Chapter 6
Eric
Blocked? Baby, I Own a Business. I Know How to Find Solutions.
I stared at Monica’s text like it had reached through the phone and slapped me with a hand full of old hurt.
MONICA: You could’ve just told me you still had options.
Options.
That word sat on my chest wrong.
Not because I didn’t know what she meant.
Because I knew exactly what she meant.
She wasn’t just talking about Latrice. She was talking about every man who had made her feel like a choice and then acted confused when she stopped trusting the menu.
I typed back fast.
ME: Monica, don’t do that. That video is old.
Message failed.
I blinked.
Tried again.
Failed.
Called her.
Straight to voicemail.
I lowered the phone slowly and stared at the screen.
Blocked.
She had blocked me.
In the hallway outside her apartment, where I could still smell her perfume on my shirt and taste her on my mouth, Monica had kissed me like she was finally letting herself feel something real—then blocked me before I made it to my truck.
I closed my eyes and breathed through my nose.
Patience, Eric.
Patience.
Because the man in me wanted to go right back upstairs and knock until she opened the door.
The grown man in me knew that was how you turn fear into panic.
So I stood there.
In the quiet hallway.
Holding my phone.
Trying not to let pride talk louder than love.
Because pride said, Let her block you then.
Pride said, You explained yourself once.
Pride said, You’re not chasing nobody.
But my spirit said something else.
My spirit said, That woman is scared.
And I wasn’t about to punish Monica for being scared when I knew good and well somebody had taught her fear before I ever met her.
I walked downstairs slowly, each step tightening something in my chest.
Outside, the night air hit me warm and thick. My truck sat by the curb, black and clean under the streetlight. Across the street, somebody was laughing too loud. A car rolled by with bass shaking the block. The city had no idea my whole night had just shifted.
I got in, shut the door, and called Dre.
He answered on the first ring. “Why you calling me late? You better not be engaged.”
“She blocked me.”
Silence.
Then he said, “Oh, she hurt-hurt.”
“Latrice posted a video.”
“Lord, that woman needs a hobby and a court order.”
“It’s old. From that investor preview night months ago.”
“The one where everybody was on the rooftop?”
“Yeah.”
“And Latrice was there dressed like somebody’s tax refund?”
“That one.”
Dre groaned. “She cut it to make it look like date night?”
“Looks like it.”
“Messy.”
“She sent it right after I left Monica’s apartment.”
“You was in Monica’s apartment?”
“Focus.”
“I am focused. I’m focusing on the sequence of events. You went from dinner to apartment to blocked? That is a full emotional Olympics.”
“Dre.”
“Okay, okay. What you going to do?”
“I’m going to talk to her.”
“She blocked you.”
“I know.”
“Blocked means the phone door closed, brother.”
“I own a business. I know how to find solutions.”
“Eric.”
“What?”
“Don’t be weird.”
“I’m not going to be weird.”
“Because showing up at a woman’s house after she blocked you can get very Lifetime very fast.”
“I’m not going to her house.”
“Good.”
“I’m going to the salon tomorrow.”
“That is her house-adjacent.”
“I need to speak to her face-to-face.”
“You need to let her cool off first.”
“She’s not cooling off. She’s sitting in that apartment thinking the worst.”
“That might be true.”
“It is.”
“And you know this how?”
“Because I saw her face when she talked about her ex.”
Dre went quiet.
Finally, he sighed. “You got proof the video old?”
“Yes.”
“Then bring it. But don’t go in there with your chest out like you owe her a courtroom presentation. Go in there humble.”
“I know.”
“Do you? Because you get calm when you mad, and calm mad you sounds like a threat in a button-down.”
I rubbed my beard. “I’m not mad at her.”
“You mad at the situation.”
“Yeah.”
“Make sure she can tell the difference.”
That was why I kept Dre around.
He was nosy, loud, and had the attention span of a Bluetooth speaker, but every now and then, he handed me wisdom like he had stolen it from somebody with sense.
“I hear you,” I said.
“And Eric?”
“What?”
“Don’t make Monica feel dumb for believing the video for a second. That woman ain’t dumb. She triggered.”
I looked out the windshield at her building.
Her upstairs light was still on.
“I know,” I said.
“Good. Now go home before you start sitting outside like a romantic stalker.”
“I’m leaving.”
“Praise God.”
I hung up, started the truck, and pulled away from the curb.
It took everything in me not to look back.
By the time I got to my place, I was too wired to sleep.
My house sat on a quiet street fifteen minutes from the block. Brick, two-car garage, neat yard because my mama said a man’s outside should not look like his inside was struggling. I bought it three years ago, and most days it still felt too quiet.
