Chapter 7
NIA
My eyelids were heavy, and I caught myself nodding off a few times.
“Go on. No one is expecting you to be a superhero tonight.”
“You forget, that’s my brand,” I said with a dry mouth.
“Put your head down. Get some rest.”
I stared at Ronan, sure I’d misheard. “What?”
Ronan’s hand found my shoulder, coaxing me to lie down. “Close your eyes for a minute. I got you.”
Hearing him say “I got you” broke through my defenses in a way I didn’t expect. Maybe it was the exhaustion in every part of me. I hesitated for a moment, then let him guide me.
“That’s it, rest,” he murmured.
Ronan brushed a few locs away from my temple. The gentle touch of his fingers sent shivers through me. He was careful, almost like he understood how intimate the gesture was.
I tried to stay awake, but I couldn’t. My neck relaxed first, then my jaw and my eyelids.
I drifted off, woke up, then drifted again, each time leaning more against his thigh.
I wanted to say something, apologize, but I couldn’t find the words.
Besides exhaustion, all I felt was his thumb moving slowly over my head, patient and gentle, as if he could read my thoughts.
“I’m not sleeping,” I lied, which made him huff out a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sigh.
“Sure you’re not,” he said, and I wanted to slap him for that bit of smugness, except I was too comfortable to move.
“My brother told me to never sleep in jail.”
He leaned down, his breath at my ear. “This isn’t jail. And I ain’t letting anything happen to you, Dr. Price. Not tonight.”
That broke the last bit of resistance in me. Maybe it was because no one had ever said that and truly meant it. Or maybe it was his hand at my hairline, soft as cotton, each touch making me feel safe.
“Price. Banks. On your feet. Processing.”
The loud voice made me sit up fast. For a moment, I was so confused I forgot where I was. Then I remembered the holding facility, and my pillow was actually Ronan Banks.
“Easy. You good?” Ronan asked, his voice husky with exhaustion.
I nodded and ran a hand over my locs. I knew Ronan was looking at me, but I couldn’t bring myself to meet his eyes.
“How long was I out?” I asked, clearing my throat.
“A few hours, but not long enough.”
Guilt pulled at me. “You didn’t sleep at all?”
“I closed my eyes.”
“Price, Banks, let’s go. You’re in the first group,” the guard ordered.
When I stood up, my legs tingled with pins and needles. Ronan stood next to me and reached for my elbow to steady me.
“Stiff?” he asked.
“Like rigor mortis,” I admitted, moving toward the processing area.
We followed the guard down the hall and joined a small group of other people being processed for release. I signed where the guard told me to, only half listening to the officers talk about charges that might still come.
“My recorder?” I asked as the officer handed back my phone and wallet.
He shrugged. “If they collected it from the scene, it’s evidence.”
“Evidence of what? Federal troops tear-gassing peaceful mourners?” My voice rose, despite my exhaustion.
Ronan’s presence moved closer to me, a silent reminder to pick my battles. I blew out air, frustrated, and shoved my belongings into my pockets.
As they led us to the exit, my heart beat rapidly at the thought of freedom. The morning air felt fresh and cool after the stuffy holding cell. I took a deep breath, hoping to clear out the memory of tear gas.
I paused for a moment, unsure of what to do. My car was still at the protest site, my phone battery was dead, and my body was running on fumes.
“Chief.” A deep voice pulled me from my thoughts. I turned and saw a tall Black man walking toward us, broad-shouldered with silver at his temples, standing straight like a soldier even this early. His eyes moved from Ronan to me and back, curiosity clear on his face.
“Captain Jordan,” Ronan acknowledged.
“I heard what happened. You alright?” Captain Jordan asked.
“Been better. What are you doing over here?” Ronan asked.
“Over here for a meeting. The mayor issued a joint release with federal authorities, calling it a necessary intervention to prevent escalation. You know the bullshit. No offense, ma’am.” Jordan’s eyes looked my way.
“None taken. Bullshit is exactly what it was,” I replied.
“The media is running with it, though. The department is on fire from both sides, the community saying we allow federal overreach, and the Feds saying we weren’t prepared,” Jordan said, turning back to Ronan.
Ronan scoffed. “I’ll address it, but not today. I need your car, Todd.”
Jordan’s eyes rose. “My car?”
“Yeah. I need you to get my department vehicle from the park. We’ll switch back when I return. I need a day.” Ronan held his gaze.
Unsaid sentiments passed between the men. Without further question, Jordan reached into his pocket and pulled out a key fob, pressing it into Ronan’s hand.
“There’s a phone charger in the console. Take more than a day if you need it. This shit storm is not clearing any time soon.”
“Appreciate you,” Ronan replied.
Jordan nodded, turning toward me. “Dr. Price, I heard your podcast on community policing reform. Made some good points.”
I blinked in surprise at his recognition. “Thank you.”
With that, he turned toward the building. “Let me get to this meeting.”
“This way,” Ronan said, gesturing toward a black sedan in the parking lot.
“Is it normal to command your captain’s personal vehicle?”
“Nothing about the last twenty-four hours has been normal. You want to call someone? Or you want to lie low?” Ronan opened the passenger door for me.
I thought about it. The idea of being alone with my thoughts after what happened made my chest ache. “Lie low for a minute.”
“You hungry? There’s a spot up on the bypass. Or we can just hit the road.”
