Page 132 of Tangled Hearts
Nakorea placed a hand on his shoulder. “You’re still young. You’re still breathing. You can still grow. But stop tryin’ to grow for her. Do it for you.”
He nodded, respect in his eyes and heart.
“And while you at it,” she added, letting her hand fall, “go see about your daughter. That little girl didn’t ask to be proof of your worst mistake.”
That landed harder than he expected.
His lips parted but nothing coming out.
“Go head,” Nakorea told him, “before I invite you in and make you eat. You always been a skinny lil thing.”
Christian chuckled under his breath, shoulders relaxing just enough to remember what it felt like to be cared for. “I miss her,” he said, more to himself than her.
Nakorea turned back toward the door. “Then become a man worthy of missing. And stop dropping gifts like that’s gon’ earn you forgiveness.”
She stepped inside without another word and let the door click softly behind her.
Christian stood there for a minute. Then two. Watching the door. The porch. The car.
It was true—Noir didn’t need anything from him. But he needed to give her something. Not the car. Not apologies. Just… a version of himself he didn’t hate right now.
The streetlights buzzed turning off as the sun came all the way up. He walked back toward the car, ears ringing with every word Nakorea threw at him like stones he deserved. He slid into the driver’s seat, rested both hands on the wheel, and looked at the house one more time.
He thought love was grand gestures.
Explosive energy.
Undeniable chemistry.
But real love was quiet mornings. Unanswered calls. Unsent texts. A woman choosing herself after years of choosing you. A new car in a driveway she didn’t live at no more.
He leaned his head back and whispered her name once. Just to feel it in the air. “Noir.”
He wasn’t mad at her for leaving.
He was mad at himself for making her go.
CHAPTER 31
Rock’s hand moved steadily,as the buzz of the tattoo gun filled the room. Cash sat back shirtless, grinning while he held his phone to record a piece of the session. “Nigga, you might be the coldest out the gate. This shit don’t even hurt.”
Rock chuckled, leaning in to shade. “You cappin’. I know this needle burning like hell.”
Cash tapped his chest. “Nigga, this Jade City skin. We built for pain.”
They both laughed, music bumping through a Bluetooth speaker. Cash’s own unreleased tracks shook the floors. He rapped the words under his breath while Rock nodded along, catching the cadence.
“You know this gon’ blow, right?” Rock pointed with his chin as he wiped the ink. “Ain’t nobody fucking with you when it comes to this music.”
Cash smirked, pleased with the co-sign. “Just don’t forget who you tatted first when your shop blow up.”
Rock laughed. “You ain’t the first. I was tatting niggas in prison.”
It was true. He’d always knew he could draw but while being locked up, he needed something to keep his mind fromgoing mad. Now, he was excited about possibly turning it into something tangible.
Rock cracked a grin, but his mind lingered. A shop. His own space. That was the next move he needed to make. Not somebody else’s condo, not a trap house, not a jail cell. A shop meant a lease in his name, lights that stayed on because he paid the bill, a chair for Rodeisha to sit in while she colored, and a place where Shakeisha could finally look at him and see more than what he used to be. He wasn’t trying to live in the streets no more. He didn’t want his daughter growing up waiting on phone calls from behind glass.
He wanted her to be proud when she told people her daddy drew on skin for a living. That he built something. For her. For them.
