CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CASH
Everybody and their momma was at the hospital… but Jackie.
Montana, Calvin, Kormia, Zambia, Cash’s mother, and a few members of her staff.
Even Newdy had pulled up, and still no Jackie.
Cash leaned back in the hard-ass hospital chair, eyes flicking between the door and the clock like one of them might finally give him answers.
The waiting room was crowded but quiet. Heavy in that way hospitals always were.
Air conditioning turned up way too high.
Limited seating. The air thick with uncertainty and concern.
Syxe had fallen at work earlier that morning.
Nothing major, according to the nurse. But when she started complaining about shortness of breath, lightheadedness, and mild cramping, they brought her in just to be safe.
And that was all it took to bring the whole family out.
Because Montana was who he was, they had been tucked away in a private wing that looked more like a boutique hotel than a hospital.
Warm lights, polished floors, soft jazz playing low at the desk.
Quiet Luxury. Concierge Medicine. Exclusive, discreet, and heavily guarded.
Members of Cash’s father’s militia stood at every entrance, tasked with keeping the press and the public out.
Calvin sat slouched in the corner, hoodie up, tapping his leg like he couldn’t sit still.
Cash’s mother and her staff occupied the far side of the room, laptops open, phones out, the steady hum of work still moving even in a crisis.
Cash’s mother had grown close to Syxe over the last year or two.
Closer than Cash ever expected. What started as mentorship through the school had turned into something real.
That was rare for his mother. She didn’t warm up to other women easily.
But Syxe… she’d gotten through somehow. Maybe it was her kindness, or the quiet way she carried herself.
His mother may have recognized a version of herself in her.
Either way, Syxe had earned a place most people never would.
Now his mother sat quiet, deep in thought, eyes fixed on the hallway.
The worry didn’t reach her voice, but Cash saw it in the way she held her shoulders, in the small cracks slipping through her usual veneer. His mother was concerned, and it was clear as day.
Cash tore his gaze away and let it drift across the waiting room, only to land on Zambia.
She was posted up by the window, phone in hand, whispering voice notes to herself every few minutes about the wedding.
Lists, colors, catering notes, and not a single word about Syxe.
Why she was even here, Cash didn’t understand.
She and Syxe weren’t even close. But ever since the wedding, Zambia had been on this weird mission to cozy up to her at work.
Dropping by On Bended Bean whenever Syxe was there, commenting under her posts, liking every picture like she was a fan.
It was ass-kissing on a level Cash had never seen before.
Phony, manipulative, and exhausting. Syxe wasn’t falling for it either, which only made it more awkward to watch.
Now here she was, sitting in a hospital waiting room she had no business in, acting like part of the family.
To anyone else, it might’ve looked supportive.
To Cash, it was strategy. Everything Zambia did was calculated, from showing up, taking up space and feigning concern.
It was all a game of optics for her. They’d been living together a few weeks, but even that was for show.
Half the time she was in King of Prussia, tucked away in her luxury penthouse.
The same one she’d sworn she was giving up when she “moved in.”
Cash didn’t even call her on it anymore.
He was back and forth between his condo on the parkway and the house in Bala Cynwood, depending on how much silence he needed that day.Twice a week they went to dinner just to keep up appearances.
She’d show up in something designer, her influencer friends in tow, laughing loud and snapping pictures over cocktails.
He’d sit across from her, answering emails, nodding when he needed to, counting the minutes until it was time to go.
Cash hated every minute of it. That’s why seeing her here, in his space, triggered the fuck out of him.
Because the fake shit was starting to bleed into his real life.
Cash dragged a hand down his face, letting the thought go as the quiet hum of the hospital pulled him back to now.
They’d all been there since close to eight that morning.
Now it was pushing noon. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, thumb pressed against his jaw as he watched the door again.
Still no Jackie. That wasn’t the only thing he noticed either.
Kormia had pulled up a little after nine in Jackie’s busted-ass Altima.
That alone had him on alert. The streets knew Kormia drove a pearl-white G-Wagon.
Spotless. Detailed every week. That car was her whole personality.
So showing up in Jackie’s car didn’t make sense.
