Page 28 of All In

“Work,” he said easily, not meeting her eyes. The cashier handed him the envelope, neat and unbothered. He thanked her, gathered the bags, and pushed the cart toward the exit like it was nothing. Jackie followed, quiet, her chest tight with embarrassment. He wasn’t judging her, and that should’ve been a relief, but it wasn’t, unfortunately. Not to her.

Outside, the air was cool and still. Najee loaded the bags into her trunk, Max still asleep on his shoulder like he weighed nothing. When he shut the trunk, he turned to her. “I wasn’t—”

“Don’t do that,” he said, cutting her off. “It’s insulting to my intelligence and yours.” Jackie froze, heat rising to her neck. Najee opened the back door and carefully settled Max into his seat, adjusting the belt so it sat flat against his chest. Every movement was deliberate. Careful. When he shut the door, he turned back to her. “I wasn’t gonna say nothin’,” he started, voice lower now, eyes locked on hers. “But don’t do that shit no more. Not while you with me—and especially not while you with him.” Jackie swallowed hard, her words catching before they could form.

“If you need something,” he said, “open your mouth.” She stood there, heat rising to her cheeks, pride folding in on itself. Then he stepped closer—close enough that his scent hit her again, warm and sharp, like cedar and something darker underneath. “You hear me?” he asked, quiet but deliberate. She looked away, and his hand came up, fingers brushing her chin, tilting her face back toward his.

“Jackie,” he said, voice just above a whisper. “Do you hear me?”

“Yes, Najee,” she breathed. “I hear you.” He nodded once, slow.

The air between them shifted—thick and unspoken. “I’m behind y’all,” he said finally, stepping back toward his car. “So don’t try to lose me.” He laughed, but she didn’t.

Jackie just stood there, watching him walk off, feeling something, she hadn’t felt in a long time.Understanding. Quiet. Gentle. Untouched by pity or judgement. And just like that, all the shame she been carrying since the baking aisle, no longer felt quite as heavy. Jackie climbed into the driver’s seat and let out a long, shaky exhale, the kind that came from too many held-in breaths.

For a moment, she just sat there, hands on the wheel, trying to steady herself against the quiet around her. When she reached into her bag for her keys, her fingers brushed against something stiff, A card. Wrapped in a folded receipt. She frowned and pulled it out. Then she saw the logo. The same Visa gift card Najee had bought at the counter. Her breath caught. He had not said a word. Instead, he handled it with a quiet act of compassion. Something she wasn’t used too. Jackie stared at the card, her throat tight. Then she tucked it back into her purse, started the car, and pulled off into the night, windows cracked, radio low. Trying not to think too hard about the man driving behind her.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

NAJEE

Jackie’s block looked like it was barely holding on.

There were abandoned shells of row homes. Trash nestled along curbs. Streetlights flickering like they couldn’t decide if this place was worth illuminating or not. Najee had seen someshit.

Hell, he’d worked in neighborhoods worse than this, but something about driving down her street made his senses sharpen. Everything felt a little too dark—and a little too forgotten. And maybe it wasn’t just the block. Maybe it was what lingered between them sinceRiverwards.

Jackie had beenembarrassed. He could feel it. Even after she tried to brush it off. But what stuck with him wasn’t the act itself. It was thereflex. The way she defaulted to survival like it was muscle memory. That told him more than anything she’d ever said. He knew that look. He’d seen it in the waiting rooms, in parents who didn’t know how to ask for help without losing dignity. But Jackie wasn’t a case file. She wasn’t one of his patients, and that’s what made it harder to shake.

He parked behind her car, slid his piece into his coat pocket just in case, and stepped out. Max was still asleep in the backseat, head tilted, lips slightly parted. Without thinking, Najee scooped him up like it was second nature and carried him to the front door.

