07. anthony's angel

Angel learns what it’s like to have someone truly stand for her—even when it terrifies her.

ANGEL

I thought I was just going to take a quick nap at Anthony’s—just a few hours to recharge—but somehow, I ended up sleeping through the entire afternoon and well into the next day. Every time my eyes cracked open, they felt like they were weighted down, my body refusing to budge. And Anthony… he held me so tight, like he was trying to tether me to some place safe, some place where all the noise couldn’t touch me. It wasn’t just his arms, though—it was his whole presence, wrapping around me like a cocoon I didn’t want to leave. My mind kept screaming at me that I needed to get back to the hospital, but my body? It wasn’t moving.

And my heart? It wasn’t listening either.

It whispered things my head didn’t want to hear, things that felt dangerous to believe. For the first time in what felt like forever, I felt cared for, held in a way I’d forgotten was possible. My head kept trying to shut it down, throwing logic and walls at the idea that this could be real—real for me—but my heart? It let me feel it anyway, just for a little while. Because deep down, I wasn’t sure if I’d ever feel this way again.

Now, back at the hospital, reality hit me like a cold wind. D-Truth was already there with my son when I walked in, taking over for his mother’s shift before we arrived. It still threw me every time I saw him, this larger-than-life figure who used to walk the same hallways as me back in school. He was D-Truth, the guy who made it big, but somehow, the fame hadn’t swallowed him whole. The way he carried himself now? So chill, so grounded, like he’d found a way to keep all the noise from touching who he really was. In this room, he was just Anthony’s brother.

And Anthony? Despite the moments that softened something deep inside me—the quiet ones where his presence felt like a shield—I couldn’t let myself get lost in him. He said we were friends. He’d promised he’d never hurt me, but promises didn’t mean much to me anymore. I wasn’t built for fairytales. Not even after I let him in—really let him in—and told him everything. Things I hadn’t said out loud to anyone, ever.

Now, the thought of it made my stomach twist. Why had I said so much? But Anthony had this way about him, this steady, quiet pull that made me feel safe, like I didn’t have to hold my armor so tight. He really listened. He saw me.

But maybe that’s all it was—pity. That’s what people like him feel for people like me.

Once DJ recovered, things would settle back into their usual rhythm. Anthony would go back to his life—the one that didn’t include me—and I’d go back to mine. Back to the trailer, back to scrubbing floors, back to piecing together a life the best way I could. It would be me and my baby again.

And that had to be enough.

“Oh my God!” I screamed, jolting upright as DJ’s eyes suddenly fluttered open.

“What?” Anthony’s deep voice boomed from across the room, his heavy footsteps thudding toward me. “Oh, shit!” He froze for half a second, staring at Derek’s wide, confused eyes before springing into action. “I’ll get the doctor,” he said, already rushing out the door.

“Derek, it’s okay, baby. Mommy’s here,” my voice trembled, tears streaming down my face as I leaned over him, brushing his curls back and holding his small hand.

His eyes darted around the room, confusion and fear etched into his little face. I held on tighter, whispering to him, trying to calm him, to ground him. But just as suddenly as his eyes had opened, they began to close again.

“No, no, no,” I sobbed, my heart clenching as his lashes fluttered shut, his body relaxing back into stillness. “It’s okay,” I whispered, more to myself than him. “You’re okay, baby. I’m here. We’re here.”

Anthony burst back into the room, the doctor right on his heels. The man looked calm, but his pace quickened when he saw me clinging to Derek’s hand, tears streaming down my face. Anthony immediately moved to my side, placing his huge hand on my shoulder. His presence was grounding, but my heart still felt like it was about to break out of my chest.

“What’s going on? Why did his eyes open and then close again? Is he okay? Is something wrong?” The questions spilled out of me in a frantic rush, my voice cracking as I tried to hold myself together.

The doctor, a middle-aged man with kind eyes and a calm demeanor, held up a hand, his tone reassuring. “Ms. Moore, take a deep breath. I know it’s scary, but what you just saw is actually a good sign.”

I blinked at him, my heart still racing. “How is that good? He looked—he looked so scared, and then he just—he—” My voice faltered, and I gripped Derek’s hand tighter.

The doctor pulled a stool closer, sitting down so he was eye level with me. “What happened is completely normal for someone in Derek’s condition. His body is healing, and it’s not uncommon for patients to have moments of semi-consciousness as they start to recover. It’s a sign his brain is waking up, but it’s doing so gradually. The fact that he opened his eyes is progress.”

