Chapter 8
ADAIR
Adair pulled his coat on one arm at a time, phone tucked between his ear and shoulder as he slid his watch on, adjusted the strap, staring at his reflection in the front hall mirror. His line-up was fresh, jacket tailored to perfection.
"Nigga, she already here," Tate said on the other end, music thumping low through the line.
Adair paused, lips pressed together. “She look good?”
“Don’t she always? Geechie been on her ass since she walked through the door. Posted up near the bar like he forgot who she used to be married to. His bitch ass.” Tate kept going. “She ain’t bitin’ though. Just went to shake her ass with Reeka and Narri. Bro…they out there cuttin’ up.”
Adair paused at the counter, in the midst of grabbing his keys, jaw tight as Tate went on about the scene at the party.
But it wasn’t just Sabine dancing that had his blood running hot.
It was the mention of Geechie. His cousin had always been reckless with his mouth.
Never crossed the line—at least not outright—but he had a way of looking at Sabine a beat too long.
Saying slick shit when Adair wasn’t in the room. Jokes that weren’t quite jokes.
“Boy, if she ever leave you, I’m shootin’ my shot.”
The nigga had always been reckless with his mouth. Adair used to laugh it off. Brushed it off like he didn’t hear it. But he heard it. Every time. And now? Now that they weren’t together? Geechie wasn’t joking anymore.
Growing up, they could never get along. Geechie was a year older and hated the way everyone bragged about Adair being smart, being the one who would “make it out.” He never said it outright, but Adair could feel it in every jab, every side comment, every time he’d try to punk him in front of the other people like having brains made him soft.
Even now, grown as hell, Geechie hadn’t changed. Still careless. Still moving like loyalty was optional. He’d told the whole block one night, drunk off brown liquor and attention, “If I wanna fuck something, I’m gon’ fuck it. Family or not.”
And now? He wasn’t just looking at Sabine anymore. He was watching her. Probably following her around the party, saying slick shit and getting too close. Tate’s play-by-play had Adair’s blood simmering.
Adair never liked that nigga. Never trusted him.
And if he touched what was his? He was gonna have to show him he wasn’t the little cousin no more—never been even if in age.
“You sure you wanna pull up?” Tate asked, more serious now. “Cause if you not solid in the stomach, this might not be the spot. She not in ‘co-parent’ mode tonight. She look like her damn self again.”
“I’m on the way.”
Adair’s tires crunched over gravel as he pulled into the back lot behind the venue.
He turned the ignition off, but didn’t move.
Just sat there for a second, staring out the windshield at the warm haze of neon lights bleeding through his tinted windows.
He rubbed his thumb across the steering wheel.
Sabine hadn’t always been so distant. There was a time she would’ve dragged him to this kind of party, stood by his side all night, their little inside jokes tucked in every glance.
But that was before the lie. The years-long lie that lived under their roof like a squatter.
One he thought he could outpace. Bury in love and routine.
But Sabine found it.
And it wasn’t just the lie, it was the betrayal of what it took to keep it hidden.
What it said about the way he moved. About what he was willing to risk and when she looked at him that night…
God, that night—it wasn’t anger he saw. It was devastation.
Like something inside her cracked and she didn’t know if it could ever be sealed again.
That’s what broke them. Not just the truth but what the truth did to her. To them. To the family they built with their bare hands and sacrifice.
Adair exhaled, finally stepping out the car and straightening himself. The night air hit his skin, sticky with weed smoke. He rounded the building, spotting a cluster of men out front, leaning against cars, passing bottles, sharing blunt pulls.
Then he saw Geechie.
Posted by the door, watching the entrance.
His sneaky grin was too wide. His posture too smug.
Adair clenched his jaw and kept walking, ignoring the nods and handshakes as he approached the front.
He was here for Reeka but more than that—he was here because he couldn’t stay away. Not from her. Not from Sabine.
Even if she didn’t want to see him. Even if the lie still sat between them like a wound that refused to close. He stepped into the venue and the music made his ears pop.
Adair’s eyes adjusted to the dim light just as the DJ cut into a new set. Ass everywhere. Champagne flutes clinking. Lashes batting. Women dancing like they had no bills, no jobs, and no baby daddies they regretted.
And then—he saw her.
Sabine was across the room, mid-laugh, head thrown back slightly, rhinestone dress hugging her hips like a second skin. Her curls framed her face like a halo, glinting under the lights. She wasn’t trying to be the center of attention but somehow, she always was.
