3. When it rains #2
“I’m seeing someone.”
Her spine stiffened.
She knew a handsome, straight, Black man in Atlanta was a commodity, but still, those words cut.
She took another sip of the Modelo, careful not to flinch. “So that’s why you want the divorce rushed? You want the name back.”
Julian’s eyes flattened. He took a breath, slow and practiced. “Rushed? It’s been a year, Nairobi, but that’s not even the most absurd thing you just said. Do you really think this is about getting my last name back?”
“I don’t know what this is about, J.”
“Oh my God. You can’t even see the problem.
For the record, I know you’ve built your precious brand around Spring Greene, and God forbid anything interfere with that.
But maybe if you stopped being a walking brand and tried being a real person for just two seconds, you’d realize some of us just want normal lives.
Balanced. Peaceful. Not shot through a filter lens. ”
“So we’re back to my job now?”
“This is not about your bullshit ass job, Nairobi, this is about me moving on. You’ve been stalling for over a year.”
She crossed one leg over the other, the edge of her heel knocking against the counter. She wanted to clap back, but there was no win here. He wasn’t wrong, just sharp about it. She decided to circle back to the woman who the flowers were for.
“Do I know her?” she asked.
He didn’t play coy; it was clear he didn’t want to at this point. He took a sip of the beer and replied, “I doubt it. Honestly, don’t take this the wrong way, but I never want to date anyone in entertainment again.”
“That’s fair,” she said flatly. “So when did it start?”
“A couple of weeks ago.”
Spring’s lips tightened. She examined the room; there were multiple coffee cups from the shop not far from his, not enough to be messy but enough for her to notice. The picture was begging to come into focus.
She pressed the issue. “Must be serious then, for you to embarrass me like that at work. You could’ve also told me before you fucked me on your damn countertop.”
Julian raised an eyebrow. “I know what you’re doing.”
“What am I doing?”
“That thing you do to your subjects in interviews,” he said.
“You flip the question, pretend you’re just talking.
” He paused, then smirked. “If you want to play, we can play. But let’s be honest – you showed up with one thing on your mind, and I didn’t hear you complaining when you were calling on God. ”
Her smile didn’t reach her eyes. “I’m just trying to understand how we got here.”
“Then let me be clear,” he said, voice lower now. “It’s not serious… yet. But it’s heading there. She knows about you, about us – hell, about this . And I want it to stop.”
“You want to stop fucking me,” she said, more statement than question.
“This back-and-forth? It’s not love – it’s inertia.”
She looked at him, the silence thick between them. “Well, I haven’t looked at those little funky-ass papers, but I’ll get to them when I get a chance.”
“I thought you might say that.” He set his beer down, tone cooling. “So I told my lawyers if you drag your feet, they have my full blessing to go after rights to your catalog.”
“You… what?” She stood up fast. “Motherfucker.”
Julian rose to meet her. He tired to touch her shoulder, but she brushed him off. “I don’t want your catalog, Nairobi, and you know that – but I do want to move on. You’ve left me no options. Hell, I’m not even sure why you’re dragging this out.”
She stared at him, her voice was heavy. “You say it’s over, but you fucked me like we still meant something.”
Julian exhaled. “I fucked you like we fuck, because I know you. I knew what you came for. And I knew you wouldn’t take no for an answer.”
“So it was sympathy dick?”
He smirked, then blinked hard. “Jesus, Nairobi, why is everything an interview with you?”
“Would you prefer I call it ‘pity pussy’?”
“I prefer we not turn this into another script where you’re directing my life like one of your damn documentaries.”
She wasn’t sure why she was picking the fight; maybe it was her hormones, maybe she was just upset he’d moved on first, or maybe she was upset because he was right. Still, she persisted. “So this was, what – one last hit before the fade out?”
“No. I owed you an honest conversation. I didn’t want this. You asked for it.”
She crossed her arms, looking again at the cups on the coffee table. When she glanced back, she caught his eyes flicking to them too – and the way he clenched his teeth, saying nothing.
It was the kind of detail her investigative instincts never missed. The tells people gave when they didn’t realize they were giving themselves away. “Ah, it’s the barista from the coffee shop. That’s why we stopped going there.”
“Damn it, Nairobi, you always do this! This isn’t one of your films. This is my life, and even if it weren’t, at least the barista doesn’t treat me like a prop on set.”
Her eyes narrowed. “That’s the thing about you, J. You’d rather be someone else’s easy ending. No rewrites, no challenge.”
