Page 5 of Cooly

“Shut up and tell me you’re happy to see me?" She tilted her head, studying me.

I was, even though the last time I'd seen her, she was walking out of my apartment, a packed bag over her shoulder, tears streaming down her face.

"I can't do this, Chinedu. I can't be part of this. I can't pretend I don't know what your family does. I can't pretend it doesn't scare me."

She had a nigga begging her to stay back then. I tried to explain I wasn't in that life anymore, but she was already mentally gone. Already made up her mind. She was from a family of law-abiding citizens. Good people. Doctors and lawyers. They didn’t have body counts and blood money and fathers who ruled empires and were on all the alphabet agency watchlists.

I changed the subject though instead of admitting I was. "You look good," I said.

She laughed. "Yeah. I know."

I cracked a smile.

"Come here." She nodded.

I crossed the short space separating us and pulled her into a hug. She felt the same—soft and warm. She smelled like vanilla and something expensive.

For a moment, I let myself hold her. Let myself pretend the years hadn't happened. Let myself forget Indigo and the toys on the table and the empty penthouse.

Then she pulled back, her hands resting on my arms, her eyes searching mine.

"You okay?" she asked.

"No."

She nodded, like she'd expected that answer. "I ain't been home in a minute. Walk with me. Talk with me."

Chapter 3

Bed-Stuy usually never slept, but the approaching fall had the blocks empty. I pulled my jacket tighter around me with my free hand.

We sat on the concrete edge of the empty pavilion inside Herbert Von King Park, our legs dangling over the dark grass. The night air was cool, carrying the smell of damp earth and the faint sweetness of someone's backyard garden. A streetlight flickered in the distance, casting long shadows across the basketball courts.

I took a bite of the chopped cheese from the bodega down the block. I didn't eat shit like this anymore. I would in the future, though.

Ayo was next to me, smacking her lips. "Damn, I forgot how good these are."

"Better than that fancy food you probably eat now."

"Way better." She took another bite, then wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. "So how long are you back for?"

I glanced over at her. She paused to look at the smartwatch on her arm.

"Another ten hours," she said. "I came by to see my father. He had a small heart attack."

"I'm sorry to hear that."

"He'll be okay." She shrugged, but there was tension in her shoulders. "He's stubborn like that. But I don't want to talk about him." She turned to me, her eyes sharp in the dim light. "Diamond said you found a substitute for me and lost your mind."

I frowned. "Diamond talks too fucking much."

"But is it true?"

I opened my mouth to answer, but she held up her hand.

"Don't lie," she said. "Let me see her."

I hesitated. Then I pulled out my phone, scrolled to a photo of Indigo—one I'd taken in New York back when things were simpler—and handed it over.