Page 172 of The Coldest: Stay Dangerous Part 2

“Estoy siempre contigo, cariño,” she mutters, rubbing my ear like I’m five again. (I’m always with you, sweetheart.)

I nod again, willing myself to believe the words.

“Come on, Ricky. Let’s go see about Mars.”

As soon as we cross into the Hundred Acre Wood, Pooh falls to his knees in front of Nan. He clings to her, worse than I did, and I find myself gawking like I’m watching someone pull flowers out of their pussy.

Maybe if I hadn’t knocked him out, I would have seen him cry like this at Ma’s funeral, but as it stands, Pooh has never been this inconsolable in public. In front of me.

“You and your son are so dramatic,” Nan huffs, though she rubs him soothingly like she did me. “Give me some credit, Winslow. I wasn’t even tied up when Rick got me.”

“Shut the fuck up, Ma,” he sputters, making her smile.

“Where Mars?”

“I, uh put him to sleep.”

My head snaps toward the hall, where a woman stands, holding onto the doorway. She’s looks too comfortable to not live here, but Pooh doesn’t keep any honeybees in the Hundred Acre Wood. And he wouldn’t want to lose his head having any whores around my nephew.

Even if she’s not a honeybee, she’s beautiful. Short, chocolate, and thick, with big ass eyes that don’t drop the more I stare at her.

In fact, she smiles, and walks over to me. Nah, not walk. She saunters over, and the closer she gets, the more I see why and how Pooh got her, and why she allowed a nigga like him to be able to do so.

“Hi, Rico. I’m Pilar.” She holds out a dainty hand, and I take it.

Her eyes slide to the holes in my hoodie, and I’m sure if it weren’t for the botox she got, her forehead would be wrinkled.

“I got a vest on,” I murmur, taking off my hoodie. Two sharp aches form on different parts of my torso from the movement.

“Let’s go to the sitting room and debrief. Come on, baby.”

Pooh stands, and lets Pilar guide him to the sitting room. Nan and I share a glance, and she rolls her eyes before following them.

“No es Ayani, pero está bien. Supongo,” she shrugs. (She’s no Ayani, but she’s okay. I guess.)

I cough to cover up my snort.

Welts cover where I was hit, but none of the bullets pierced the vest. I change into a fresh tee and take some aspirin before I lay eyes on Mars.

The Hundred Acre Wood is just as ostentatious as it’s always been. But the walls are lighter. The artwork, still from Black artists, but not as depressing as it used to be. And the smell of jasmine and freesia hug my nostrils.

This nigga is in love with a woman who isn’t Ma.

I’m more conflicted about it than I thought I would be.

“I gotta go. Snow’s sick, and I need to see about her.”

Nan’s eyes balloon, and she goes to stand, but Pooh stops her.

“Ain’t shit you need to do but be here for your family. I was at the hospital when Pooh called, and we had just got there. When I know more, I’ll update y’all, but do me a favor and stay here.”

“Do you know who tried to get at you?” Pooh asks, taking one of Pilar’s hands.

I wrench my gaze away from the gesture and nod. Should I be honest? If I tell Pooh, he’d handle it. It’s the after. The looks, the questions, talking about Fredo and his choices when he isn’t here to answer nor defend himself.

But we’re passed that, right? My crib is shot up, and my nephew is traumatized.

“You know, uh, Fiorella Jackson? She was the Italian woman Stick married. They got like three kids. The two boys are Foe Dub. Fred, uh, hung with the oldest one.”