Page 5 of All In

“I got tables to break down,” she said. Cash stepped aside, but before she moved past him, he said quietly, “You really made this place look like magic tonight.” She paused. Just for a second. Then: “Yeah, well. Some of us gotta learn how to make something outta nothing.” Then she walked back towards the entrance. And Cash just stood there. Watching her walk away. She was almost back inside when his voice stopped her again. “That night…” he said, quiet but sharp.

“The night Syxe went ghost… I saw him.”

Jackie froze. Cash stepped closer, voice low.

“You were watching me?”

“I was checking on you.” She folded her arms. “Same difference.”

Cash took another step, close enough now that her perfume, warm vanilla, and something else hit him in the chest. “I ain’t know what I was walking into,” he said. “Didn’t know if you needed help or if I needed to put a bullet in somebody.” Jackie’s jaw tightened. “So, what did you decide?”

“I decided you ain’t look like you needed saving,” he said. “Not the way you let that nigga touch you. While your son stoodthere like it was normal.” Jackie flinched. Just slightly. But he saw it.

“You don’t know what the fuck you saw,” she said, her voice sharper now.

“I saw enough.” “No, you saw what you wanted to see,” she snapped. “And you used that shit to write me off like I was just another hood bitch letting her baby daddy play in her face.” He stared at her, breathing hard through his nose. “You ain’t think maybe I was protecting my son?” she said, voice cracking. “And maybe that this was the only way I could even see him? You think I wanted that nigga in my space? The same man that used to drag me up and down steps by my hair and black my eye every time he felt like it?” Cash’s fists clenched at his sides. Jackie shook her head, furious now. “You think I didn’t want to scream or slap the shit outta him? But what the fuck was I supposed to do, Cash? Snatch my son and run? Then what? Lose custody for good?”

“I didn’t know,” he said, voice low. “Yeah. And instead of asking, you judged me.” Cash looked away. Swallowed the guilt crawling up his throat. “Listen, I didn’t want you to find out about Zambia like that,” he said finally. “That’s real shit.” Jackie laughed, bitter and breathless.

“But you still let me and then watched me unravel and said nothing.”

“I ain’t know what to say. Shit between us got blurry. And then I saw him on you like that…”

“What?” she cut in. “It made it easier to cut me off? Easier to slide that ring on her finger and act like none of this happened?”

“I didn’t even buy her that ring,” Cash snapped.

“I didn’t propose to her. I don’t even fucking know her anymore.”

“Yet y’all getting married,” Jackie said, voice thick with sarcasm. “Make it make sense.”

He exhaled through his nose, jaw tight, trying to keep his tone leveled—but the heat behind it slipped anyway. “I been promised to marry Zambia since I was five years old,” he said, low and clipped. “This shit was set in stone before I even knew what marriage was. Her folks and mine, they been locked in, for years. Ain’t no love in it. It’s legacy and leverage.” Jackie blinked. Her expression shifted, but she didn’t interrupt. Cash stepped closer, eyes on hers. “You think I wanted this? You think I sat down and planned this shit out? I’m just the son who happened to be born at the right time to be useful.”

“But you still said yes,” Jackie whispered. “I didn’t say yes,” he said, voice rising for the first time. “I just stopped sayin’ no. That’s the difference.” Jackie looked away, but he wasn’t done. “You look at me like I’m free. Like I get to choose who I love and what I build. But I been groomed for this since I was a kid. Every move I make gets weighed, watched. I’m not just me, I’m somebody’s fucking contingency plan.” He laughed once dry and humorless. “They told me I was lucky, said it was an honor to be my father’s son. That I was blessed to be matched with a woman like her”

“But all I hear iscontrol. All I see is a cage I get to decorate like a throne.”

“You don’t have to go through with it,” Jackie said, voice softer now.

“You don’t owe them your life.”

“Yeah, I do,” he said without hesitation. “This was what was written for me, and I ain’t never had the luxury of rewriting the script.” His voice cracked, just barely. And before she could look away, he stepped in and cupped her chin, eyes locked on hers. “But you… you weren’t supposed to happen.” Jackie blinked, stunned silent. “You weren’t in the plan,” he said. “And I hate that I think about you when I’m not supposed to, and I imagine a life with you, that ain’t mine to want.”

Her eyes welled, lips trembling as the first tear slid down her cheek. “Then why even let me think we had a chance?” she asked, voice trembling. “Why open that door if you were always gonna close it?” He reached up and wiped the tear away with his thumb, slow and gentle, like it hurt him to do it.

“I didn’t plan this,” he murmured.

But before she could answer, he looked up and froze. Because both his mother andZambiawere standing just outside the entrance. Watching. He dropped his hand. And Jackie, sensing the shift—stepped back too, walls rebuilding in real time. “I gotta get back inside,” she said quietly, turning without another word.

CHAPTER THREE

JACKIE

The room was finally still.

The Candles burned low as the last guests slipped out with hugs and foil-wrapped leftovers. Syxe had gone hours ago, glowing, and exhausted. Montana was at her side, protective as ever, guarding her baby bump like it was made of glass. Now it was just Jackie, a skeleton crew, and the slow dismantling of the dream she’d built. She moved through the space like a ghost in heels, eyes tired and tongue sharp. She repacked the vases, folded the linens and crated the centerpieces. The vines that once curled elegantly from the rafters now lay coiled in a sad heap by the trash bags.

In the corner, Max was knocked out on a velvet bench, his little white button-down stained with barbecue sauce, buttercream, and chocolate syrup. His mouth was crusted, his bow tie undone and was stuffed in his pocket as his shoes were lost somewhere under the table. Max had had a time and then some. He’d lived, fully and loudly at that reception, double-fisting cupcakes and “taste-testing” the sundae bar until Jackie finally cut him off. “Now that’s a child who had a good ol’ nigga time.”