21. Not everything should grow
NOT EVERYTHING SHOULD GROW
S pring told herself she was going over there for clarity. That she just needed Preston’s honest read – to hear someone who’d actually been close to Cameron say whether she was reaching, or whether her gut was picking up on something real.
This is about Cameron, she repeated the whole drive.
Still, when she pulled onto Preston’s street and felt that familiar easing in her chest – the kind that only came from places that once felt like home.
She missed him. His presence. His steadiness. The way time slowed when they were in the same room. She missed all of it.
She shook it off. Focus.
She parked and stepped out of the car – and immediately froze.
Her father was on the porch. Talking to Macknificent.
They stood close, voices low, the posture of two men having a private conversation in plain sight.
Spring slowed her steps, watching the exchange like a scene she hadn’t directed, but already understood the beats of.
Her dad noticed her first. “Hey, baby.”
Mack turned, smile ready. "Nairobi.”
Her eyes flicked between them. “What’s going on with you two?”
Her father answered too easily. “Just finishing up some things for Cameron.”
Something tightened in her chest. “Oh,” she said lightly. “I didn’t realize you were his lawyer.”
Mack nodded. “Your dad handled some of the legal wrap-up. Estate stuff. Clean and professional.”
Spring smiled, polite but sharp. “That’s funny.”
Mack raised an eyebrow. “What is?”
She tilted her head. “I just read an article that had Cameron flanked by a different attorney when he signed with you.”
There was a brief silence – not long, but noticeable.
Mack chuckled. “Oh, that? Lawyers rotate all the time. You know how that goes.”
Spring turned to her father. “Do I?” He opened his mouth, but hesitated. She cut in, gentle but firm. “Dad. You know I can tell when you’re bullshitting, right?”
His expression faltered for half a second. “Spring?—”
Before he could finish, the door opened.
“Hey,” Preston said, stepping out, unaware of the tension. “Everything okay?”
Spring exhaled slowly, grateful for the interruption. “Yeah,” she said. “I was actually coming to see you.”
Her father stepped back instinctively. Mack took a sip from the glass in his hand like none of this concerned him.
She walked over to Preston. “I brought some of Cameron’s things,” Spring continued. “Thought you might want them.”
Preston nodded immediately. “Yeah. I’d like that. Thank you.”
Mack smiled. “When are you heading out?”
Spring met his gaze without blinking. “I’m not in a rush anymore.”
He paused. “Oh?”
“There’s no documentary to shoot at the moment,” she said evenly. “So I’ve got time.”
Something shifted. Just a hairline crack. But enough for Spring to take inventory. She hadn’t even been sure she was staying until that moment.
Mack recovered fast. “You know, they say idle time can be dangerous.”
Spring smiled. “That’s not what they say at all, but I’ve always liked a little danger.”
Preston glanced at her, then at Mack, sensing the undercurrent, but not yet addressing it.
Spring turned toward the house , looking at Preston. “You got a minute?”
Preston nodded. “Always.”
As they stepped inside, Spring felt it again – that quiet certainty she’d been circling all day. She wasn’t imagining things. And she hadn’t come here just to see Preston.
They found a private room in the house and settled as the door closed behind them.
Preston didn’t sit. He leaned against the counter, arms folded, watching her the way he used to – giving her a second to decide how honest she planned to be. “So,” he said finally. “What’s the real?”
She slipped her bag off her shoulder, set it down slowly. “What do you mean?”
He scoffed, half a smile tugging at his mouth. “I know you didn’t come all the way over here just to drop off Cameron’s stuff.”
She met his eyes. He rolled his, and shook his head. “Don’t tell me you’re going full Sherlock, homegirl.”
She sighed at having been caught, then smiled. “It’s too late.”
He threw his hands up, pacing once, like he needed to burn off energy. “Preston Cole, a free man, minding his Black-owned business – and here you come, with a mystery to solve.”
She laughed. “That’s not how you used to say it.”
He stopped, pointed at her. “You are not pulling me into one of your little investigations, Spring.”
She tilted her head. “You mean one of my episodes ?”
“That’s not what I called them.”
“What did you call them?” she asked, already knowing.
He smirked. “Nairobi Noir.”
She blinked. “Oh my God.”
“You get that look,” he continued, tapping his temple, “head cocked just like that, eyes doing the math. You start asking questions you already know the answers to. ”
She crossed her arms. “You loved it.”
“I tolerated it.”
She stepped closer. “You depended on it.”
He shook his head, but he was smiling now. “Nah. What I depended on was you eventually deciding I was innocent.”
“Which you usually were.”
“Usually,” he echoed.
Silence stretched – comfortable, dangerous. Then she said it. “Your card declined the other day.” Preston shifted his body weight as she continued. “You didn’t like the card thing either.”
His smile faded. Not all the way, but just enough. He leaned back against the counter, arms crossed tighter now. “I told myself it was nothing. Cards glitch. Banks glitch.”
