it. The sun started to set slow over the water, turnin' everything gold and soft, like the whole world was around us. I closed my eyes for a second, listening — not just hearing, listening. The twins giggling. The boat rocking gentle against the dock. The heavy, steady beat of Juste's heart against my ear. The baby stirring quietly in my belly.
I had been through some hell to get here. But standing on the other side of all that pain... I wouldn't trade a damn thing. I opened my eyes and caught Juste looking at me — not saying anything', just looking. Like he knew. Like he felt it too. "I love you,"
I breathed. He smiled slow, that lopsided grin that still made my knees weak after all this time. "I know,"
he said, his voice deep and sure. "I love you too, baeeby."
And right there, with the sun setting over the bay, our babies between us, and another little life growing inside me... I knew. This was it. This was the life I dreamed for. The life we built.
To those of you rocking with me, you forever hold a special place in my heart. I hope you enjoyed the introduction to the St. Jean Family.
-Chae. C