Page 129 of Tangled Hearts
“How long its gon’ take you to find yourself before you come back home?”
“Quameek…”
“Nah. Dead ass.” His voice cracked around the edges, like it wasn’t built to beg, but he was doing it anyway. “How long you want me to be easy? How long you want me to sleep with my eyesopen? Dreaming ‘bout you coming back just to hear you say you still ain’t ready?”
Knycole closed her eyes. A tear fell.
He didn’t raise his voice. But it hurt more like this—listening to him try to sound strong when he was barely holding on. He was her wild one. Her mirror. The boy who never folded, now sounding like he didn’t know how to breathe without her.
“Every night I go to sleep, I think maybe tonight gon’ be the last time I pray for you,” he whispered. “But it never is. I still do it. Still ask God to fix whatever’s broken in you that I ain’t strong enough to reach.”
Knycole couldn’t speak. Her throat burned too bad.
“I know you need space to get right. I know you tryna be better. I respect it.” His breath shook on the inhale. “But don’t leave me waiting forever, Knyc. My heart already on one knee.”
Tears slipped down her cheek.
Tears she didn’t wipe away, just let them fall like that’s what she deserved.
Because love didn’t always come with pretty bows. Sometimes it sounded like a boy breaking on the other end of the line, asking for a future he couldn’t touch yet. Sometimes it sounded like Quameek—soft, tired, and still choosing her out loud.
She didn’t know what to say. So she just stayed on the line, breathing with him.
Two tangled hearts, trying to hold the line until they could untwist the knots and finally make it home.
CHAPTER 30
Christian hadn’t touchedhis business in weeks.
The block still moved. Money still flowed. But his hands weren’t in it right now. Hov made sure the machine stayed fed, like always. Christian just sat in that cold-ass house with the curtains closed, phone face-down, and the Henny bottle half full, untouched. Not because he was trying to sober up. He just didn’t have the energy to drink himself into another regret.
Noir blocked him on everything.
Instagram, TikTok, Snapchat, even the old number he used to hit when she was still sneaking to love him five years ago. She blocked the backup line too. The one she knew was his trap phone but always used when her pride wouldn’t let her dial the main one.
So now he sat in silence, scrolling her socials from a fake page, watching her smile in group pics like she wasn’t his girl. Like she didn’t fall asleep on his chest wearing his shirt, mumbling about dreams and destiny.
Then there was Destiny.
His daughter.
The one mistake that tore everything to shreds. The child he loved but barely saw. The child who looked like him and existed in a world where he wasn’t invited.
Chanta used to beg him to see her—she used to call him out about hiding his daughter.
He used to show up with baby shoes and gift bags, trying to prove something. But Chanta was vindictive. Cold in a way that made him realize just how fucked up the whole thing had been from the start.
She was missing in action ever since she tried to pull a gun on Noir. He knew she was scared about what he would do but the truth was, he couldn’t do shit. He wasn’t so cold blooded he’d kill the mother of his child even if she was causing havoc in his life.
So, now there was no Noirandno Destiny.
Christian sat up and grabbed his keys from the table.
The new whip had barely been touched. Black-on-black with pink flakes in the paint. Seats still smelled like the dealership. He’d picked it out for Noir, right after everything went left. After Chanta went full psycho and slashed her tires, busted her windshield with a .22 and keyed the wordbitchinto the hood.
Christian replaced the car. Paid in full. Detailed it. Even got a custom license plate frame with glitter around the edges and her name engraved on the inside of the key fob. He imagined her smile when she’d see it.
But she never showed up to get it.
