"Nah," he said. "You ain't. Move over."
He wasn't asking. And I wasn't about to fight him on it. I moved over toward the wall and he got in bed beside me like that was the most regular thing in the world. He reached for the remote and handed it to me.
"Put on whatever you be watching," he said.
I turned the TV on and scrolled through the apps until I got to BMF. I needed something that would keep my mind off the fact that he was lying three inches away from me. Maybe if we watched some gangsta shit, I wouldn’t be thinking about this man like that.
I clicked play and he looked over at me with a small smile.
"You be on that?" he asked.
"Yeah," I said, and I felt my own lips curve up into a smile. It was the fact we like the same show. “You?"
"Hell yeah. Big Meech was crazy although I know some of that shit be exaggerated for the plot," he said, and we both laughed because it was crazy how these two people in completely different situations found common ground over a TV show.
We watched for a few minutes and I felt myself relaxing. This wasn't weird. It was just... two people watching tv. The threat was handled. He was home. And for some reason, being in his space felt safer than being locked in my own room.
My eyes started getting heavy after a while. The adrenaline from the whole night was gone and the exhaustion was taking over. Without really thinking about it, I laid my head on his chest.
The second I realized what I'd done, I went stiff. I was about to move but his hand came up fast and pressed gently on my back.
"You good," he said. Like he was giving me permission to stay right there.
I looked up at him to make sure he was serious and when I saw his face, when I saw that he wasn't bothered by it, I laid my head back down on his chest.
His heart was beating steady and calm like nothing had happened tonight. Like he hadn't just come home with blood on his shirt. Like he wasn't the kind of man who left people dead in warehouses.
But right then, with his heartbeat under my ear and his arm around me keeping me close, I didn't care what kind of man he was.
I just knew that for the first time since this started, I felt safe.
And I fell into a deep, peaceful sleep.
—
I woke up to his hand on my shoulder, shaking me gently. The sun was coming through the windows and I could tell it was later in the morning. I'd been sleeping so deep that for a second I didn't remember where I was or how I got there.
Then I remembered his chest. His heartbeat. The way he told me I was good when I put my head on him.
"Come on," he said. "We got breakfast cooking."
His voice was different in the morning. Softer maybe. Or maybe I was just hearing it different now that I knew what it felt like to fall asleep to the sound of it.
I nodded and he left the room so I could get myself together.
I went to my room real quick, showered, handled my morning hygiene routine and threw on some clothes. When I came downstairs, he was already sitting at the table. The chef had brought food out — eggs, French toast, fruit, coffee. Real breakfast. Not just throwing together whatever was in the kitchen.
I sat down across from him and he was already looking at me.
"How you sleep?" he asked.
I looked at him and made eye contact and I couldn't help but smile. Last night felt like a dream but I knew it was real. This mean ass nigga was almost nice for once. I knew my head had been on his chest. I knew he'd held me. And although the situation was wrong, it almost felt right.
"Better than I have in a while," I said.
He was already eating but something shifted in his face. He looked satisfied hearing that. Like me sleeping well mattered to him.
"How'd you sleep?" I asked him.
