CHAPTER EIGHT
JACKIE
Jackie didn’t know how long she’d been sitting in the tub.
The water had gone lukewarm thirty minutes ago, leaving only a fading ring of bubbles around her thighs.
Fat Daddy was still sprawled across her bed, knocked out after his post-school chicken tenders and exactly twelve minutes of Black Panther.
The house was quieter now, carrying that early-September chill that always arrived before the leaves began to turn.
Autumn in Philly had always been one of Jackie's favorite times of year.
The sun set earlier, and the summertime foot traffic outside her door finally gave way to quieter evenings.
Jackie loved nights like this, when she could steal a small sliver of peace and actually hear her own thoughts.
Earlier, she'd grabbed a wine glass, her favorite candle, and her Bose speaker before running a bath.
She'd slipped out of her clothes, thrown on a robe, then walked Max to his room and tucked him in, whispering a prayer that he'd stay in bed this time.
Back in the bathroom, she let the robe fall to the floor and eased into the hot bubble bath she'd more than earned.
Leaning her head against the tiled wall, Jackie closed her eyes, pressed play, and let Mariah the Scientist drift through the room.
She lit her pre-roll and replayed the afternoon.
The meeting at the school had gone better than expected.
She thought she'd be meeting some uptight, yuppie motherfucker attacking her parenting and judging her baby.
Instead... It was Dr. Nigel. Jackie hadn't expected to like Nigel.
She certainly didn't expect to feel so seen in his presence.
Ordinarily, she wouldn't trust his type—polished men who knew the right thing to say in the right tone, who dressed like success and talked with absolution.
That polish usually hid something. She knew because she'd been there before.
Once engaged to a man who wore that same kind of finish.
Max Sr. had looked the part: tailored suits, measured words, even carrying that calm confidence she'd once mistaken for safety.
The boy came from old money. Real influence—the influence that purchased judges and determined elections.
And Jackie? She'd been the opposite. A hood bitch from North Philly, with no education, no legacy, and no pedigree.
Still, Max Sr. loved her. Or at least he tried to.
Until their love story was cut short. Dr. Nigel had that same finish.
Only he wore his differently. He was more grounded, less performative, and spoke with more conviction.
His confidence never demanded attention.
Instead, it felt familiar. Maybe even nostalgic in a way she couldn't quite put her finger on.
Why am I naked in the tub thinking about my child's therapist?
A man I've known for less than forty-five minutes.
Earth to Jackie... She clocked the thought, then immediately pushed it aside.
This was about Max. Not her. So whatever Dr. Nigel was or wasn't—right now he was just her son's therapist. Just then, her phone buzzed as she adjusted the bamboo tray stretched across the tub.
Her Kindle, her Maison Margiela Jazz Club candle, and her phone sat neatly on top. A text lit up the screen.
Syxe: So... how was Mr. Psychology Today? ??
Jackie rolled her eyes, grabbed a towel, and started typing. But before she could hit send, another message appeared from a number she didn't recognize.
Unknown Number: Just wanted to say thank you for showing up for Max today. You didn't have to. But you did. Let me know if you ever need to talk. —Najee
Jackie stared at the screen, her thumb hovering. She didn't respond right away. Instead, she let herself smile, just a little, before tossing the phone face down on the tray. She sipped the last drop of wine from her glass, stood, and stepped under the shower to rinse off.
Fresh out of the tub, Jackie drifted across the room, finally feeling the wine and weed settling into her limbs.
Max was still knocked out in his own bed for once and not hers, so that was a win.
She glanced at Syxe's text again and smirked.
Syxe ain't never lie. Dr. Nigel was fine as hell.
Jackie closed her eyes at the thought. The man looked sculpted, like pressure had shaped every inch of him.
He stood a solid six-five, broad enough to fill a doorway, yet carried himself with a quiet strength that somehow made him seem even bigger.
Nothing about him reached for attention.
He simply commanded it. Then there was his voice.
Low. Unhurried. Laced with a calm restraint that made you listen before you even realized you were.
Jackie caught herself and laughed under her breath.
He probably got a white bitch at home.
She shook her head, laughing at herself before the thought wandered any further. She slipped into a pajama set she may or may not have walked out of Target with for the free. Unwrapping her hair, Jackie shook out her bundles, courtesy of her homegirl Bri.
