Page 27 of Girl, We Go Together
“Fresh called me earlier.”
Omari froze mid-bite. “What?”
“Yeah,” I muttered, keeping my tone even, though my jaw was tight.
“He said he knows I hit his spot, and that he gon’ get his lick back.”
I was procrastinating with telling the nigga myself, which I now felt in my gut was a mistake. Revealing that I was the culprit would have put me on my own timeline for anticipating retaliation. I was grateful that he said anything, though, because now I knew to watch my back. Omari dropped his rib bone onto the plate, licking his fingers slowly.
“Damn. Fresh really came at you directly?”
I figured that when I started asking around about his crib, things would come back to me. I didn’t think this quickly, though.
“Yeah. No sugarcoating, either. He was straight up with the shit. He knows.”
I glanced around the room, making sure no one was listening, then leaned in closer.
“I heard it in his voice. He wants war.”
Omari cursed under his breath while shaking his head.
“You should have just killed his ass like I said.”
I narrowed my eyes while dropping my voice lower so none of our nosy ass aunts who were staring could hear.
“Nigga, YOU should have just killed his ass. This was your beef to begin with.”
Omari looked at me for a long second. He didn’t say shit immediately because he knew I was right. He twisted his mouth like he was thinking before nodding his head and then responding.
“So, what’s the next move?”
I sat back, watching Cayla laugh at something Moms said. OJ was dancing between his aunts in the middle of the floor. My hand tapped the table slowly and deliberately.
“The move is we stay ready, so we ain’t gotta get ready. If Fresh wants his lick back? Let him try.”
Omari smirked, but there wasn’t much humor in it. “Well, at least we get to enjoy this party before the war.”
I took a sip of my drink with my eyes still locked on Cayla and my mother.
“Amen to that.”
The night wound down in waves. The party that was so lively was now coming to an end. Plates were now dirty and stacked, glasses were empty, and laughter mellowed into slurred stories. My family was good and drunk, my uncles were talking too loudly, and my aunts were swaying to songs that had stopped playing ten minutes ago.
“Alright now, y’all done wore Moms out,” I joked, helping her into her little jacket.
She chuckled while shaking her head. Her silver hair was shining even in the dim light. She wasn’t much of a drinker, and I could tell from the stumble and wobbly stand she had going on that she was tore the fuck up. One of my aunts had already left earlier, taking OJ with her since she was staying at Mom’s house. That gave me a little peace of mind. At least he was out of the mix. With him around, I was always guarded. Something about being kid-free just gave me a sense of relaxation. By the time we stepped out of the party hall, we were the last to exit. It was just me, Moms, Omari, and Cayla.
The air outside was crisp and cool enough to cut through the liquor still humming in my blood. I walked right behind my mother, with Omari on one side of me, and Cayla close enough on the other side that I could feel her arm brushing against mine with each step we took. I started to smile at how well the night had turned out for my mother. She deserved a night filled with love and laughter. A night dedicated especially to her. She hadn’t had many of those since my dad died.
That’s when I heard it. The sound of tires screeching against pavement. A black truck jerked to a stop at the corner with its engine growling loud enough to rattle my bones.
The windows were down just enough, and through the tinted glass, my eyes locked dead-on with a figure behind the wheel. His mask was pulled down low, but I knew. I knew. It had to be Fresh. My stomach dropped, instincts flaring before my mouth even caught up.
“Get down?—”
Gunfire erupted, shattering the night. Screams tore through the parking lot as bullets lit up the air. My ears rang while chaos broke out all at once. I spun, shoving Cayla down behind a car as my hand reached for my piece that was buried too deep under my suit jacket. Omari was already returning fire. Once I got my gun out of my waistband, I halted. I saw her.
Moms staggered in front of me with a deep red spot that started to bloom across the side of her dress. It caused a huge wet puddle on her already burgundy gown. She was holding her side right where the bullet had ripped through her. Everything slowed. Her eyes were wide and her breath hitched as she reached for me.
