Page 22 of Juke
“Sophi… Sophi!”
Rashad’s voice cut through the air like a saw. I blinked hard, and the dark blur of the room suddenly shifted as the lamp on the nightstand clicked on. I looked to the side of me, and Rashad was kneeling beside the bed, shirtless, and his eyes locked on mine. His hands hovered just a few inches from me, like he was ready to catch me but scared to startle me.
“Sophi…” he called out. “Look at me, mama.”
Turning to face him, he looked at me full of concern.
“I couldn’t breathe,” I choked out. “I—I was back there. He grabbed me. Screaming at me. I could feel it, Rashad. Like it was happening all over again.”
His jaw ticked hard, and his nostrils flared. The muscles in his cheek flexed like he was holding back his rage.
“You ain’t there no more. You hear me? That shit ain’t real. You ain’t gotta worry ’bout that nigga no more… not while I’m here.”
I wrapped my arms around myself like I could hold all the pieces together, but I was shattering. I was tired of feeling like this… like I was drowning. Rashad didn’t speak as he climbed onto the bed. He sat behind me and wrapped both arms around my body, pulling me into his chest like he was trying to shield me from everything that ever hurt me. I broke right there in his arms. My tears soaked into his skin, my fingers clutching his forearm like it was the only thing keeping me from falling off the edge.
“I got you,” he whispered against my temple. “You hear me? Ain’t nobody touching you, or hurting you. You can trust that.”
My only response was to cry harder, my face buried in his bare chest, feeling the heat of his skin and the strength of his arms wrapped tight around me.
“You’re safe, Sophi,” he assured. “He’s not getting near you. Not while I’m here.”
His tone shifted like he meant every word he spoke.
I nodded slowly, still trembling.
The steady thump of his heart in my ear anchored me. It made the room feel real. It made me feel protected. After a while, he loosened his hold, shifting like he was about to get off the bed.
“I’ma let you rest,” he mumbled.
“Don’t,” I pleaded, clutching his wrist. “Can you… stay? In here with me?”
His eyes softened, but he didn’t say a word—just nodded and moved without hesitation.
“Yeah,” he murmured, pulling the covers back and sliding in beside me.
I scooted over, and he followed, his body sinking into me instantly. He didn’t hesitate to reach for me, pulling me intohim, one arm across my waist, the other tucked under my head like a pillow. I let myself melt into it… into him. His grip was firm, but not tight. Protective, not possessive.
“Go to sleep,” he uttered. “I’m right here, and I’ain going nowhere.”
I didn’t answer because I knew that even in my most broken moment… even when I couldn’t stand on my own… Rashad showed up, and he held every piece of me like it was worth protecting. In a world that never felt safe… that meant everything, because somehow, in his silence, I found peace, and for the first time in a long time, I let myself believe it.
6
Juke
It’d been almost two weeks since I spent that night in Sophi’s bed. Since I held her close, felt her heartbeat slow under my hand, and told her without saying much that she was safe. We haven’t talked about it since. She hasn’t brought it up, and neither did I. That doesn’t mean it didn’t mean anything because it did…at least to me it did. I still think about the way she folded into me like she’d been waiting her whole life for someone to keep her safe without asking for something in return. The way her voice cracked when she asked me to stay. How she finally had a peaceful night’s sleep. That shit felt good… she felt good. A part of me hated how much I wanted to feel it again. I told myself I was just looking out for her as a favor to Buck ’nem, but I wasn’t fooling a damn soul but myself. Somewhere along the way, looking out for her turned into looking for her. I couldn’t do anything without Sophi invading my thoughts. Like now, I was at the gym, trying to sweat her out of my system like she hadn’t already set up shop there.
“Aye… hands up,” I snapped, nodding at Malik, the hard-headed thirteen-year-old in the ring with me. He had fast hands but no damn focus. He kept throwing combos like he was shadowboxing in his bedroom mirror.
“Come on, man. You gone get yo’ ass beat swinging like that. I know hos with better form than that.”
He scowled but threw another jab, but it landed soft against the mitt.
“Nah,” I growled. “Tighten the fuck up.”
I stepped forward and gripped the collar of his shirt, pulling him just close enough to make his damn heart race.
“You think this shit a game?” I damn near growled. “You think this shit don’t matter?”
