Chapter 22
Zay
“Everybody Needs Something From Me”
After my aunt’s brunch, later that night, I went to the Laveau warehouse with a chip on my shoulder.
I walked in, mad as fuck. My father was there, arms folded. My uncles lined the walls.
“You and your wife could’ve handled my little sister better, telling her that news. She ain’t ask for none of this. You knew for years she was gonna have to marry, and you let your guard down because of your ego.”
My father stood up. The same way he used to when I was a kid and knew I’d said something that crossed the line.
“You trying to blame me for her downfall? I didn’t put those drugs to her lips. I didn’t tell her to run off.”
“You did,” I shot back. “You pushed her away every time she tried to be herself. Punished her for school. Punished her for dating. Didn’t let her live, so she ran off with your fuckin’ driver, thinking he was a father figure, and he set her up.
She had to sneak to breathe. Live with it. You did this.”
He stepped closer. “Who are you talking to, lil nigga?”
I laughed once, low.
“I’m talking to the nigga that owes me a million dollars. You taught loyalty, paying debts, standing on business, then been shorting your own son for years.”
My uncle moved quickly between us before it turned physical.
“Enough,” he said. “Handle business.”
That’s what this always came down to anyway. Money. Power. Pride.
My father opened a case and pushed it across the table. Cash.
“That’s half a million. Don’t ever act like I won’t pay you,” he said. “Shit rough right now, but not rough enough I can’t pay my son. I’ll do better by Yuna too.”
I looked at the money. Didn’t touch it right away.
Words didn’t fix what he’d done to this family.
I took the case anyway.
I had plans with it.
$$$$$
By the time I got home that night, it was damn near midnight.
I should’ve been there earlier. I usually was. But Yuna’s situation had everything off balance and my head wasn’t right.
The house was quiet when I walked in. Big foyer. High ceilings. Too much space when your thoughts are loud.
I dropped my bag by the door and followed the sound of quiet sniffling to the dining area.
The mother of my son, Emily, sat at the table, a glass of wine in her hand.
Her shoulders were hunched. She didn’t look up right away.
She’d been diagnosed with multiple sclerosis three years ago while pregnant with our son, Zacian Jr. One minute we were planning a baby shower; the next minute, doctors were explaining lesions, flare-ups, and uncertainty.
Everything changed after that.
She stopped trusting her body.
And I started feeling like I couldn’t protect her from something I couldn’t fight.
As soon as she saw me, she stood up too fast.
“Where the fuck you been? With that stripper bitch again that won’t stop commenting on your pictures?”
I sighed, calm. “Don’t start. I was with family. Trying to keep my sister off drugs and get her prepared for marriage.”
She laughed bitterly. “Least somebody getting married around this bitch.”
She tried to walk away, but I caught her wrist gently.
“Don’t start that either. You know why I put a ring on your finger but didn’t sign the license. I been with you since tenth grade. You had my first son. That’s deeper than paperwork and my last name. We solid, E.”
The nickname softened her, just a little.
“I’m scared, Zacian,” she said quietly. “I’m scared you won’t look at me the same when I can’t walk anymore or lose my vision. I already feel like you don’t.”
I lifted her chin.
“Who not gonna look at you the same?”
I kissed her slow.
Her lips trembled against mine.
It hit me then how long it had been since we’d really touched like this.
Almost a year.
Not because I didn’t want her. Because she stopped wanting herself.
She was twenty-eight now. Still beautiful.
Still the same girl who used to run the hallways in high school and walk runways like she owned the world.
She used to be a supermodel, but MS stole pieces of her confidence.
The fatigue. The numbness. The way her legs gave out sometimes.
The way she hated the nurse and nanny, even though she needed them.
I never cheated. Never even considered it.
Yeah, I handled my own shit when I needed release, but another woman? Nah.
I kissed her. Bought flowers. Gifts. Tried to make her feel seen.
But we stopped going out because she hated people staring at the walking brace she had to wear.
She pulled back just enough to look at me.
“You deserve to be pleased, Zacian. Just tell me you want somebody else.”
“I don’t deserve nothing, but you,” I said. “Sex don’t move me. You know that. Whenever you ready, I’m here.”
She exhaled shaky. “Thank you. I love you so much.”
“I love you too.”
The mood shifted, softer.
“Dinner is in the oven,” she said, wiping her face. “I finally let the chef do her job.”
I smirked. “About time.”
I went upstairs first. Checked on our son. Little man was knocked out, mouth open, cartoons still paused on the screen. I stood there longer than I needed to, just watching him breathe.
I headed to my man cave, rolled a blunt, and called my mother to check on Yuna.
She picked up on the second ring. Yuna was screaming in the background.
I closed my eyes.
“She needs real help,” I said.
My mother sighed. “Well, tell Ares. She’s his responsibility now. Don’t call me until it's time for her ass to get on a plane.”
The call ended before I could argue.
I smoked half the blunt, let the pressure settle in my chest, then went downstairs to eat. Cognac in my glass. Chicken wings on my plate. Emily stretched out on the couch, quiet now.
After dinner, I helped her up the stairs. Slow steps. Careful.
We got to our room.
I stripped down and stepped into the shower, hot water hitting my shoulders, finally washing the day off.
Halfway through, the door opened.
I looked up.
Emily stepped in, completely naked, eyes soft but determined.
She moved closer, water running down her skin, hand sliding over my chest. My dick got hard immediately.
“Tonight,” she whispered.
I froze for a second, surprised.
She pushed me on the bench I had installed for her and climbed onto me.
Her hands shook just a little as she wrapped them around my neck.
She kissed me like she was trying to remember who we used to be.
“Don’t let me fall, Zay,” she uttered in my ear.
“Have I ever?” I asked.
“No.”
I flipped the position and made her sit down on the bench, squatted in front of her, and opened her legs.
I wanted to taste my woman, I wanted to please her, and not make it all about me.
She moaned as I massaged her clit with my tongue.
She was scratching my shoulders and telling me she was about to cum.
“I want to feel you, baby,” she uttered, legs shaking on my shoulders. I lifted her off the bench so I could sit down, then she climbed on top of me. She rode me like she knew I needed her more than anything. She was the peace in my storm, and i was never taking her for granted.