10. The People’s Candidate
I never realized how fast life could change until cameras started following me.
It wasn’t paparazzi exactly, but to my quiet out-of-the-way family, it felt close enough.
No matter where I went in Crestwood, phones were out in plain view.
People recorded me pumping gas for Milla and at Jo Jo’s basketball game.
Older women stopped me in the grocery store to ask about my stance on the school district budget and whether I was pro-life or pro-choice.
The nosey ones didn’t care about my policies at all; they just wanted to know what it was like to wrongfully be convicted of a crime and to serve most of your life behind bars. What felt good was when young dudes asked for pictures outside barbershops.
“Mayor Davis!”
I still wasn’t used to hearing that shit, and I hated when they called me that because I didn’t want to jinx shit. The official campaign announcement dropped three weeks ago, and somehow, the entire city already had opinions.
Half the internet was calling me the people’s candidate. Headlines in the local newspaper called me Crestwood’s redemption story. I was invited to speak as a guest speaker at our community college to discuss how the system can fail Black men.
But the other half of the city’s opinion of me was that I was an ex-drug dealer playing politician.
That pissed Camilla off, but the shit made me laugh because honestly?
Both versions were true. I sat in the passenger seat of Camilla’s red Wrangler scrolling through comments while she drove us toward Zayden and Kenya’s house.
I hated riding while my baby drove, but Matthew suggested I stay abreast of public opinion by checking my own socials for one hour each day.
I was to look but not respond, and he wanted my ideas alongside the public relations team at our weekly check-in, which was tomorrow morning.
Our house had become impossible to live in after the announcement. Too many people stopped by. Too many reporters showed up outside the salon. Too many campaign calls.
“You need to stop reading comments,” Milla muttered beside me.
When I didn’t respond, she raised her voice a bit.“ Are you still reading them?”
“Mhm.”
She snatched my phone clean out of my hand at the next red light.
“Millie Millz.”
“No.” She tossed it into the cup holder. “You are not about to stress yourself out before dinner.”
I leaned back against the seat, studying her quietly instead.
God. Pregnancy looked good on her already. She was still in her first trimester, but she had a glow that seemed softer, somehow warmer. And knowing my baby was carrying my child? That knowledge sat in my chest constantly now like a second heartbeat.
Camilla caught me staring and rolled her eyes.
“What?”
“You’re beautiful.”
“That’s pregnancy hormones.”
“Nah.” I shook my head slowly. “That’s just you.”
She smiled and reached over, squeezing my thigh gently. That simple touch grounded me instantly. Because everything else felt loud right now. The campaign, the public image, constant interviews, and strategy.
But Millie Millz and I were still quiet underneath all of it.
“You nervous?” she asked softly after a while.
I looked out the window briefly, watching Crestwood blur past us. This was my city. No matter how many flaws this place had.
These were the same streets I used to poison.
The same neighborhoods that raised me.
The same corners where boys still stood outside trying to survive, the only way they knew how.
And now somehow these people wanted me to lead them.
“Jare?”
I exhaled slowly.
“Yeah,” I admitted finally. “A little bit.”
“You know what I think?”
“What?”
“I think God has a funny sense of humor.”
“How so?”
“That young man who used to skip class and sell weed behind the corner store?” She smiled faintly. “Now he’s on billboards in tailor suits that cover his tattoos, talking about justice reform.”
When she said it like that? Yeah, life sounded ridiculous. I laughed quietly, shaking my head.
“You forgot to mention that same young man is now a handsome ass man.”
“Humble, aren’t we?” She teased. Camilla turned into the long gated driveway leading toward Zay and YaYa’s property.
And every single time I came here? I still couldn’t help but be proud of what YaYa and Zay built. They had a system and a plan to sustain their lineage. Whenever I thought about why I was running for mayor, I reminded myself that this could be my legacy.
Their estate sat back far enough from the road to feel like its own world.
The Kings had a massive stone exterior with black iron gates, with all of their luxury cars lined up outside.
Zay spared no expense with security. Whenever I asked him to chill, he said.
“The first Black Mayor of Crestwood won’t be a casualty. ”
Inside, the decorations were amazing. My sister had warm lights glowing through giant windows.
I chuckled to myself, these Niggas had money now.
