Page 50 of Before I Say I Don't
The memory of that hotel room—the silence, the calm—slid over my skin like a blanket I didn’t deserve but wanted anyway.
“What kind ofsomething?” I quizzed, letting the question roll off my tongue softer than necessary—half teasing, half invitation.
“The kind that helps you breathe.”
A laugh slipped out of me—small, traitorous. I pressed the heel of my hand to my eyes until the pressure erased it.
“Okay. I’ll slide through after work.”
“Cool. 1627 W. Belmont. 6:00… if you’re off. And come hungry.”
“It’s Friday, so I’ll definitely be off early. And you don’t have to tell me twice about coming hungry.” I giggled, softer than I meant to.
Roman chuckled.
Our call wrapped up less than a minute later, but the warmth lingered long after.
Two weeks before my wedding, and it wasn’t my fiancé reminding me to eat, asking how I slept, or making plans to spend time together. He seemed oblivious to my needs, as if my well-being was of little importance to him. I could have been fading away, lost in a sea of stress and coffee, and he wouldn’t have noticed. When Viangelo did pay attention to me, it felt more like a transaction—he took my time, drained my energy, spent my money, and tested my patience.
But Roman? He had a gift for noticing the nuances that made up my days—the soft smile I wore when I genuinely laughed or the subtle way my eyes sparkled when I talked about my passions. His attentiveness made me pause and reflect: when had I stopped expecting that kind of care from the man who was supposed to be my lifetime partner?
I tucked the thought away, slid the phone into my bag, and grabbed my keys.
As I made my way to the front door, I stopped in front of the mirror hanging by the entrance. I took a moment to really observe my reflection. Looking back at me was the familiar gaze of my mother, capturing both her strength and concern, reminding me of her unwavering love.
Chapter Eleven
ROMAN
Icruised through the familiar streets of my old neighborhood that still knew my name. It was the kind of place that raised you tough but would rob you blind if you looked too comfortable. I wasn’t above it, but I wasn’t dumb either.
Before I hit the block, I took a moment to prepare myself. I checked my piece, slid the mag in, and racked it once. It wasn’t a matter of paranoia; more like insurance. I was in a matte black Maybach—fresh tint, rims that kissed the sunlight. On that side of town, the wrong shine could get you checked.
As I rolled up to the address Viangelo had sent me, I immediately noticed him lounging casually in his ride with the engine idling, the music low, and one arm hanging lazily out the window.
I shifted into park, cut my engine, slid my phone open, and tapped record—out of habit, not hesitation. A good lawyer doesn’t just listen; he—or she—builds a record. And if Viangelo slipped and gave me something worth filing, I needed to be ready to capture it.
Before exiting my whip, I took a moment to survey my surroundings. In the distance, I saw two kids tossing a ball. Nearby, an elderly man sat firmly planted on his creaky stoop,seemingly oblivious to the world around him, his gaze fixed on the street with a blend of nostalgia and weariness. Over by the corner store, a pair of vultures circled lazily—same old soundtrack.
I stepped out and slid into Viangelo’s car, the door closing us in tight.
“What’s good, my boy?” he grinned, hand out.
I met his palm with a quick slap, the familiar dap that brought back memories of our carefree days hanging out together.
“I was starting to think you were going to bail on me,” he said, looking relieved.
“Nigga, you’re cutting into my gym time, so yeah—almost,” I told him, then leaned back casually. “But what’s good? And why yo’ ass ain’t at work?” I asked as if I didn’t already know.
He smirked. “Shid, some of the homies treating me to a little last minute getaway; you know I wasn’t gon’ turn that down. I would’ve invited you, but hell, you’re already on vacation, and the last thing you probably want isanothertrip. So I figured you’d turn it down, especially since you hate doing shit last minute… with yournonspontaneous ass.” He chuckled.
“Only when the moment calls for it.” I winked.
“Shid, the invitation is still open.”
“Nah, it’s cool. I already got plans anyway.”
“Oh, yeah?” Viangelo adjusted his cap. “I meant to ask you yesterday… what’s your relationship status looking like these days? You got a lil’ shorty or some?”
