Chapter 15
NIA
I sat in my parked car, the AC barely making a dent in the Alabama heat.
The official notice shook in my hands, almost like it wanted to get away.
“Dr. Nia Price: Status Update Removal from Federal Persons of Interest Database.” Just like that, the nightmare that threatened my career and came between the only man who’d truly seen me was finally over.
I snapped a pic and sent it to Talia. She responded immediately.
Talia: They really sent that shit through the mail? Like a damn electric bill?
Her outrage made me feel seen when my own emotions were still too tangled to understand.
Me: God forbid they apologize publicly, the way they humiliated me on a public list. At least they used first-class postage.
Talia sent me a GIF of Viola rolling her eyes. I laughed out loud before setting my phone aside. I folded the letter and stuffed it into my bag.
I checked myself in the rearview mirror, hardly recognizing the woman staring back. These past weeks had changed me, left shadows under my eyes that concealer couldn’t quite hide, tension in my jaw that hadn’t fully released even with this news. I’d survived, though. Now what?
Survival was only part of it. The other part that kept me awake at night was Ronan. The silence between us with all we’d left unsaid.
“Fuck it.” I grabbed my bag and keys. Sitting here stewing in regret wasn’t helping anyone.
I stepped out of the car, the Alabama humidity’s embrace suffocating but somehow still home. I locked my car and stood still for a moment, appreciating the noise of the city. Birmingham at dusk, beautiful and broken and resilient, just like its people. Just like me.
My stomach growled, reminding me I hadn’t eaten since a hasty granola bar at lunch. I moved toward the food truck with its promises of quick, greasy salvation. My body moved on autopilot while my mind continued its endless loop of thoughts about Ronan.
A couple walked by, holding hands and laughing at a private joke. I looked away; their closeness stung. My sundress stuck to my back, so I pulled my locs into a quick bun with the elastic from my wrist. It helped a little; at least I could feel a bit of breeze on my neck.
The smell of spices and food wafted over, tightening my stomach with hunger. The food truck lot came into view, with groups of people waiting in line or sitting at picnic tables. Music played, mixing with the sounds of conversation and laughter.
I stopped when I saw him standing in line, focused on the front. For a second, I thought about turning around and pretending I hadn’t noticed him, sparing us both the awkwardness, but I was tired of running, tired of hiding from the truth.
His head turned, and our eyes locked. Time seemed to stretch and contract, the noise of the food truck lot fading to background static as understanding passed between us without a single word spoken.
We had found each other again. Now we just had to figure out what came next.
Neither of us moved for a long moment, then we both walked toward each other, him leaving his place in line.
We met on the lot between two food trucks, close enough that I could smell his cologne but with enough distance that strangers wouldn’t think we knew each other.
Except our eyes gave us away, locked together like we were drowning, and the other person held the only lifeline.
“Nia.” The way he said my name, almost reverent, made something catch in my chest.
“Ronan. Thank you for what you did at that review.”
“You heard about that?” His eyebrows raised slightly.
I shifted my weight, suddenly unsure of what to do with my hands. “Birmingham’s a small town when it comes to gossip. I heard you lost your badge because of . . . me.”
His expression was pained, as if he were touching an old wound to see if it still hurt. “Not because of you, but because of what was right. There’s a difference.”
I forced myself to maintain eye contact when all impulses screamed at me to look away from the intensity of his gaze. “Your badge meant everything to you.”
“I thought it did. Turns out some things matter more.”
I resisted the urge to reach for him, to close the distance we’d maintained, but years of self-protection held me back.
“There’s something I have to ask you. I overheard Captain Jordan at a bar. He said you denied any professional involvement with protest organizers.” My words came out more accusing than I’d intended, old hurt rising to the surface despite my best efforts to hold them inside.
Ronan didn’t flinch from the question, his eyes staying steady on mine. “It wasn’t a lie. What we have isn’t professional, it’s personal. Has been since the holding cell.”
The distinction knocked me back a step. Ronan hadn’t denied me. He’d protected what was between us from being categorized, documented, reduced to notes in a federal file.
“That’s some lawyer-type semantic bullshit,” I said, fighting a smile.
“Maybe, but it’s also true,” he conceded, his own mouth curving slightly.
“I need to tell you something, too. That day in the grocery store, when I pushed you away . . . It wasn’t because I didn’t want you around.
It was because of your warning. Once I found out I was on the watchlist, I knew you being seen with me could put a target on your back.
