Chapter 10
“You good?” Heavy asked, backing into the driveway and shifting gears to park.
“Yes.”
She was now. Just a smidgen. The ride over was filled with her filling him in on how Skylar had just tried ruining her night. Cyren didn’t understand how someone, especially family, would intentionally go out of their way to hurt you. Her mind couldn’t make sense of it.
“Fuck what she was talking about, a’ight? Some people say and do things because they’re hurt, projecting their insecurities and hurt on you, when it’s never about you. It’s about them. That’s something she needs to work on.”
She hadn’t even gone into detail about the conversation they had before she stepped outside.
Easily, Heavy had figured out what the real issue was.
He tried giving Cyren some logic without her emotions getting in the way.
He wasn’t invalidating her feelings but letting her know that Skylar, or whoever, wasn’t worth occupying space in her mind.
She still wanted to slap her for talking crazy, but maybe another day.
Sighing, Cyren nodded. “Okay. I hear you.”
She tried not to overthink being at his house as he tucked his gun and climbed out to open her door. All she knew was that she wanted to be around him, and obviously, the feelings were mutual. They walked through the garage with him leading the way.
He secured the locks and set the alarm before they ventured further inside.
Cyren walked in, slowly, her eyes adjusting as she took in the space.
The first thing she noticed was how warm it felt.
Not just the temperature, but the energy.
The place felt lived in and looked or felt nothing like the bachelor pad she had envisioned.
“It’s nice in here,” she said.
Heavy flicked a few more lights on. “‘Preciate it. You want something to drink to go with your food?”
“Yes. What do you have?” Cyren asked, taking in the living room.
Her gaze moved around the space, catching the details one by one. The house had old bones. You could feel it in the structure, the way the walls held shape, and in the slight creak in the floor when she shifted her stance. It had been updated without stripping it of its history and memories.
Shades of black and gray were throughout with gold accents here and there.
Cyren could tell it had no womanly touch.
The plug-ins were even more masculine, filling the air with a deep, woodsy scent.
The cream couch looked like she’d sink into it, and Cyren couldn’t wait to test it out.
A worn, black leather recliner sat closer to the TV, while frames lined the walls.
Curious, she stepped closer, eyes focusing on one in particular.
“Is this your dad?” she asked.
Heavy followed her gaze. “Nah. That’s my grandfather.”
Her eyes brightened. “Oh. He’s handsome,” she mumbled the words, but Heavy had the best hearing.
Cyren was certain Mr. G was Heavy’s dad. The way Black men and women age so beautifully, and get finer with time, was just one of those things to smile about and admire. She could tell he took good care of himself.
“He would’ve never let me hear the end of that if he were here,” Heavy said.
Her head snapped his way. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”
She didn’t need him to clarify what ‘here’ meant. Cyren detected the sadness in his tone. Knowing she meant no harm, Heavy checked his feelings.
“It’s all good,” he said. “Gramps was fly as hell.”
“I see,” Cyren said, taking in a few more pictures he had up on the wall. “Did he raise you?”
“He helped, yeah,” Heavy answered. “My pops went into the feds when I was sixteen, so he was the main male figure physically in my life until he passed.”
“Well, Gramps did a good job.” She smiled.
“You think so?”
Cyren nodded. “Mhm. I mean, you seem to be doing pretty good for yourself.”
She wasn’t sure what he did exactly, but she wasn’t green.
A quiet huff released through his nose at her observation. “Define good.”
Cyren glanced at him, then around the house again. “You got your own space. You carry yourself like you have some sense. You don’t seem like you’re all over the place.” She shrugged, lightly. “That has to count for something.”
Heavy studied her for a second, trying to decide whether she was trying to spit game to him or if she really meant what she was saying. Everything looked good to someone on the outside.
“Yeah,” he agreed, “you right. Thank you.”
“Of course. Can I warm my food up?” she asked, holding up the bag.
Heavy nodded. “Yeah, my fault. You can take your jacket and shoes off if you want to.”
Getting comfortable, Cyren removed her jacket and draped it over the arm of the couch but kept her shoes on.
She hated walking around with shoes on but hated it even more when she had no house shoes on.
Following him into the kitchen, Cyren couldn’t help but admire the upgrades.