“But he looked so confused,” I whispered, my voice trembling. “And then he just…shut down again.”

“That’s because his body is still in healing mode,” the doctor explained, his tone gentle but firm. “Think of it like this—when you’re recovering from something serious, your body prioritizes rest. Derek’s brain and body are doing exactly what they need to do right now. Those brief moments of awareness will likely happen more often as he continues to heal.”

I swallowed hard, the lump in my throat easing slightly. “So…he’s okay? This doesn’t mean there’s something worse going on?”

The doctor shook his head. “Not at all. It’s a positive step forward. We’ll keep monitoring him closely, but from everything we’re seeing, he’s headed in the right direction.”

Anthony’s hand on my shoulder tightened slightly, a silent gesture of reassurance. I glanced up at him, and he nodded, his eyes steady and calm.

“You hear that? He’s doing good,” Anthony said, his deep voice warm and steady, like he was willing those words to wrap around me, to make me believe them even if I didn’t know how.

I exhaled shakily, my breath hitching on the way out as the tightness in my chest loosened just a little.

“Okay,” I whispered, brushing my fingers gently through Derek’s soft curls. The word barely came out, more breath than sound, but it felt like a release. “Okay.”

The doctor stood, offering me a small, kind smile. “You’re doing a great job, Ms. Moore. Just keep talking to him, letting him know you’re here. That’s the best thing you can do for him right now.”

My lips trembled as I forced out a quiet, “Thank you.” It felt too small for what I wanted to say, but it was all I had.

He nodded and slipped out of the room, leaving just the three of us. The door clicked shut, and the silence that followed felt heavier, thicker, like the room had pulled me back into its orbit.

Anthony crouched next to me, his hand never leaving my shoulder, his touch a steady presence in the storm of everything I was feeling.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice low and quiet, like it was meant just for me.

I nodded, though the motion felt slow, unsure. My hand stayed glued to Derek’s, my thumb tracing over his small fingers.

“I think so,” I said, but my voice cracked, betraying me. “I just… I don’t know what I’d do if I lost him.”

Anthony’s hand tightened on my shoulder, not in a way that pressured me, but in a way that told me he was there with me.

“You’re not going to,” he said firmly, his voice a quiet force. His eyes locked on mine, and there wasn’t a single crack in them—just certainty, solid and unwavering. “That boy’s a fighter, just like his mama. He’s gonna pull through. You hear me?”

His words hit something deep in me, like they were stitching together pieces of me I didn’t even know were broken. I didn’t realize how much I’d needed to hear them until they were there, sitting between us, impossible to ignore.

“Anthony, I—” The words broke in my throat, fragile and unfinished. Before I could stop it, the dam burst. My shoulders shook as the tears came, heavy and unstoppable, pouring out of me in waves that felt like they might drown me.

Anthony moved without hesitation, his arms wrapping around me like a shield, firm. I didn’t fight it. And then, in the quiet between my sobs, I swore I felt him press a kiss to the top of my head, soft and lingering, like he was trying to say something he didn’t have words for.

“I got you,” he murmured, his voice low, steady, and full of something I wasn’t ready to name. “I’m here. You’re a great mother, Angel. You’re doing everything right. He’s lucky to have you.”

Those words—the simplicity of them, the conviction behind them—hit me harder than anything else. Something inside me shifted, just enough for the tiniest bit of air to get through.

“You got him,” Anthony said, easing back just enough to look me in the eyes, his hands steadying me. “And I got both of you.”

I searched his face, looking for a crack, a slip in his resolve, something that would tell me he was just being kind. But there wasn’t one. He was serious. Dead serious.

My breath hitched, my chest tightening—not with fear, but something heavier. Something dangerous. It felt too good. My heart stuttered, unsteady, like it didn’t know what to do with the feeling.

Oh, God. My heart twisted, and I couldn’t stop the way my hands trembled as I moved away from him, sliding back into the chair like it was the only thing keeping me from floating away. My fingers clung to Derek’s hand like it was the only anchor I had left, the only thing I could trust in that moment.

What was that I just felt? That warmth that settled in my chest, the flicker of something that felt too close to hope? I couldn’t afford it. I couldn’t let it grow.

Before I could overanalyze it, before my heart could run off with something my mind couldn’t handle, a soft knock came at the door, breaking the heavy silence like a splash of cold water.

