Page 10 of Crown: Phase 4

“You care about that nigga?”

Smoky’s throat tightened. The room suddenly felt too hot. A bead of sweat rolled from his temple, and he wiped it away with the back of his hand before dragging both palms down the front of his jeans. His mouth had gone dry, leaving him unable to force out a single word.

“That was a question.”

Smoky shut his eyes for a brief second and bit down on his bottom lip. When he finally opened them, his eyes had glossed over. Unable to bring himself to say the words aloud, he gave Crown a slow nod, his expression heavy with embarrassment.

∞∞∞

Crown didn’t pull into his driveway until 1:45 that morning. He killed the engine and climbed off his Harley, every muscle in his body aching. His knuckles throbbed beneath dried blood and swelling, and his mind refused to stop replaying the events of the day.

As he quietly unlocked the front door and stepped inside, he expected the house to be pitch black. Instead, a soft glow spilled from the kitchen, accompanied by the steady sound of running water. Crown let out a weary sigh before making his way toward it.

Nivéa stood at the sink with her back to him. Relief washed over her that he’d made it home safely, but so did every unanswered phone call and every hour she’d spent imagining the worst. Despite her talk with Kerri, she’d done the opposite of getting in bed and relaxing. Instead, she’d kept herself busy, washing Nyla’s clothes and bottles just to keep her hands and mind occupied.

“I’m glad you’re okay.” She said, her attention remaining on the bottle in her hands. “I called you twice.”

Nivéa was met by the scrape of one of the heavy dining chairs as it dragged across the floor before settling back down with a dull thud. Crown still hadn’t said a word, so she turned around to face him. The sight stopped her cold.

Crown sat hunched over at the table, elbows resting on his knees and both hands covering his face. His shoulders sagged as he stroked his temple, a picture of defeat. Nivéa’s heart broke instantly. In the time she’d known him, she had never seen him like this. Quickly, she set the bottle aside, turned off the water, dried her hands, and moved across the kitchen.

“Ahmad? Baby, what’s wrong?”

Crown slowly lowered his swollen hands, and the redness in his eyes stole the breath from her lungs. Whatever had broken him that day was written all over his face. Her gaze then drifted lower to his busted knuckles.

“God…” she sighed.

Nivéa stepped between his knees and gently cradled the back of his head, pulling him against her stomach. One hand rubbed over his waves while the other slowly massaged the back of his neck.

“My apologies, baby. I had so much shit going on.” Crown whispered, his voice rough with exhaustion.

For the first time in his life, he allowed himself to lean into someone else’s strength. His hands slowly wrapped around her waist.

“It’s okay.” Nivéa closed her eyes and held him a little tighter, resting her cheek against the top of his head. “I’m just glad you made it home.”

After a long while, Nivéa finally eased back, keeping her hands on either side of his face. She searched his features, silently taking inventory of every stress line. Questions filled her mind, but none of them found their way to her lips. She understood the answers would come when he was ready… or maybe not, if he thought it was better for her sanity not to know.

“We gotta talk, ma.” Crown said.

“Okay, but first, I’m gon’ feed you.”

Without another word, Nivéa moved to the microwave. A few hours earlier, she had accepted that he likely wouldn’t make it home in time to share the dinner she’d prepared for them. Still, she had fixed him a plate anyway. She could never bring herself to believe he should come home to an empty kitchen, especially considering how much he took care of her.

Nivéa removed the foil, unveiling her homemade chicken and shrimp Alfredo, then slid the plate back into the microwave. As it warmed, she opened the refrigerator and grabbed his favorite drink. After twisting the cap loose, she set both items in front of him.

“Preciate you, baby.” Crown reached for the fork, but Nivéa gently took it from his hand.

“I got you, big man.”

She pulled a chair beside his, dug into the Alfredo, and lifted the first bite toward his lips. Crown didn’t argue; he opened his mouth and let her feed him as if he were a child. The kitchen remained quiet, except for the occasional scrape of silverware against his plate. Every few bites, Nivéa would wipe a bit of sauce from the corner of his mouth with a napkin before handing him his drink.

They sat in silence, their eyes meeting occasionally. Crown’s gaze reflected exhaustion, guilt, and gratitude, while Nivéa’s held concern, patience, and unconditional love. Once the plate was empty, she gathered the dishes and washed them.

“Come on.” She said afterwards, and Crown followed her upstairs.

In their bedroom, Nivéa went straight to the dresser, pulling out a pair of shorts and boxers before carrying them into the bathroom. She turned on the shower, adjusting the water until steam gradually filled the room.

When she glanced back, Crown stood where she’d left him, shoulders slumped and eyes distant, leaning against the wall. She undressed herself before walking over and gently taking off his vest, slipping his shirt over his head. She placed his guns where he preferred. One on the nightstand, the other tucked under his pillow. So comfortable with this man now, she knew him through and through. Afterward, she took his hand, and together they stepped into the restroom and into the shower. She’d already had her bath for the night, but that didn’t matter to her…he did.