Chapter 5
I sat in my kitchen telling my cousin Dre about Jonay and how I caught her ex pretty much stalking her.
“Bro, tell me you’re not out here saving detention deputies like it’s a scene from The Notebook.”
I shot my cousin Dre a look over the rim of my coffee mug, leaning back in the chair while he posted up in my kitchen like he paid rent. He was grinning so hard I wanted to throw the whole mug at his head.
“She isn’t just a deputy,” I said, trying to keep my tone neutral, but the smile creeping on my face betrayed me.
“Oh, so now we’re defending her title?” Dre clapped his hands and damn near slid off the counter. “Next thing I know, you’ll be calling her ‘baby’ and bringing her lunch while she’s on duty. Lord, I can’t believe my cousin is catching feelings for a badge bunny with dimples.”
I scratched at my beard and looked down at my phone, which was open to the text thread where her name stared back at me: Deputy Gorgeous
Dre caught it. “Cuzzo, you wilding! You got her saved in your phone like that? Bruh.”
“I don’t do this type of weak shit for just anybody,” I muttered.
“She must got that ‘Don’t Shoot’ walk and ‘Pull Over’ pout. Damn.” He laughed, grabbing a banana off the counter like it was popcorn. “You better not let her lock you down on some Miranda rights and missionary love, though.”
I let out an exasperated sigh, rolling my eyes in frustration as I flung a soft kitchen towel at his chest. “Just go home, Dre,” I said, my voice edged with irritation.
But he wasn’t finished. He slid the banana across the counter as if it were a microphone and leaned in. “Be real with me, though. You really feeling her, huh? Like… for real, for real?”
I paused and thought about the way Jonay tilted her head when she was amused, as well as how her voice held grief and grit in equal measure.
“Yeah,” I said. “But it’s not just feeling her. It’s feeling guilty for wanting her.”
Dre’s smirk faded slightly. “Ah, there it is. That ghost of Tempest still riding shotgun in your heart.”
I nodded. “Every time I look at Jonay, there’s a voice in the back of my head saying, ‘Damn, how are you moving on when you couldn’t even protect the last woman who loved you?’”
“Yo, cuz,” Dre said, his tone serious now.
“You’re not moving on like you forgot Tempest. You’re moving forward like you’re still alive.
There is no betrayal in wanting peace again.
Besides, what happened to Temp wasn’t on you, fam.
You can’t control the choices of unpredictable muthafuckas.
If that’s the case, your job wouldn’t exist, real shit. ”
I exhaled and rubbed the back of my neck. “You make it sound so easy.”
“It’s not.” He shrugged. “But neither is drinking regret every day like it’s your favorite liquor. If this deputy chick, Jonay, makes you laugh again? Makes you feel again? That ain’t weak, my boy. That’s resurrection.”
I gave him a tight nod, then looked down at my phone again, thumb hovering.
“Did she text you?”
“Nah, not yet,” I replied.
“Then why are you over there smiling like a retired thug with a second chance?”
I laughed and tossed the towel at him again, and he ducked, laughing. “Get the fuck out my house, nigga.”
Where others inked confessions onto paper, I let the rising warmth whisper mine into the air.
The steam in my bathroom moved like spirits—swirling, rising, and clinging to the mirror as if it didn’t want to let go.
Candlelight flickered against the tiles while Sade played softly on my Bluetooth speaker.
Her voice floated through the room like jasmine smoke, soft, slow, and meant to be inhaled.
I wasn’t trying to be poetic, but grief certainly had a rhythm.
Tonight, it felt slow, and it was hitting hard.
Before I even stepped into the tub, I moved through my hygiene routine like a ritual.
I leaned back in the tub, the water hot enough to wash away my regrets.
One arm rested over the edge, a half-empty glass of anejo tequila perched on a folded towel like a sacred object.
My tattoos emerged from the water, inked maps of pain, lessons, and promises I hadn’t fully confronted.
The one on my rib read, “Love is war. I’m a soldier.
” I got it a week after Tempest’s funeral.
I could barely endure the needle without crying, and it damn sure wasn’t the pain from the needle that brought the tears.
I gazed up at the ceiling, hoping it might provide some answers.
“I’m still here, Temp,” I muttered, letting the condensation drip down my temple, like tears I hadn’t given permission to fall. “I’m still trying to figure out how to love again without feeling like I’m betraying you.”
At that moment, I received a notification on my phone, which was resting on the sink.