“Come in,” I said, forcing my voice to sound calm even though my chest still felt like it was unraveling.

The door opened, and there she was—Destiny Boseman. The same Destiny Boseman I remembered from high school. Back then, she and D-Truth were like two sides of the same coin—him the wild, untouchable bad boy, her the picture-perfect good girl everyone loved but no one could reach thanks to her boyfriend. And now, years later, she hadn’t changed. Not really. Destiny was still the one you couldn’t help but notice in a room. Here in Juniper, she was everywhere—always at the heart of some community project, always glowing, always pulling things together with that calm, confident grace that never seemed to falter.

She looked just as flawless as ever, like life never had the nerve to throw her a curveball. And standing beside her was a younger girl with that shy, quiet energy of someone who didn’t yet know where they fit. I’d seen her before, usually hovering in Destiny’s shadow, but we’d never exchanged words.

“Hey! We brought lunch,” Destiny said, her smile warm as she stepped into the room, her presence radiating calm even as I felt myself stiffen.

I straightened in my chair, trying to keep my voice steady, to meet her polished energy with whatever scraps of composure I still had left.

“DJ was actually up for a little bit earlier,” I said, my words spilling out too quickly. Her sharp eyes darted from DJ to me, and I rushed to fill the space before she could ask anything more. “The doctors say he needs a lot of rest to make sure his brain heals properly, but they’re confident he’s going to be just fine.”

Anthony’s voice cut in, his light, easy tone grounding me like it always seemed to. “He’ll be back to kicking freestyles in no time,” he said, and even though the words were casual, they carried a warmth that eased the weight in my chest just a little.

“This is amazing news,” Destiny replied, her smile widening like she’d just heard her favorite song on the radio. “I can’t wait to tell Derek.”

Anthony glanced at his phone, his voice as nonchalant as ever. “He should be here in a little bit, actually.”

“Oh yeah?” Destiny’s tone stayed light, but her eyes flickered—just for a second—with something I couldn’t quite place. Was it annoyance? Confusion? Whatever it was, it was gone just as quickly as it appeared, replaced by her usual polished ease. She turned her attention back to DJ, her face softening in a way that made my heart ache.

“My daddy fried some chicken, and my mama made dirty rice, mac and cheese, and a salad,” Destiny said looking back at me, her voice lilting with the pride of someone offering a piece of home. She nodded toward the younger girl, who quietly placed the bags of food on the small table by the window.

The aroma of home-cooked food filled the room, warm and rich, and I felt my stomach growl despite the breakfast Anthony had all but forced me to eat before we left his place. It hit me all at once—the kindness of it. The food, the company, the way these people just showed up for me and Derek without question, without hesitation. It was overwhelming in the best way, and yet it almost felt like too much.

“Y’all are too kind,” I said, shaking my head as I tightened my grip on DJ’s small hand. My voice wavered, but I pushed through it. “The way all of you have shown up for me…It’s just been me and my baby for so long. Even when Ant said he had us, I didn’t really get it. But I do now,” I glanced at each of them, my voice barely above a whisper. “Thank y’all so much.”

Anthony’s voice cut through the moment, steady and certain. “We meant every word, Angel.”

I turned to him, my eyes locking with his. There was no hesitation, no doubt—just steady conviction on the face of a man so big, so intimidating, yet so gentle with me. Those intense eyes, the ones that seemed to see straight through me, belonged to the man who had talked to me, listened to me, held me, fed me.

And maybe I was imagining it, like I imagined that kiss on my head, but it felt like there was more he wasn’t saying. Like he wanted something—something bigger than sex, something scarier. My heart.

The thought made my stomach twist. It was inappropriate, ridiculous even, with my son fighting for his life in the next breath. And me? Thinking Anthony Harris could want me—a nobody, just DJ’s mama? That was beyond foolish.

I couldn’t want him either. There was no room for that. None.

Focus, Angelina. DJ is what matters. He’s all that matters.

“I see that now,” I said softly, the words carrying more weight than I expected. My lips curved into a small, unintentional smile, and my gaze lingered on him longer than it should have. There was something in his eyes, something solid and steady that made the chaos in my chest quiet for just a moment. Gratitude swelled in me, but it wasn’t just that. It was something else, something I shoved down deep so that I wouldn’t feel it, so that I could function.

“Where the fuck is my son?” a voice suddenly screamed in the hallway, cutting through the air like a lightning strike.

