Page 157 of Tangled Hearts
He collapsed beside her, pulling her close.
Noir’s voice cracked. “This is gon’ mess with my head.”
Cash kissed her shoulder. “Then let it. You mine now. We already tangled up.”
CHAPTER 36
4 MONTHS LATER
Noir rubbedcocoa butter across her belly, humming low until her phone lit up. The number was unfamiliar. “Hello?” she answered.
Silence. Then she heard a voice she recognized. A voice she wanted to forget. “Noir, it’s Chanta.”
Noir’s body went stiff. “Hell nah.” She pulled the phone from her ear, ready to hang up.
“Wait, please! Don’t hang up,” Chanta begged. “I need you to hear me out. Just for a minute.”
Noir gritted her teeth. “You in jail calling me like I’m one of your friends? Girl, get the fuck off my line.”
“Listen,” Chanta pushed through. “What I gotta talk to you about… it ain’t for the phone. I put you on my visitation list. If you can find it in your heart, just come. Just come listen. I’m begging you.”
Noir snapped, “beg somebody else. You and Christian broke me down to nothing. You think you got the right to beg me for anything?”
“I know I don’t,” Chanta whispered. “That’s why I’m asking instead.”
The silence stretched.
Noir’s jaw flexed before she hit the red button, tossing the phone onto the couch.
She hated how hearing Chanta’s voice dug up the parts of her she was trying to bury—the girl who stayed for love that wasn’t love, who looked in mirrors and barely recognized herself. Chanta was a mirror she didn’t want to look into. Every word brought back nights of yelling, betrayal, lies layered on lies. It reminded her that Christian wasn’t the only one who cut her; Chanta made sure to leave scars too.
Noir pressed her palm to her stomach, grounding herself. She wasn’t that broken girl anymore, and she wasn’t about to let Chanta play on what little softness she had left. The fact that Chanta thought she could call her now, after all the chaos, after Christian’s death, made her blood boil. Yet, under that heat, there was a sting she couldn’t shake because a part of her knew Chanta wouldn’t be reaching unless something heavy was on her chest.
But Noir couldn’t carry it. Not anymore. Not for her.
Not for anyone.
Nakorea turned down the pot on the stove. “Who was that?” She asked pulling Noir’s attention from memory lane.
Noir swallowed, rubbing her belly again. “Chanta. Calling me from jail like we got something to talk about. Asked me to come sit down so we can talk. How she trying to come to me as a woman when he..” she choked. “When he’s gone.”
It still hurt to say Christian was dead. Some days she woke up feeling like she’d been living in the twilight zone.
Nakorea wiped her hands on a towel, walking closer. “Maybe you should go. Don’t look at it as something for her—it’s for you. Closure might be what you need.”
Noir sucked her teeth. “Closure? Ain’t no closure for what she and Christian did to me. I gotta carry that.”
Nakorea looked her daughter dead in the face. “You carrying my grandbaby too. That baby deserve peace. Go listen to the girl.”
Before Noir could reply, the studio door opened. Cash walked in, chains gleaming, sweat on his forehead from hours at the mic. He pulled her into his chest, kissing her cheek. “Damn, pretty girl, you glowing more and more every day.”
She softened instantly, letting his hand slide over her bump. He bent down, kissing her belly, talking low. “Daddy love you, lil man. We gon’ keep mama laughing, right?”
Noir smiled through a sigh. “You so good to me.”
“You deserve it,” he answered, grabbing a water bottle. “Now, you ready? We can’t keep pushing off that meeting with Christian’s attorney.”
Her eyes dimmed. “Yea.”