Sabriyah "Bri" Sampson had recently opened her second beauty bar in North Philly, Beauty by Bri II, and tapped Jackie to plan the grand opening.
Bri couldn't pay much at the time, so instead of cash, she paid in bundles.
Thanks to Bri, Jackie had enough hair to last the winter.
Truth be told, Jackie would've planned the whole event for free.
Bri was a real bitch. She never forgot where she came from.
Even after opening a second location, she was still the same woman Jackie had known for years.
She'd fired and rehired Kormia more times than anybody could count, yet somehow it never seemed to affect their friendship.
So when Bri tapped Jackie to help with the second grand opening and the budget wasn't there, she had no problem finding a creative solution.
Jackie had never been too proud to barter, especially with another Black woman building something in the city.
She remembered when Bri did hair out of her grandmother's kitchen. Now she owned two thriving salons in the very neighborhood that had raised them both. If Bri could build something from that, what excuse did Jackie have not to take her own craft seriously?
Dressed at last, Jackie lit a stick of sage, rolled a fresh blunt, and climbed into her king-size bed.
Tonight, it felt too big. Nights like this always made the room feel heavier, reminding her just how long it had been since she'd shared it with anyone.
She'd never admit it out loud. Hell, she barely let herself think it.
But sometimes... The silence became too much.
It made her wonder, in those small, stolen moments, what it might've felt like if things had turned out differently.
If she was allowed to want more without feeling selfish for wanting it.
She slid on her readers, grabbed her Kindle, and tried to lose herself in someone else's story before sleep. That's when her phone rang. Kormia.
Kormia always had some shit with her this time of night. But against her better judgment, Jackie swiped to answer. "It's late," she said flatly. "And no, to whatever you about to ask.”
“My bra off and I'm in bed."
"Bye, girl. I'm not asking for nothin'!" Kormia laughed, loud and messy like always.
"I'm just checkin' in. I know you said you had a meeting down to the school today."
"Yeah." Jackie leaned back against her pillows, finally letting herself exhale.
"So, what's the chat? They putting Fat Daddy's bad ass out the school or naw?"
"Girl, fuck you. My son not bad, and he was never gettin' put out. They just wanted to meet to create a strategy. To better understand some of the behaviors he's been showing. Dr. Nigel thinks he's carrying more than he can articulate, and that's part of what they're seeing."
"Oops, not you quoting the good doctor already," Kormia teased. "That nigga must look like something." Jackie rolled her eyes. "He alright," she lied, knowing damn well that man was fine as fuck.
"So, what happened to waking it up on his ass? Telling him a thing or two about a thing or two?"
"I misjudged him," Jackie admitted. "Not Jackie Brown walking back a take."
Jackie smirked, rolling her eyes again. Her mind drifted back to Nigel—the easy confidence, the way he'd listened, and how strangely safe she'd felt sitting across from him.
"Uh-huh," Kormia dragged. "Let me find out you got a crush on the school shrink." Jackie sucked her teeth. "Kormia, the last thing I'm thinking about is a man."
"Mmhm. Anyway..." Kormia paused, like she was about to switch gears.
“You... heard from Cash?" Jackie froze, her thumb rubbing the hem of her pajama shorts. She hated how quickly her chest tightened at the mention of his name. "Why you asking?"
"Ion know. Just... figured with everything that went down after the wedding, he would've reached out.”
“I mean... he did..." Jackie trailed off, unsure if she wanted to go back there.
"Spill the tea, bitch." Kormia's voice perked up immediately.
Jackie sighed, shaking her head with a reluctant smile. "He drove us home after everybody left. Carried Max inside, then carried me across the threshold on some newlywed shit."
"Aww, that's so sweet," Kormia dragged out, her grin damn near audible through the phone. "And then what, bitch? You gave him some, didn't you?" Jackie laughed, low and tired.
"No, I didn't. What happened was... he told me he hated my block."
"I do too," Kormia admitted without missing a beat. "It be giving New Jack City."
"Well, it's home for me right now. And last time I checked, your ass was living in your nail salon while your daddy take over your brand-new condo."
"First of all, I'm not living in my salon." Kormia shot back, her tone defensive but unconvincing. "I'm just... doin' renovations."