I walked in, tossed my keys on the counter, and stood in the dark kitchen.
Monica should have been here.
That thought came out of nowhere.
Not tonight, maybe. Not this soon. But someday.
I could see her standing by the island talking mess while pretending not to be hungry. Could see her shoes kicked off near the couch. Could see her gold hoops on my nightstand, her laughter in the hallway, her voice filling places in me I had gotten used to keeping empty.
I gripped the edge of the counter.
Too fast.
Everybody would say it.
Maybe everybody would be right.
But I had known women for months and never pictured them past the weekend. I had known Monica for days and somehow she made my future feel less like a business plan and more like somewhere to come home to.
That wasn’t lust.
Lust didn’t care if she ate.
Lust didn’t worry about her brakes.
Lust didn’t want to know who taught her compliments were dangerous.
I pulled out my phone and opened my photos.
I had the original rooftop video from months ago saved in the lounge folder.
It was from a soft investor preview. Twenty people on the rooftop.
Dre in the background running his mouth.
Ray with a plate in his hand. Latrice was there because she had come with one of the bottle service girls, not because I brought her.
In the full clip, I barely spoke to her.
But edited right?
Anything could look like something.
That was the thing about messy people. They didn’t need a full lie when a half-truth could bleed just fine.
I sent the full video to myself, then saved screenshots with the date.
Then I found the security planning email for that night with the guest list attached.
I wasn’t trying to bury Monica in proof.
But I wanted her to know she wasn’t crazy for asking and I wasn’t lying for answering.
Around two in the morning, I finally laid down.
I slept maybe three hours.
By seven, I was up, showered, dressed, and standing in my kitchen drinking coffee I barely tasted. My phone stayed quiet because the one woman I wanted to hear from had blocked me and the rest of the world could wait.
At eight, Quan called.
I answered because unfortunately, I still loved him.
“What?” I said.
“Dang, good morning to you too.”
“Do not start.”
He exhaled. “I said I was sorry about the window.”
“Sorry didn’t pay for the cleaning crew.”
“I know.”
“And sorry didn’t stop Ma from asking why three people called her before breakfast.”
“She know?”
“Of course she know. This block got more reporters than CNN.”
Quan got quiet. “She mad?”
“She scared.”
That shut him up.
I set my coffee down. “You want to be grown? Be grown enough to understand what your choices do to people who love you.”
“I do.”
“No, you don’t. You think consequences stop at you. They don’t. They hit Ma. They hit me. They hit my business. And now they almost hit somebody I care about.”
“Monica?”
I paused. “How you know her name?”
“Dre posted something.”
“I’m going to kill him.”
“Nah, he ain’t post her. He just said, ‘Pray for my brother, he in love and under attack.’”
I closed my eyes.
Dre was a walking liability with thumbs.
“Quan, listen to me.”
“I’m listening.”
“You’re working at the shop starting tomorrow.”
“I know.”
“No more excuses. No more borrowing. No more hanging with Marlo’s people.”
“I said I know.”
“And if I pay this money, you paying me back every dime.”
He sucked his teeth, but quieter than usual. “Alright.”
“Not alright. Yes.”
“Yes.”
I heard the difference.
Not full maturity.
But a crack in the foolishness.
I would take it.
After I hung up, I drove to King’s Auto Spa to handle Marlo. Dre was already there, standing outside with two coffees and the face of a man who had caused at least one problem before 9 a.m.
I got out. “You posted about me?”
He handed me a coffee. “Good morning.”
“Dre.”
“I didn’t say names.”
“You said I was in love and under attack.”
“That’s vague.”
“That’s personal.”
“That’s ministry.”
I stared at him.
He sipped his coffee. “You need caffeine and forgiveness.”
“I need you to log off.”
“I’ll consider it.”
The detail shop was already moving. Cars lined up in the bays. Water spraying. Vacuums humming. Workers calling out to each other. The smell of soap, tire shine, and early morning hustle filled the air.
This place was my first real business.
I started it with two pressure washers, one tent, and a level of confidence only desperation could create. Now we had a full shop, ten employees, and regular clients who would rather reschedule appointments than let anybody else touch their cars.
I built this place from nothing.
Just like I was building Loyalty.
That was why I refused to let Quan’s mess drag either one down.
At noon, Marlo showed.
He pulled up in a gray Charger with dark tint and an ego louder than the engine. Two guys got out with him, but they stayed near the car. Smart enough not to step too close. Dumb enough to come at all.
Marlo walked toward me slowly, hands in his pockets, face hard.
“Eazy.”