When Jackie opened the door, Najee didn’t know what he expected. Maybe chaos. Maybe clutter. Or another space held together by tension and survival. It was none of that. The scent hit him first. It was sweet, warm, like roasted marshmallows layered with something green. Matcha. Vanilla. Maybe even a little brown sugar. The walls were lined with framed family portraits, African American art, and shelves stacked with worn books and candles that had clearly been burned more than once. Not for show, but comfort. Possibly even necessity. There were mismatched pillows, textures that invited touch, and plants that had clearly been loved and cared for. Jackie’s home didn’t just look lived in—it felt safe. It felt likeher. “I can take him from here,” she said, reaching for Max.

“I’m gonna throw him in the shower, scrub the day off him. Then I’m starting on your cobbler. Shouldn’t take more than an hour and twenty. I’ll have you out of here in no time.”

“Take your time,” Najee said, eyes still sweeping the room like he didn’t want to miss a single detail. Jackie nodded and disappeared upstairs with Max slumped against her.

For a moment, Najee just stood there, taking everything in. This wasn’t what people expected from someone like her, not according to the narratives his aunt and others spun.But this?

This was someone who curated peace. Someone who still believed in beautiful things, even when life kept trying to take them away. Then he noticed the table, nestled near the front window, quiet but deliberate. The setup clearly meant something. The lights above it were dimmed low, casting a soft glow over a single cake sitting in the center. Around it was neatly wrapped gifts, folded cards, and a table runner she’d clearly ironed herself. Balloons hung in muted shades of blue and gold, as one started to tilt like it had been up since earlier. He stepped closer and on top of the cake was a small “17” candle that hadn’t been lit. Najee’s gaze drifted to the open envelope resting againstthe cake stand. He hesitated, then picked it up. The handwriting was neat but pressed too hard, like the words had been written through tears. The front read:To my first love.He flipped it open, eyes moving over the first few lines.

MJ,

I know I’ve missed too many of your birthdays. Too many moments I can’t get back. I know the world ain’t been fair, to you or to me. But I need you to know something, I never stopped fighting for us. For you. For this little family we still are, even from far away. Your brother misses you so much. Every night before bed, we pray that God keeps you safe. That He finds a way to bring us back together again. I know I haven’t been perfect, not even close. I’ve made mistakes I wish I could undo. But you? You’ve always been the best part of me. My first heartbeat. My first real reason to keep going when I didn’t want to. I don’t know how to make up for what was taken, but I’m trying baby. Every single day, I’m trying. Wherever you are, I hope you know your momma never stopped loving you, never stopped thinking about you, and will forever be waiting for you. Happy Birthday Son.

-Love Mommy

Najee exhaled slow, jaw tightening. There was no signature, just a faint smudge of ink where she must’ve tried to wipe her face. He set the card back down carefully, like it was something sacred, and maybe it was. It was grief and guilt wrapped in glitter and love. A small altar. For a boy who wasn’t there to blow out his candles. That kind of pain didn’t come from negligence, it came from loss.

Jackie returned twenty minutes later, barefoot and soft. She wore black leggings, a ribbed Henley that clung to her in all theright places, and a pair of faded Tweety Bird slippers that looked like they’d survived two generations. Her hair was up now, messy, but sexy. With a pair of oversized tortoiseshell readers like she forgot they were even on. Najee felt his pulseshift.

“Don’t say nothing,” she warned with a smirk. “These slippers older than my oldest son.”

“I wasn’t gonna say anything about the slippers,” he said. “But those glasses?”

She raised a brow. “Nah,” he smiled. “They fire. I like ’em.” Jackie rolled her eyes, unconvinced, before heading toward the kitchen. “Takeout is on the way,” he said behind her. “I know you mentioned you didn’t eat earlier. Figured this would keep you from cooking twice.” Jackie paused mid-step, turning around slowly. “Why you being so nice to me, Dr. Nigel?” she asked. Her voice wasn’t accusing, more like curious. Vulnerable even. “You feel that sorry for me?” He stepped forward, closing the distance between them. Her walls were up, but not all the way. “Never,” he said quietly.

Their eyes held a second too long. Jackie broke the tension with a smirk.