Epilogue
Six months later.
The bed was warm; the sheets tangled around our legs. Amari was curled into my side, her head on my chest, one arm draped across my stomach like she was anchoring herself to me even in sleep. Her breathing was slow and even.
I’d met her through Diamond at some rooftop thing a few months back.
A graphic designer. Nigerian American like me.
A father and brother who weren’t exactly on the straight and narrow, so there wasn’t any judgment there.
She knew who my father was. Knew the name, knew what came attached to it, and she wasn’t scared of me because of it.
She had dark skin that glowed in low light and the kind of smile that made you forget your own name. Soft-spoken, but not shy. The kind of woman who listened more than she talked, and when she did talk, you paid attention. She was nothing like Indigo. That felt like a reprieve.
Being with her made it easier to go a whole day without thinking about Indigo.
Then two days.
Sometimes three.
I didn't love Amari. I wasn't gonna lie to myself just because she was sleeping in my bed. But I liked her. I liked waking up next to her. I liked hearing her laugh from another room.
For now, that felt like enough. I might try loving her later.
She didn’t know about Indigo. Not the whole story, anyway.
She knew I’d been through something—knew there was a woman in my past I’d had to let go of and didn’t want to.
I’d told her about Ayo, too—the college sweetheart.
I hadn’t talked to Ayo since she went back to California.
We’d had our night. We’d had our closure.
Sometimes that’s all a thing gets to be.
I stared at the ceiling, thinking about how strange life had gotten.
Indigo and I talked often now. My invitations to the parties were good again. One night, I’d asked Malachai why he’d stopped fighting it.
He was quiet for a few seconds.
Then he said, “I did the math on you.”
I waited.
“You’re wealthy. You have infrastructure. Men. International connections. You’re violent when necessary and irrational where Indigo is concerned. I calculated exactly what you’d be worth to my wife if I wasn’t around to protect her.”
He paused.
“This isn’t sentiment, Cooly. Don’t mistake it for that.”
I stayed silent, listening to that cold-ass motherfucker breathe on the other end of the line.
“If I die, Indigo becomes vulnerable. So do my children. Her father’s dead. Her brother is useless. Priest, Kael, Raziel, even Maya—they would protect her. But they have their own families. Their own liabilities. Their own enemies.”
“And me?”
“You have no competing loyalty where she is concerned. Nobody will ever matter to you as much as she does. Because of those days in the warehouse.”
I didn’t have anything to say, because he was right.
He’d hung up after saying that, like the conversation had already lasted longer than he could stand.
Sometimes I still called him just to fuck with him. I loved when he got all robotic to hide the fact that I could piss him off. He was funny to me. Maybe in another life, we could’ve been friends.
My phone buzzed on the nightstand. I checked the time. Three in the morning.
I reached for it, squinting at the screen. The name lit up, and my chest tightened.
I slid out of bed carefully, moving slow, trying not to wake Amari. She stirred, murmured something soft, then settled again.
I grabbed a hoodie and padded barefoot out to the fire escape.
The city was quiet at this hour. Streetlights cast long shadows across the buildings. Somewhere in the distance, a siren wailed and faded.
I sat down on the cold iron grating and answered.
“Hello?”
“Cooly?”
Her voice was raw. Not crying, but like she’d been crying.
“Yeah. I’m here.”
She was quiet for a long moment. I could hear her breathing—unsteady, shallow.
“Malachai got shot,” she said finally.
I almost smiled. Almost. The old instinct was still there—the version of me who’d wanted him dead, who’d fantasized about putting a bullet in his head and taking his place. That version was still buried somewhere under six months of growth and honesty.
“He alive?”
“Yeah.” She let out a shaky breath. “Surgery was successful. They said he’s gonna be fine. But I’m at the hospital now. I can’t sleep. I keep thinking about what could’ve happened. What almost happened.”
“What did happen?”
“Priest,” she said. “He had a dead wife who came back to life. She’d been hiding all these years, waiting. And she tried to off everybody associated with him.”
My heart kicked. I stood up, the cold iron biting into my bare feet.
“Where are the kids? Do I need to come to Florida?”
“Calm down. The bitch is dead.” Her voice was flat, final. “They’re in Italy with Maya’s people. They’re safe. I don’t want to talk about it, though. I’ve been talking about it for days.” She let out a breath. “I’m tired of talking about it.”
“Then don’t.”
“Tell me about Amari instead.” She laughed softly.
I blinked. “What?”
“Amari. Diamond told me you were seeing someone.” Her voice shifted. “Tell me about her.”
“Diamond has a big fucking mouth.”
“She does,” she agreed. “Now tell me about her.”
“You jealous?” I asked before I could stop myself.
She laughed. “You’re my bestie, so I’ma say yes because I know it’ll make you feel good hearing it.”
I grinned. “It does.”
“I know you too well.”
I didn’t tell her about Amari. Because some selfish part of me didn’t want Indigo to think that door was closed for her.
Instead, we talked for a couple of hours about nothing, about the kids, and about me visiting Florida soon.
When we hung up, I sat on the fire escape for a long time, watching the sky shift from black to navy to pale gold. I wondered if I’d live the rest of my life wanting her.
I shook the thought away, stepped inside, and slid back into bed. Amari reached for me automatically, her hand finding my chest.
“Everything okay?” she murmured.
“Yeah.” I pulled her closer, breathing in the scent of her hair. “Everything’s fine.”
“Who was it?”
“Just a friend.”
Until her husband is dead.
I left that part out.