Page 7 of Cooly

"She left before I could stop her. A few hours passed—long enough for me to think she had abandoned me. Then she came running through the warehouse. 'My brother saw me,' she whispered. 'He told on me, but I got away before my daddy caught me.' Before I could stand, voices sounded outside. Car doors slammed. Her whole face changed. 'My daddy.' She grabbed my arm and dragged me behind a row of rusted machinery, into a narrow space between the wall and a stack of wooden pallets. 'Stay here,' she ordered. 'Don’t make no sound.' She shoved the phone into my hand, then pushed an old tarp over me. By the time her father’s men entered the warehouse, she was standing in the open alone."

Ayo watched me, hooked on every word.

"They searched the place for a few minutes, but she never looked toward me. Never gave them a reason to look twice at the pallets. Her father dragged her out. I waited until the engines disappeared before I called my daddy. He got there thirty minutes later. He was livid. He hugged me first. Then he beat my ass with my great-grandfather’s walking stick for leaving the hotel." I cracked a dry smile. "You know Nigerian fathers believe relief and violence can occupy the same hand."

I fell silent for a beat.

"I left out the part about making sure every man involved in that night was dead. I killed them all. My father saw what I'd become, and he was proud. I spent the next few years trying to be what he wanted. I was good at it. The violence came easy. The coldness was easy. I built a reputation, made a name for myself, became the son every king wanted. But I hated every second of it."

I ran my hand over my head.

"Years later, I saw her at her father’s house. She looked right through me. That shit hurt. But I got a chance to help her later. Then she showed up in New York calling herself Midnight, running."

I gave Ayo the shortened version of everything after that. The club, helping Indigo hide, Florida, and me getting too fucking comfortable pretending that maybe, somewhere along the way, I'd become more than just the friend she ran to when her real life got too heavy.

Ayo was quiet for a long moment. "Did you ever tell her? About the warehouse?"

"No." I shook my head. "I thought about it a few times. But I never did. She didn't remember, and I didn't want to remind her of something she might have preferred to forget."

Ayo nodded slowly, her eyes searching mine. "That's heavy, Chinedu. That's really heavy."

"Tell me about it."

"You went to Florida after she left, y'all were friends, she made you her daughter's godfather... how did it end up with you this sad?"

I dropped my head. "I don’t want to talk about it."

We sat in silence, the breeze carrying the distant sound of a car horn. Ayo's hand was warm in mine, her thumb tracing slow circles on my palm.

"Okay. Now I understand," she finally said.

"Understand what?"

"Why it's her. Diamond made it sound like you picked some pretty married woman and decided she belonged to you because you're fucking insane."

"How am I insane?"

"You are fucking insane," she countered gently. "But this..." She gestured between us. "This explains the attachment. She wasn't just some woman you wanted. Your brain attached her to being fifteen, terrified, and having somebody show up when you thought nobody was coming."

We sat in silence for a while longer.

"Diamond says there’s a husband?" Ayo asked softly.

"And kids. I love the kids. She wouldn’t let me come to their birthday—just said 'fuck me.' I should have killed him when she was in New York. He don’t deserve her." The decision not to kill Malachai when I first found out he was looking for her was something I’d regret my whole life. He was living my life.

Ayo immediately took her hands and placed them over her ears. "Remember what I am and don’t confess murder plans to someone who has a duty to disclose."

I chuckled and leaned over, pulling my wallet out of my pocket. "Here’s a hundred, counselor. Now it’s attorney-client privilege."

She looked down at the bill, then back up at me with a slow shake of her head. "First of all, my hourly rate is six times this," she said, though she still snatched the bill and slid it into her bra. "Second, privilege covers what you did, Chinedu—not what you're planning to do."

I stared at where the money had disappeared. "I’m not planning to kill his ass no more." I left out the part where I planned to wait a few years so Indigo wouldn’t be suspicious.

"Oga, comot for here with that lie," she scoffed. "You think I forgot how your head works? Don’t do something you’ll regret."

"Abeg, leave that matter," I muttered. "Let’s talk about you. You meet anyone? A straight-laced, silver-spoon Nigerian CEO your daddy actually approves of?"

Chapter 4