The white oak cabinets and glossy white backsplash brightened the otherwise dark space.
The granite countertops matched the island in the middle, which had mail, an empty glass, and a candle resting on it.
“This smells so good,” Cyren said, holding the bergamot, matcha, and green tea wax blend to her nose.
“You can have it,” Heavy offered without thought.
Cyren squinted. “Why? Who gave you this, and you trying to give it away?”
Laughing, he dried his hands. “Nobody, woman. I bought it from this lil’ store I be shopping at. Just hadn’t lit it yet.”
“Mhm,” she hummed and sniffed once more before putting the lid back on. “I’ll take it.”
“This food looks fire. Where this from?” Heavy’s stomach growled as he unwrapped her plate.
“The place I’ve been volunteering at. The food is actually pretty good.”
Heavy didn’t doubt that. The sweet potatoes, baked chicken, and green beans looked like a meal he’d whip up on a Sunday.
“I bet. You like volunteering up there?” he asked, closing the microwave door and pressing a few buttons until it whirled to life.
“I do. Maybe you could come with me one weekend.”
Heavy wasn’t against that. “Yeah, maybe so. It might give me some motivation to get a few things in motion.”
“Things like what?” Cyren asked, scooting onto the barstool.
Grabbing a fork from the drawer, he rinsed it before removing her plate from the microwave.
He was conflicted about bringing the community center up but lowkey wanted to hear what she thought.
Heavy placed the plate in front of her and stood on the opposite side of the island.
He watched as she bowed her head and said amen, before answering her.
“Just some things my grandfather set in motion for me. I been pushing it off, focusing on other things.”
He’d been focused on the same things Gramps had warned would land him back in prison, or worse, dead. Heavy was chasing the money as if he were running out of time.
“Why? Is it not important?” Cyren asked, and finished chewing.
“It is, but... shit. Right now, I’m still working on it ‘cause that was his goal and his dream for me. I ain’t too convinced I’m supposed to be living it.”
Cyren didn’t respond right away. She took another bite of her food, chewing slowly. His words had affected her in a way she hadn’t seen coming. Heavy watched for a moment, then reached for his water and took a sip.
“What if it’s both?” she finally said.
He frowned slightly. “Both what?”
“His dream and yours,” she replied. “Just… in a different way.”
Heavy leaned against the counter, loosely folding his arms. “How that work?”
Cyren lifted her shoulders. . “I don’t know all the details, but you said he started something, right? That doesn’t mean you have to finish it exactly how he pictured it. You have to reach the goal in whatever way it fits you.”
“Trying to live up to something somebody else already built is pressure like a mothafucka,” he truthfully confessed.
Cyren nodded. “Yeah, it probably is. But ignoring it doesn’t make it go away either.”
He knew that. That’s the reason Mama Dot had been on his line about slowly moving his feet. She wanted to see him flourish just as much as Gramps did. Cyren took another bite of her food and cleared her throat.
“I don’t know. I guess I look at life a bit differently now. If it’s something you want to do, then just do it. You literally create the life you want. The only thing stopping you is you.”
Heavy shook his head, slightly. “You make it sound easy.”
She shrugged. “Not easy, just obtainable. He, meaning the Lord, wouldn’t have put you in a position to better yourself if it were going to be easy. That’s too much like right. You gotta work for something. Maybe this is your test. You gon’ pass or you gon’ fail?”
Smirking, Heavy rubbed a hand over his beard. She’d just put him on blast, and there wasn’t much he could do about it.
“I’ma pass, fasho. Just gon’ take a bit more studying.”
Cyren smiled. “See! That’s all you need to do. And stay focused. You don’t seem like someone who’s supposed to be stuck doing the same thing forever.”
Heavy chuckled, lowly. “You don’t even know what I do.”
“I know enough,” she said and winked. “But I mean it. I believe in you. Whatever it is you’re doing, just always remember what you started for. Your grandfather’s dream or not, he trusted you with it, so keep your promise to him and yourself. Everything will pay off in the end.”
That pulled a real smile out of him. “Damn.”
Cyren’s brows lifted. “What?”
He shook his head, looking at her a little differently now. “You just… you have a way with words.”
She laughed, softly. “Is that a bad thing?”
“Nah. Not at all. It’s just different. Refreshing as hell, honestly.”