7. More Than Survival
The sound of the basketball hitting the hardwood echoed through the private gym while sweat rolled down my chest.
“Old ass still can’t guard me,” I called out while crossing Jared at the three-point line.
Jared snorted immediately before shoulder-checking the hell out of me.
“X, I will beat your ass in front of your brother.”
“Do it then.”
“Gladly.”
Zay laughed from near the free-throw line before pulling up for a clean jumper.
Splash.
“Both of y’all talking too much,” he muttered calmly.
“That’s because you cherry-picking shots,” I shot back.
“Or maybe,” Zay said arrogantly, “I’m just better than y’all.”
“See?” Jared pointed immediately. “That’s exactly why I liked you more in prison, X. Your brother got too much money now.”
Zayden barked out a laugh. “Nigga YOU got money now between your investments and that state settlement money.”
“Not enough to tolerate his attitude.”
I grinned while wiping sweat from my face with my shirt. It felt good seeing Jared outside. Not just physically free.
But living as if he’s alive. That was the thing people who never did real time didn’t understand.
Prison either hollowed men out or sharpened them into something dangerous.
Most men never came home emotionally whole enough to laugh like this.
Jared still carried prison in his body. I noticed it every few minutes; his eyes kept tracking exits automatically, and his shoulders tightened at sudden noises.
Hell, I still did some of the same shit myself after eighteen years inside.
The difference was that I came home angry, but thank God Jared came home thoughtful.
I passed him the ball again. “Run it back.”
“Nah,” Jared muttered. “You’re reaching every possession like a bitter ex.”
“Excuses.”
“My sister, Channy, let you win arguments too much.”
I smirked immediately. “Cause she loves me.”
“Or she was tired of hearing you talk.”
“That too,” Zay muttered.
I pointed at him instantly. “Kenya said your emotional range is limited to business meetings and forehead kisses.”
“Kenya talks too much.”
“My whole family talks too much,” Jared added.
That made all three of us laugh, and my chest swelled because there was a time none of this felt possible.
My time being served, Jared being exonerated.
Zay being legal enough to wear designer suits to corporate meetings instead of funerals.
Our women were safe. Zay’s and my daughters are laughing in homes we owned instead of surviving in apartments we rented.
Niggas like us weren’t supposed to get peace. But somehow we built it anyway.
“Game point,” Zay announced.
“I know how scoring works, Nigga.”
“Clearly not.”
I checked the ball.
Ten minutes later, Jared finally beat us off the dribble and hit the game-winning shot while talking shit the entire time.
“There we go,” he yelled while backing away, grinning.
“That’s grown man basketball.”
I laughed while bending forward with my hands on my knees, trying to catch my breath.
“Alright,” I admitted reluctantly. “That was clean.”
“Damn right.”
Zay shook his head, grabbing water bottles from the bench nearby. “This Nigga hit one jumper and got his self-esteem back.”
“I’ve been confident.” Jared quipped.
“Sure,” I muttered.
Jared tossed a towel over his shoulder before looking around the gym quietly. And for a second, I saw the peace in his gaze. Men like us survived so much violence that moments like this, I didn’t take for granted.
Zay must’ve noticed it, too, because his expression softened briefly before he nodded toward the exit. “Come on,” he said. “I’m starving.”
“Wing spot?” I asked.
“Only shit I want after hooping,” Zay chimed in.
The wing spot smelled like grease and lemon pepper, exactly the kind of place Niggas from Crestwood trusted.
We sat in the back corner booth, fresh off hooping with sweatshirts thrown over our gym shirts, while highlights from an NBA game played across the televisions overhead.
The waitress already knew Zayden’s order before he opened his mouth.
“Ten-piece lemon pepper wet,” she said while writing. “Fried hard. Ranch instead of bleu cheese.”
Zay pointed at her immediately. “See? That’s professionalism.”
“That’s because your ass is here every Tuesday,” I muttered.
I ordered buffalo, and Jared got garlic parm wings with fries.
Honestly? It felt good to hear my soon-to-be brother-in-law fit in so well with my brother and me.
