Page 72 of Free to Fall

Half the time, I walked around like I was eighty, but the second Creed showed up to train with me, it was like my body forgot it was hurt. Creed wasn’t letting me slack either. He kept tellin’ me“Yo ass gon’ be stronger than ever when this over, I promise you that.”We worked, together. Side by side. Just like old times. And when I wasn’t training... I was home. With her.

Me and Egypt, we ain’t talk about the nursery. We ain’t talk about the box of neutral baby clothes that showed up. It was sitting in one of her guest rooms, the one that was supposed to be our baby’s nursery. She hadn’t touched it. I hadn’t touched it.But we both walked past it like it was a damn tombstone. Her Nana had sent it. I remember her sayin’ she’d get stuff shipped before we even left Memphis, so I knew it wasn’t a mistake, it was just bad timing. Real bad. But somehow... even with all that weight... we were good. Closer, even.

She made time for me. I made time for her. We talked. We cooked. She rubbed my shoulders after therapy sessions and let me kiss her until her breath caught. We held each other in silence. We existed—no pressure, no expectations—just us.

And the more time passed... the more I knew; I loved her. I always had. But now I loved her in a way that felt permanent. Like, even if we lost everything—we’d still haveus.

I needed to do something—something permanent. Something that would stay with me, even when the world moved on. That pain? That loss? It didn’t just fade because I got cleared for physical therapy or cause I was finally gettin’ decent sleep. That shit still sat on my chest every morning when I woke up and turned to see Egypt’s back curled toward me. I knew she was still grieving. Hell, so was I. And there was a part of me that hated myself for not protectin’ her the way I was supposed to.

So I hit up my tattoo artist, Juice, told him I needed something done low-key, private. We’d been talkin’ about linkin’ since I got out the hospital anyway, and he always made room for me no matter what. I told Egypt I had to meet Creed for a few hours and kissed her goodbye, tryin’ not to look too guilty.

I got the tattoo on the inside of my right bicep—my left side was still healing, still sore as hell from the bullet. The design was simple: our baby’s original due date in roman numerals, just under a pair of soft angel wings, shaded with the same care I wish I’d been able to give them. I didn’t cry. I sat there in silence, eyes forward, letting the pain of the needle drag every bit of emotion I’d been holding in, to the surface.

It was dark by the time I got back home. Egypt had already lit candles around the kitchen, the scent of her lemon pepper salmon hit me the second I walked through the door. She looked up from the stove, that tired but beautiful smile meeting me halfway.

“Hey,” she said softly, wiping her hands on a towel before coming over to greet me. She kissed my cheek, eyes searching mine. “You good?”

I nodded, placed my hand on her belly out of instinct. It was flat again, but I still felt connected to what used to be there. “Yeah, baby. Just needed some air.”

After dinner, we curled up on the couch in our usual spot, watching reruns of Suits on Netflix. It was our chill time, time we spent not worrying about anything outside of our space. After we finished watching the show, I showered, careful not to get the bandage wet. When we got in the bed, I kept my arm out of reach, but Egypt noticed anyway.

“What’s that?” she asked, brushing her fingers along the edge of the gauze. “You hurt yourself again?”

“Nah,” I said, swallowing the lump forming in my throat. “Just...got somethin’.”

She sat up a little, brow raised in confusion. “You got a tattoo?”

I hesitated. Then nodded. “Yeah.”

She didn’t say nothing at first, just looked at me like she was trying to figure out if it was some dumbass idea or something deeper. I pulled back the bandage slow and turned my arm toward her. The second her eyes locked on it, she froze. The silence was thick. Then I felt her fingertips ghost over the ink.

“Nas...” Her voice cracked.

“It’s the due date,” I said, keeping my voice low. “I didn’t wanna forget. I wanted...somethin’ to remind me of what we lost, but also what we had. Even if it was for a little while.”

Tears welled in her eyes, but she didn’t look away. She placed her hand flat on my chest. “You didn’t have to do this.”

“Yeah, I did,” I said, pulling her closer. “Because I love you, E. I love you more than I ever thought I could love somebody. And I know we been through some real ugly shit. But we still here.”

She leaned in, pressing her forehead to mine, her breath warm against my skin. “We are,” she whispered. “But it still hurts.”

“I know,” I said, letting my hand tangle in her curls. “And it’s gon’ hurt. But I’m right here. Ain’t goin’ nowhere.”

She kissed me then, slow and deep, tears still sliding down her cheeks. We didn’t say anything else. We didn’t need to. The tattoo was a promise. That even in our pain, I was in this—for her, for us, for what we’d lost... and what we still had left to build.

I should’ve been sleepingnext to Egypt, holding her through the night like I’d done the last few weeks, but something kept nagging at me…Unfinished business. So, the next morning, after she left for a studio session with Averi, I called my driver and told him where I needed to be.

California State Prison.

After the two niggas he sent after me got caught, one of them snitched and told that it was in fact Nate who had sent them after me. It was something I already knew but left it up to the police to figure out. Not long after the nigga snitched, Nate was arrested. It was the very least he deserved, I hoped and prayed that he got more.

I sat in the cold-ass visitation booth, palms flat on the table, jaw tight. Glass thick as hell in front of me, but it still couldn’t block the noise in my chest. The ache. The fuckin’ anger.

Then he walked in…Nate. That same smug ass walk he always had, like he ain’t done nothin’ wrong a day in his life. But his eyes told a different story this time. They looked tired, edges dull. Like time finally caught up with his bullshit. He sat down, picked up the phone, and leaned back like we was just two niggas choppin’ it up.

“Damn,” he said with a crooked grin. “I ain’t think you’d actually show up.”

I picked up the phone slowly, staring through the glass like I could knock it down with just my eyes. “Yeah. Well. I had to look my big brother in the face before I told him he dead to me.”

---