I realized my stomach was a hollow drum, but the thought of eating made me want to puke. “Road. Where are we going?”
He glanced at me. “Cool. I have a place for situations like this by the lake, about an hour outside the city.”
“Secret lake house? That’s the Blackest or whitest thing I ever heard. If you have hot water and a place to lay my head, I’m down.”
Ronan chuckled, making me smile. “I grew up fishing on those waters. Sometimes a man needs a getaway.”
“I definitely understand what you’re saying.”
Inside the car, I plugged my phone into the charger and waited for it to power up. I sent two quick texts to Mama and Talia:
Me: Safe. With a friend. Will call tomorrow. I need to decompress.
Ronan adjusted the rearview mirror and drove out of the parking lot. We left the city behind us, both quiet. I watched the skyline get smaller in the side mirror, city hall, the courthouse, old houses turning into strip malls, and trees. With every mile traveled, I felt less tense.
We didn’t talk for the first half hour. He drove like someone who didn’t trust cruise control, always alert. I watched him, pretending to look at the scenery, but really noticing new things about him. I tried not to make it a thing, but damn if it wasn’t a thing.
“You always bring fugitives to your lake house?” I asked, voice lighter than I felt.
He glanced at me, a faint smirk on his face. “Only the ones worth protecting.”
I let that sit. The world outside the window changed from city to small town to deep woods, the trees getting thicker, the roads narrower.
At some point, he reached for the radio and put on an old-school R run it for a minute. I’ll head to the store and grab a few things,” he said, pointing to a hallway off the main room.
I couldn’t believe I was standing in Ronan Banks’s personal space, talking about normal things like we hadn’t just been in jail together, like I hadn’t slept with my head in his lap.
“This is beautiful. I need a shower. I can’t stand being in these clothes another minute.”
“Of course. I keep the bathroom stocked with towels, soap, whatever you need; help yourself to anything. You can put on one of my big T-shirts from the drawer, and we’ll throw our clothes in the washer.”
After hours of being treated like less than human, Ronan’s kindness almost made me break down. Simple courtesy meant a lot right now.
“Thank you.”
Ronan nodded and gestured toward the hallway. “Go on, make yourself at home. I’ll see what I can pull together for food.”
I didn’t argue. The bathroom continued with the same aesthetic: natural materials and clean lines.
I didn’t recognize myself in the mirror.
My locs were a mess, my eyes were bloodshot from tear gas, lack of sleep, and my face dirty.
I looked like I’d been through a war, which in some ways, I suppose I had.
I cranked the hot water up and let it run till it fogged up the mirror. Then I stepped under the spray. The shower felt like salvation as I grabbed the soap. There was a gentle knock on the door.
“I need to run to the market. There’s nothing in the fridge.”
I paused with the soap in my hand. “Okay.”
“I won’t be long.”
“Alright. I’ll be fine.”
Realizing I was alone in his house, it hit me how personal this was—showering in Ronan Banks’ bathroom, about to put on his clothes—when only a day ago, he was the enemy, a symbol of the system I’d fought.
Now I was using his soap and breathing in his scent I’d recognized from being close to him in the holding cell.
I finished washing quickly. With one of his fluffy towels wrapped around me, I was suddenly anxious to explore the space that revealed the side of Ronan I never expected to see. I headed to the bedroom with the towel secured tightly around me.
In the bedroom, there was a large bed with a blue comforter and wooden nightstands.
A dresser was against one wall, where I found T-shirts in the top drawer.
My fingers hesitated over the soft fabric before I closed it again, oddly reluctant to get dressed just yet.
The hot shower had cleared my mind and warmed my skin, and I wanted to hold on to that sensation of renewal for a few more moments before covering myself in anything, even his clothes.
Instead, I explored Ronan’s house, noticing details I’d missed before. Bookshelves lined one wall of the living room, with titles by Langston Hughes, Nikki Giovanni, and Audre Lorde. Not what I expected from Birmingham’s chief of police.
There was something deeply revealing about seeing these pieces of Ronan that existed outside his public persona.
On the mantle were a few fishing trophies and a photo of a younger Ronan with an older man, whom I guessed was his grandfather. Both were smiling widely. I picked up the photo and studied the open happiness on his face.
In another photo, Ronan appeared very young in a military uniform.
In a third, he stood outside what looked like a church, with an older couple, probably his parents, his father wearing a clerical collar.
Seeing these parts of his life made him feel more real to me, in ways our talks had only started to.
His books and photos showed a man more complicated than the symbol I’d made him out to be.
I was still holding the family photo when I heard Ronan coming back.
I set it down carefully, suddenly aware that I was barefoot, with wet hair, wrapped in only a towel, in his living room.
I should have used the time to get dressed instead of looking through his things, but now I was stuck between going to the bedroom or facing him like this.
The engine cut off, the car door slammed, and footsteps approached the front door.
I stayed frozen in the center of the room as the door handle turned.
I decided not to run, not to hide, but to stand in my vulnerability, let him see me as I truly was in this moment with my guard down, wearing nothing but a towel and the strange, unexpected truth building between us since the first moment in the holding cell.
Whatever was happening between us made little sense. Our backgrounds and choices didn’t matter anymore; it was already beyond my control. When the door opened, I realized that for once, I would not fight it.