X spent so many nights inside, confiding in me about how he and Zay used to dream about surviving.
Now, the brothers were doing more than okay; they had built an empire.
“You know what’s crazy?” I muttered.
“What?”
“My sister married a drug dealer and somehow ended up richer than everybody.”
Camilla barked out laughing. “You’re in denial, Jared. Your sister is the Queenpin. She’s the mastermind behind all this. Stop playing her small. Everything from their college operation to cleaning money through her dance studio and trucking company.
“You're right. Kenya is Big Dawg, and now she owns half of Crestwood.”
When my sister, Kenya, offered to host my campaign launch dinner, I was expecting something small and intimate, but only Zayden and Kenya would turn a simple family gathering into a damn luxury event.
As much as I hated for folks to make a fuss over me, I had to admit this was bigger than me.
This wasn’t just a celebration. It was a presentation of power and legacy.
And for the first time since agreeing to run, I decided to lean into this process.
I stopped playing small and proudly answered questions about prison reform and restorative justice.
The second we took our seats, Genesis came flying down the front steps at full speed.
“Uncle Jare!”
That baby hit my legs so hard I almost lost balance. I laughed, catching her automatically before lifting her into my arms.
“There goes my ballerina.”
Genesis grinned and did a twirl in her pretty frilly purple dress. “Daddy said you're famous now.”
“Your daddy lies.”
“You are famous,” she whispered dramatically. “People take photos of you when you’re outside, and I've seen TikTok videos of you.”
I blinked. “What did you see?”
Genesis did a guilty smirk. “Promise you won’t be upset?”
I extended my pinky out to hers and took her little pinky inside of mine and did a shake. “I promise.”
Camilla burst out laughing beside me. “Oh no.”
Genesis nodded seriously. “One had slow music and turned you into a clown.”
I looked to the sky as if I were about to cry, then picked up Genny and began tickling her.
Genesis laughed loudly while wrapping her little arms around my neck.
My niece was the sweetest little girl. Channy was so worried about adjusting to the move from Hellertown to Crestwood.
But she seemed happy. She loved attending YaYa’s dance studio with her cousins and watching Genesis cling to me, and her uncle Zay made me realize how important consistency really was for kids.
She trusted us completely because we kept showing up.
Zayden walked inside the room, grinning, “There goes the mayor!” He wore a burgundy sweater and a gold watch that probably cost more than most people’s first apartment.
I shook my head, laughing while dapping him up one-handed.
“You really leaning into this mayor shit, huh?”
“Nah,” Zay smirked. “If the city is leaning into it, so should we.”
Kenya appeared right behind him, holding a program. “Everyone, take your seats. We are about to get started.”
Inside, the house looked like a damn political fundraiser already.
As we sat down, I couldn’t help but look around at the large floral arrangements that sat everywhere in blue and gold.
Campaign posters lined the walls. Catering staff moved through the kitchen.
A band was hired to play the instrumental version of my favorite R&B songs.
And right in the center of the massive living room?
My bougie ass family had a giant illuminated sign that read:
Davis For Mayor
Camilla noticed me staring at the sign, and immediately her hand slid into mine quietly.
“You okay?”
I stared at the sign for another long second before answering.
“Yeah.”
But I was lying. Truthfully, I felt overwhelmed as hell.
Because prison teaches men how to survive invisibility.
Now, suddenly, the whole city was looking at me.
My dad walked over, dressed in one of his royal blue church suits.
He hugged me tightly before pulling back with suspiciously emotional eyes.
“You alright, son?”
“There goes another person asking me that.”
“Cause this is big.” My dad looked around the room quietly afterward. “You know your mother never imagined this for you.”
That statement hurt my heart. Shit was complicated.
I felt like a fuckin’ idiot for not suspecting that my mom was behind it, but Milla kept reminding me who would suspect their own mom.
The realization that she had an affair, had another child, was living a double life, but was money laundering and stealing from my dad’s church fucked me up.
Her desire for power was so fierce that she gave testimony that corroborated a DA’s story, who just wanted to close the case.
While everyone was quick to mention how the system failed me, it was my own flesh and blood who failed me the most. So, of course, my dad’s words hit a sore spot for me.
I didn’t think my mother imagined much beyond survival and secrets anyway.