I figured I was doing the right thing by keeping my distance. ”
Understanding dawned on his face. “You were protecting me . . .”
“While you were protecting me,” I finished, the absurdity of it hitting us both at once.
A laugh escaped me, unexpected and genuine. “We’re a mess, you know that?”
“A well-intentioned mess,” he amended, his smile reaching his eyes for the first time since we’d started talking.
We stood there in the narrow space between food trucks, shaking our heads at ourselves.
“Of course, it got this complicated. Nothing about us has ever been simple,” I stated, feeling the tension between us finally beginning to dissolve.
“No, but simple is overrated.”
Another beat of silence passed between us.
The noise of the food truck lot flowed around us, people ordering, laughing, living their everyday lives, while something extraordinary happened in our little corner of the world.
The realization that neither of us had rejected the other, that we’d both acted out of protection, changed everything.
“What now?” I asked a question that encompassed far more than just the immediate future.
Ronan glanced back at the food truck he’d been in line for, then back to me. “I’m thinking we both need to eat. And talk. Really talk, without all these misunderstandings between us.”
“I’d like that,” I said, meaning it more than he could know.
He stepped closer. “I missed you, Nia.”
“I missed you, too,” I admitted.
“Come on,” Ronan said, nodding toward the taco truck. I followed him like we’d been together for years instead of just that one brief time at his cabin.
The man inside worked quickly, his hands moving fast as he put together orders and called out numbers. We joined the line, standing close together.
When we reached the window, Ronan ordered for both of us without hesitation, asking for extra hot sauce on mine and none on his, adding sides of Elote for both of us.
After he paid, we stepped away from the window and waited for our number to be called.
Ronan picked up our food, balancing the tray as he turned to me.
We found a small metal table away from the main crowd, where we could talk without shouting.
The night had grown darker, the heat still heavy but somehow easier to handle now that the sun was gone.
“This smells amazing. I haven’t eaten since the granola bar I had this morning. I was too busy preparing lectures,” I said, unwrapping my first taco and inhaling the aroma of spices and grilled meat.
“How’s that going?”
I took a bite, the heat of the sauce bringing instant tears to my eyes that I blinked away. “Damn, that’s hot. Good. Students seem more engaged here than in Atlanta.”
Ronan smiled and handed me his unopened water bottle. Our conversation felt easy, like we were picking up where we left off. We talked about the sticky night and a new bookstore downtown. For a while, we were just regular people, setting aside the stress of watchlists and lost badges.
“I missed this,” he said during a lull in the conversation.
I wiped my hands on a napkin, gathering courage. “Me too. I missed you.”
When we finished eating, neither of us seemed ready for the night to end. Without discussing it, we walked away from the food truck lot, down streets lit by old-fashioned lampposts, the neighborhood transitioning from commercial to residential.
“I don’t know what comes next. I’ve been wearing that badge so long, I’m not sure who I am without it.”
I glanced at him sideways. “You’re the same man. Just . . . unbadged.”
He chuckled at that. “Maybe. Or maybe I’m something else entirely. Something new.”
We stopped at a small park, just a patch of green with a couple of benches surrounded by magnolia trees. Without discussion, we sat on the nearest bench, close enough that our knees almost touched.
“The Justice Department offered me a position with the Oversight Division. Investigating police misconduct nationally, but the position’s not in Birmingham.”
I turned to face him better. “That’s . . . wow. That’s perfect for you.”
“Don’t go back to Atlanta.”
I looked down at my hands, folded in my lap. “It’s my home. Plus, I was afraid of ruining your career by staying too close.”
“My career was mine to risk. And what happened, . . . I’d do it again in a heartbeat.”
“What about the new position?”
I shrugged matter-of-factly. “I don’t know yet.”
The night air was heavy with humidity, and a distant rumble of thunder promised rain that might never come.
“I love you. I don’t know exactly what’s next, but I know I want you there for it. Whether that’s in Birmingham or Atlanta or somewhere else entirely.”
Ronan’s confession lingered between us, his honesty both a responsibility and a gift.
“Peace never stays long where love is involved,” I said finally, a wry smile lifting the corner of my mouth, though my heart wanted a different story, one of hope, of a willingness to try despite all the complications that still lay ahead.
Ronan understood what I wasn’t saying out loud. He always had, from that first moment in the holding cell when he’d seen past Dr. Price the activist, to Nia the woman. He reached across the small space between us, his hand open, an invitation rather than a demand.
I put my hand in Ronan’s. We sat quietly, not needing words to confirm what we already knew.