Chapter 41 Prime
PRIME
Fifteen minutes early. Couldn’t sleep anyway. Had been up since four, staring at the ceiling, replaying our fight over and over in my head.
I’d spent the last two days trying to convince myself I didn’t care. That if she wanted to leave over some bullshit, that was on her. That I wasn’t about to chase a woman who didn’t trust me.
But here I was. Early. Like a nigga who cared way more than he wanted to admit.
I texted her.
Me: I’m outside.
No response.
I waited five minutes. Texted again.
Me: Come on. We got a 3 hour drive.
Three dots appeared. Then disappeared. Then nothing.
I was about to get out and knock on her door when it opened.
Yusef came out first, backpack on, dressed nice in slacks and a button-down. Probably the most formal I’d ever seen him. He spotted my car and his face lit up.
“Prime!”
He jogged over, and despite everything, I felt something loosen in my chest. This kid. Something about him got to me in ways I couldn’t explain.
“What’s good, lil man?” I got out and dapped him up. “You holding up okay?”
“Yeah.” He nodded, but I could see the heaviness in his eyes. The weight he was still carrying. “I’m good.”
“You look sharp. Very professional.”
He almost smiled. “She made me wear this. Said I had to look presentable.”
“She’s right.”
The door opened again and Zahara stepped out.
She looked good. Too good. Navy blue dress, hair pulled up, minimal makeup. Classy. Put together. The kind of woman you’d be proud to have on your arm.
But her eyes were ice when they landed on me.
“Let’s go,” she said flatly, walking past me toward the car. “We’re gonna be late.”
No good morning. No acknowledgment. Nothing.
I clenched my jaw and opened the back door for Yusef. “Hop in.”
He climbed in, glancing between me and his mother with that nervous look kids get when they know something’s wrong but don’t want to ask.
Zahara was already in the passenger seat, seatbelt on, staring straight ahead like I wasn’t there.
This was gonna be a long three hours.
The first hour passed in silence.
The city traffic was light this early, so we made good time getting out of the city. Yusef had his earbuds in, head against the window, eyes closed. Probably not sleeping, but checked out. Smart kid. Knew when to disappear.
I kept my eyes on the road, but I could feel Zahara’s coldness radiating from the passenger seat. Every few minutes, I’d glance over, and she’d be staring out the window, arms crossed, jaw tight.
Stubborn as hell.
Just like me.
By the time we hit hour two, Yusef’s breathing had evened out. Actually asleep now, his head lolling against the window.
I turned the music down.
“You gonna ice me out the whole ride?”
Zahara didn’t respond. Didn’t even look at me.
“Aight.” I nodded slowly. “That’s how we doing this.”
More silence.
I let it sit for a few more miles. Then I couldn’t take it anymore.
“You ain’t mad at me, Zahara.”
That got a reaction. Her head turned slightly, just enough to cut her eyes at me.
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me.” I kept my voice low, mindful of Yusef in the back. “You ain’t mad about those panties. Not really. There’s something else going on with you.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Yeah, I do.” I switched lanes, passing a slow-moving truck. “I’ve been thinking about it for two days. The way you reacted—that wasn’t just about Farah. That was about something deeper. Something you ain’t telling me.”
Her jaw tightened. “I don’t have to tell you everything.”
“You’re using those panties as an excuse.” I glanced at her, saw her flinch. “You were looking for a reason to push me away. And Farah’s shit gave you one.”
“That’s not true.”
“Then look me in my eye and tell me you really believe I fucked her.”
She didn’t respond.
“That’s what I thought.”
“Just drive, Prime.” Her voice was tired now. Defeated. “Please. I can’t do this right now.”
I wanted to push. Wanted to make her tell me what was really going on. What secret she was holding so tight it was suffocating both of us.
But Yusef was in the back. And we had a parole hearing to get through.
So I let it go.
For now.
The prison rose up out of the Maryland mountainside like a concrete nightmare.
Gray walls. Guard towers. Razor wire glinting in the morning sun. The kind of place that swallowed men whole and spit out whatever was left years later.
I’d done time. Knew what these places did to you. The thought of Meech spending years inside, regardless of what he’d done, made something in my chest twist.
We parked in the visitor lot and I cut the engine.
“Yusef.” I turned to look at him. “Wake up, lil man. We’re here.”
He stirred, blinking awake, confusion flickering across his face before he registered where we were. Then something else crossed his features.
Fear.
“You good?” I asked.
“Yeah.” He straightened up, trying to compose himself. “I’m fine.”
He wasn’t fine. But I didn’t push.
We got out of the car and made our way toward the entrance. Zahara walked slightly ahead, putting distance between us. Yusef stayed close to me, like he needed the protection.
Inside, the process was dehumanizing as always. Metal detectors. Pat-downs. IDs checked and double-checked. Everything you brought in scrutinized like you were the criminal.
