Chapter 7
Heavy’s house was one of the best-looking on the block, and he had no one to thank but his grandfather.
It sat on a quiet block that had seen better days but still held on to its pride.
The lawn was cut low, the sidewalks were clean, and there wasn’t a stray piece of trash in sight.
The porch slightly wrapped around the front, supported by thick wooden columns that had been repainted more times than anyone could count.
The numbers on the house were new, but the wood beneath them carried years of weather, history, and hands that had come and gone.
People still called it Mr. G’s house. It didn’t matter that he’d been gone for a minute now.
His presence hadn’t really left. The house was passed down to Heavy when he was twenty-four, right before his little vacation.
He didn’t nearly have enough time to settle into it and make it his own but it felt like it now.
Not entirely content with the area, he’d been contemplating moving.
Heavy learned his lesson about being too comfortable. The word no longer existed in his world. It was disheartening to think that way but he had to. He knew there was so much out there, and he wanted it all. Whatever this life had to offer, he was snatching that shit up and making it his.
There was always negative discourse about people from the hood who made it big and chose to stay there.
Heavy didn’t see a problem with that. The problem was the folks who didn’t live there, who caused issues and brought unnecessary drama.
Since he’d been home, Heavy had one interaction too many with some young niggas trying to break into his spot.
Whether they knew him or not, didn’t matter.
He was going to always protect his home.
Sending another grieving mother down to the morgue wasn’t on Heavy’s agenda, but he’d add it before his name was plastered with condolences.
There was too much he could physically and mentally lose if he were caught slipping again.
Stepping out of his truck, Heavy glimpsed his surroundings before slamming the door and hitting the locks while listening to his older cousin. He’d called him on the ride home just to see what he had going on. Heavy felt like he’d been on the go for days, so it felt good to catch up.
“Where you say y’all was going again?” Heavy asked, entering his house and dropping his keys inside the blue and gray clay bowl his niece had made for him in pottery class.
He glanced around like he always did, making sure everything was how he left it. Parts of the home were renovated, but it still felt like his grandfather in ways that couldn’t be painted over or replaced.
“Cabo,” Nash replied. “Got a spot right off the water. Real laid back. I ain’t even trying to do too much, just chill, eat good, let my daughter enjoy herself for a few days.”
“You taking her out the country already?”
Nash chuckled. “Yeah, man. She’s been asking me for a trip since we went to Florida this summer. Figured I’d start her early. Let her see something different.”
Heavy nodded, even though Nash couldn’t see him. He moved down the hallway, eyes landing briefly on a framed picture of his grandfather sitting on the end table. The image caught him for half a second before he kept it moving.
“That’s what’s up.”
“You should slide with us,” Nash added, casual like it wasn’t a big deal. “You ain’t been nowhere in a minute.”
He’d never been out of the country either. His mind drifted to Cyren, wondering if Mexico, Cabo specifically, had been on her world tour.
“Nigga, how you know where I been?” he asked, chuckling.
“I know yo’ ass ain’t been out the country,” Nash shot back. “You still on papers?”
Thank God he wasn’t.
“Nah. I’m off,” Heavy answered, pushing open the last bedroom door.
The spare room wasn’t used for much besides storage and what Heavy needed it for. A twin bed sat pushed against the wall, with a dresser in the corner, and a closet that held more than clothes. It wasn’t decorated like the rest of the house.
“Bet. So, what’s up?” Nash pressed.
Heavy stepped fully inside, leaving the door open.
“Shit. Let me think about it. I got a few things to handle,” he replied.
“Man,” Nash dragged, already knowing he was faking. “You gon’ always have shit to handle. That ain’t gon’ change whether you here or not.”
He had a point, but so did Heavy. Knowing the type of person his cousin was, Nash needed an answer from him today, or he’d never get one. The trip would be forgotten, and he’d bring it up months later.
Pushing the twin bed over just enough to expose the loose floorboard beneath it, Heavy crouched down to lift it. “I hear you, cuz. I do. Let me line some shit up, and I’ll let you know. When is it?”
“Around Christmas time,” Nash replied. “That’s when baby girl gon’ be out of school, so I’m trying to take advantage of the time.”
Heavy nodded as he reached down and pulled out the first black duffel bag, setting it on the floor. “Yeah… I might can fuck with that.”
