Page 20

$$$$$

By the time I got home that night, it was damn near midnight.

I should’ve been there earlier. I usually was. But Azaria’s situation had everything off balance and my head wasn’t right.

The house was quiet when I walked in. Big foyer. High ceilings. Too much space when your thoughts are loud.

I dropped my bag by the door and followed the sound of quiet sniffling to the dining area.

The mother of my son, Emily, sat at the table, a glass of wine in her hand.

Her shoulders were hunched. She didn’t look up right away.

She’d been diagnosed with multiple sclerosis three years ago while pregnant with our son, Zacian Jr. One minute we were planning a baby shower; the next minute, doctors were explaining lesions, flare-ups, and uncertainty.

Everything changed after that.

She stopped trusting her body.

And I started feeling like I couldn’t protect her from something I couldn’t fight.

As soon as she saw me, she stood up too fast.

“Where the fuck you been? With that stripper bitch again that won’t stop commenting on your pictures?”

I sighed, calm. “Don’t start. I was with family. Trying to keep my sister off drugs and get her prepared for marriage.”

She laughed bitterly. “Least somebody getting married around this bitch.”

She tried to walk away, but I caught her wrist gently.

“Don’t start that either. You know why I put a ring on your finger but didn’t sign the license. I been with you since tenth grade. You had my first son. That’s deeper than paperwork and my last name. We solid, E.”

The nickname softened her, just a little.

“I’m scared, Zacian,” she said quietly. “I’m scared you won’t look at me the same when I can’t walk anymore or lose my vision. I already feel like you don’t.”

I lifted her chin.

“Who not gonna look at you the same?”

I kissed her slow.

Her lips trembled against mine.

It hit me then how long it had been since we’d really touched like this.

Almost a year.

Not because I didn’t want her. Because she stopped wanting herself.

She was twenty-eight now. Still beautiful. Still the same girl who used to run the hallways in high school and walk runways like she owned the world. She used to be a supermodel, but MS stole pieces of her confidence. The fatigue. The numbness. The way her legs gave out sometimes. The way she hated the nurse and nanny, even though she needed them.

I never cheated. Never even considered it.

Yeah, I handled my own shit when I needed release, but another woman? Nah.

I kissed her. Bought flowers. Gifts. Tried to make her feel seen.