Chapter 8 #3
There were no accusations. No questions.
No pressure. Just a lifeline. Monroe stared at the message longer than he intended.
Guilt settled heavily in his chest because Promise deserved more than the version of him she'd received. She’d given him space without any of the answers she deserved, and still willing to talk to him after he’d shown his entire ass for no reason.
She deserved honesty and clarity, but Monroe had given her silence, distance, and confusion instead.
But, beyond the anger and deception and everything else happening around him, Promise’s simple text had come right on time.
Monroe had thought it over, and for the first time in a long time he felt caught between two worlds.
One built from his past, and one built for his future, and standing between them felt like the most dangerous place he'd ever been. He’d started to text her back three times before he decided against it.
It didn’t feel like enough. She deserved more than a text from him, more than a phone call.
She deserved a face-to-face conversation, and he wanted to see her… needed to see her.
Monroe locked his phone without responding.
"Meeting adjourned," Mitch announced, breaking through Monroe’s thoughts.
Everyone stood, business resumed, but Monroe remained seated for a few extra seconds.
Staring at the Manhattan skyline, Monroe was consumed and overwhelmed with thoughts of Promise, his mother, Sienna, and a daughter he'd never met. The shit still rubbed him wrong, and it fucked him up even more knowing his mother was the culprit behind the shit. How did I miss this shit? The war hadn't started yet, but Monroe knew his mother like the back of his hand. Once she caught wind of her demotion, all hell was going to break loose, and everyone knew there was nothing worse than a family that was divided. It didn’t have to be this way, but she’d done this shit to herself.
Monroe shook his head, and ran frustrated hands down his face.
“You good, nephew?” Mitch inquired, placing his hand on Monroe’s shoulder.
“All is well, Unc,” Monroe answered. “I’m ready to head out. You good?”
“Of course. You tryna hit up that new food spot up the street?” Mitch asked.
“That’s cool. A nigga is kinda hungry,” Monroe admitted, unable to ignore the rumbling of his stomach. “Lead the way, Ol’ school.”
Mitch laughed. “Yeah a’ight.”
Mariah The Scientist's Burning Blue crooned through Promise's car speakers as she cruised down the expressway that led to Monroe's home.
At eight o'clock at night, her thoughts were moving faster than the traffic around her.
Several days had passed since their disagreement, yet the memory of it confused her further.
The more she replayed the conversation in her head, the less sense it made.
It wasn't like Monroe to deflect or take the tone he had with her.
He wasn't the type of man who shut her out, and he damn sure wasn't the type of man who left things unresolved.
That was what bothered her the most. Not the disagreement itself, but the unfamiliarity of it.
Not knowing what had caused the shift had sent her mind reeling.
She had been trying her best not to jump to conclusions by thinking the worst, but she had given up her comfort zone to be closer to him.
She had rearranged her life because she felt like they were gaining ground together, and for once she had allowed her heart to take the lead.
Being with Monroe had required something she'd never freely given another man before, and for some women this may have been an easy task, but for Promise, it took a lot of prayer and trusting the process for her to make the moves she had.
Her father had taught her to never place herself in a position where her heart outweighed her logic.
To stand firmly in her own space, and make a man prove he belonged there.
He’d taught her to always make a man come to her, but Monroe was the exception.
He'd shown her something different… he'd made her feel a purity she'd never experienced before, and it had taught her that vulnerability wasn't always weakness.
Honest. Genuine. Trustworthy. Monroe was all of these things, and it had made Promise fall harder for him than she'd ever admitted out loud.
Truth was, this is what made the distance between them feel unbearable.
She couldn't take it any longer. The silence between them made her heart jittery, creating a sense of loneliness Promise struggled to cope with.
She missed her man.
Missed the comfort she found buried in his embrace.
Missed the smell of his cologne lingering on her skin long after he was gone.
Missed the sound of his voice, giving her peace in the crevices of her soul.
