Chapter 3 #6
Inside, the air danced with the irresistible aroma of smoked sausage, a delicious blend of Cajun spices and herbs, and seafood.
Mama moved gracefully around the kitchen in her beloved mumu, or house dress as she called it, soft and faded from years of warmth, along with her cozy slippers that echoed the laughter of countless evenings spent in her welcoming home.
Her vibrant headwrap, filled with brilliant colors, seemed to hold holy secrets woven within each fold.
She didn’t ask questions right away; instead, she just slid a bowl across the table and poured sweet tea like it was communion.
“You going to stare at the gumbo or eat it?” she asked.
I chuckled and grabbed a spoon. “I forgot how good it smells in here.”
She sat across from me, stirring her own bowl slowly. “Mmhm. Now tell me why your voice sounds like it’s carrying someone else’s name.”
I paused mid-bite. She didn’t blink.
“Mama…”
“Boy.”
I exhaled deeply and leaned back in my chair. “I met someone.”
Her spoon kept moving. “Is she pretty?”
“Yes,… strong.”
“Which means she is pretty, despite some pain.”
I couldn’t help but smile. “Yeah.”
“Do you like her?”
“I don’t even know her like that. But something about her makes me want to pray before I text back.”
That caught her attention. She put her spoon down.
“Does she make you feel guilty?”
“No. Just… awake.”
She nodded slowly. “That’s God’s work. Not guilt.”
I looked down at the table and then back at her. “It feels too soon sometimes.”
Mama wiped her mouth and leaned forward. “Let me tell you something. A good woman will humble you. Not because she’s loud, but because she’s still here after what she’s survived. When you meet a woman like that, you have two options: love her right or leave her be.”
I nodded, the words catching in my chest like an unexpected hiccup.
“Is she broken?” Mama asked.
“She’s cracked. But she’s still solid.”
“Then you be the glue, not the hammer.”
I sat in silence for a minute, feeling the weight of everything I had been carrying. Grief, guilt, and now… hope?
“She texted me back last night,” I said in a low voice.
Mama smiled with warmth and affection. “You saved her number under something ridiculous?”
I laughed. “Deputy Gorgeous. With the little policewoman emoji.”
Mama rolled her eyes and said, “You and those damn emojis.”
After dinner, she walked me to the door, kissing my forehead as if I were still the boy who scraped his knee on the front steps and cried into her lap.
“You ready?” she asked.
I looked up at the sky and then down at my phone, where her name was still sitting at the top of my messages.
“Not all the way, but I’m moving in that direction.”
“That’s all God needs.”
Some women didn’t need saving; they simply needed someone to notice how their spirit twitched before their lips ever trembled.
Jonay moved like a woman who slept with one eye open, even while she prayed.
The wind was shifting that day. It was not the kind that whispered peace or carried the laughter of children through the air, not at all.
Instead, it moved with the heaviness of tension, like someone wearing Timberlands. Heavy. Direct. Out of place.
I had just left my mom’s house with EJ’s Spider-Man backpack tossed in the back seat, still filled with snacks and second chances. I wasn’t on duty, not technically. But my instincts didn’t clock out.
I saw her first, sitting in her car under that crooked oak tree that leaned as if it had heard secrets it couldn’t carry. The window was down just enough for air, but not for trust. Her eyes flickered like traffic cameras, watching everything, trusting nothing.
She was completely still. Too still. The kind of stillness that came not from peace but from survival.
Then I saw him: Kam’s bitch ass. That damn Charger cruised like a snake on four wheels. It had black-on-black tint and a grille that resembled a smirk. I knew it was him even before I saw the silhouette.
Kam was the kind of man who had never been told no without throwing a tantrum. He wasn’t just driving; he was circling, staking out, hunting what he believed still belonged to him.
I wasn’t one to indulge in gossip, but news traveled quickly in precincts like ours, especially when it was juicy.
I had been hearing whispers about a striking, no-nonsense detention deputy who had an identical twin working in the courts.
This twin had caught her man in a terrible situation and managed to walk away with her dignity intact.
It didn’t take long to connect the dots and realize it was Jonay. Yes, her, my baby, even if she hadn’t recognized it yet. That kind of hurt wasn’t generic. Being treated poorly like that would make any good woman question her faith, without a doubt.
I’d caught glimpses of her, her chin held high as if it were holding up the rest of her.
Her skin was smooth, like justice mixed with fire.
Her lips seemed to say what they meant, then walked away when they were finished.
She was the type who could stride through chaos without flinching, but this was a wound that wouldn’t show beneath uniforms and Kevlar vests.
She wasn’t just beautiful. She had a presence. If the rumors were true, some fool really squandered his chance with God’s favorite.
Then there was Kam.
I remembered him. He was in the academy with me, barely made it through the door before pissing dirty, failing a drug test, and getting kicked out.
He thought he was above the rules. He was one of those loudmouths in the lobby but soft on the stand.
He boasted about being a man but couldn’t uphold a standard long enough to actually be one.
That alone told me what kind of person he was—cheap, synthetic, and flammable.
What I didn’t realize was that he was the one slipping between Jonay’s sheets while still looking other women and men in the eye with lust in his heart. He was the type to beg for loyalty while bartering his own for some backroom thrills. That was weak nigga behavior.
