Chapter 20 Four Days Later
Four days later
“T h i s s h i t c l e a n as a muthafucka.” Noddin’, I adjusted my cuff and glanced down at the mirror, rollin’ my jaw.
Years ago, I woulda never pictured myself standin’ in a tuxedo shop gettin’ fitted for a tux for my fuckin’ weddin’ wit’ my niggas. I was really marryin’ Nyomi in a week and some change.
“Damn, Knuck,” Kev said from the chair, eyes wide. “You really gettin’ married, bro.”
I smirked. “That’s the plan, right?”
Wayne let out a low whistle from where he was gettin’ measured. “Ain’t no way this fool really ‘bout to jump that broom.”
“Shit,” Antt muttered, adjustin’ his sleeves. “The way it’s lookin’, this nigga might cry when Ny walk down that aisle.”
I chuckled, but the weight of it hit different today as I sat down on the edge of the leather bench. We had the shop smellin’ like cologne and good weed.
“You good, bro?” Wock asked, standin’ in just slacks and a wifebeater while he waited for his jacket.
“Yeah,” I said. “Just thinkin’.”
“‘Bout what?”
I looked up. All four of them was watchin’ me now. “‘Bout how wild this shit is,” I admitted. “All the shit I done did. All the bitches I done ran through. All the times I told myself love wasn’t for me and all I needed was pussy. Now look. Ny got me gone.”
Kev leaned forward. “You in love, bro. Real love. That shit don’t gotta make sense to nobody else but y’all.”
Wock nodded. “Facts. Ny’s the one for you. She don’t move like none of these other chicks. She’s solid. That’s a real woman right there.”
Antt raised a brow. “Alla that’s cool, but nigga… is you really ready for the married part? Not the weddin’… I’m talkin’ marriage. The forever tied to it.”
I rubbed my palms together and exhaled through my nose. “Hell yeah. I mean… I ain’t gon’ hold you. I used to think… what if I fuck it up? What if I can’t be the husband or the father she needs me to be every day? But that shit quickly faded. I know what I bring and the type of nigga I am, feel me?”
Wayne nodded slowly. “That’s real.”
“Ny ain’t ever asked for perfection, just peace,” I said. “Effort and loyalty. I got her on all that shit.”
Kev snapped his fingers. “That part. You been loyal to the streets, the code, and to the gang. Now it’s just time to transfer that loyalty home.”
Wock leaned against the wall. “That woman loves you out loud, bro. And it ain’t even ‘bout what you do or what you got. She really fuck wit’ your wild ass.”
“Exactly.” We all laughed, but the weight of his words stuck wit’ me.
The tailor came back over wit’ a fresh jacket for him, and everybody started movin’ again, but I stayed seated for a second. I pulled my phone out and opened Nyomi’s latest text ‘bout comin’ to her appointment in the mornin’.
We was finally gettin’ her checked out for this postpartum shit.
I loved the message, heart damn near softenin’.
Even if I didn’t always know what the fuck I was doin’.
Even if I still had anger issues and old habits to kill, I was goin’ all in for her.
‘Cause that’s what real niggas do when they finally find somebody worth bettin’ it all on.
Kev stepped out the dressin’ room shruggin’ on his jacket. “Y’all got vows ready? Like, y’all writin’ your own or just recitin’ that traditional shit?”
I paused, jaw tight. “Nah, we wrote our own.”
Wock shook his head. “Damn. You really gon’ cry, huh?”
Antt leaned back and threw his head back laughin’. “Nigga gon’ be up there wit’ the mic like, ‘From the moment I slid in you raw, I knew you was mine.’” Even the tailor snorted.
“Fuck you, bro,” I shook my head hard, laughin’ but turned serious. “Naw… on everything, I’ma keep it G but respectful. She deserves that shit.” I was really about to marry the love of my life. An hour later, niggas stepped out the tuxedo shop, and I lit up a blunt as soon as I hit the curb.
“Aye,” Wock said, hands stuffed in his hoodie pockets. “We hittin’ the bar or what?”
“Yeah,” I said. “I reserved the back section at Strokes. I need a drink and some wings after all that standin’ still bullshit.”
Fifteen minutes later, the smell of liquor, smoke, and fried food hit me as I walked in.
Strokes had been the chill spot since high school on some lowkey shit.
TVs mounted all over, pool tables in the back.
We sat in our usual section, and the evening started off wit’ Cajun lemon pepper wings and shots.
Kev took a shot class and asked, “So what’s the word wit’ this nigga Coogs? I heard he got out and shit.”
I exhaled smoke slowly from the blunt I was smoking. “Been out for a minute now. He hit me talkin’ crazy like he wants back in or whatever. Told that nigga I could put him onto a legal bag.”
Wock smacked on the wings. “That’s what’s up.”
“That’s what I thought too,” I said. “Nigga told me I was soft like I turned into a ‘suburb’ husband while he was locked up.”
Antt’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh, he on bullshit?”
“Somethin’ like that.” I shrugged. “I hung up on that nigga and ain’t talk to him since, but I know Coogs. He plottin’ like a nigga turned his back on him and shit.”
Wayne blinked. “He said that? Nigga, you held him the fuck down. Where was them other old heads he fucked wit’ back in the day? Gone.”
“Exactly,” I muttered before takin’ a shot.
Kev shook his head. “That’s wild. Fourteen years in the box will fuck wit’ a nigga’s mind. He probably still see the world how it was when he went in.”
“I get that,” I said. “But I ain’t the same nigga neither. We grow. We elevate. I’m not tryna give no grown-ass man a pack when I can give him paperwork wit’ a tax ID and a keycard.”
Wock nodded slowly. “Real shit.”
“Plus, I got a family now. I ain’t lettin’ some old loyalty drag me back in the streets deeper than I already am. And Wock, I ain’t passin’ the nigga off to you, either.”
“Did you tell him that?” Antt asked.
“I did,” I said. “Told him I respect what he did, but I’m not gon’ let him throw shade on the man I done become.” I took a slow pull from my blunt, then sat up straighter. “But that don’t mean a nigga can play wit’ me.”
Wock exhaled through his nose and picked up a shot glass, grinnin’ and shirt. “Glad to know the elevation ain’t made you a hunnid percent soft, nigga.”
I smirked. “The elevation just means I’ll bury a nigga in style.”
That got the table laughin’ again, the tension easin’ just enough.
More wings hit the table along wit’ more shots, but my mind was already ‘head of this moment. Already calculatin’.
I was gon’ give Coogs a few more days to come to his senses and accept my offer before I played my hand. That shit was grace, not weakness.
I wasn’t the same nigga I used to be, but that old me? That savage? He was still in me. I just chose to keep him quiet… for now.