I froze. I didn’t need to see who it was; I recognized it instantly. My stomach dropped, my breath hitching as the hair on the back of my neck stood on end. Goosebumps raced down my arms, and my chest tightened, a cold knot of fear settling deep inside me. He was here.

Carlos.

Shuffling footsteps followed—hurried, frantic—along with the sound of hushed voices trying to calm him down. But none of it mattered. The door slammed open with a force that rattled the walls, and I flinched so hard my body jerked backward, colliding with Anthony’s solid frame.

Carlos stood in the doorway, his chest heaving, his face a storm of rage and disbelief. His eyes darted around the room, wild and erratic, before locking on me, and then Derek. His gaze hardened, and his jaw clenched so tightly I thought I might hear his teeth crack.

“What the—” Carlos’s words caught in his throat, his anger momentarily replaced by something else—shock, maybe even guilt—as he took in the sight of our son lying so small and still in the hospital bed.

“Carlos!” My voice came out trembling, weaker than I wanted, as I stepped forward on instinct. I tried to find words, tried to explain, but they stuck in my throat. Nothing came.

“What the fuck happened to my son, Angelina?” he barked, his voice slicing through the air like a whip. He wasn’t worried. He wasn’t scared. He was angry—raw, untamed, and directed squarely at me.

“Aye, man!” Anthony’s voice cut through the tension, calm but laced with steel, like the rumble of thunder before a storm. “You’re not gonna come up in here with all that yelling while Derek’s trying to rest.”

Anthony stepped toward Carlos, his presence commanding even though his voice stayed measured. His steps were slow, deliberate, like he wasn’t just walking—he was closing the space with intent. The energy in the room shifted again, heavier now, charged.

Carlos’s gaze flicked toward him, his eyes narrowing as he took in Anthony’s calm, unshaken demeanor. I could almost see him calculating, weighing his next move, but whatever conclusion he came to, he dismissed it with a sneer, pivoting back to me.

“What happened to my boy?!” he roared again, louder this time, his frustration boiling over.

I forced myself to take a shaky breath, trying to steady the tremble in my voice. “I told you days ago he was in an accident,” I said, managing to keep my tone firm even as my hands trembled. But the heat of embarrassment crept up my neck, my voice feeling too small in the face of Carlos’s fury. It was one thing for him to tear into me in private, but now? Here? In front of Anthony and the others? The humiliation pressed down on me like a weight.

“You didn’t say it was this bad! I had to see it on the fucking news!” he snapped, his words dripping with accusation.

“Maybe if you’d stop ignoring my calls and texts—” I started.

He cut me off with a cruel, venomous snarl. “Maybe if you’d be a fucking mother, your son wouldn’t be in the hospital like this. Where the fuck were you when this happened?”

The words hit like a slap to the face, sharp and stinging. For a moment, I just stood there, frozen, as the weight of his accusation sank in. Then anger roared to life, burning away the fear and humiliation. My face burned as I glared at him, my voice rising, cracking under the strain.

“I was right there with him! I was trying to protect him!” The words poured out of me, as my body trembled. The sling on my arm felt heavier in that moment, a constant, painful reminder of everything I’d endured trying to keep Derek safe.

Carlos opened his mouth to say something else, but before he could get a word out, Anthony’s voice sliced through the room like a blade.

“She’s been calling you and texting you for days,” he said, his tone low and sharp, vibrating with barely-contained anger.

Carlos turned to him, his sneer back in place, his bravado rising to cover the cracks. “I don’t know who the fuck you are,” he spat, waving a dismissive hand at Anthony like he was nothing. “But this is between me and my ex-wife. It doesn’t concern you.”

He took a step toward me, but before he could get any closer, Anthony was there. He moved so fast I barely registered it, his broad shoulders blocking Carlos’s path like an immovable wall.

His voice dropped, low and sharp, a quiet menace that didn’t need volume to land. It was a tone I’d never heard from him before.

“She is my concern,” Anthony said, like he was daring Carlos to test him. “And you’re gonna speak to her with respect, or you’re gonna deal with me.”

The room froze, the tension so thick it felt like even the walls were holding their breath. Carlos’s stare locked on Anthony, his bravado faltering for the briefest moment as it hit him—this man wasn’t like the others. He wasn’t going to back down. Not like I had.

Carlos’s lips twisted into a bitter laugh, forced and hollow, as he shook his head, like he’d uncovered some private, cruel joke no one else was in on.