He shook his head. “Do you hear yourself? You’re talking about your marriage and you’re using words like ‘rewrites’. I’d rather be with someone who didn’t treat me like I’m only useful when her world is falling apart.”
She moved closer, heat rising in her throat. “Don’t act like I was hiding you. You didn’t want the kind of life I was building. You wanted me to slow down. Stay small.”
“I didn’t want any of that, Nairobi. I wanted you to see me. But you’ve been chasing ghosts with a camera lens for two years.” His voice wasn’t raised, but it landed. Hard. “And for what? Another second-tier streaming deal? Reviews that can’t decide if you’re brilliant or just bitter?”
That one sank. Deep. She glared at him.
Recognizing he’d crossed a line, he stood back to give her some space. She turned away, brushing imaginary lint from her blouse to keep her hands busy.
Julian sighed. “I’m not trying to fight. If that came out cruel, I’m sorry. What I’m trying to say is, I know how selective you are. I’m the same way. Our futures matter. And yeah, there was a time I wished that meant us together. But it doesn’t, not anymore.”
She didn’t respond. Not right away. Because all of it was true, even if it felt like he was discarding her like trash to the curb.
He softened. “I think this conversation proves what we both know: we were never broken in the bedroom, Nai. But the rest? The rest was cracked in every room we walked into.”
That was the line that lingered.
She turned back toward him. “You mattered, J, despite what you may think.”
“I know,” he said, eyes holding hers. “Just… not enough.”
Spring didn’t answer right away. She just stared at him, that line bouncing around her chest like a stray bullet looking for an organ to ruin.
Then her phone buzzed. She blinked, looked down.
“What?” Julian asked, still watching her.
She held the phone up, brows pinched. “My cousin, Cameron… his name is trending.”
That stopped him. No more slick comments. No more defense mechanisms. Just stillness. He stepped closer, leaned down to see her screen.
Tweets. Retweets. Reposts. A blurry photo of a stretcher outside some rundown motel. No details. No confirmation. Just enough digital noise to set the world spinning.
“Could be anything,” Julian muttered, but the confidence in his voice had cracked.
She was already scrolling again. Her breath got thinner with each swipe. “Why would he be trending?”
Then the phone rang.
Her stomach dropped when she saw the name. Dad. She went still.
Julian, on instinct, reached out and caught her elbow like she might fall. For a second, neither of them breathed.
“Hey, Daddy,” she answered, but her voice was wrong. Cautious. Hollow.
Julian stepped back, phone in his hand too, pulling up his own search for Cameron’s name. His jaw tightened at what he saw, but he didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to. Her father’s voice was doing all the talking.
“Hey, my princess,” The crack in his tone confirmed everything before the words did. “I’m sorry I have to call you about this but… it’s Cameron.”
The air shifted. The floor didn’t fall out – it folded.
She held her breath. As if holding it long enough would stop the world from changing.
“What about him?” she asked, but she already knew.
“He’s gone, Nai. They found him this morning. He—” A pause. A tremble. “—he took his own life.”
It didn’t hit all at once. Grief never did. It slid in sideways, ducked beneath logic, and landed right in her ribs.
She didn’t speak. Couldn’t. Julian was watching her, eyebrows dropped, her lips parted like he wanted to ask, but knew not to. Her dad kept talking, but his voice grew distant. Just sounds. Just syllables. Time of death. A note. A motel.
She wasn’t there. She was seventeen again, crammed in the back seat with Cameron on the drive to Beaumont, laughing at some joke no one could remember.
“Nai?” Julian’s voice was softer now. Unsure of what to say just present.
She turned toward him, glassy-eyed. There was no fight left. No heat. Just a space between them wide enough to drown in.
She ended the call without saying goodbye. “I have to go,” she said, already standing.
He nodded, slow and quiet. The nod you give someone when words would only make it worse.
Outside, the city was too loud. Too bright. Neon signs and traffic lights bled together like the edges of a bad dream. She drove without knowing where she was going, only that she had to move.
Julian’s voice echoed in her mind.
I’m moving on, Nai. The insult about her work. The threats about her catalog. The flowers in the trash.
And beneath all of that—her father’s voice. He’s gone.
She gripped the steering wheel tighter.
Somewhere between downtown Atlanta and the edge of her sanity, it hit her that she hadn’t cried yet.
That would come later.
For now, all she could do was drive.