“A’ight. Might do you some good to get away and clear your head for a few days, too.”
Heavy couldn’t argue with that. The idea of being somewhere quiet, relaxing in the sun, with his feet in the water didn’t sound like a bad idea.
It’d give him some space to breathe without constantly checking his surroundings or thinking three steps ahead.
That’s exactly what Nash wanted his cousin to do.
It made no sense to be getting all the money they were getting and not enjoying it.
“Send me the info,” he said, unzipping the bag. “I’ma check it out. It’s just you and baby girl?”
“Nah, her mama and a friend of hers. I think her sister or cousin is coming too,” Nash said, not knowing the guest list. “You think Mesha would wanna bring her and the kids?”
Heavy nodded, already knowing his sister, niece, and nephew were hopping on a flight if he was.
“Hell yeah. You already know she would.”
“Bet. I’ma have Candice send you everything. What’s your email?”
Heavy rattled off the community center’s main email address, grabbed the second duffel bag, and pulled it out from beneath the floorboard.
“You still ain’t figured out what you doing with the center?”
Heavy paused for a second with the bag halfway open. Nash wasn’t the first person to ask him that. Or something along the lines of it. He probably wouldn’t be the last either.
Heavy was still trying to figure out why the responsibility had been placed on him.
The answer was obvious when he first got out, but after Dre was killed, his motivation to get it up and running had dwindled.
He didn’t see the point if his right-hand man wasn’t there with him.
Since then, he’d been heavier in the streets and out of the way, pushing the promises Gramps wanted him to fulfill to the back burner.
“Nah, not for real,” he admitted. “Just sitting on it until I’m ready to invest for real.”
He tossed his phone onto the bed so he could move around freely, pulling out stacks and laying them out across the mattress.
Nash wasn’t trying to be preachy, so he saved what he really wanted to say for another day. He still laced him with game, though, and his helping hand.
“Understood. When you get the ball rollin’, you know I’m all in. That’d be a good look.”
Heavy knew that. He’d seen its potential, then watched it shatter right before his eyes and in his lap.
“Fasho. I’ma hit you when Candice sends me that email, though,” he said, ready to get to work.
“Bet. Love you, cuz. Be safe out here,” Nash said.
“Always. Love you, too.”
The call ended, and the room fell quiet again.
Heavy stood there for a moment, then got to work.
He dragged a small folding table from the corner closer to the bed and started moving the money over.
His fingers moved with practiced ease, organizing the stacks without needing to double-check himself.
Time passed without him paying attention to it.
Counting money calmed and excited him. Heavy remembered the first time he counted one hundred dollars at six years old.
That fueled a fire in him from then on. His first band as a teenager turned into ten, ten turned into fifty, and he stopped counting after a while.
He’d stacked, saved, and splurged a bit, not knowing it’d be needed once he sat down for those years.
A yawn escaped him before he could stop it.
By the time he finished counting and organizing one bag and was starting the second, his shoulders had relaxed a little.
The buzzing of his phone caught his attention, where it sat on the bed.
Seeing the name Tish for a second time today, he let it ring for a few more seconds before picking it up.
“Yeah.”
“You couldn’t answer the first time?” Tish asked, her voice already edged with irritation, but it softened just slightly, now that he had actually picked up.
Heavy leaned back in his chair, thankful he’d finished before she threw him off. “I’m in the middle of something. What’s up?”
“Every time I call, you’re in the middle of something. If you don’t want to fuck with me, just say that.”
He’d hurt her feelings if he came right out and said that, and Tish knew it. Still, that’d be better than him ignoring her for days on end or giving her the same dry answer.
“If I say that, then what? You gon’ stop blowing my line down?”
“You know what...” She huffed, sucking her teeth.
Heavy chuckled, knowing she was about to hang up. “I’m fucking wit’ you. I do be busy, though. You be calling at the most inconvenient of times.”
“Well, let me know that instead of acting nonchalant with me. You know I don’t like when you do that.”
He could’ve named a few things he didn’t particularly like that she did, but Heavy wasn’t that type of nigga. She was voicing her grievances, and he was listening, waiting for the point in the conversation he knew was coming. It always did.
“A’ight. What’s up, though? You straight?”