“Oh, so you’re fucking her now?” Carlos sneered, his words laced with venom, dripping contempt from every syllable. “I see what this is. Angel, you better tell your little boyfriend to back the fuck off before I make you regret it.”

The threat in his tone curled around my spine, but it didn’t land the way he wanted. Ant didn’t flinch. He just stood there, still as stone.

“I’m her friend,” he said, his tone as measured as it was cutting. “And I don’t have to be fucking someone to treat them with respect.”

There was something behind his words—something bigger than Carlos’s bullshit. Even I felt it. This wasn’t just about Carlos anymore. Ant was speaking from somewhere raw, somewhere deep I didn’t fully understand but couldn’t ignore.

He took a deliberate step closer to Carlos, his broad shoulders radiating a strength that didn’t need to flex to be felt. His voice dipped lower, colder, each word deliberate.

“If you wanna see about your son, you better calm the fuck down and start talking to Angel like the woman who’s been holding it down for your boy since day one. The one who’s been here with him, every damn night, since this accident. Or…” He paused, leaning in just enough for his presence to press against Carlos like a shadow. His next words came like a knife, sharp and unrelenting. “Me and you? We’re gonna have a problem. And trust me—that’s not something you want. You don’t run shit here.”

Carlos faltered. I swore I heard him gulp. The sneer on his face twitched, the arrogance that had carried him into the room flickering, his confidence unraveling under the weight of Ant’s words. He tried to hold his ground, but his swagger shrank, replaced by a small, hesitant shift in his stance. For the first time since he’d walked in, Carlos didn’t look scary. He looked small.

“Now, lower your tone and ask her what you wanna know about Derek.”

Ant stepped aside, revealing me behind him, my mouth half-open as I struggled to close it. No one talked to Carlos Steinburg like that. No one had ever stood up to him for me. No one had ever stood up for me, period.

That feeling I kept trying to bury? It was back, stronger this time, stealing my breath.

Carlos’s eyes flicked to mine, and I saw the anger in them dull, just a little, replaced by something almost like defeat. The awe must’ve been written all over my face because, for the first time, someone had done the impossible—shut Carlos down completely. Someone protected me, not just verbally, but also physically.

“Speak, nigga!” Ant barked, his voice cracking through the room like a whip.

Carlos flinched, the crack in his armor deepening. His shoulders sagged slightly, his confidence crumbling into dust. Clearing his throat, he dropped his gaze to the floor like a scolded child. When he finally spoke, his voice had lost all its bite.

“Angelina,” he started, each word slower than the last, like he was forcing them out against his will. “I’d like to know what happened to my son, and… I wanna know what his recovery is gonna look like.”

“Good boy,” Ant muttered, his voice dripping with condescension as he gave Carlos a quick pat on the shoulder, like someone rewarding a dog for behaving. He turned and moved back to the couch, his every step calm and unhurried, like he had all the time in the world. His eyes never left Carlos, though—his presence still looming, making it clear who held the power now.

Holy shit.

Carlos cleared his throat again, glancing between me and Ant like he wasn’t sure what his next move was supposed to be.

“Angelina, can we speak in private?” he finally asked, his voice filled with desperation.

“No,” Ant cut in, his tone flat, final, not even putting me in a position to respond.

Anthony dropped onto the couch with effortless confidence, stretching out his long legs and draping his arms across the backrest, his posture daring Carlos to challenge him.

He didn’t need to say anything else. His presence alone left no room for debate. Whatever Carlos had to say, he was going to say it here, in front of everyone. No more whispered accusations. No more private digs. No more control.

“The fuck is going on in here?”

The room stilled. I turned toward the voice coming from the door, my pulse quickening as Derek—D-Truth—stepped in. His presence hit like a tidal wave, filling every corner of the space without effort.

His sharp gaze swept across the room, taking in Destiny, Carlos, Ant, and then me. His expression was unreadable, but there was an edge in his eyes, an unmistakable weight in his stance.

Flanking him were two massive security guards, both of them scanning the room with quiet precision, their sharp eyes making me feel like a potential threat in my own son’s hospital room.

“The nurses said we had a problem,” D-Truth said, his voice calm but carrying the kind of authority that didn’t ask—it demanded. He wasn’t here to talk. He was here to handle things.

