Chapter 23
Tammy
The day I packed Evelyn's last box, I cried harder than I did at the cemetery.
Maybe because graves tell you what they are.
Boxes pretend they are just storage until you open them and find a grocery list in your mother's handwriting, a church fan, a photo of you missing two teeth, and a folded note that says pay light bill in blue ink.
Kira sat on the floor beside me and cried into a sweatshirt she claimed was dusty.
Rico carried boxes to the car and pretended not to notice.
Damian stayed in the doorway until I called him in.
He sat beside me without asking what to do.
I handed him a photo.
Me and Evelyn at a school Christmas program.
I was wearing a red dress and looking mad about something.
"You looked like trouble," he said.
"I was an angel."
Kira snorted from the corner.
I threw a sock at her.
For the first time, sorting the past did not feel like being swallowed by it.
It felt like choosing what came forward.
Evelyn's Bible.
Savannah's letter.
The cassette.
The gold queen.
The red scarf proof from Rico.
Two names.
One life.
Mine.
? ? ?
That night, Damian and I sat on my porch.
No guards close enough to hear.
No phones in our hands.
Just the summer air and the sound of Kira singing off-key inside while she made tea she did not plan to share.
"I thought I would feel done," I said.
Damian looked at me.
"With what?"
"The story. The grief. The anger. All of it."
"Do you?"
"No."
He nodded.
"Maybe done is not the point."
I looked at him.
"Listen to you."
"I have been around wise women lately."
I smiled.
He took my hand.
"What is the point?" he asked.
I thought about it.
"Not letting it choose for me."
He kissed my fingers.
"Then you are doing that."
I looked down at my ring.
"I want the wedding at New Mercy."
His eyebrows lifted.
"The church where all the crimes started?"
"The church where my mother sang, where the ledger was hidden, where Savannah came home, and where I got to say both names out loud."
He nodded slowly.
"New Mercy it is."
"Small."
"How small?"
"Small enough that Tone complains about not having an audience."
"He will complain anyway."
"True."
Damian leaned closer.
"Whatever you want."
I studied him.
"You mean that."
"I do."
The man who once turned fear into orders now sat on my porch and let my wants take up space.
That did something to me.
I stood and held out my hand. "Come inside."
His gaze moved over my face, checking for grief, fear, second thoughts.
I gave him none.
"Tammy."
"I know what I want."
He took my hand.
Inside, Kira's singing had stopped. The house was quiet except for the soft hum of the air and the sound of Damian locking the door behind us.
No guards close enough to hear.
No phones in our hands.
No emergency waiting to swallow the moment.
Just us.
I led him to my bedroom and turned to face him. For once, I did not wait for him to decide how careful he needed to be with me. I pulled his shirt up, and he let me. My hands moved over his chest, his shoulders, the scar near his ribs that still reminded me how close I had come to losing him.
He caught my wrist and kissed my palm.
"I'm here," he said.
"I know."
Then I kissed him.
His hands slid around my waist, pulling me in until there was no space left between us. He kissed me like he had been holding back all night and finally had permission to stop. My back touched the wall. His mouth moved to my neck, and my eyes closed because peace had never felt like this before.
Warm.
Heavy.
Mine.
I opened his belt while he lifted my dress over my hips. His hand moved between my thighs, and my breath caught against his mouth.
"You sure?" he asked.
I looked right at him. "I said I know what I want."
That was all he needed.
He carried me to the bed and came down over me, still watching my face like my pleasure mattered more than his control. I pulled him closer with my legs around his waist. When he pushed inside me, slow and deep, I held on to him and let the sound leave my mouth.
Not because I was scared.
Because I wasn't.
Damian lowered his forehead to mine. His breathing broke first.
"There you are," he whispered.
I almost cried then, but not from pain. Not from grief.
From relief.
From wanting him and having him. From knowing this moment did not belong to Bishop, or Savannah's secrets, or Evelyn's warnings, or the past trying to name me.
It belonged to me.
To us.
He moved inside me with both hands in mine, slow enough to make me feel everything, deep enough to make me forget the world had ever been loud.
I lifted my hips to meet him, and his control slipped in pieces.
A groan left him. His mouth found mine again.
I loved the sound of him losing himself with me.
"Damian," I whispered.
"I got you."
"No," I said, holding his face. "I got you too."
That made him still for half a second.
Then he kissed me harder and moved like the words had gone straight through him.
Pleasure built between us, warm and full, filling the room until all I could hear was his breathing, my own, the bed beneath us, the life we were choosing one touch at a time.
When I came, he held me through it.
When he followed, my name broke in his mouth.
Afterward, he stayed inside me, heavy and warm, his face against my neck.
I ran my hand over the back of his head.
"This is what I meant," I whispered.
"What?"
"Beginning."
He lifted his head and looked at me.
Not dangerous.
Not guarded.
Just mine.
And for the first time, that felt like enough.