Zahara moved through it all with a strange calmness. She was almost detached. I knew she ain’t wanna be here and I couldn’t blame her.
Finally, we were led to the hearing room.
It was smaller than I expected. Institutional. A long table at the front where the parole board would sit. Chairs arranged in rows for witnesses and family. A separate area for the inmate.
And standing near the front, waiting for us, was Rashid.
He looked good. Distinguished. Gray suit, perfectly pressed. Salt-and-pepper beard trimmed neat. The kind of presence that commanded respect without demanding it.
“Prime.” He pulled me into a hug, clapping my back. “Thank you for coming, son. This means everything.”
“I keep my word.”
“I know you do.” He released me and turned to Zahara, his expression softening. “And you must be Zahara. I’ve heard so much about you.”
Zahara’s face did something complicated. A smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “Nice to meet you.”
“I apologize we haven’t met before now.” Rashid took her hand in both of his. “I’ve been traveling a lot. Business overseas. But that’s no excuse. You’re important to Meech, which means you’re important to me.”
“Thank you,” she said quietly.
Rashid turned to Yusef, and his whole demeanor shifted. Warmer. More open.
“And you must be Yusef.” He extended his hand. “I’ve been wanting to meet you for a while now. I hear you’re quite the piano player.”
Yusef shook his hand, looking uncertain. “Yes, sir.”
“I’m your uncle.” Rashid smiled. “Your father is my nephew so that makes you my nephew too.”
Something flickered in Yusef’s eyes. Hope, maybe. The desperate kind that kids get when they’ve been let down too many times but still want to believe.
“Yes, sir,” he repeated. “It’s good to meet you.”
Rashid squeezed his shoulder. “Good man.”
Then the side door opened.
And Meech walked in.
He looked the same as before. Wiry. Hard. That jagged scar running from his temple to his jaw.
His eyes found Rashid first. A nod of respect.
Then me. His jaw tightened.
Then Yusef. A flicker of something.
And then he saw Zahara.
He stopped cold.
The guards had to nudge him forward, but his eyes never left her face. His brow furrowed. Deep. Confused.
He sat down in his designated spot, but he kept turning around. Staring at her. His head tilting like he was trying to figure something out.
Throughout the entire hearing, he couldn’t stop looking.
The parole board reviewed his case. Asked their questions. Meech answered on autopilot, but his attention was elsewhere. Every few minutes, he’d turn and stare at Zahara with that same confused expression.
And she wouldn’t look at him. Not once.
When they called her to testify, she stood on shaky legs.
“State your name and relationship to the inmate.”
“Zahara Ali. I’m his son’s mother.”
Meech’s eyes narrowed.
“Demetrius is a good father,” she continued, her voice mechanical. “He’s always cared about Yusef. I know my son wants his father home.”
She was lying. I could hear it. And she still wouldn’t look at Meech.
She sat back down, trembling.
Meech kept staring at her. Something shifting in his expression. Confusion turning to suspicion. Suspicion turning to recognition.
The board deliberated. Returned.
“Mr. Walker, this board has decided to grant your request for parole. You will be released in three weeks.”
Rashid exhaled with relief. Yusef shifted uncomfortably.
Zahara went rigid.
We filed out of the hearing room into the hallway.
Rashid was talking about next steps, logistics for Meech’s release. Yusef walked beside me, quiet. Zahara was already moving toward the exit, head down, walking fast.
Then I heard the door open behind us.
Meech was being escorted out by guards, heading the opposite direction. But when he saw us in the hallway, he stopped.
His eyes locked on Zahara’s back.
“ZAINAB!”
The name echoed off the concrete walls.
Zahara froze.
“ZAINAB!” Meech was fighting against the guards now, straining toward us. “WHERE IS ZAHARA? WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU DO TO HER?”
The hallway went silent.
Rashid turned, confusion on his face.
Yusef’s eyes went wide with terror.
And Zahara—she still hadn’t moved. Still had her back to him.
“THAT’S NOT ZAHARA!” Meech growled. “THAT’S HER TWIN SISTER! WHERE THE FUCK IS MY BABY MAMA?”
The guards finally pulled him through the door. It slammed shut, cutting off his voice.
But the damage was done.
I walked around to face her.
Her eyes were closed. Tears streaming down her cheeks. Her whole body trembling.
Rashid stood frozen, confusion all over his face.
Yusef was crying silently.
“Zahara.” My voice was low. Dangerous. “Look at me.”
She opened her eyes.
And I saw it. The truth. The lie. Everything she’d been hiding since the day we met.
“Who the fuck are you really?”
She opened her mouth. Closed it.
Silence hung in the air.
And everything I thought I knew shattered into a million pieces.
To be continued…