Chapter 22
Five months after the fire…
The penthouse was supposed to be temporary, a crash spot till the house got rebuilt.
But Juelz was still there. Same view. Same silence.
Same ghost in every reflection. He saw Tasha in the mirrors, in the smoke, at the bottom of his glass.
He couldn’t drink or grind hard enough to drown her out.
She wouldn’t take his calls, his texts, or his visits.
She was really done with his ass. She let go of everything attached to him, cut off all communication, and even finally changed her number that she had forever.
He told everybody the fire was a freak accident, saying some shit about the wiring. Lucky for him, a couple of the firemen on the scene knew him from back in the day and went along with his lies, helping him cover it up. No questions asked, no deeper digging.
A month after the fire, and without his Tasha, he swore he was good and focused, that he was moving on with his life.
But the truth? He was barely sleeping and barely eating.
Sometimes he would even take a line or two of his own supply to cope with her absence.
Liquor was also a significant factor. He had been drinking more than usual, and it was becoming unhealthy.
The penthouse would always smell like weed, Henny, and desperate sex, but at least his business was booming again. Juelz had turned his spot into an operation. Two laptops open on the table, bags on the counter, three phones ringing nonstop.
“Yo, drop two on Center Line,” he said into the phone, pacing in front of the window. “Tell them lil’ niggas not to short me this time or I’ma bust they ass.”
He hung up, grabbed another line. “Whaddup, tho? Come get what you need before ten.”
Stacks of cash were spread across the table like cards in a game he always won but never enjoyed. His eyes were bloodshot, his beard grown out. The city lights behind him looked cold as ever.
Mar sat on the couch rolling a blunt, watching him move. “You back in your bag, huh, nigga?
Juelz snorted. “In my bag? Nigga, I ain’t never got out, fool. Hell, you ‘talmbout.”
Mar laughed low. “I hear that, nigga.”
The penthouse door shook. Juelz didn’t look up. “Who the fuck that be?”
Mar grabbed the strap. A young dude slid in, couldn’t be more than nineteen. He was looking nervous, wearing a torn T-shirt halfway off his shoulders. He held his hands up, holding a folded envelope tight as if it was gold.
“I got the drop from Eastside,” he said quickly, eyes darting between them. “Said they’ll spin back again next week if you coo with it.”
Juelz nodded. “Bet. Put that shit on the table.”
The kid shook his head, tossing the envelope on the glass table. Juelz looked him up and down, his brows furrowing. “The fuck happened to you, nigga?”
The kid looked down, grabbing at his shirt. “Man, me and my ‘ole lady got into it. She tripping ‘bout me hanging out late and shit.” He pulled up his sagging jeans. “No biggie.”
Mar and Juelz burst out laughing at him. “Damn, my dude. Look like she put a whoopin’ on ya ass, boy. You need to keep them hoes in line,” said Mar, blowing smoke from his mouth.
“I told y’all ‘bout messing with them lab rats anyway, nigga. Now look at you.”
The kid nodded and headed out the door. Once he left, Juelz leaned on the counter, rubbing his temples. The phones started up again.
He stared at them for a long second before turning one off completely. Then another.
Only one stayed on. The trap line. The one he couldn’t turn off, no matter how much he wanted to. He poured a drink, sat back, and stared out the window again. The city moved, money called, life was happening all around him. But he still felt empty.
Mar passed Juelz the blunt as he sipped on a cold Corona. “Aye, we need to slide by Sintonio real quick. I need to pick that bread up from that nigga.” He placed the beer back on the table. “I think he threw sumthin’ on the grill too. So a nigga gotta get a plate.”
Juelz shook his head, agreeing, because he definitely wasn’t about to turn down grilled food, especially from Sintonio.
An hour later, the two were pulling up at Sintonio’s house, and Juelz noticed the small number of cars in the yard, seeing that one belonged to Tasha.
