Chapter 21 #2
And watching her like that, man it hit me. I wasn’t doing enough. I gave her love, yeah. Stability, loyalty and respect. But it was time I poured more into my wife. Not just holding her up when she broke but fed into her spirit so maybe she didn’t have to fall so hard next time.
We all sat around the reception hall, and Jo’s people talking, eating, drinking. Laughter echoed too loud off the walls. Fake hugs. Side eye glances. The usual funeral mix of real grief and real performance.
Stormi had checked out fully. Her body was present, but her spirit was curled up somewhere private. Eyes glassy, lips slightly parted, just staring off into nowhere. Grief doesn’t ask for permission to take over it just does.
I was watching her, about to make my way over, when she looked up. And in that second, we locked eyes.
No words needed; she was ready. Her face didn’t move and mine didn’t either. But I saw it and felt it all in her body language. “Take me home.” And that’s all I wanted to do anyway.
I stood, already moving before I realized I was on my feet. Time to go. Time to get my wife away from the noise, the stares, the pity. Time to hold her like she holds all of us.
“Stormi, you leaving?” Noah questioned before she could stand fully and grab her purse.
“Yes,” she answered, drying her face.
“Why?” he pressed like he had a right to question everybody but himself.
“Why I’m going home?” Stormi asked, confused, like he’d lost his mind.
“Yeah, the repast still going on.”
“I’m done,” she said, like her decision was final. Then she walked straight into my arms.
“With the repast or with me?” Noah acted wounded, putting on that victim look. Always ready to make Stormi feel guilty for putting herself first.
“Everything is not about you, Noah,” I said before she could get any more irritated.
Noah ignored me and stared at his sister.
He wanted answers. He wanted her to blame him.
He needed her to feel bad so he could feel better.
Yeah, I did some wrongs in my life too, but Noah’s bullshit cost this family too much.
He was running headfirst into a dangerous world and getting firsthand lessons about how the streets don’t give second chances.
“What, Noah? I’m done. I’m leaving. I’m going home,” Stormi said it like it settled something between them.
“You blame me, don’t you? I can tell by the way you look at me,” he baited, waiting for the admission.
“Noah, I mean this with the most respect. Fuck you,” she snapped. “The sun doesn’t rise and fall because of you. You come at me because you can’t live with your own actions. You wanted to be grown, so welcome to the real world, baby brother.” She took a step away.
But typical Noah didn’t let her walk. He stood up.
“Leave it alone, Noah,” I said, lifting my hand to keep him back.
“What you gonna? Hymn me up again? You gonna let your husband handle your brother like that?” he sneered.
I smirked and shook my head. I wanted to put his punk ass through a wall, but the last thing I wanted was to give Stormi more stress. I kept my hands steady and my voice cold.
“No. I can handle you just fine,” she replied, glancing at me then down at my belt.
If we’d been alone, I’d have known exactly what she was thinking and would’ve had her across my shoulder and inside of her before she blinked twice. But this was not that kind of gathering.
I slid the Gucci belt off and handed it to her.
“I should’ve done this a long time ago,” she spoke. She took the first strike and hit Noah across the leg.
“What the fuck, Stormi?” he screamed and jumped back.
That only made her angrier. She struck him two more times, and I took a step back, remembering every ass whooping I’d gotten growing up and them shits hurt. It was humiliating, exactly what he needed.
“I said I was done, Noah. And yes, that means done with your bullshit too!” she yelled, swinging like a fed-up mother of a wayward child.
Everybody watched. Rich and Southside were smiling. Watching like kids who’d seen the villain finally get his comeuppance. Stormi had always let Noah slide like a typical big sister. But kids gotta learn sometimes the hard way, and right then she was done being soft.
Noah staggered, rubbing his leg, chest heaving, eyes blazing with wounded pride. He wanted to turn it into drama, to make it about him, but the room had already chosen sides.
When Stormi was done handing Noah his first well deserved ass whooping, she slipped my belt on with calm efficiency and reached for my hand, she fixed her hair like she hadn’t just publicly disciplined her brother.
We walked away from Noah, away from the nosy eyes and whispers. The air outside the hall felt cleaner. Lighter. A small victory, but a victory, nonetheless.
As we got in the car, I watched Stormi slide into the seat and breathe out for the first time all day. Her shoulders dropped a fraction. Her hand found mine, fingers lacing like a lock.
“You did good,” I asked.
She squeezed my hand. “I needed that.”
I wanted to ask about what a fallout with Noah would do, how this would play out in the family, but none of that mattered at that moment.
And in the driver seat, watching the neighborhood blur by, I felt two things loud and clear: pride, and a worry I couldn’t shake.
Noah’s bruised ego could turn into something ugly.
But whatever came, we would meet it together.
For now, though, I just wanted to get her inside and close the door.
So, I could hold her and let her mourn without an audience.
We drove off into the night, and I kept my hands steady on the wheel, steady for her, steady for the boys, steady for whatever this family needed me to be.