Chapter 18 Zainab
ZAINAB
The relief washed over my entire body, relaxing muscles I hadn’t even realized were tense. My chest could finally take in full breaths of oxygen again. I was home with my family.
Well, not home home. But close enough.
Prime had rented us a castle in the Hollywood Hills while we waited for the trial.
An actual castle—turrets, stone archways, stained glass windows, a bell tower you could see from the master bedroom.
It sat high above the city with views that stretched from Hollywood to the ocean.
Jasmine climbed the garden walls outside, and the whole place smelled like old stone and flowers and money.
Our footsteps echoed on the marble floors as we carried the Roscoe’s bags inside. Through the stained glass, the city lights fractured into a thousand colors—red, blue, gold—like we were living inside a kaleidoscope.
It was a place that made you forget you were on house arrest with a murder charge hanging over your head. Almost.
As soon as we left the courthouse, we’d stopped at Roscoe’s Chicken and Waffles for takeout.
I had been craving something hyper-palatable for weeks.
The food in jail was bland, disgusting, and void of any real nutrition.
I knew Roscoe’s wasn’t exactly health food, but I’d get back on my health kick after I devoured those chicken and waffles, mac n’ cheese, collard greens, and black-eyed peas.
The thought of being on house arrest until after the trial didn’t even bother me.
Honestly? Maybe I needed to sit down and not do much for a while.
But in the quiet moments, my mind wandered to the case.
How was I going to beat this trial? The evidence against me was weak, and Yusef was my alibi.
We walked in on the body together. Before that, I was at work.
Now that I could breathe, I wasn’t all that worried about getting convicted. I was more worried about how I could get to Thad. How I could shoot him in the face the same way he did my sister. But for now, I just wanted to eat with everyone. Be present. Be grateful.
“Damn, Zai, you tearin’ up those wings. A chicken would hate to see you comin’,” Quest joked as we sat around the dining table. The room had ceilings that stretched up forever and a chandelier dripping with crystals, but we’d spread the Roscoe’s containers across the fancy table.
“I’m eating for two,” I said with a stuffed mouth. Felt more like three or four. I had never been this hungry in my life.
“And what’s your excuse?” I teased back after I swallowed. He had eaten much more than me.
“Sympathy eating. I’m feelin’ what you feelin’,” Quest said, straight-faced.
“Nigga, you ain’t her man,” Prime laughed.
“We all family. I’m an empath. I can feel everyone’s energy.”
Camille rolled her eyes while Yusef and I cracked up. It felt too damn good to be around all this positive energy.
“Zai, I’m going to let you settle in for a day or two. But then we need to start working on your defense.” Camille’s voice shifted, that lawyer edge creeping back in. “Quest and I have to fly back to DC, but we’ll FaceTime.”
“Okay. And thank you—for getting me out. I missed these guys so much.” I reached for both Yusef and Prime’s hands.
For the rest of dinner, we talked and joked. I got caught up on Yusef and his therapy sessions with Sloane. Prime filled me in on everything happening with Sweet Zin. Quest and Camille talked about Banks Reserve and the new casino. It was like I hadn’t missed a beat.
But I was also missing Mehar, Serenity, and Grandma Rita. I wanted to see Justice and the girls. They had all become fixtures in my life.
But this was enough for now.
After we walked Quest and Camille to the door and said our goodbyes, the castle felt quieter. More intimate. Just the three of us—four, counting my baby girl doing flips in my belly.
“Uno?” Prime asked, holding up a deck of cards he’d found in one of the drawers.
Yusef’s eyes lit up. He nodded eagerly, already moving toward the living room.
We settled on the plush velvet couches in front of the massive stone fireplace. The flames crackled and danced, casting warm shadows across the room. Outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, Los Angeles glittered beneath us.
“Aight, no cheating,” Prime said, shuffling the cards. “And that means you, Yusef. I seen you hiding cards under your leg last time.”
Yusef’s mouth dropped open in mock offense. He shook his head vigorously, then pulled out his phone and typed quickly before turning it to show us:
That’s cap. YOU’RE the cheater. I learned it from watching you.
“Oh, so we doing this?” Prime laughed. “You got jokes now?”
Yusef grinned and shrugged innocently. But his eyes were mischievous. That boy was about to destroy us and he knew it.
Prime dealt the cards, and for the next hour, we played round after round. Yusef was ruthless—stacking Draw Fours, reversing when Prime was about to win, hitting me with skips when I had one card left. Every time he won, he’d do a little silent celebration, shoulders bouncing, face smug as hell.
