Page 61 of Cuffed By Your Love
“I signed up for you. That includes your history, your trauma, your healing, and your crazy-ass ex. I ain’t scared of none of it.”
“But EJ?—”
“My son loves you. He talks about you like you hung the moon. You think I’m walking away now? You got me fucked up, ma, respectfully.”
She smiled through her tears.
I kissed her forehead and whispered, “I got you. Ain’t no drama that’s gon’ make me forget why I wanted you in the first place. You think I’d dip on you ’cause some punk-ass ex done lost his mind? I’m not them other niggas you’ve known. I ain’t going nowhere. You’re mine, Jonay. You hear me? You. Are. Mine. That boy in there already loves you. Let me worry about my badge, and whatever else you might be tripping on, aight?”
Her eyes filled up, and I continued because she needed to get some shit understood real fucking fast.
“You brought peace into my life. I fucking adore you, mama. And if anybody threatens you, they gon’ get what the fuck they get. Me and my son, we riding with you. You ours now. And I swear, on me, Jonay, I will crash out every time behind you.”
She blinked fast like she was fighting more tears from falling from her pretty eyes, and that was when the sirens lit up, preparing to take Mr. Sweets’ sweet ass into custody.
She nodded into my chest, chest shaking.
From behind me, Chambers called out, “Y’all done? Or should I tell IA to give y’all a room?”
I flipped him off without looking. Jonay exhaled and we went to get EJ. She picked him up,hugging him tightly in her arms.
Kam groaned as he was being put in the back of the cruiser, talking about “medical attention,” but I wasn’t hearing any ofthat shit. All I could focus on was the way Jonay looked at me like I wasn’t just her man; I was her peace in the war.
That was worth every second of the chaos.
Shortly after, we were parked outside Little Legends, the engine running low as if it knew not to interrupt the mood. EJ was in the back seat, humming out of tune, swinging his feet as if his whole world hadn’t nearly been shattered by a grown man throwing a tantrum like a toddler over a bruised ego. The little guy had the resilience of a cartoon character, unbothered, joyful, and already asking for snacks, as if the chaos from earlier was just a commercial break.
Jonay sat quietly next to me, but not the peaceful quiet that came with stillness. Nope, this was the type of quiet that hummed with unspoken thoughts, like the air was heavy with anticipation before a rainstorm. It was a silence filled with both apology and exhaustion, a silence that didn’t demand words, just presence. That deep hush weighed on my chest like a shadow of grief: guilt.
I reached over and took her hand, firm, without hesitation, and squeezed it. I didn’t say anything. There was no need to. Sometimes, comfort wasn’t found in conversation; it was in the squeeze of fingers that communicated, “I’ve got you,” especially when the rest of the world felt like it was pressing down on your back.
Buzz, buzz.
My phone vibrated on the dash like it was shaking with important news. I glanced down and damn near chuckled, though not in an amusing way.
It was my mama.
Now, my mama didn’t text for no reason. She was old-school Southern with a Nokia heart; if it wasn’t a screenshot of a church flyer, a photo of some collard greens simmering next to a pot ofpork neck bones, or a reminder that “service start at 10, not CPT 10:30,” then it was serious.
I tapped it open with the kind of caution usually reserved for spiritual conviction or letters from the IRS.
Mama:
Jazz told me what happened. That woman you had with you… tell her I said thank you for loving and protecting my boys.
I didn’t say anything at first. I just stared at those words on the screen as if they were sent straight from Heaven’s group chat. Jonay noticed my entire facial expression change, and she nudged me gently.
“What is it?”
I turned the screen toward her, letting her read it for herself.
She blinked once, then again. Her bottom lip started doin’ that shaky thing like it was struggling to contain a breakdown from sneak-attacking her throat.
“She meant that?” Her voice was barely above a whisper, breathy and cracking, like fragile glass.
I nodded slowly. “She doesn’t write long messages unless she’s talking about the Word or complaining about the sanitation department for not picking up her trash on time. So yeah, she meant every syllable, Deputy Gorgeous.”
I leaned in closer, my voice low but steady. “That’s how I know this ain’t a fluke, baby. This isn’t casual. This isn’t surface level. This is soul-level deep, baby.”