When they were together, they disappeared into a place that existed nowhere on a map and everywhere in their hearts. They'd found refuge in a place that existed between their heartbeats, and Promise longed to retreat to the language she and Monroe spoke fluently every time they were together.
As she pulled into Monroe's driveway, a shared sense of weight and relief sat on her shoulders.
She brushed it off, parked her car, and made her way to his front door to let herself in.
Quickly, she closed the door and disarmed the home security alarm, then made her way up to Monroe's room.
He hadn't made it home yet, so Promise had decided to set the atmosphere, and wait for him to walk through the door.
Four hours later, Monroe walked through the door with a smile on his face, knowing that Promise was there waiting for him.
Slowly, he trekked up the stairs, smooth in his own right, but his heart sped at the sight of Promise sitting in the center of his California king bed, writing in her journal and vibing to Jastin Martin's Want This To Happen with her eyes closed.
That was one thing about Promise, she was going to keep a journal on hand no matter where she was in the world.
She couldn't sing a lick, but nobody could tell her shit in this moment.
Monroe leaned against the doorframe amused, but didn't disturb her.
He'd missed her, and being able to lay eyes on her in his home filled him with a peace he couldn't explain.
The last few days had been a living hell.
Every answer he uncovered seemed to create ten more questions, and the weight of it all had followed him everywhere he went.
Yet standing there, watching Promise sing off-key with her journal in her lap and not a care in the world, something inside him settled.
For the first time in days, he felt himself breathe.
Promise had always been more than his woman. She was his haven. The one place where he could simply exist without carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. God knew he needed that tonight.
"Monroe!" Promise exclaimed when she opened her eyes. The music was so loud she hadn't heard him when he came in the house.
"What's good, Doll?" he greeted with his signature smirk. "Couldn't stay away from yo' nigga, huh?"
Promise laughed.
"Oh, I could've, but I ain't want to. I missed you," she admitted, boring into his eyes. How such simple words had the power to penetrate and warm his heart while simultaneously making him feel so fucking guilty was a mystery Monroe had yet to figure out.
"Is that right?" He asked, walking towards the bed. "I know I don't deserve it, but can a nigga get a hug?" Monroe asked smoothly, but his eyes begged Promise to say yes.
Promise smiled warmly as she stood, but didn't say a word. Just walked into his arms because that's where she belonged. That was her spot, and she wasn't ready to give it up. They melted into each other like butter in a hot skillet.
"I missed you too, Doll," Monroe murmured into her ear before kissing the nape of her neck. "I'm sorry for how I acted the other night. That was all on me, you ain't deserve that shit," he confessed. "I just had a lot on my mind, but that ain't no excuse for my actions. It won't happen again."
Promise leaned her head back slightly, and pecked his lips before speaking.
"I appreciate the apology, Monroe. I hate to pry, I just really care about you.
I accept everything about you. The good and the bad.
There's nothing you can tell me that will make me walk away from you," Promise told him seriously.
"Where was your head the other night?" She needed to know.
The time had come for Monroe to come clean with Promise about Sienna, finding out that he had a daughter, and all the things he'd found out about his mother...
but he couldn't. The truth sat at the tip of his tongue, but so did uncertainty.
Every answer he'd uncovered had opened the door to another question. He wanted to trust that their relationship could stand through the storm that had struck, catching them off guard, but there was still so much he hadn’t tapped into yet.
There were still too many loose ends, and it felt wrong for him to drop a burden on her heart when he hadn't yet figured out how he'd shoulder it.
"It was just some street shit, Doll. Mu'fuckas from Chicago got out of line.
It's handled now though," he lied, feeling like shit, and hating the words as soon as they left his mouth. Not because Promise believed him, but because she trusted him. Promise had never made him feel like he needed to wear a mask. Never forced him to become anything other than who he was, and that’s what made lying to her even worse. But, as fucked up as it was, he still couldn’t look her in the eyes and come clean yet. He needed more time.
Promise bore into his eyes, still feeling like there was more to the story, but she chose to let him make it.