AMAI #3
“Victor’s the same animal. Different fur.
” I watched that land, watched her go still in the particular way she did when she was actually listening instead of just waiting for her turn to talk.
“Winston uses fear. Everybody in a room with him knows exactly what he is within five minutes—the scars, the guns, the way he talks like every sentence is a threat wearing a suit. Victor’s not like that.
Victor will sit across from you and make you feel like the only person in the world he trusts.
He’ll call it family. He’ll call it sacrifice.
And the whole time, he’s deciding what you’re worth to him and what he’s willing to lose to keep you. ”
“Sounds like somebody I know,” Truth said, but there was no venom in it, just an observation, and it landed harder for that.
“Maybe,” I said, because I wasn’t going to pretend I hadn’t done my own version of that math with people I claimed to love.
“But I’m telling you this because I don’t want you underestimating him just because Yaya still loves him.
That love doesn’t mean he’s safer than Winston.
It might mean he’s more dangerous because people don’t see him coming the way they see Winston coming. ”
Truth was quiet for a moment, turning that over. “So, what happens if she never tells you?”
“Then I find another way to Victor. I always do.” I said it plainly, no threat in it, just the truth of how this worked. “But I’d rather she give it to me than make me take it from her.”
“Because it’ll be worse if you have to take it.”
“Because it means she chose to survive instead of making me choose for her.” I looked toward the hallway, where the sound of her sisters’ laughter had faded into something lower, more private.
“I don’t enjoy what happens in that room, Truth.
I want you to understand that, even if you don’t ever have to see it. ”
She studied me like she was deciding whether to believe that, and something in her expression told me she already had her answer before she asked the question that came next.
“And if she gives you what you need,” she said, “what happens to her after that?”
I didn’t answer right away. The question deserved better than a quick response, and Truth had a way of knowing the difference between me thinking and me deflecting. I got up and fixed myself a drink.
“Whatever they’ve got going on,” I said finally, “it’s real.
At least for now. I’ve watched enough people lie to save themselves to know what that looks like, and that’s not what I saw when Yaya was crying about him getting hurt.
That wasn’t strategy. That was fear for somebody she doesn’t want to lose. ”
“You sound surprised.”
“I am.” I turned my glass slowly, watching the ice shift. “Didn’t think either of them had that in them. Not with everything else going on around them.”
“So, what happens to her? For real, Amai. Not the version where you dodge the question.”
“If she gives me something I can use—something that actually gets me closer to Victor—I’ll let them go.
Both of them. Out of New Orleans, no coming back.
” I said it the way I’d say any other business decision, because that’s what it was, even if it didn’t feel that simple.
“I won’t touch her accounts. Those stay frozen.
But Syx gets access to his money. His trust fund too.
They can go build whatever they’re building somewhere I don’t have to watch it happen. ”
Truth stared at me like she was waiting for the catch. “You’d really do that.”
“I said I would.”
“Amai.” She said my name like it meant something different than usual. “That’s—that’s actually kind.”
“Don’t make it weird.”
“I’m not making it weird. I’m pointing out that you just offered two people a way out of your family’s war with terms they can live with, and that’s not something I expected from you two months ago.”
“You’re making me soft,” I said, and I meant it as an accusation.
“No.” She shook her head, and there was no teasing in it, just certainty. “I’m making you human.”
I didn’t have a response for that. Not because she was wrong—because she wasn’t, and there wasn’t a version of me that knew what to do with being right about something I’d spent my whole life avoiding.
“I need to see my mama tomorrow,” she said, letting the silence sit instead of pushing on it.
“I can take you tonight.”
“Tomorrow.” She was firm about it, not unkind. “I want to go when I’m not running on adrenaline and half a conversation about Victor’s daughter. I want to actually be present with her.”
“Alright.”
“And is it okay if my sisters stay a little longer? They’re having a good time. Raven hasn’t stopped talking about your pool.”
“They can stay as long as they want. This is our house.”
Truth’s eyebrows lifted, slow and deliberate. “Our house.”
“That’s what I said.”
“Amai.” She crossed her arms, and I recognized the posture—the one that meant she was about to correct something before it became a habit.
“I’m not living here. Not permanently. I have a place I love.
Mimosa Ct is mine. I picked it. I furnished it.
I made it safe on my own terms before any of this happened. ”
“I know.”
“Do you? Because it sounded like you were already deciding something.”
“I heard you,” I said, and I made myself slow down, because she deserved that much. “This house is here if you need it. It’s not replacing what you built for yourself. I’m not trying to erase that.”
She studied me for a moment, like she was deciding whether to believe it. “Because I’ve had enough people in my life decide things for me and call it protection.”
“I’m not doing that.”
“You almost did it right now.”
“I know.” I set the glass down and reached for her hand, pulling her closer until there was no space left between the words and the truth of them.
“The house is yours to use. Not yours to be stuck in. There’s a difference, and I’m not going to blur that line just because it’d be easier for me if you stayed. ”
“Easier for you,” she repeated, softer now.
“Everything about this is easier when you’re close. I’m not going to pretend otherwise.” I tilted her chin up, met her eyes directly. “But I’m not going to take Mimosa Ct from you to get what’s easier for me. That’s yours. It stays yours.”
“Promise me something,” she said, and her voice had that quiet weight to it, the kind that meant she wasn’t asking for a small thing.
“Promise you won’t let temporary turn into permanent just because you decided it should.
If I go back there, I go back there because I chose to, not because you ran out the clock waiting for me to give up. ”
“I promise.”
“Say it like you mean it.”
“I mean it.” I pressed my forehead to hers and felt her breath slow against my mouth. “You built something for yourself. I’m not stupid enough to tear that down just because I like having you close.”
She exhaled, some of the tension leaving her shoulders, and when she kissed me, there was nothing soft about it—it was a claim, same as mine, two people choosing each other without either one disappearing into the other.
“Good,” she murmured against my mouth. “Because I meant every word.”
“So did I.”
Honor came around the corner, still holding her plate, syrup from the pound cake she’d found in my kitchen smudged at the corner of her mouth. “I should’ve brought a bathing suit,” she said, eyeing the pool through the wall of glass like it was calling to her.