The waitress dropped the food off, and all three of us got quiet for a second because shit always got quiet when the food got delivered. Jared grabbed a fry, shaking his head. “I forgot food could taste like something.”
I remembered that feeling. I remembered getting out after eighteen years and damn near crying, eating fresh strawberries in Zay and YaYa’s kitchen.
Prison stole sensory shit people took for granted. Zay must’ve felt the shift, too, because he leaned back, wiping his hands.
“So,” Zay said casually. “You gon’ answer the phone or keep acting famous?”
Jared frowned immediately. “What?”
“Your phone has rang twenty times since we’ve all been together today,” I reminded him.
“I keep getting these weird endorsement calls,” Jared stated with a frown.
“Channy told me that the Democratic Party wants you to run for mayor.”
Jared shrugged his shoulders and grabbed another wing. “I’m not running for mayor.”
“Why not?” I asked.
Jared looked between both of us, already irritated. “Why the fuck would a Nigga who spent more time inside than outside run for anything?”
Zay looked at him seriously. “Because that man was framed by his own mother. Because the system threw the book at him for a crime he didn’t commit. Because he holds a degree and is smart as shit, shall I continue, Bro?”
Why y’all talking like the decision has been made?”
“Cause it should be,” Zay answered simply.
Jared laughed once without humor. “Nigga, I just came home.”
“And?” I added.
“And I’m trying to learn how to grocery shop again.”
I leaned forward against the table. “Do you know how many people in this city trust you already?”
“That ain’t enough to run a city.”
“No,” I corrected calmly. “But understanding it is.”
Jared got quiet after that. He wasn’t defensive, but he was quietly analyzing the situation.
That was always his thing. Zay and I reacted first. Jared analyzed first.
“You were born and raised in Crestwood,” I continued. “You know these streets, these schools, these churches, these politicians.”
“You know corruption from both sides,” Zay added. “Street level and system level.”
Jared shook his head slowly. “That doesn’t mean I need to be mayor.”
“Why not?” I added.
“Because politics is dirty.”
Zay and I laughed immediately.
Jared frowned. “What?”
“Nigga,” I said, still laughing. “Dirtier than you selling drugs back in the day.”
“That’s different.”
“It literally is not.”
“Yes, it is,” he argued. “Politicians smile while they rob people.”
Zay pointed at him seriously. “Exactly why somebody like you should run.”
That made his mindset shift a bit. I saw it immediately in Jared’s face.
Because deep down, this city mattered to him.
It always had, especially when he was inside.
Jared used to spend hours explaining policies and breaking down laws in ways that half those men’s public defenders never bothered to do.
I got into helping folks do the same because he taught me what I knew, and together we helped hundreds of the men we were inside with.
He gave hopeless men language for their own oppression.
That was leadership, whether he liked it or not.
“You remember Torres?” I asked quietly.
Jared’s eyes lifted toward mine instantly. “Yeah.”
“That man would still be sitting in prison if you ain’t helped him file that appeal.”
Jared looked away toward the TV screens overhead. “That wasn’t politics.”
“The hell it wasn’t.”
Zay nodded slowly. “You understand systems.”
“I understand survival.”
“And survival shouldn’t have been the only thing you got from life,” I said firmly.
The table got quieter after that.
Jared leaned back against the booth, staring down at his untouched fries. “I don’t trust power,” he finally admitted.
Zay folded his arms. “Good.”
Jared frowned. “What?”
“You shouldn’t.”
I nodded slowly. “That’s what makes you different from the people already running.”
“Man—”
“No,” I cut in. “Listen to me.”
Jared’s eyes met mine again.
“That money they gave you?” I shook my head slowly. “That settlement ain’t justice. No amount of money can replace twenty-four years, missed birthdays with loved ones, or fatherhood. You deserve more than a payout,” I continued quietly. “You deserve influence.”
Zay leaned forward, then, too.
“And you got resources behind you.”
Jared’s brows furrowed slightly. “What resources?”
Zay looked offended immediately.
“Nigga both your brothers-in-law.”
I laughed.
“Crown Logistics alone could bankroll the campaign,” Zay continued calmly. “Legally.”