A man who didn’t protect his peace and his woman wasn’t worthy of either. But what really caught my attention was how the streets said he hadn’t moved on. He was still around, still acting like he owned something he’d already destroyed, still calling what was dead a relationship.
That was the most dangerous type of nigga, the kind who couldn’t handle losing control, who mistook “I’m done” for “I still care,” and who made a woman’s freedom feel more like rebellion than survival.
See, that was the issue with niggas like Kam. They never learned how to lose gracefully. They thought women were extensions of themselves—prizes they won at birth, not individuals who chose them once but could choose themselves now.
I didn’t draw attention to myself. I didn’t pull up behind him or tap the badge hanging in my glovebox. I didn’t need to.
I slid into a parking space two rows down, as if the pavement belonged to me. I cut the engine and let silence speak. Then, I stared, not aggressively, not loudly, just long enough for him to feel it in the back of his neck. That quiet pressure didn’t ask if you were guilty; it just knew.
He saw me. For a brief moment, we simply existed. Two men and one woman shared a moment without speaking. Despite the silence, everything that needed to be said was communicated.
He kept rolling. He didn’t stop or double back. He just drifted away with his tail tucked and his threats unresolved.
I paused for a moment before approaching her. I didn’t want to startle her. She already seemed like she’d been flinching since February.
Her shoulders were hunched up near her ears as if she was wearing trauma like a scarf. Her hands were locked at ten and two on the steering wheel. Her jaw was clenched. She was trying not to shatter out loud. I stepped slowly, making sure my shadow touched her before my voice did.
“You alright, Deputy Gorgeous?”
She jumped as if fear lived behind her sternum.
“Yeah.” Her answer was flat, automatic, a lie she probably told herself in the mirror every morning. “What makes you think I wouldn’t be?”
“’Cause your body looks like it’s waiting for something to go wrong.”
She blinked slowly, as if her brain needed extra time to process care when it wasn’t overshadowed by control.
“Does he always watch you like that?”
“Who?” she asked, deflecting.
“Don’t play dumb, ma. You’re too smart to pretend you didn’t see that Charger. You don’t have to explain. I just notice things: patterns, energy shifts, silence that doesn’t sit right.”
And then it hit me. Hard.
Moonlight.
That was the name on her phone yesterday at Crème & Chill. The text that rattled her so badly that she could barely sit still, the one that stole the light from her eyes.
I felt my fists curl at my sides.
“Tell me straight up,” I said quietly, but my voice carried the weight of command. “That text yesterday, the one that had you shaken… was that him? Was that Kam?”
Her lips parted, hesitation flickering across her face. Her silence was its own confession. She didn’t nod, didn’t say yes, but she didn’t need to. Her eyes, her breathing, the way her hands trembled against the steering wheel, told me everything.
I exhaled slowly, forcing my jaw to unclench. My protective side, my detective instincts, and my heart all collided in that moment.
“I don’t care how strong you are, Jonay.
You ain’t supposed to carry this alone, not with somebody like him circling.
You hear me?” My voice dropped lower, more intimate, my eyes locked on hers.
“You don’t have to want me yet, gorgeous.
But you gon’ have me in your corner regardless.
Kam won’t touch you. I’m damn sure not gon’ let him circle you like prey, not while I’m breathing. ”
Her eyes widened, like she wasn’t used to being claimed in a way that sounded like safety instead of possession.
She sighed and turned her face away from me, but not before I noticed how her eyes shimmered, not from tears, but from exhaustion.
It was the type of tiredness that sleep couldn’t remedy, the kind that came from having to protect yourself all the time.
I softened my tone, reaching for her without even touching.
“You don’t need me. I know that. You’re built like a fortress.”
“So why are you here?”
“Because even fortresses need someone patrolling the outside gates making sure nobody gets too close, gorgeous.”
That hit her. She didn’t say thank you. She didn’t ask me to stay. But she looked down, shoulders sinking just slightly, like my words made her knees buckle inside where nobody could see. That was enough.
“You got my number,” I said, turning back toward my car. “You don’t gotta use it to flirt. Use it for safety. Anytime.”
I left. Just like that. No pressure, no power plays, no loud declarations, just presence. Sometimes, that was all a genuine person needed to offer.
I wasn’t there to cage her in fear, but to remind her of something she hadn’t felt in a long time, what it meant to have somebody watching, not to control her, but to protect her. If he was watching to confine her, then I was watching to end him before he ever got the chance.
By the time I got home, EJ was knocked out in the back seat. I carried him inside, laid him in bed, and brushed my hand over his curls. Kids slept like the world couldn’t touch them. That was what I wanted for Jonay, too, peace deep enough that she could finally close both eyes.
I sank onto the couch, elbows on my knees, palms pressed together like prayer. My mind wouldn’t shut off. I replayed the way her shoulders tensed, the way her eyes darted, the way her silence felt heavier than words.
Kam. Moonlight. All of it tied together. All of it pointed to the same storm.
And right then, I made a vow that settled deep in my chest like truth:
Jonay is more than just a woman I want. She’s my future wife. My reason to guard my purpose. My reminder that some things are worth bleeding for. If she can’t believe in her safety yet, I’ll believe enough for the both of us. Kam won’t touch her. He won’t steal her peace.
Because real men didn’t just show up when it was convenient. They stayed, they watched, they guarded quietly and consistently.
And that was what I intended to do for her. Always.