Chapter 21 #3
“You can’t even look me in the eye when you say that shit,” his voice hardens.
“You’re so damn stubborn in your decision to be right, you’re choosing pride over us.
Again. No one is gonna think whatever it is you just said about what’s going on between us.
Nobody knows what goes on between us but you and me.
All they see is me defending you. No one knows I’m investing.
If it makes you feel better I’ll keep it that way.
But you’re taking this media shit too personal, Frankie.
What’s it you always say? ‘Don’t feed the trolls?
’ But look at what you're doing. You’re letting them get to you, and convince you to leave me.
You think I’m that disposable? Like I was just something fun you can throw away when the party stops? ”
“I think you don’t listen,” I reply. “I told you not to cross business with pleasure.”
“And I told you I care about more than pleasure,” he snaps. “But you hear what you want.”
I look at him then.
“What I hear is a man who keeps pushing,” I shrug. “And I’m done being pushed.”
He stares at me, jaw clenched. “So that’s it, then.”
“Yes.”
“No fixing it.”
“No.”
He nods in understanding. “So say it.”
I don’t hesitate. “It’s over, Jabari.”
“And if I don’t agree?”
I meet his eyes. “Then you prove you never respected me to begin with.”
He takes a step back and his voice drops. “You really don’t see how hard this is for me.”
“I do,” I say. “I just can’t carry it.”
Then, I turn and walk away.
The trains screech somewhere below, air rushing up the tunnels in hot bursts. I missed my bus, thanks to Jabari and had to take the tube. I tap my Oyster and move fast, head down, shoulders tight. If I don’t stop walking, I won’t think.
My phone vibrates again and I know it’s Za or her stupid brother so I don’t look.
I shove my hands into my coat pocket and take the stairs two at a time.
My chest still feels tight from the car park. My hands are shaking, and I hate that part most. I hate that even after everything I said—everything I meant—my body still hasn’t caught up.
People brush past me.
Someone mutters “sorry.”
Someone else sighs loudly.
Normal life.
It’s time to get back to some layer of normalcy. I’ll talk to Za when I’m ready and explain the media circus around me and her brother, but for now, I just want to decompress as I put together what to say to her.
I reach the platform just as the train pulls in.
Doors slide open and I step inside without thinking and grab the nearest pole before I slide my headphones in.
My reflection flashes back at me in the window.
I look… tired. I am tired. Exhausted really, and I’m sick of carrying it.
With that, I sit down and let my head fall back against the seat, closing my eyes for half a second.
The carriage fills up slowly with voices rising, laughter leaking into my headphones.
The doors start to close but stop.
A body wedges through at the last second.
The air shifts as phones come out and whispers ripple.
I don’t look. I already know by the smell of his cologne.
“No way—”
“Is that—”
“Rah, it is him.”
I slowly open my eyes and across from me, Jabari sits.
He’s breathing hard, like he ran for it. Fans crowd him immediately— one guy lifts his phone, pretending not to film, someone asks for a photo, another person shoves a phone too close to his face.
But Jabari doesn’t look at them.
He stays silent and his eyes never leave me.
I don’t react but I feel heat crawl up my neck. I look past him, through the window, at the dark tunnel rushing by.
My phone vibrates again and I don’t answer.
He sits with his knees spread, elbows resting on his thighs.
Watching. Waiting.
The train roars through the tunnel. Lights flicker and the carriage sways. People keep sneaking glances between us, trying to piece it together. I realize a few of them start to recognize me and shrink into my seat, tempted to cover my face with my hands.
Now I see why he wears the damn balaclava.
By the third stop, the excitement dulls, people settle and the novelty wears off. There is a metaphor here for the two of us but I can’t find it.
He still hasn’t looked away yet by the way.
I stare at the route map above the doors and count the stops. Breathing in and out and trying to keep my face neutral, not giving him anything.
He shifts then and a hand runs over his face.
I don’t look because it's finally my stop.
The train slows.
I stand the second the announcement chimes with no hesitation or glance in his direction. I move toward the doors, heart pounding so hard I swear the people around me can hear it.
I feel his eyes on my back but I don’t turn.
The doors open and I step onto the platform. For half a second, I feel it—that pull. The urge to look back and confirm he really came after me and I wasn’t going mad.
Don’t.
The doors seal shut and the train pulls away. I stand there as it disappears into the tunnel, the noise fading and the crowd moving on around me.
Only then do I let my shoulders drop.
Only then do I breathe.
I don’t hear footsteps behind me over the noise of the station, the echo of announcements, the rush of commuters moving in every direction. So, I left it.
Outside, the street is busy and I cross without checking the light.
I unlock the door to my building and step inside. The lobby smells like cleaner and old carpet. I hit the button for the lift and a hand clamps around my wrist and pulls.
Hard.
“Don’t ever tell me you hate me.”
I stumble, breath leaving me in a sharp rush as I’m yanked sideways, straight into the open back door of an Uber parked illegally at the curb.
The door slams shut behind me. My back hits the seat and my heart is racing, loud in my ears.
I don’t even notice him following.
He must’ve kept his distance, far enough not to be obvious. Jabari gets in after me, the car dipping under his weight.
He’s already on his phone.
I hear his voice, low and controlled, asking his agent to collect his car from my office, saying they need to have a conversation about his employment, then he ends the call and pockets the phone.
The driver glances back, confused but pulls away from the curb anyway. I wonder if he knows he’s complicit in a kidnapping!
“Did you get that tantrum out of your system?”
My wrist still burns where he grabbed me.I massage it and finally look at him. “A tantrum, huh?”
“What else would you call that?”
“A realistic outburst of emotions after a boundary is crossed.”
He sighs. “Baby. I am so sorry for crossing a boundary. I swear, I would never do it again. Okay?”
I just want to sleep.
“You should’ve told me,” I say. “Business and whatever we were doing don’t mix.”
“Were,” he replies with a scoff. “There’s no ‘were’. It’s not over, Jelly. We had a disagreement about something and we’re gonna fix it. That’s it. You and I are far from over.”
Oh. I look at him.
“Careful, big man.”
He lifts a brow. “Why?”
“You keep talking like that and I might actually think you care about me.”
He relaxes a little. “God forbid.”
I roll my eyes and stare straight ahead for the rest of the ride.