It was like the day he’d seen her dancing at that party on campus—off beat, but the sexiest thing he’d ever seen.
She moved the same now, unbothered by rhythm, unbothered by eyes.
Motherhood had changed her—her hips a little wider, thighs fuller, her softness settling in places it hadn’t before but she was still beautiful.
Maybe even more so now. Worn in and womanly in a way that made him crave every part of her.
She was with Reeka and Narri, laughing, swaying, barely keeping up with the rhythm while they did way too much on either side of her.
Sabine couldn’t dance to save her life, and everybody knew it, but that never stopped her.
She moved anyway, hips rocking offbeat, arms half-raised in the air.
It was the way she didn’t care that caught him.
Free. Confident. Like she was finally breathing again.
Adair didn’t move. He stood in the shadows for a second longer, letting his eyes adjust, letting his mind catch up to the beat of the room.
Tate slid up beside him, a drink in hand, already smirking. “Told you she wasn’t in co-parent mode.”
They dapped up, Adair’s eyes still trained on the small group near the middle of the room—Sabine, Reeka, Narri.
Laughing, dancing, bumping shoulders to the beat.
Sabine looked good. Not just the fit of her dress or the press of her curls against her cheek but the way her smile cracked wide and unbothered.
That carefree kind. The kind he hadn’t seen in years.
“She can’t even dance,” Adair muttered, mostly to himself. “With her no rhythm havin’ ass.”
“Nigga stop hatin’!” Tate cracked the fuck up. “She movin’ like she got a new nigga!” he teased his friend. Adair exhaled through his nose; jaw set tight. His hand flexed once at his side, then stilled.
They stood there like that. Two men watching their pasts twirl in slow motion until the moment seemed to come to a screeching halt.
Geechie’s bitch ass. He moved from the bar like he’d been waiting for the perfect beat drop. Drink in one hand, gold chain swinging, eyes locked on Sabine like she was his next target instead of his cousin’s ex-wife.
Adair’s body stiffened.
“What the fuck is he—” Tate started.
Before either of them could finish the thought, Geechie slid behind Sabine and grabbed her hips. No warning. No ask. Just palms full and grinding like he owned the music and the woman moving to it.
Reeka’s reaction was instant. She shoved Geechie back with both hands, eyes wide and furious. “Nigga, is you out your fuckin’ mind?!” she’d already peeped Adair come in but either way she wouldn’t allow him to cross the line like that whether her other cousin was in attendance or not.
The music didn’t stop, but the moment shifted. People turned. Sabine had stumbled forward, clearly caught off guard, her expression somewhere between shock and disgust.
Adair’s blood was already hot because no matter what a paper said, no matter how much time passed, there were certain lines that didn't get crossed.
Geechie? He just crossed them with both feet and hands.
Adair was moving before Tate could get the full “chill” out.
He cut through the crowd with purpose; shoulders squared, teeth clenched, eyes locked on the cousin he never claimed in spirit.
He didn’t even care where he flung his suit jacket but it had to come off.
Geechie was still laughing, trying to play it off, until a fist cracked across his jaw like a thunderclap. “What the fuck?!” he stumbled back, blinking, but Adair wasn’t waiting for a response.
Adair grabbed his collar and slammed him into the edge of the bar, sending glasses rattling and drinks flying. Years of tension, slick comments, sideways glances, every little piece of disrespect, old and new, came out in punches.
“I shoulda BEEN beat your bitch ass!”
“Yo, DAYNE!” Tate was yelling now, trying to cut through bodies as people scrambled to back up. “CHILL!”
Reeka was screaming for her cousin to stop and the DJ had dropped the sound down low but didn’t kill it.
“Adair STOP IT!” Sabine’s voice rang out, frantic. She tried to grab his arm, grabbing onto the crook of his elbow, but he jerked too hard. Too blind and she lost her footing. Her heel twisted and the next thing she knew, she was on the ground, palms stinging, eyes wide.
“Sabine—!” Reeka was already there, dropping to help her up.
That’s when Adair froze. Fists mid-air. Breathing wild. Rage still thick in his veins but it all came crashing down the moment he saw her on the floor. Not hurt bad but hurt by him. Even by accident, that was too far.
“Shit…” he muttered, stepping back, like he’d finally come up for air. “Fuck.”