“Kenya can build the community outreach. Chanel is already connected politically. You and X know the justice reform side.”
I smirked slightly. “And Camilla got half of Crestwood in her salon every week.”
That finally made Jared laugh again.
“There goes the real power,” he muttered.
“Exactly,” Zay nodded seriously. “Don’t underestimate the power of Black women.”
Jared didn’t seem irritated by the idea anymore.
He seemed thoughtful about it. I could literally see his brain rearranging possibilities in real time.
I recognized it immediately because prison had made him do the same thing.
Whenever Jared stopped talking and started rubbing his beard like that, it meant he was somewhere deep inside his own head, trying to outthink every outcome before it happened.
Zay recognized it, too. “That’s the first time you ain’t immediately said no,” he pointed out calmly.
“I’m thinking. That doesn’t mean yes.”
I leaned back in the booth, studying him carefully. “You know what your problem is?”
Jared sighed dramatically. “Why does everybody in my life keep asking me that?”
I grabbed another fry before answering. “You still think your life gotta stay small because prison made it small.”
Jared looked down at the table quietly while the sounds of the restaurant carried around us. You could hear glasses clinking, grease popping from the kitchen, and hip hop music playing low through overhead speakers.
“You know what’s crazy?” Jared muttered after a second.
“What?” Zay asked.
“I spent so many years just trying to survive another day that I never really thought past getting out.”
Zay leaned forward slightly. “Now think bigger.”
“That’s easy for you to say. You own half the city.”
“Nah,” Zay corrected smoothly. “The white folks own half the city.” He shrugged casually. “I just invoice them.”
Zayden always talked like a businessman first now, but every once in a while, the old cocky him slipped out around the family.
“You know what politics really is?” Zay asked.
Jared shrugged.
“It’s controlled influence,” I answered. “And Crestwood has been controlled by the wrong people forever.”
“Exactly,” Zay wiped his hands before continuing.
“You got the story. You got the education. You got the respect. And after what happened to you?” He shook his head slowly. “The city already sees you as proof the system failed.”
Jared’s jaw tightened immediately at that. “I don’t wanna be nobody’s damn tragedy.”
“You wouldn’t be,” I said quietly. “You’d be somebody who survived it.”
Jared knew what it felt like for the world to reduce Black men to pain stories instead of people. I watched him stare out the window beside the booth afterward.
Always thinking.
“I’ve been ignoring calls for two days.”
Zay and I exchanged a look instantly.
“How many calls?” I asked.
Jared rubbed his beard slowly. “Four from local organizers. Two from some Democratic committee people. A couple of nonprofits.” He shook his head. “One old professor from my political science program reached out, too.”
Zay smirked immediately. “See?”
“That doesn’t mean I’m running for mayor.”
“But it means people are already building the idea around you,” I replied.
Jared leaned back, exhaling slowly through his nose.
“I got history. Yeah, I didn’t do the shit they locked me up for, but my hands aren’t necessarily clean, y’all.”
“So does every powerful Nigga in this city,” Zay answered calmly.
That wasn’t a lie. Half the businessmen in Crestwood just committed crimes wearing better suits.
Jared looked unconvinced, though. “What happens when they start digging into the family?” he asked quietly. “I don’t need Camilla feeling like our blended family is in the limelight. Plus, our families ain’t necessarily squeaky clean.”
The table got still after that. Because we all knew what he meant.
The alley.
Charles.
Miles.
Sharon.
The violence.
All the shit buried beneath our names.
Zay spoke first.
“You having power and influence will help us survive it.”
Simple as that.
“Aight, Niggas, stop pressuring me. Let me think about it and talk to Milla.”
“That’s all we ask, man,” Zay replied.
“You know the crazy part?” I said.
“What?”
“You already sound like a mayor. Talking about consulting your mate.”
“I ain’t saying yes.”
“But you ain’t saying no anymore either,” Zay pointed out.
Jared smirked reluctantly. “Nah,” he admitted quietly. “Guess I’m not. I can’t lie. Mayor Jared Davis has a nice ring to it.”