Page 7 of All In

“You know I know somebody with a few houses for rent,” he said finally, voice low.

“If you looking.” Jackie sat up slowly, pulling pins from her hair, letting it fall around her shoulders. “How much?” she asked. “Cheap. Real cheap. Damn near free.” Jackie reached for her ashtray, lit the end of a half-joint, and took a slow pull. The faintest of a smile touched her lips.

“Would the owner happen to be a tall Muslim brother with braids—about six-four, maybe two hundred solid—with eyes too pretty for his own good?”

“Maybe,” he said unable to hide his grin. She exhaled smoke, gaze sharp now.

“You don’t like my house or something, Cassius?”

“I don’t like the block, Jackie. It’s a trap block and its not safe.”

“I don’t let my baby out there without me,” she said, defensive.

“It’s not safe for you either—”

“There you go,” she cut in. “Judging me.”

“Her voice stayed calm, but the weight behind it pressed against his chest.

“My house ain’t perfect,” she said softly. “Neither is my block. But right now, it’s home. At least the only home I have.” Cash stared at her before he spoke again.

“I’m not trying to change you, Jack. I just want y’all somewhere safe.”

“I get that,” she said as he just stood there watching her. Smoke curled between them, slow and soft, but the air felt heavy with everything they weren’t saying. Jackie leaned back on the couch, crossing one leg over the other, displaying more ease than before. She took another pull of her joint but kept her eyes fixed on him. “You gonna stand there all night?” she asked, her voice softer than it had been all night. Cash’s jaw flexed because he should’ve been on the road by now.

Instead, his eyes drifted over her—bare feet on the hardwood, hair loose around her shoulders, that stubborn fire glowing under her exhaustion. “You look tired,” he said quietly. “I am,” Jackie admitted. “But it’s a good tired.” She smiled faintly. He nodded once but still didn’t move.

“Go on, Cassius,” she said again, quieter now, voice rough. “You keep staring at me like that, I’m gonna forget you a married man.” With that, their eyes held, and a single tear slid down her cheek, hot and uninvited. Cash’s chest pulled at the sight. He tore his gaze away before clearing his throat. “Come lock this door behind me,” he said, voice low. He couldn’t look at her again because if he did, he might’ve done something reckless. Jackie rose anyway, padding across the hardwood barefoot, following him to the door. His hand was on the knob when something in him snapped. Cash turned suddenly and closed the space between them in two strides. His hands gripped her waist, pulling her to him, and before she could breathe, his mouth was on hers. The kiss was hard and urgent, everything he’d been holding back spilling out at once. Jackie melted into him, fiststwisting in his shirt, the taste of smoke, salt, and need hitting him all at once. It was rough, desperate, and over too quickly.

Cash pulled back, breath unsteady, eyes dark with everything he couldn’t say.

For a moment, neither of them moved. Their breaths tangled in the silence.

Then he spoke, voice low and ragged. “I’m not married yet.”

The words hung between them, heavier than the kiss. Before she could answer, he turned away, jaw tight, and stepped into the night. The door clicked shut behind him, leaving Cash on the outside with his back pressed to the wood, heart racing, chest heaving, and the shadow of her kiss still burning on his mouth.

CHAPTER FIVE

JACKIE

“I just don’t want them tryna slap a label on my baby.”

Jackie stood in front of her bedroom mirror, phone on speaker, slipping a gold hoop through her left ear. She was dressed in a green, polo-collared ribbed dress. Modest enough for a school meeting but still hugging her figure in all the right places. Her hair was pinned back in a neat bun, her face fresh with just liner, mascara, and a matte gloss. A spritz ofAngel’s Shareby Kilian Paris clung to her neck like a soft warning. “Syxe,” she continued, frustration seeping into her voice.

“I don’t get it. Max is not violent. He not disrespectful at home. All that boy wanna do is make that slime shit and get it everywhere—and watch other kids on YouTube play with toys he already got. So him fighting and talking back at school? That’s foreign to me. He don’t do that with me.”

Syxe stayed quiet on the other end, letting her vent. “I’ve disciplined him. I ain’t one of them let-him-do-anything mothers,” Jackie said, tugging gently at the hem of her dress.

“But I’m not finna beat my baby either. I’m not raising him how my mama raised me, beating the shit outta me for being human, and having feelings.” She paused, her voice softening.

“I don’t know what these people finna say, but that Dr. Nigel motherfucker already got me in my bag. He sent me this nice-nasty email like, ‘Please arrive promptly at 2 p.m. so we can discuss Max’s cognitive and behavioral trajectory.’Boy, fuck you.” Syxe laughed softly. “Jack. First of all, this is not an intervention. The school loves Fat Daddy. Sister Malika especially. Lowkey he, her favorite.

“If he wasn’t, he might’ve been outta there a long time ago. She’s just getting Najee involved to get to the root of what’s going on.”

“Wait, who the hell is Najee?” Jackie asked, turning to check her profile in the mirror again. “Najee is Dr. Nigel,” Syxe said, the smirk audible in her voice. “Same person.” Jackie blinked. “So they just out here letting the whole family work at the school, huh? The fiancée teaches, Cash coaching, now Sister Malika got her nephew playing therapist. This some rich Black nepotism bullshit.”

“Respectfully,” Syxe replied, “Nigel is brilliant. He’s been recognized inPsychiatry Today, had work published in theAmerican Journal of Psychiatry. He founded an entire nonprofit around Black boys and ADHD misdiagnosis. He’s not even thirty-five yet.” Jackie paused, eyebrows raised.