“No problem here,” Ant replied smoothly, like the weight of the room didn’t faze him. His words carried an almost casual confidence, but the smirk he aimed at Carlos was anything but. It was a challenge—a quiet, unspoken dare. “Right, Carlos?”

Carlos flinched again, his swagger evaporating completely under the combined weight of Ant and D-Truth’s presence. His shoulders slumped as he muttered, “Right,” his voice barely audible. The man who had stormed in like a hurricane now looked like a deflated balloon, exposed and shrinking by the second.

“Carlos came to see about his son,” Ant continued, his voice light, almost conversational, but sharp enough to draw blood. “And he learned real quick that if he wants to do that, he’s gotta speak to Angel with some respect. We got that straightened out.”

D-Truth’s sharp gaze cut to Carlos, and he sized him up like he was deciding whether the man was even worth the trouble.

“Oh, ‘cause if you can’t play nice, Damien and Bernard here can show you the way out,” Truth said, motioning casually toward his guards. His tone was almost bored, but the unspoken threat in his words was impossible to miss.

Carlos blinked, his face shifting from confusion to growing recognition as it finally clicked who he was standing in front of.

“D-Truth!” he stammered, his voice pitching higher, his entire demeanor flipping in an instant. The grin on his face was almost painful to watch as he stuck out his hand, trying to cover his earlier fury with a mask of starstruck admiration. “Man, I love your music! Got all your albums. You here to see my son?”

The desperation in his voice made my stomach twist. Minutes ago, he was ready to tear me to shreds, but now? He was scrambling, tripping over himself to find footing with D-Truth, like flattery might save him from the mess he’d made.

Derek didn’t even glance at Carlos’s outstretched hand. His stare was cold, sharper than any words could’ve been.

“ I visit your son every day,” he said, his voice cutting like ice. “Never seen you here.”

Carlos’s hand fell slowly, his grin fading into an awkward silence.

Derek let the silence hang just long enough to crush whatever was left of Carlos’s confidence before leaning in, his words landing like a punch to the gut. “But if you’re here to cause problems, our security can make sure you don’t make any return visits.”

Carlos visibly deflated, his shoulders curling inward like he wanted to disappear into the chair behind him. The shift in energy was so sharp, it was like Carlos had been stripped of every ounce of power he thought he had.

“Look, man,” Carlos finally said, his voice softer now, almost pleading. “I just… I just want to know what’s going on with my son. I may not have been here before, but I’m here now.”

“You should’ve been here,” Ant cut in, his voice low and brimming with disappointment. The quiet weight of his tone hit harder than any shout could’ve. “Right now, the best thing you can do is sit down, shut up, and let Angel tell you what’s going on.”

Carlos hesitated, his eyes darting between Derek, Ant, and me. For the first time, he looked lost—like he was searching for something in the silence, maybe forgiveness, maybe a way out of the corner he’d backed himself into.

Finally, he gave a small, almost reluctant nod and sank into a chair, his movements slow and heavy. For the first time since he’d stormed in, Carlos looked like he realized the truth we’d all been trying to tell him: He didn’t own this moment. This wasn’t his space to take over. This was my space, my son’s recovery, and for once, it wasn’t up to him to control it.

I took a deep breath, feeling Ant’s gaze steady on me. When I glanced at him, there was something in his eyes—like he was holding me up without even touching me. That look gave me strength, enough to push through the tight knot in my chest and finally lay it all out.

“Derek’s going to be okay,” I began, my voice steady even though my heart felt like it might shatter under the weight of the words. The weight of saying it, of believing it, pressed down on me like a stone, but I couldn’t afford to break. “But it’s going to take time. He’s been through a lot—more than any child should ever have to.”

The memory of the accident flickered in my mind like a cruel replay, but I swallowed hard and forced it back, focusing on the now. “He suffered a traumatic brain injury. There was some bleeding, and he’s been in and out of consciousness. The doctors stopped the bleeding, but there’s still a risk of long-term effects. His chest took a hard hit, too—fractured ribs and a bruised lung. Breathing was hard for him at first, but he’s improving every day.”

My voice wavered, just for a second, but I pushed through. “The road ahead won’t be easy. He’ll need therapy—physical, maybe even speech therapy—to help him get back to where he was. The doctors are hopeful, but this isn’t something we can rush. Stress could set him back.”

I locked eyes with Carlos, willing him to hear me—not just the words, but the truth in them. No arguments. No drama. Derek needed calm, and Carlos… well, he wasn’t exactly a calming presence in either of our lives.

