Prime reached Rita first. He knelt down in front of her so they were eye level and put his hands over hers.
“Hey, Grandma. Look at me.” His voice was low and calm. “The baby’s okay. I promise you she’s okay. She’s just a little hungry, that’s all. We’re gonna feed her right now and she’s gonna be just fine.”
Rita searched his face. I could see her trying to find something familiar, something to anchor herself to. Whatever she saw in Prime’s eyes must have reached her because her breathing slowed. Her grip loosened just enough.
“She’s okay?” Rita whispered.
“She’s perfect. I promise.”
Serenity set her plate down and moved in slowly.
“I got her, Grandma. See? She’s okay. I’m gonna go feed her right now.” Serenity held Sarai up so Rita could see her face. “She’s perfect. You kept her safe.”
Rita’s eyes cleared slowly, like fog lifting off water. She blinked a few times. Looked around the room at all of us staring at her and I could see the moment she realized something had happened. Something she couldn’t remember. That confusion, that quiet shame, was worse than the episode itself.
“I think I need to sit down,” she said softly.
“Come on, Grandma.” Prime took her arm and guided her back to the couch. “Let me make you some tea.”
He walked her over, sat her down, and covered her lap with the throw blanket she liked. Then he went to the kitchen and put the kettle on without saying a word to anyone. I watched him stand at the counter with his back to the room and his head bowed. He was holding it together for her. The same way Quest held it together for me on that island. You keep your face steady because the person you love needs you to.
Serenity disappeared down the hall with Sarai. Justice followed her with his eyes, then looked at Quest, then at Prime’s back in the kitchen. Three brothers processing the same grief in three different ways. Justice with his jaw locked. Quest with his hand squeezing mine so tight I could feel his pulse.
Nobody said anything for a long time. The house that had been so loud and warm an hour ago was holding its breath.
Then Dream’s small voice broke the silence. “Is Grandma going to be okay?”
Justice pulled her closer. “Yeah, baby. Grandma’s going to be just fine. She just gets a little confused sometimes.”
“Can I make her a card? Like I made for Aziza?”
“I think she’d love that.”
Dream got up and went looking for paper. Rita sipped her tea with both hands. The color was coming back to her face. She was here again, fully present, but the room still carried the weight of where she’d just been.
Quest leaned over and kissed my temple. “You okay?” he whispered.
“Yeah.” I wasn’t. None of us were. But I squeezed his hand back and held on because that’s what this family did. We held on. Through plane crashes, cartels, kidnappings, prison cells, and now this. This slow, quiet thief that was going to take Rita from us piece by piece.
But not today. Today she was here. Today my daughter was home. Today the house was full of people who would go to war for each other and had the scars to prove it.
That was going to have to be enough.
55
Mehar
Three months later
Quest had me pinned against the bathroom wall with my dress hiked up around my waist and his hands gripping my thighs like he owned every inch of me. Which he did. I signed that contract the moment I fell in love with him and I hadn’t regretted a single clause.
The music from Justice’s birthday party was thumping through the walls, bass vibrating through the tile, and I could hear people laughing on the casino floor. Meanwhile, my fiancé had me in a private restroom with my back arched and my fingers clawing at his shirt while he moved inside me with that slow, deliberate rhythm that made my brain go blank.
“We’re going to get caught,” I breathed.
“Then be quiet.” He pressed his mouth against my neck and bit down just hard enough to make my toes curl. I wasn’t quiet. I was never quiet with him. He brought sounds out of me that I didn’t even know my body could make. Every stroke pulled something loose in my chest, something that had been wound tight for years before I met him. Being with Quest was freedom.It was worship. It was the closest thing to prayer I’d ever experienced outside of a mosque.
When we finished, he kept me against the wall for a minute, his forehead pressed against mine, both of us catching our breath. His thumb traced my jawline and he kissed me slow. It was a kiss that said more than words ever could.