Kormia was quieter than usual too. Phone glued to her hand, screen lighting up every few minutes.
Sometimes she’d check it and tuck it away like nothing.
Other times she’d stare at it too long, like whatever was on it had her off-balance.
Normally Kormia couldn’t sit still without running her mouth, being messy, or talking shit.
But today? She was damn near silent, fidgety, and nervous.
Kormia stood at the vending machine, staring at the rows like she couldn’t decide between chips or candy.
Calvin finally broke the silence. “Ayo, Mia,” Cal called from across the room, voice low but firm.
“Where Jackie at?” That caught Kormia off guard.
Her shoulders jerked. Her mouth opened, but no words came out.
“She, uh—she…” Before she could finish, the double doors swung open.
Jackie stepped through, Max’s small hand tucked inside hers.
The room shifted. Max was in full school uniform, navy polo, khakis, backpack still hanging off one shoulder.
Kormia abandoned the vending machine and rushed over, damn near running into Jackie’s arms. Jackie rubbed her back, whispering something low only she could hear.
Then she gave her a look, gentle but sharp enough to pull her together.
When Kormia stepped back, Jackie’s eyes lifted, scanning the waiting room.
“Where is she?” Montana appeared from one of the side hallways, rubbing the back of his neck.
“She asking for you, Jack,” he said quietly.
“Room 512.” Jackie nodded, the relief on her face folding into focus.
Max let go of her hand and darted straight toward Cash’s mother.
“Sista Malika,” he said, running into her arms like it was routine.
Cash’s mother raised an eyebrow, half-stern, half-fond.
“Why aren’t you in school, young man?”
“Mommy said Auntie Syxe might be havin’ a baby,” he said earnestly.
Jackie started to explain. “I didn’t know how long I’d be here, so I—”
“It’s fine,” Cash cut in. “Go see Syxe. We’ll keep an eye on Max.” She met his gaze. Grateful, tired, and clearly holding something back. Then nodded. And disappeared down the hallway.
A few hours later, the waiting room had thinned out.
Just Kormia, Calvin, and Cash left. Max was asleep across Cash’s shoulders, his small hand tangled in the chain around his neck.
Kormia was knocked out in the corner, snoring like a grown-ass man.
Cal was out cold too, hoodie pulled low, mouth open, dead to the world.
The only ones still awake were him—and Jackie.
She had just come from Syxe’s room. Cash watched her stop at the water fountain, take a couple long pulls, wipe her mouth, then finally make her way over. He adjusted Max on his shoulder, just as she finally settled in the seat next to him. “She’s okay,” Jackie said softly.
“She’s mostly just sore from the fall. Doctor’s sayin’ bed rest for these last four weeks.”
“So she still having a Halloween baby, huh?” Cash asked, a faint smile tugging at his mouth.
“Pretty much.” Jackie let out a small laugh, but it didn’t reach her eyes. The quiet that followed felt heavy. Cash wanted to ask her why she had shown up so late. Why her eyes looked swollen like she’d been crying. Why her whole energy felt off. But what came out wasn’t any of that.
“So… you be baking for niggas now?” The words landed harder than he meant them to, but he didn’t take them back.
Cash had watched Najee’s story the night before.
Timestamped 10:45 p.m., Close friends only.
A boomerang of a fresh peach cobbler in his front seat, buckled up like a passenger.
Caption read: Courtesy of @miss-jackie-if-ya-nasty ????.
He’d scrolled past it fast. But not fast enough, because that shit stuck with him.
Jackie’s brows pulled together, and for a second, it was like she misheard him.
Then her expression shifted. “Cassius… are you serious right now?”
“Do I look like I’m joking to you?”
“Since when you start baking for niggas?” he continued, quieter now, which made it worse.
“At eleven o’clock on a school night. What, he just pull up whenever now?
” Jackie let out a dry laugh, pushing back from her chair just enough to face him head-on.
Her arms were folded across her chest, chin tilted.
“You got big fucking nerve,” she said, voice low but sharp, “tryna clock me when you got a whole fiancée out here streaming yall’s love story every day for content?