Before I could say more, D-Truth’s voice sliced through the room, sharp and pointed. “So that means supporting Angel and Derek without making this about you. No stressing the boy out by disrespecting his mother. Can you handle that?”

Carlos blinked, and for the first time, I saw the walls he always hid behind start to crumble. The bluster and bravado that had carried him through the door were gone, replaced by something quieter, almost uncertain. He nodded slowly. “Yeah, I can handle that,” he said, his voice softer than I’d ever heard it. It sounded like he was convincing himself as much as anyone else.

Ant’s posture relaxed—just a fraction—but his eyes stayed locked on Carlos, a silent warning that nothing less than full compliance would be tolerated.

“Good,” he said, his tone like the slam of a heavy door. “Then you can stay. But remember—you’re a guest here. Act like it.”

Carlos slumped back into the chair. His eyes flicked toward me, and for the first time in a long time, there wasn’t anger or disdain in them—just something softer. Regret, maybe.

“Thanks for telling me what’s going on,” he said, his voice low. “And… I’m sorry I wasn’t here sooner.”

I didn’t know if I believed him, but for the first time in years, it felt like maybe—just maybe—he was trying.

D-Truth stepped closer, his hand brushing lightly against my arm. The gesture was small but deliberate, and it made something inside me settle. “You good?” he asked, his voice quieter now, the edge replaced by something softer, something like reassurance.

I nodded, managing a small smile that felt steadier than I expected. “Yeah, I’m good,” I answered.

“Alright,” Derek replied, his tone firm but calm, like he was grounding himself. “Let’s focus on what matters—getting Little Derek better.”

For a moment, the room exhaled, the tension breaking like a wave. But then, as if the universe couldn’t let us have too much peace, another voice boomed from the doorway, like a record scratch. Someone I think I saw here the night of the accident as part of D-Truth’s team.

“Aye yo, Carlos, lemme get $5 for the vending machine,” he said, leaning against the doorway with a cocky grin like he owned the place. None of us had noticed him come in, but somehow, his presence didn’t surprise anyone but me.

Carlos blinked, his confusion plain.

“Excuse me?” he asked, his voice tight, caught somewhere between irritation and disbelief.

“I said,” the guy who had curls like my son and an accent from up North repeated, slower this time, dragging out each syllable like Carlos was slow to catch on, “lemme hold $5 for the vending machine.”

Carlos frowned, his irritation flashing across his face. “I don’t even know you. Why would I give you anything?”

The guy sucked his teeth dramatically, throwing an exaggerated sigh in Ant’s direction like Carlos was the unreasonable one in the room.

“Ant, tell this nigga gimmie $5 real quick,” he said, jerking his thumb toward Carlos without a shred of shame.

Without even looking up from his phone, Ant replied, his voice calm and dismissive like he was already bored with the whole exchange. “Give Hakeem $5, Carlos.”

Carlos’s mouth opened, then shut, his brain visibly scrambling to keep up with what was happening.

“Wh—I—” he stammered, his words tripping over each other. He looked around the room, like he expected someone to back him up, but all he got were blank stares—or in Truth’s case, a slow, amused smirk.

“Run them pockets, Carlos,” Truth said, his voice as smooth as ever, but the teasing lilt in his tone left no room for interpretation.

Carlos groaned, his frustration bubbling to the surface. He rolled his eyes so hard I thought they might get stuck, but he reached for his wallet all the same. With all the enthusiasm of someone handing over their last dollar, he pulled out a crumpled bill and shoved it toward Hakeem.

“Good looking out!” Hakeem grinned, snatching the money like he’d just won a prize. He gave Carlos a quick wink before strolling out of the room with all the swagger of someone who’d just pulled off a robbery.

Carlos sat there, dumbfounded, his jaw tight and his hands clenched into fists as he glanced around the room again. But no one seemed to notice—or care.

All of us had already dismissed him.

“Fucking hell, I could really use a milkshake right about now,” Derek muttered as he dropped onto the couch beside Ant, his large frame taking up most of the space. The intensity he’d brought with him earlier seemed to dissolve as he exhaled, leaning back like the weight of the day had caught up with him. “Goddamn ice cream machine’s been out of commission for a week now.”, he complained.

“Maybe we could get you one from Ruby’s—” Destiny’s friend offered hesitantly.

