Adair’s blood was already hot because no matter what a paper said, no matter how much time passed, there were certain lines that didn't get crossed.
Geechie? He just crossed them with both feet and hands. Adair was moving before Tate could get the full “chill” out. He cut through the crowd with purpose; shoulders squared, teethclenched, eyes locked on the cousin he never claimed in spirit. He didn’t even care where he flung his suit jacket but it had to come off.
Geechie was still laughing, trying to play it off, until a fist cracked across his jaw like a thunderclap. “What the fuck?!” he stumbled back, blinking, but Adair wasn’t waiting for a response.
Adair grabbed his collar and slammed him into the edge of the bar, sending glasses rattling and drinks flying. Years of tension, slick comments, sideways glances, every little piece of disrespect, old and new, came out in punches.
“I shouldaBEENbeat your bitch ass!”
“Yo, DAYNE!” Tate was yelling now, trying to cut through bodies as people scrambled to back up. “CHILL!”
Reeka was screaming for her cousin to stop and the DJ had dropped the sound down low but didn’t kill it.
“Adair STOP IT!” Sabine’s voice rang out, frantic. She tried to grab his arm, grabbing onto the crook of his elbow, but he jerked too hard. Too blind and she lost her footing. Her heel twisted and the next thing she knew, she was on the ground, palms stinging, eyes wide.
“Sabine—!” Reeka was already there, dropping to help her up.
That’s when Adair froze. Fists mid-air. Breathing wild. Rage still thick in his veins but it all came crashing down the moment he saw her on the floor. Not hurt bad but hurt by him. Even by accident, that was too far.
“Shit…” he muttered, stepping back, like he’d finally come up for air. “Fuck.”
Geechie coughed and wiped blood from his mouth, laughing through it. “Yeah, nigga. Real cute. All this for a bitch that don’t even want you.”
Tate decked him that time. One clean swing. “Shut the fuck up.”
“Oh my goodness! Tate!” Narri grabbed his arm.
Sabine didn’t say anything. Just stood there. Dusted herself off slowly, chest rising with controlled breath and the look she gave Adair?
It wasn’t anger.
It was disappointment.
Worse.
FOUR YEARS AGO – NEW YORK
Sabine remembered standing in their tiny Brooklyn apartment with the cracked tile and no elevator, trying to be excited about what came next. Adair was in school then—law school, full-time—spending late nights with casebooks, chasing something big enough to change their lives.
And Sabine? She stayed home.
At first, it was by choice. She wanted Ade to have her full attention. Wanted to be the kind of mother who made homemade purées and read bedtime stories in funny voices. But somewhere between teething and laundry, between budgeting with a single income and planning Adair’s interviews, she fell back. Became the one who reminded, who asked, who pushed. The “did you forget the wipes again?” voice. The “can you be home by seven?” voice.
The nag.
It wasn’t on purpose but it happened and she hated how much she recognized herself in the mothers she swore she’d never become. The wife she did not want to be.
Adair didn’t complain. He paid the bills, rubbed her feet, held her when she broke down at night from the weight of it all but he didn’t always see her. Not really and when he got thatinternship, the one he said could open every door, they both acted like it wasn’t going to change anything.
It changed everything.
Adair was gone more. Stressed more. Loving, but distant. Always somewhere else. And Sabine? She was pregnant again before Ade even turned one. Unplanned. Unprepared and heartbreakingly alone through most of it. Her second pregnancy came with backaches and Braxton Hicks, with ultrasounds she went to by herself and nights she cried without knowing exactly why.
She still made dinner. Still rubbed his back when he came in late. Still tried to be the woman who never needed help but the days started to blur and her reflection in the mirror looked more like a version of her she didn’t recognize.
One of Ade’s toys blinked from the floor, pulsing red light into the dim room like a warning. Sabine pressed a cold rag to the side of her neck, sweat collecting beneath her hairline. Her back ached. Her ankles ached. Her heart ached.
Ten months postpartum and already pregnant again. She didn’t even realize she was late until the second test turned pink and by then, Adair was deep into his internship. Deep into briefs and late nights and sending her “I’ll be home soon” texts that sounded more like delays than promises.