Chapter 5 Zuri
zuri
. . .
I’d replayed the moment on repeat. Had Montana revealed more of himself than he meant to when he spoke about his nephew?
Heartache had flickered raw in his eyes, like he couldn’t shelve the discussion fast enough.
If my son’s father loved Darius even half as much, Edwin would still be fast-tracking me toward Chief of Emergency Medicine.
We’d also still be continuing our forbidden romance in medical closets or stairwells instead of me juggling Creole fine dining.
When Montana showed up at the restaurant those few days, he kept his distance unless a question dragged him in. But his eyes surveyed me like Everest—gear packed, sherpas hired, ready to go. Maybe? And everyone would know he’d conquered it. Me. Nope … never climbing again.
Yet there were softer glimpses. Allowing Darius to quiz him on dinosaur names. Teaching my son to catch at a community center. “Only a few miles,” he’d said. My nod of trust meant something. But his mention of his nephew’s passing put galaxies between us.
Now? A week had passed without him, even though he’d become a constant. Darius had also started at a childcare center this Monday. A blessing, though my wallet wept.
Montana had skipped Wednesday dinner with his mom and brothers. That silence … stung more than I’d admit since I didn’t have family.
I placed a plate of Sweat Like Mémère’s Crawfish in front of Montana’s cousin.
I glared at her expensive purse on the ground and offered a sweeter-than-lemonade smile that implied if I trip again, this purse is mine.
I’d definitely sell her Birkin and buy my baby a few more gifts for the holiday next week.
“The owner will be in today,” she said, forking the crawfish étouffée.
“Miss Virginia is in the kitchen; Miss Peaches should arrive in the afternoon for the dinner crowd.” My little cheap lemonade smile ramped a notch. What’s your game?
“No, honey.” The girl smiled back, lips circled around a straw. I guess we were twins. “Montana’s my cousin. I’m Genèse. You should get to know me.”
Why? I wanted to escape. Hell, moonwalk. I had to stay sharp, alive, and honestly? I already had my fair share of trauma from middle-school mean girls. “So …?”
“Well, you know my usual. I’m a good tipper when the help gets familiar.”
“Respect goes both ways, Genèse. Are you gonna call her more than the help?” A deep voice spoke from behind me.
That voice.
Montana’s eyes radiated fire and menace as he stepped toward her booth. “Or you want that chocolate pie?”
“Y’all don’t have no choc—oh.” Genèse rolled her eyes.
“Yeah. That’s right. Her name is Journey.” To me, he offered a “Chère,” sounding all rugged and manly.
My hello squeaked out.
Genèse cut in. “Cuz, why you tripping?”
“Why is my name in your mouth anyway?” He slid into the booth across from her.
Okay, he’d given me the green light to exit.
It took everything out of me not to stop and thank him for starting a rotation with his brothers.
Tennessee followed Darius and me home. He even replaced my tire.
Washington arrived on the next shift. During the night, I’d taken Darius to the potty after his restless movements.
I hadn’t woken up in a waterbed for quite some time.
One time, he’d peed so much, hell, I thought we both suffered from uncontrollable-bladder syndrome. Anyway, I’d checked outside the window.
Why did Montana take the late shift?
Texas, with his thick, beautiful dreads, was the morning closer. He followed me to work, cooked himself breakfast—we were so not a breakfast place—and caught his momma’s flak about being unemployed.
A while later, I headed for a bathroom break when an argument erupted in the office.
“He’s suing me, LaShawn? Wash? One of y’all better speak! Ezekiel’s suing—”
Washington replied loud and clear through the speakerphone. “No, Ezekiel hasn’t filed for damages. He’s requesting an out-of-court settlement. I’m in your shoes. I feel you. Take a breath.”
“A breath?” Montana barked. “If someone else told me to breathe—they’d be Exhibit A.”
“Listen, I called with LaShawn to help her break the news. Don’t shoot the messenger. Maybe I can’t counsel you no more since I’m a judge now. Choose your words before I bill you for stress hours, little brotha. Your team’s gonna counter. Trust me.”