“But?”
“But,” he admitted, “it didn’t sit right.”
She nodded, slow and satisfied – not smug. “It didn’t sit right with me either. But when your mom brought it up too…”
He looked at her, searching. “So, what are you saying?”
“I’m saying, you were already in this episode of Nairobi Noir,” she replied. “I just showed up to confirm it.”
He stared at the floor for a spell, then back at her. “You know if this goes left?—”
“I do,” she said immediately. “Which is why I’m not asking you to blow anything up.” She stepped closer again, voice lower now. “I just need you to tell me if I’m tripping… or if something about Mack and Cameron never added up to you either.”
He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he did the thing . Ran his hand over his face, dragging it down slow. Same gesture he used to do backstage, in hallways, on nights when decisions felt too big for how young they were.
She smiled softly. “You still do that.”
“Do what?”
“That thing you do,” she said. “When you’re about to tell me the truth.”
He laughed once, quiet. “I hate you.”
“No, you don’t.”
Their eyes met. “No, I don’t,” he admitted.
And just like that, whatever line they’d been pretending wasn’t still there… thinned.
“Okay,” he said finally. “You want the real?”
She nodded.
“Then, yeah,” he said. “Something about it always felt off. That’s why I clocked it.”
She didn’t celebrate or press. She just breathed. Because that was all she needed to hear.
Preston rubbed the back of his neck, eyes drifting somewhere past her shoulder. “Back in the day, I didn’t sign with Mack because I wanted to,” he admitted. “I signed because I had to.”
Spring didn’t interrupt.
“And then, when I took the hiatus,” he continued, “I still owed the label. Advances. Tour support. Nobody tells you your work isn’t really yours.” He gave a humorless laugh. “I was burned out, not broke – but the math didn’t care. So, Mack made another deal. One that took care of things.”
She nodded slowly. “He bought you out.”
“Yeah.” He met her eyes. “Clean. On paper.”
Her chest tightened at the phrasing.
“Your dad was my lawyer from the jump,” Preston added. “Everything was legit. Transparent. Above board. We trusted him because… well, history.”
She nodded, but stayed quiet.
“Then the market tanked,” he said. “Streaming dipped. Touring slowed. Artists started selling their catalogs just to survive.”
“And Mack didn’t push you to,” she said.
“No,” he replied. “He made sure I didn’t.”
That surprised her.
“My catalog mattered to my mom,” Preston said softly. “She still doesn’t own hers. Never did. Mack knew that. Protected mine like it was sacred.”
Spring leaned back against the counter, absorbing the information.
“Cameron saw that,” she said.
Preston nodded. “He saw how Mack took care of us. And after I stopped touring, after I couldn’t bring him on as my backup anymore… he wanted his shot headlining.”
Her throat tightened. “He never told me that.”
“He wouldn’t,” Preston said. “He didn’t want to sound bitter.
Or needy, or frustrated. Cameo just wanted to be his own man after I stopped touring.
We wrote Glances together and that was such a hit, he knew it was time to do his own thing.
Mack was in his ear daily around that time.
Then one day he just stopped showing up.
We’d still text from time to time, but it got distant, the way the legal stuff happened with that song.
I wasn’t in a headspace to deal with it though. ”
Silence settled between them.
Then Spring straightened. She touched her necklace and tapped it twice, something Preston noticed but didn’t call out. After a spell, she said, “Okay,” she said. “I’m doing this.”
He blinked. “Doing what?”
“This,” she said, tapping her temple. “I’m following my instincts. Which means I’m going to need full access. You. Conversations. Contracts. Moments. All of it.”
He sighed dramatically. “I knew you were gonna say that.”
“And,” she added, “I’m not tiptoeing around the elephant in the room.”
He frowned. “Spring?—”
“My dad,” she said plainly. “I know.”
Preston held his expression steady, but the tension showed around his mouth. “If this goes where I think it might?—”
“I’ll deal with that when I get there,” she cut in. “I’m not protecting anyone at the expense of the truth.”
He studied her for a long beat. “You’re asking me to trust you with the money. You know that’s always dangerous ground.”
She stepped closer. “I’m asking you to trust that I won’t burn everything down just because I can.”
He exhaled. “That’s not what scares me.”
“What does?”
“That I won’t be able to stop you,” he said.
A small smile touched her lips. “You never could.”
They stood there, close enough to feel the old gravity. Finally, Preston said, “So what are we calling this?”
She considered. “Nothing. We’re just going to have a simple conversation.”
He smirked. “That’s never what it ends up with you.”
“No,” she agreed. “But it’s always where it starts.”
And for the first time since Cameron’s name became a question instead of a memory, Spring felt something click into place. Not answers, but direction.
Preston studied her, trying to figure out which version of her was standing there – the filmmaker, the girl he used to know, or the woman who’d walked back into his life sideways.