Page 82 of Cuffed By Your Love
I needed that message more than I realized.
I was pacing through the produce section, balancing a box of strawberries in one hand and my phone pressed to my ear with the other. Elias’s voice poured through the speaker like the safest lullaby my soul ever rocked to.
“You want me to make the shrimp and grits tonight?” he asked, that low baritone rolling through the receiver like it had heat to it.
I smiled, running my thumb along the plumpest berry. “Mmm, you know damn well I’m not fighting you over the cast iron, baby. Go ’head and show out, Chef Edmonds.”
His laugh burst through my speaker, warm, wrapping around me like a hoodie fresh from the dryer. “Say less, Deputy Gorgeous.”
I was still smiling when the temperature dipped, and a hush that didn’t belong fell over the aisle. The cooler’s hum thickened like it was breathing down my neck. Plastic crinkled too loudly.
“Bitch, we need to talk.”
The voice cut sharp as a box cutter. I turned.
Kam.
He had the same busted smirk, and his cheap cologne was losing a fight with stale liquor that permeated from his breath. His faded tee was clinging like it didn’t even want to be there.
On the line, Elias’s tone snapped from velvet to razor. “Yo, baby… who the fuck is that talking to you like that? Calling you out ya fucking name and shit?”
“Kam.” I breathed, and the air cinched up tight, like the room was holding its breath.
Kam’s eyes flicked to my phone like he could hear Elias’s heartbeat. “You think you better than me now? You think that cop nigga gon’ save you from what’s coming?”
“This bitch-ass nigga Kam done pulled on my baby.” Elias growled, voice dipping into something unholy. “Baby, yell for help. I’m on my way to you now. Fuck!”
Kam stepped closer, breath hot and mean. “You ain’t shit.”
“Get the hell away from me, Kam,” I said steadily.
He lunged.
My reflex took the wheel. My forearm met his, bone slamming bone. I jabbed back, felt my knuckles graze his jaw. My hand fell toward my duty weapon.
His fist crashed into my cheek.
White heat bloomed. The world tipped. My ears filled with a high, electric ring. Somewhere far, Elias roared my name. “Jonay!” But it came warped, like I was underwater. My knees buckled, and tile hit the back of my skull. Another blow. Air tore out of me.
And then, black.
In that dark, time didn’t tick. It pulsed. First was the ringing, a needle-scream I realized was my own pulse. Then flashes: my hands on Elias’s chest last week, the way his laugh rumbled against my throat, his cologne living in my hoodie like it paid rent. The ghost-weight of his palm on my back in this same store, my name turning into “baby” in his mouth.
I tried to swim to that voice, but the darkness was thick as river mud, dragging me by the ankles. Cheek throbbing in angry beats. Breathing shallow. Blood tasting like pennies on my tongue.
“Jonay!” Again, slowed like a melting record. My lashes felt cemented. My body? An abandoned house with the lights cut.
Chaos cracked the silence open. Voices shouted. Feet pounded the tile. The air shifted.
Two men from the meat section closed in on Kam, Crocs squeaking, forearms tight with effort. Shoppers froze, some filming, some praying. The music cut out mid-Frankie, like the speakers themselves didn’t want any smoke.
Outside, tires screamed. Red-and-blue strobes jittered across the glass.
Elias hit the doors so hard they sighed like they were scared. He stormed in, a storm in human form, black tee stretched across his chest, eyes wild, scanning, locking on me, breaking, then snapping to Kam with murder in the pupils. Chambers on his hip, jaw set.
Kam, dumb as always, lurched and swung at him.
Everybody saw it. Every phone caught it.
