Page 72 of Cannon
Speaking of my mother, she hadn’t tried to contact me after I blocked her. And a part of me was feeling bad, that maybe I should check on her. Her paranoia wasn’t her fault. But she also refused to take accountability.
“Your meds,” I said as ZaZa finished her breakfast. “Did you take them this morning?”
She rolled her eyes again but nodded. “Yes, Queen. I took my meds. Just like I do every morning.”
I sat down across from her with my own plate, studying her face for any sign of a lie. But she seemed steady, present. Maybe this new medication regimen was actually working.
“This Marcus,” I started, cutting into my eggs. “He knows about your condition, right?”
ZaZa’s fork paused halfway to her mouth. “Mom.”
“It’s important,” I insisted. “If he’s going to be in your life, he needs to understand what that means.”
“Yes, he knows,” she said with a sigh. “I told him everything after our third date. He’s actually really supportive. His aunt is bipolar too, so he gets it.”
That was something, at least. I nodded, letting the subject drop as we finished eating in silence. When ZaZa stood to rinse her plate, I noticed the dark circles under her eyes weren’t as pronounced as they had been weeks ago.
“I’m gonna crash for a few hours,” she said, yawning. “Marcus has an exhibit tonight he wants me to see.”
“Text me if you’re staying out,” I reminded her as she shuffled toward her bedroom.
“I will, I promise.”
Once I heard her door close, I let out a long breath. The apartment suddenly felt too small, too confining. I needed air, space to think. Between ZaZa, the club, Smoke’s threats, and whatever was happening with Cannon, my mind was a tangled mess.
I changed into leggings and a loose tank top, pulled my hair into a high ponytail, and slipped on my running shoes. A walk would clear my head.
“I’m going out for a bit,” I called to ZaZa’s closed door. “Rest up.”
The summer heat hit me like a wall when I stepped outside, but I welcomed it. The neighborhood was alive with kids playing double dutch on the sidewalk, old men playing chess in the park, music floating from open windows. I walked with purpose, nodding at familiar faces as I passed.
Three blocks in, the tension in my shoulders had eased slightly. Six blocks, and my racing thoughts had slowed. By the time I rounded the corner onto Malcolm X Boulevard, I was almost feeling human again.
That’s when I saw him.
Cannon was stepping out of the corner bodega, a plastic bag dangling from one hand. Even from a distance, I could see the bruising on his face, a dark mark blooming under his right eye. But it was his knuckles that caught my attention, raw, split open, crusted with dried blood. This was the second time that I’ve seen his knuckles look this bad.
My stomach dropped. What the hell had he gotten into? And how recently?
He hadn’t noticed me yet, was checking his phone with his free hand. I quickened my pace, suddenly feeling the desperate need to reach him.
“Cannon!” I called out, my heart racing as I closed the distance between us.
His head snapped up, those ocean-blue eyes widening slightly before his face settled back into that controlled mask. But not before I caught the flicker of pain when his expression changed.
“What happened to you?” I demanded, reaching for his face without thinking. My fingers hovered just above the bruise, not quite touching. “And your hands, they’re a mess.”
“It’s nothing,” he said, pulling back slightly. “Just handled some business.”
I narrowed my eyes, taking in the full extent of his injuries. The bruise under his eye was fresh, probably from last night or early this morning. After he’d left me at my place.
“Does this have to do with Smoke? This doesn’t look like nothing,” I said, gently taking one of his hands in mine. His knuckles were raw, crusted with dried blood. “You need to clean these before they get infected.”
“I’ve had worse and nah, I got in a fight with my brother,” he shrugged, trying to pull his hand away, but I held on. But then it hit me that he mentioned his brother. I didn’t even know he had siblings. I didn’t know shit about him. Last night made that clear when he said that he knew Smoke. Who was this man that had completely taken over my mind and body.
“Come home with me right now,” I said, my voice leaving no room for argument. “I need to clean those cuts and put something on that bruise.”
His jaw tightened. “I don’t need you playing nurse, Queen. I’m good.”