“Less money? He ain’t getting—”
“Montana”—Washington cut in—“your representation will request a contingency, which includes y’all in front of the cameras.”
“Sounds good,” a grating feminine voice responded. Maybe LaShawn?
“For the price, Ezekiel will get in front of cameras and admit to old beef—”
“I’ma wipe my Black ass with every dollar he ask for. Put that in front of the cameras. Coz he still ain’t getting a penny! LaShawn, tell my attorneys not to respond to no mess.”
I’d taken a rear step when the woman asked, “Whatchu thought would happen? You threatened to kill the man! This is why he didn’t press charges. Now, address the situation.”
I stepped away. That sounded bad. Who was Ezekiel, and why the hate?
In the ladies’ room, I leaned against cabinets made from antique shutters and found a video of Montana pushing a guy. My fingertip tapped the screen, scrolled back, paused, looking at facial features.
Last time I’d assessed expressions, Montana had triggered me. Triggered nerve endings. Butterflies. Desire. Today? I was all over the grainy video where Montana hit a man so hard he flipped over a table.
Still wondering how Montana and Ezekiel knew each other, I set out an appetizer for a young couple.
They had looked as shocked as I did when first seeing the menu prices earlier.
I said, “Good call. These are the best wings, ever. Perfect when you’re not too hungry.
Basket comes with enough for three. Maybe four if you’re polite about it. ”
The guy chuckled.
“Yeah,” the girl mumbled, cheeks gone red as she sipped their Swampwater Sangria.
Oops. I’d meant to help. So, my conspiratorial smirk said, I get it, girl. These prices. “You know, TikTok sensations. The prices gotta match the hype.”
“Right?” The girl cracked a smile while her guy took edible selfies.
It was strange. I was trying to commiserate, but really, I just wanted conversation. A connection. I hadn’t really had that since punching Montana’s arm. Pointless. Man didn’t even flinch.
I grinned, reminiscing on his retaliation—tugging me against his chest.
Warm hands clasped my shoulders from behind. His scent wrapped around me, curling in places that belonged to me alone. Sandalwood. Cedar. Testosterone.
“I agree.” Montana’s voice rasped near my ear. “It’s all about the hype around these parts.”
The guy’s phone clattered onto the linen table. “You- you’re Montana Babineaux!”
While Mr. Future-Best-Friend launched into a bromance moment, I exhaled into Montana’s touch. As he pulled away to sign an autograph, the warm feeling dissolved into a frigid morning mist. Cold and achy, I darted into the kitchen.
Seconds later, the door swung open. Of course. Montana strolled inside. The staff glanced between us, then hustled faster. They sensed something would boil over that had nothing to do with gumbo.
“Aren’t you avoiding me?” I blurted. Awkward Black Girl strikes again.
“That what you want, Journey?”
Ugh. Why couldn’t he call me Z—because you’re living a lie, dummy. And why ask what I wanted?
Oh … it clicked.
I’d never learned to be approachable. In the ER, bodies kept coming.
Some broken. Others had flatlined in the ambulance.
Before that? Foster care. Different homes, multiple personalities, which ranged from stingy to every shade of selfishness in between.
I learned to avoid people. My game of avoidance backfired when Edwin slid in with his smooth lies.
Now, here I was. Trying to unlearn thirty years of … me.
I glanced up at Montana, his personal phone call on my mind. My tone softened. “Can we talk?”
His eyes, the deepest brown, rich as chicory coffee, locked onto mine, suspicious.
“Montana, I heard your phone call … I wasn’t eavesdropping.” The words tumbled out, and my stomach dropped. Damn, I’d never be asked to host a TED Talk.
“You used that line when I spent the night, bébé.” Montana’s chuckle held a sting—sweet on top, bitter underneath.
A beat of silence echoed through the chrome kitchen as workers paused.
Ah, I see. That face—all grin and mischief—lured women in. But bring up anything with substance? Feelings? Conflict? Man folded like cheap laundry. Now my knuckles itched, begging for some action. I wanted to slug that damn face.