” She shook her head, a humorless smile tugging at her mouth.
“And if you’re talkin’ about Dr. Nigel, be very fuckin’ clear—he didn’t just pull up, he showed up.
” Her gaze locked onto his. “Helped me with my event. Made sure my son and I were safe while I earned a living.” Cash’s jaw tightened because he didn’t like hearing it framed that way.
He Didn’t like the way she said it, the way she defended that nigga.
And most importantly he didn’t like how easy his cousins name came out her mouth.
“Because, contrary to popular belief, Cassius… everybody wasn’t born with a silver fuckin’ spoon in their mouth.
Some of us don’t get to post fake-ass fairy tales for a living. ”
Her voice cooled. “Some of us only eat what we kill.”
Before he could respond, the double doors flew open.
“Hubby.” Zambia’s voice floated in—soft, sing-songy, and fake as hell.
She glided through the waiting room like she was walking a red carpet, phone in one hand, designer tote in the other.
“I don’t have the house keys,” she said, dragging every word like honey before glancing at Jackie.
“Also, the Benz is acting weird again. Can I just ride home with you?” Jackie didn’t move, but her expression shifted—cool, then cutting.
“Give me my fuckin’ son,” she said quietly, holding her arms out.
Cash hesitated, then eased Max carefully into her arms. She didn’t look at him.
“FYI,” she said, loud enough for anyone still awake, “I’ll cook for whoever the fuck I want to.
” The quiet that followed hit harder than any argument could.
Cash stood there, jaw tight, hands shoved in his pockets.
He wanted to apologize, maybe even explain, but the words wouldn’t come.
He stole one last glance at Jackie before turning to walk away.
She didn’t look back. Just shifted Max in her arms and turned away, disgust written all over her face.
The tension that sat between them, was thick enough to choke on. Cash dragged a hand down his face, pulling himself out of it just in time to hear Zambia clear her throat.
“So… you ready?” He turned his head slow. “For what?”
“To go home.” Her smile was small and practiced. “You said you’d give me a ride, remember?” He didn’t remember agreeing to shit, but he nodded anyway. “Yeah. Let’s go.”
They walked in silence through the private wing. Even with the warm lighting and polished tile, the place still smelled like a hospital—no matter how they dressed it up.
When the elevator doors closed, she spoke again. “What crawled up her ass?”
“Mind your business, Zambia.” His tone was flat. “It was a private conversation.”
She tilted her head, lips curling faintly. “Private?” she echoed, scoffing.
“Cassius, there was nothing private about it. The way you switch up whenever she’s around, is disgusting.
You don’t hide it well. For a man who prides himself on control, you’re sloppy as fuck when it comes to her.
” He shot her a look, but she didn’t stop.
“You don’t talk, you don’t blink, you don’t even breathe the same when she enters a room. It’s like you’re under a spell.”
“Zambia—”
“Did you fuck her?” she asked, voice low and pointed. “Be honest.” He didn’t answer right away, just shot her a look sharp enough to cut. “No,” he said finally, voice tight. “Then what the fuck is it? And don’t insult my intelligence by saying’ “nothing”, because I’m not fucking crazy, Cassius.”
“Zambia, leave me the fuck alone,” he muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose, wishing he was anywhere but in this moment with her. “It’s been a long-ass day, and I don’t have the energy to pretend I give a fuck about what you think.” The elevator dinged when she spoke again.
“Well, whatever it is,” she said lightly, adjusting her tote, “I suggest you dead it. Because it’s gettin’ disrespectful—and I don’t tolerate disrespect.
Not from you, or that ghetto bitch you can’t keep your eyes off of.
” Cash’s jaw flexed again. He wanted to check her, say something that would make her shut up, but he didn’t. Because she wasn’t wrong.
Truth was, he didn’t even know what the fuck he was mad at anymore, or if he even had the right to be mad in the first place.
He’d never been in his feelings like this.
He was a man of discipline and logic, not someone led by emotion.
But Jackie had him navigating waters he’d never swam in before, and it was all foreign territory, feelings, jealousy, guilt, all of it.