Mar glanced over at him, smirking crazy. “Yeah, nigga. Your girl up in there.”
Juelz shook his head, already knowing it was about to be some shit. “Man, here we go.”
The smell of charcoal and barbecue sauce floated through the air.
The kids were running wild through the backyard, their laughter mixing with the music from the speaker propped on the patio.
Juelz spotted Tasha hanging out on the lawn with Niyah under the big ass oak tree.
She looked good wearing a yellow sundress, but he could see the fight in her eyes, the way she was trying to hold it all together.
“Aye, I’ma get me a plate then go holla at her real quick.”
Mar dapped him up, turning to go find Sintonio in the crowd.
Juelz grabbed two plates piled high with ribs, baked beans, deviled eggs, and Mama Jackson’s famous potato salad, then made his way across the grass.
He felt the eyes of his boys watching him, but he ignored them and stayed locked on her.
As he got closer, Niyah saw him coming and gave Tasha that ‘bitch here he comes, look.’ She excused herself to go check on the kids.
Juelz threw his head back at Niyah as she was passing by. He was grateful that she didn’t stand in his way.
“Whaddup, T… I copped you a plate,” he said, holding it out to her. She looked at him and then, with no hesitation, she flicked the plate out of his hand.
Juelz stepped back, looking at the plate on the ground. “That’s cool. That’s why I brought two.” He smirked, tilting his head. “Now take it.
Tasha rolled her eyes, taking the plate, her heartbeat speeding more than normal. “Whatchu want, Juelz?”
He stood there for a second, feeling the distance between them like a physical wall. He knelt, bringing himself to eye level with her. “We need to talk, shorty. For real.” He licked his lip. “I been fucked up out here.”
Tasha’s gaze drifted toward the kids, playing tag. “I’m done talkin’, Juelz. Seriously. I’m done.”
“I call bullshit,” he said, watching her. “You ‘gon let what we had go just like that? Really, Tasha?”
Her eyes finally met his, and they were filled with deep, shimmering sadness that made his chest ache. “You didn’t care about ‘we’ when you fucked around on me.”
“I did!”
She took a deep breath, and when she spoke, her voice was barely a whisper.
“Right now, Juelz, Ion have nothin’ left to give.
I gotta focus on me.” She slapped the center of her chest twice.
“On getting Tasha straight. Ain’t no more space for you.
” She got up and started walking away, pointing at herself, then at him.
“For us. And definitely not this tired ass conversation.” Tasha threw the second plate down on the ground, and it landed at his feet.
Her words hit him like a punch to the gut.
It was the one thing he thought was solid, the one thing he thought he could always come back to.
“Hold up!” He stepped over the paper plate, “Whatcha mean you don’t have the space?
” he asked, his own voice cracking. “We a fuckin’ team, Tasha.
I’m the one ‘posed to hold that shit for you when you can’t. That’s what we do.”
“Nall! That’s what we used to do. But that’s dead,” she spat. “Matta fact, go hold space with Shyann fuck ass.”
She turned to walk away, but Juelz grabbed her by the arm, stopping her. “Fuck her,” he said, the hatred clear in his voice. “You really gon’ throw away what we built over that grimy ass bitch? After everythin’?”
Tasha shook her head, yanking her arms away from him. “Nall, I ain’t! But you did.” She brushed past him. “Move! I need to go.”
She turned and walked away, leaving him standing there looking hollow as hell.
He watched the love of his life fade off in the distance, shattering his heart once more.
Mar came jogging up to him, a half- eaten rib in his hand.
He stopped when he noticed the look on Juelz’s face and the overturned plates on the ground.
He swallowed his final bite. “The fuck happened over here?” He wiped his mouth with his paper towel.
“This food too damn good to be turned over on the ground. You aiight, nigga?”
Juelz popped his knuckles, smacking his teeth. “Yeah, let’s dip out from ‘round here, before I do some shit I can’t take back.”