By the second game, I caught Prime sliding Yusef an extra card under the table.
“Y’all cheating TOGETHER now?!” I threw my cards down. “Against the pregnant lady?!”
Yusef’s shoulders shook with silent laughter. Prime tried to keep a straight face but failed miserably.
“It’s called an alliance, Goddess.”
“It’s called TREASON.”
Yusef typed on his phone again: Sorry Auntie. Every man for himself. And I’m winning.
“Oh, you think you cute?” I snatched the cards and started shuffling. “New game. I’m dealing this time. And I’m watching BOTH of y’all.”
By the third game, I was laughing so hard my belly hurt. Prime kept losing anyway, even with Yusef’s help, and his face was getting tighter each round. Yusef noticed and started doing exaggerated victory dances just to annoy him.
This. This was everything I’d missed. This was everything I’d been afraid I’d never have again.
Eventually, Yusef’s eyes started getting heavy. He tried to fight it—kept rubbing his face and sitting up straighter—but the yawns won.
“Go to bed, baby,” I said softly. “We’ll play more tomorrow. And I’ll beat both y’all cheating asses.”
He looked like he wanted to argue, but another yawn cut him off. He stood, came over to hug me tight—holding on longer than usual, like he was making sure I was real—then gave Prime a fist bump that turned into a half-hug.
I watched him disappear up the spiral staircase toward his room and felt my chest tighten with love.
“He missed you,” Prime said quietly.
“I missed him too. Missed both of y’all.” I turned to look at him. “Thank you. For taking care of him while I was gone.”
“That’s my son, too.” He said it simple. Matter-of-fact. No room for debate.
I blinked back tears. Damn pregnancy hormones.
Prime stood and held out his hand. “Come on, Goddess. Let me take care of you now.”
The master bathroom was unreal. A soaking tub big enough for four people sat in front of another wall of windows overlooking the city. Prime had dimmed the lights and lit candles everywhere—when had he even had time to do this?—and steam rose from the water. Rose petals floated on the surface.
“Boy, you did all this?”
“You deserve it. Get in. I’ll be right back.”
I stripped out of my clothes slowly, avoiding the mirror at first. But then I caught my reflection and couldn’t look away.
Seven months pregnant. My body was… different.
Fuller. Rounder. Stretch marks like lightning bolts across my hips and lower belly.
My nipples had darkened, spreading wider.
A faint brown line ran down the center of my stomach—the linea nigra.
My thighs touched in ways they never used to. My face was rounder, softer.
I barely recognized myself.
In jail, I hadn’t felt like a woman. Just a number. A body in orange scrubs shuffling from cell to cafeteria to cell. No one touched me with tenderness. No one looked at me with desire. I’d started to forget what it felt like to be soft. To be wanted.
I touched one of the stretch marks and felt… shame. Which was stupid. I was growing a whole human. But still.
I lowered myself into the water before I could spiral further. The heat wrapped around me instantly, seeping into my aching muscles, my sore back, my swollen feet. I closed my eyes and let my head fall back against the edge of the tub.
A few minutes later, I heard Prime come back. I opened my eyes to watch him undress. The candlelight caught the definition of his chest, his abs, those arms that had held me through the worst moments of my life. He stepped out of his sweats and boxers, and I let my eyes travel down.
Seven months pregnant and this man still made my mouth water.
He climbed into the tub behind me, settling so I could lean back against his chest. His legs bracketed mine, his arms wrapped around me from behind, hands coming to rest on my belly.
“This feel good?” he asked.
“You have no idea.”
His hands started moving. Slow circles on my belly, massaging the tight skin where our daughter was growing. His thumbs pressed into the small of my back, working out knots I didn’t even know were there.
“Tilt your head back.”
I did, and I felt him reach for something. Then warm water poured over my hair, and his fingers were in my scalp, massaging shampoo through my coils.
I almost cried.
It was such a small thing. But no one had washed my hair in… I couldn’t remember how long. And his fingers felt so good, working in slow circles, scratching gently at my scalp.
“I love taking care of you, Zai.” His voice was low. Tender.
“I appreciate it.” My voice cracked.
“You know, I got you. Whatever you need. Whenever you need it.”
The tears came then. Not sad tears—release tears. Weeks of fear and loneliness and trying to be strong pouring out of me in the safety of his arms.
He didn’t tell me to stop. Didn’t try to fix it. Just held me, kept massaging my scalp, let me feel whatever I needed to feel.