“When is it not? I didn’t know it’d still hit like this,” he admitted, voice quiet. “Some nights I’m good. Focused. Working late, getting home, knocking out shit I need to do…but then I hear Ade on the phone talkin’ about how Mommy made her special meatballs or how she did them forehead kisses he love but be actin’ like he too much of a big boy to enjoy…and it’s like…” he stopped, letting the sentence bleed out unfinished.
“Like you the visitor in your own family.”
Adair didn’t respond, but the way he downed the rest of his drink said enough.
“You still love her,” Tate said simply.
“Of course I do,” Adair muttered. “I never stopped. I just…messed up.”
Tate gave him a long look, then shrugged. “Shit, you lucky. Narri ain’t never gave me no type of peace. But she got me in that house every damn week, acting like we ain’t together when we are.”
Adair raised a brow. “Y’all together?”
Tate scoffed. “Hell no. Ask her. She’ll say she hate me. Right after I finish rubbin’ her feet and putting my fuckin’ kids to sleep.”
Adair chuckled for the first time that night. “Y’all toxic as fuck.”
Tate grinned. “But I ain’t miserable. And I ain’t out here pretending I’m over her either.”
That hit Adair hard.
They both sat back in the booth for a second, the weight of love—past and present, settling in their chests.
“You ever feel like...no matter how well you do,” Adair said finally, “you still losing?”
Tate tilted his head thinking on it for a second. “You like a muhfuckin’ super lawyer, nigga; got suits that cost more than people rent, a son that look just like you and worships the ground you walk on. Losing where, bro?”
Adair cracked a slow smile, but it didn’t spread far. Yeah, he had the suits. The money. The office with his name on the glass.
But without Sabine…
None of it felt like winning.
Not really.
SABINE
The thing about being married was—if you did it right—you didn’t just get a partner. You got a whole extended family. Cousins that became yours, aunties who claimed you louder than your own, holiday group chats, Sunday plates fixed before you even walked in the door. That was the case with Adair’s family. Still was.
Which is how Sabine ended up staring at an iridescent invitation Reeka had texted her three times in the last couple of weeks and then called even more just to make sure she saw it.
Reeka’s Bad Bitch Birthday Bash! Dress Code: Ghetto glam, ho. Think fur, rhinestones but make it classy. Y’all know what the fuck I mean.
You betta show up or lose ya cousin card. And I’m deadass, Bine.
Sabine smiled to herself reading it the third time. Reeka had never been subtle. Since she and Adair got together, Reeka had taken Sabine in like blood, no hesitation. And even after the breakup—especially after it—Reeka never let the bond shift. She called. She checked in. She told Sabine about her dates, herbad wax jobs, her hair appointments. All of it. Like nothing had changed.
And maybe nothing had. At least not for them.
Sabine didn’t mind getting Ade ready and sending him off with Adair to family gatherings. He was a Dayne through and through, and he deserved to know all the people who loved him. But her being invited?Expected? That still caught her off guard.
Adair’s family didn’t do breakups. If they loved you, theykeptloving you. No expiration. No questions. No lines drawn in the sand.
But sometimes Sabine wondered if showing up made things harder. For Adair. For herself. For that quiet, hollow space between them that hadn’t closed no matter how much time passed.
Sabine stared at the invite again. Reeka’s big day and she took birthdaysseriously.And if she didn’t go? She already knew the answer. Reeka would be at her door cussing her out in love because that’s what family did.
Sighing, Sabine pulled down a sequined mini from the hanger before tossing it onto the bed. Too much—just like Reeka loved it. She wasn’t in the mood to scream for attention but showing up too lowkey would only make her stand out in thewrongway and Reeka would only get on her ass. Her parties were always a damn event. Somebody was guaranteed to twerk on a table and drunk call a baby daddy.