Destiny, though, looked almost embarrassed by the mention of ice cream—about her man wanting it, which struck me as odd. Her face tightened with mock irritation as she turned to her friend.

“Girl, no,” she cut in quickly, shaking her head.

D-Truth’s smirk widened, landing squarely on Destiny, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “You know you make the best milkshakes, Des,” he teased, his voice dipping into that smooth, easy charm that probably got him out of trouble more times than not. “Ain’t no point pretending otherwise.”

Destiny threw her hands up, dramatic as ever, but the corners of her mouth betrayed her, twitching with the smile she was fighting. “Derek, don’t start,” she warned, though the lack of heat in her tone told me she wasn’t mad.

The whole thing felt like an inside joke—one I wasn’t invited to—so I went back to minding my business.

“Angel, come on, before the food gets cold,” Anthony’s voice cut through my thoughts, low and steady as ever. I glanced over at him just in time to see him uncovering the foil from a plate, the aroma of fried chicken and mac and cheese making my stomach growl in protest. He caught my eye and smirked, like he was expecting a fight. “DJ’s got a room full of people here looking out for him. You can take your eyes off him for a few minutes and eat something.”

It wasn’t really a suggestion, the way he said it. Anthony never pushed me, never controlled me, but he had this way of making his words sound less like questions and more like quiet commands—ones meant to protect me. It wasn’t overbearing. It wasn’t forceful. It was him looking out for me the way no one else ever really had.

I sighed, knowing he was right, and stood.

He pulled out the chair like a gentleman, then slid the plate closer to me before handing me the utensils. His movements were deliberate, like he didn’t trust me not to just walk away.

The food was good—better than good, honestly—but I couldn’t shake the feeling that everyone was staring at me. It was the kind of staring that felt heavier than it should’ve, like everyone was watching something unspoken play out between me and Ant, trying to figure it out.

But the food was so good that I forced myself not to care. Bite after bite, it felt like I could breathe again, like the heaviness in my chest wasn’t crushing me quite as much.

Until my eyes flicked back to Carlos.

He was slouched in his chair, jaw tight, his entire body coiled like a spring ready to snap. His eyes bounced between me and Anthony, trying—and failing—not to make it obvious. And the more he sat there, simmering in his own frustration, the more I could see it. The care Anthony was giving me, the calm way he looked after me—it wasn’t just getting under Carlos’s skin. It was eating him alive.

His fists clenched against the armrests of the chair, his knuckles white. He looked like he wanted to say something, like the words were burning in his throat, but he swallowed them back.

Carlos didn’t act out without a plan. He’d sit there and take his time, measuring every second of silence, every glance between me and Anthony, until he could use it against me.

And I knew him well enough to know that he would use it against me.

He wasn’t one to let things slide. He’d shrink in the moment, make himself look small and pitiful, but it was all for show. No matter how deflated he seemed now, no matter how much he’d shrunk under Anthony and Derek’s presence, Carlos wasn’t done. Not by a long shot.

Trouble was coming. It always did with Carlos.

The second Ant and Derek weren’t around, he’d strike. He always did—when I least expected it, when I thought I’d finally caught my breath. Whether it was through words sharp enough to cut or actions that left me questioning everything I knew, Carlos knew how to make me pay.

I didn’t know when, and I didn’t know how. But one thing was certain: I’d pay for this moment of strength, this flicker of defiance. Come hell or high water, Carlos would see to it.

But right now, with Anthony Harris beside me—his presence so massive, so steady, it filled the room—I felt something I’d never felt before.

I felt protected.

And for this fleeting moment, I let myself breathe in that strength. I let it settle in my chest, filling the cracks that fear had left behind.

If only for this moment, I felt safe. I felt relief. I felt support. I felt free.

to be continued…

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Let’s chat in the comments!

End of chapter reader questions:

1. With Anthony standing up to Carlos—both with his words and physically stepping between them—do you think Angel will begin to trust that his care for her is genuine? Or will her insecurities keep her guarded?

2. Anthony and Angel are both wrestling with feelings they don’t want to acknowledge, especially with Little Derek fighting for his life. If you were in their shoes, how would you handle it? Do you empathize with the choices they’re making right now?

3. Carlos is used to controlling Angel through verbal and emotional abuse, but Anthony’s presence clearly threw him off. How do you think Carlos will respond to this new dynamic, with people stepping in to support Angel and Derek? Could it change how he acts moving forward, or will it only fuel his anger?

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