11. Roman Blake #2
“I don’t own your time,” I said. “I own what I’m willin’ to watch. I wasn’t gon’ sit there and watch that.”
She sucked her teeth. “You coulda walked out.”
“I don’t walk away from what’s mine,” I snapped.
“I’m not yours.”
“I know what you ‘not,’” I cut her off. “I also know I’m not about to argue in a hood bar in front of twenty niggas with cameras out. So yeah, I handled it quick.”
She went quiet after that.
When we pulled up to my house, I killed the engine and got out without sayin’ nothin’, walkin’ to the door.
She followed, still fumin’, but she followed.
Inside, it was quiet.
I ain’t bring her to the bedroom like all the other times.
We ended up in the living room instead.
She dropped down on the couch, arms still crossed, eyes roamin’ around like it was the first time she’d actually seen the place.
Pictures on the walls.
Her gaze landed on one in particular, a photo of me and Mo at some cookout, her sittin’ on my lap, both of us laughin’. Another one next to it, her kissing my cheek.
Melissa went still.
“Who’s that?” she asked, voice softer.
I looked up.
My chest pulled tight.
“That’s Mo,” I said quietly. “My wife.”
She stared at the picture like she was tryna memorize it. “I never… I never really looked around in here before.”
“‘Cause we never made it this far,” I said, tryin’ to joke, but my voice came out rough.
She ignored that.
“She was pretty,” Melissa said. “Y’all look happy.”
“We were,” I said.
The room felt different now.
Her anger was still there, but it slid to the side, makin’ room for somethin’ else.
She turned toward me. “You never really told me the whole story,” she said. “You gave me pieces. Saint Lucia. You said you lost her, you lost a baby. But… I don’t know what actually happened.”
My throat tightened.
I looked at the pictures again, then at her.
“It was our second anniversary,” I started, sittin’ down across from her. “I thought I could mix business with vacation. Handle some shit in Italy, then celebrate. I promised her it was the last time I was takin’ the streets with me on a trip.”
Melissa’s eyes stayed on me, quiet.
“I went to meet with some people,” I continued. “Thought it’d be in and out. Instead, they tried to set me up when I said I was done. We got into it. Shots fired. I made it out, but by the time I got back to the villa…”
My voice cracked a little.
I swallowed and pushed through it.
“By the time I got back, they was already there. Bodies everywhere. My men dead. One of theirs runnin’ down the beach. Mo on the sand… bleedin’ out.”
Melissa’s hand flew to her mouth.
“She told me they was waitin’ on me,” I said, jaw tight. “Said she ain’t wanna tell me ‘bout the baby till it was perfect. She was gon’ tell me that night.”
The image flashed in my head so clear it almost knocked the air out my chest.
Her touchin’ her stomach.
Her sayin’, I’m pregnant.
“I tried to keep her here,” I said. “Held her. Begged her. But she died right there in my arms. Both of ‘em. My wife and my kid. ‘Cause of some shit tied to my name.”
A tear slid down Melissa’s cheek before she could catch it.
I looked away, blinkin’ hard.
“That’s why I went to Saint Lucia,” I said. “First time was for our honeymoon. Second time…” I shook my head. “Second time I just needed to breathe somewhere that didn’t smell like her blood.”
She sniffed, wipin’ her face. “And now it’s her birthday,” she whispered.
“Yeah,” I said, voice low. “Been sittin’ on my chest all week. I keep thinkin’ ‘bout what she’d look like now, what our kid would’ve been. If I’d really got to be a father. If I’d retired sooner. If I’d never took that meetin’.”
The silence settled between us, and I let it.
“I ain’t say nothin’ to you ‘bout it ‘cause… I don’t know how to hold both,” I admitted. “I don’t know how to miss her this bad and still want you this bad at the same time. Shit feel… wrong sometimes. Like I’m betrayin’ her.”
Melissa’s eyes softened in that way that always fucked me up.
“You not betrayin’ her,” she said quietly. “You still breathin’. That’s what this is. You allowed to love her and… want somethin’ new.”
“I don’t do halfway,” I said. “You know that. When I love, I go all in. I did that with her.” I looked up. “And I feel myself doin’ that with you, whether you ready for it or not. That’s what’s eatin’ me.”
She stared at me, breath a little shaky.
“You showed up in a fucked-up way tonight,” she said. “You embarrassed me. You scared that boy. You scared me a little too.”
I didn’t argue.
“But…” she added, voice softer, “I also know you not puttin’ your hands on nobody for fun. You movin’ off pain, off fear, off not wantin’ to lose nothin’ else. That don’t make it okay, but… I get it.”
Hearing her say she “got it” did somethin’ to me I couldn’t name.
“I’ll fix that shit,” I said. “If he come back around, I’ll make it right. Money, apology, whatever. I lost it. That’s on me.”
She nodded slowly. “You should.”
We sat there, starin’ at each other.
I felt raw and exposed, but lighter in a way, too.
Like sayin’ it out loud to somebody who wasn’t family took some of the weight off.
“I ain’t never ask you to pick between her and me,” Melissa said after a minute. “I just… I need to know if I’m bein’ used to fill a hole.”
“You not,” I said, no hesitation. “Mo got her own space in me. You do too. It’s messy, but it’s real.”
She exhaled, shoulders loosening just a little.
“Okay,” she whispered. “I can work with real.”
We ain’t kiss right then.
We ain’t fuck.
We just sat in my living room, under pictures of my past, with my future sittin’ right in front of me, and for the first time in a long time… I felt like maybe I ain’t have to choose between the two.
Later, when she finally laid down in my bed, she did somethin’ she ain’t never done before.
She reached for the nightstand picture of Mo, looked at it, then set it back gently instead of turnin’ it face-down like some women might.
“You got room for both,” she said quietly, layin’ back down and turnin’ toward me. “If you want it.”
I pulled her in, buryin’ my face in her hair.
My heart still hurt.
But for the first time, it hurt with company.
I could live with that.