Jonay.
I gently wiped my hand on the towel and picked it up. There was no small talk, just:
Deputy Gorgeous:
You ever wonder if peace just forgot about you on purpose?
I sat up slightly, and my lip twitched.
Me:
Every damn day. But maybe it just shows up in different clothes sometimes.
Deputy Gorgeous:
Like what, Elias? A hoodie and trauma?
Me:
Nah, like brunch and bad timing, or a laugh that catches you off guard.
Deputy Gorgeous:
I hate how you type in metaphors. Say what you mean.
Me:
I wanna see you.
There it was: the truth, raw and reckless, like me in my youth.
Three dots blinked on the screen, then vanished, leaving a heavy silence in their wake. My heart pounded in my chest, racing as if I was in a foot pursuit of a suspect. After what felt like an eternity, her reply finally came in.
My thumb hovered over the screen as I eagerly awaited her response.
Deputy Gorgeous:
I was just pouring a drink. Let’s grab one together in a public space, neutral territory. Keep your badge holstered and your charm to a minimum, Detective.
Me:
No promises, Deputy Gorgeous.
I set my phone down and let out a deep breath. The tequila warmed my chest, but her words had my whole body buzzing. I could feel it, something soft starting to stir beneath all the hard edges. For the first time in a long time, I didn’t feel like running from it.
The spot was tucked behind a candle shop and a cigar lounge off Westview.
It was quiet, low-key, and smooth enough to allow you to eavesdrop on your own thoughts without the music interrupting.
It was called Brick it was the kind of place you visited to sip slowly and nurse your wounds.
It was filled with soft conversations, jazz remixes, and the soothing ambiance of brown liquor.
The moment I walked in, I noticed her beautiful ass instantly.
She was dressed in a yellow bodycon dress with a thigh-high split that made my heart race, wearing gold hoops that conveyed an air of confidence with every turn of her head.
Jonay looked like the reason someone’s ex would spiral. For some reason, she was sitting there all calm, scrolling through her phone like she hadn’t just knocked the wind out of me.
I didn’t mean to stare, but I wanted to remember every detail for later. She was so fucking gorgeous. When she saw me, she didn’t smile right away. She just tilted her head as if to say, “You really came, huh?”
“I appreciate punctuality,” she remarked as I settled into the booth.
“I like how you haven’t blocked me yet… ’Preciate it,” I replied, settling in across from her.
She smirked. “That’s because I’m considering the possibility that you have depth.”
“Oh, I have depth, Deputy Gorgeous. I’m like a lasagna with layers of trauma.”
Jonay laughed with her head thrown back and her eyes sparkling. That laugh reached a place in me that I had forgotten existed.
I leaned back, arm stretched across the seat, my hand flat on the table like I’d been holding it for her. My pulse kicked, but my face stayed calm. I wasn’t here to rush. I was here to claim.
The waitress showed up, pen poised, eyes flicking between us. I didn’t let Jonay answer first. I tilted my chin toward her, voice low and steady.
“Ladies first, Deputy Gorgeous.”
She blinked at me, just quick enough for me to catch it before she smirked like she’d been expecting me to play.
“I’ll have a jalapeno margarita. Extra lime,” she said, smooth, like her tongue was already on fire and daring the drink to keep up.
I watched her lips form every word. My chest got tight.
The waitress turned to me. I didn’t even look at her. I kept my eyes locked on Jonay. “Double shot of your best tequila. Neat. And start us a tab.”
Her eyebrows rose, but she wrote it down and disappeared.
We drank and talked, sliding between humor and heaviness like old friends relearning how to flirt.
She shared stories about her mama, talking about how she held onto her grief tightly while pretending like it wasn’t suffocating her. I opened up about my wife dying and me raising EJ on my own, but I didn’t go into any details.
“That’s… heavy,” she said softly. “You’re carrying all that and still showing up for people?”
“I don’t know any other way, gorgeous.”
“Why me?” she asked abruptly.
“Huh?”
She leaned in closer, her brown eyes filled with a mix of softness and caution.
“You could flirt with anyone in this crowded room, yet here you are, stepping into my grief uninvited. Why check on my mama after everything? What makes you care so much about us?”
I took a slow sip of my drink, savoring the answer as it lingered on my tongue.
“You walked into that hospital as if you challenged grief to confront you again. I understand that feeling all too well, gorgeous. I saw the fight in you and the brokenness.”