Page 58 of Free to Fall

“Then tell me who the fuck gave you the address!”

“Egypt…language.” Nana warned again, her voice sterner now. I knew she wouldn’t repeat herself a third time, but I was too mad to give a damn.

“I’m not gon’ do that.”

“Why? Cause you know I’m right? Because whoever it is knew damn well, I didn’t want to see you?—”

“It was me,” Nana said firmly, her voice slicing through the tension like a hot blade.

I whipped around to face her. “What?”

“I gave him the address, baby,” she said calmly, her eyes soft but unyielding. “I called him.”

My entire face scrunched with disbelief. “How? When?”

She wiped her hands on a kitchen towel and turned to face me fully. “You remember when I asked for your phone to look something up and sent you inside to get my sweet tea and caramel cake?”

I blinked, remembering that day clearly. “You said you were just checking your email.”

She nodded with a little shrug. “I lied. I went into your contacts and texted myself his number. Before I went to bed, I called him up and we talked. I erased the text I sent myself so you wouldn’t suspect anything. Figured you wouldn’t like it.”

My mouth opened, then closed, then opened again. “Oh my God, Nana—are you freakin’ serious?”

“Don’t take that tone with me, Egypt Alexandria,” she said with a firm clap of the towel against the counter. “I might be old, but I’m not senile. That boy looked like he needed to speak to you. And you? You’ve been walking around here with pain allover your face pretending you’re fine. I wasn’t about to sit back and watch y’all ruin your lives with stubbornness.”

I stepped back, stunned. “You had no right.”

“I had every right,” she snapped, pulling herself up to full grandma height, which, mind you, wasn’t much, but that tone made her feel ten feet tall. “I raised you. And I know when you need a push.”

“This is not a push, Nana. This is a shove.”

She didn’t blink. “Then you better land on your feet. Now both of you, go wash up. Dinner’s almost ready, and I don’t serve food to ungrateful mouths that ain’t clean.” That voice. That grandma voice. Me and Nasseem both stiffened like two bad-ass kids who just got scolded in front of the whole congregation.

I glared at him one last time and turned sharply toward the hallway bathroom. He followed me silently, the sound of his soft steps trailing mine like a ghost. I shoved the bathroom door open and moved to the sink, gripping the edge hard enough to crack the porcelain. I didn’t even look at him. Not yet.

He stepped in behind me and gently shut the door. “Egypt, I?—”

“Don’t.”

“I didn’t come here to fight.”

“You shouldn’t have come here at all, Nasseem.”

“I just wanted to see you and talk to you.”

“Well, congratulations. You saw me. Now you can go.”

“I ain’t goin’ nowhere,” he said, voice low but stubborn as hell. “Your Nana invited me here. And I’m stayin’ as long as she wants me to.”

That made me finally turn to face him, eyes narrowed. His jaw was set. Brows slightly furrowed. There was no smugness, no smirk, no flirty banter in his expression. Just a man who was tired, guilt-ridden, and maybe a little scared. I hated how much I still loved that face.

I turned back to the sink and turned on the faucet, scrubbing my hands way rougher than I needed to. Water splashed over the edge. I didn’t care. He stepped up beside me and washed his own hands in silence.

We stood shoulder to shoulder, both of us tense as hell, neither saying a word until he grabbed the towel before I could. He handed it to me, our fingers brushing. I snatched it without looking at him.

“I’m still mad,” I said quietly, drying my hands.

“I know.”

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