Instead, my voice became the moan he never heard that night.
“Yesss, I did, didn’t I?” My fingers plunged into his beard as if I were about to kiss him.
Instead of snatching it with one hand and bashing him with the other, I brought him down just enough that his lips hovered over mine.
“Then you kept texting me. You begged me to come through. Montana, you didn’t last long enough for me to even drive to the Motel 6 down the street, let alone to your hideaway.
” I assumed all arrogant celebrities had a mansion tucked away somewhere.
I bit my lip—an action that was pure danger to the male species. “Sorry, I couldn’t come for you too.”
What he did next, though? Fireworks. Those white teeth flashed in another easy smile. And his laugh pretty much settled the score. But I knew the next step for anyone in my position. Our hearts got trapped in an emotional timeshare, and those things created cat women!
Okay, strategy:
One.
Two.
Three.
brEAK EYE CONTACT.
Do it now, Zuri!
Damn, I couldn’t.
That hypnotic face had me stuck. And my fingers plunged into his beard, soft and good in my palms. He leaned in close. Heat rolled off him, settling along my skin. My pulse did its own praise dance while my brain screamed, Serve tables!
Eyes hooded, his gaze dragged slow over me like his imagination could strip me naked. “Journey, you need that same release. Stop lying to yourself, bébé. Let your hair down.” He brushed a knuckle over my Diana Ross wig with a maddening little smirk.
I patted all that sexy-good beard then let go, kissing my teeth. “Hard pass.”
Montana walked out like being an ass didn’t cost him a thing.
I spun around. A line of servers fled the kitchen. Soon enough, I realized why Genèse knew Montana would show. Another girl, same big ole bag—but her knockoff blouse couldn’t hide—strolled into the restaurant. She took a corner booth with Montana, and she knew him too well.
Virginia came to my side. “Journey, you was supposed to save me from dat! I done laid hands, threw holy earl. She still come around smelling like sin and lobster biscuits!”
The Louisiana Creole she hid well when managing the place got thicker than a roux.
I glanced at her and sighed. “C’mon, don’t shame the girl. She’s happy?”
“Bébé, Adele’s happier than a mosquito at a blood drive on a nudist beach.” Virginia’s muttered words about sugar and salt wiped the grin off my face. Sounded wise. But what did she mean?
Days later, my heart tried to vacate my body when Montana popped up on us at the grocery store like he’d been hiding behind the canned chili. He apologized—sort of—said he didn’t mind our banter. Said we can talk anytime, just not about that. Then somehow, he negotiated his way into dinner.
Since he was behind the night-shift rotations to keep us safe, I had to forgive him. Plus, he’d exploited Darius’s weakness. Pizza and ice cream.
The second we entered Chuck E. Cheese, I tugged a cone-shaped birthday hat onto Darius’s head. Okay, it didn’t alter his appearance, but we’d keep a low profile.
Once the pizza arrived, we settled into a booth overlooking the arcade. I would’ve commended Montana on the spot, but he didn’t know about our discreet lifestyle.
While I ate pizza, Montana gave Darius a random blue gift bag that he’d brought inside the restaurant, and then he placed a pink one near me.
Suspicion lifted my brow. “You’re weird.”
“You’re welcome.”
“Ohhhhh!” Darius pulled out a stuffed brontosaurus. “Montana, can I name him?”
“Yep.”
“Brody.”
“Makes sense.” Montana nodded. “My baseball bruh, Lachlan, his father and brother share that same name.”
“Do they got spikes?” Darius asked.
“Nope.”
“Sharp teeth?”
Montana’s brow arched. “Nah.”
“Didn’t think so. My Brody is better.” He hugged his dino, and I darn near melted.
Smiling, Montana gestured to the pink bag.
With a smirk, I slipped my hand inside. My breath caught. Paper. A … book.
The present faded. Images of Darius’s father flashed in my mind, his voice in my ears.
“Zuri, you’re the only woman I know who loves to enrich her mind. Can I buy you diamonds?”
“No,” I’d chuckled, pulling the older, more distinguished doctor between my thighs.