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She told me at the funeral she couldn’t bury another child.

I told her getting high wasn’t gonna bring the one she buried back.

She hadn’t liked hearing that shit.

But she heard it.

I hoped it stuck.

“You checking on Grandma later?” Henry asked.

“Yeah.”

“She doing good?”

“Better.”

He nodded.

For a second, neither of us said anything.

That was the thing about Xay dying.

Everybody had feelings about the shit he’d done before he died.

Me included.

I had every reason in the world to hate that nigga.

He helped send me to prison.

Seven fucking years.

Then I came home and decided I’d make him feel a fraction of what he’d made me feel.

Sam was supposed to be part of that.

That was the ugliest truth about me.

In the beginning, getting close to her had been about Xay.

Taking the one thing he’d always been stupid enough to believe would never leave him.

His wife.

Except somewhere along the way, shit changed.

Sam stopped being revenge.

She became Sam.

And now Xay was dead.

There wasn’t anybody left to take her from.

No victory in it.

No satisfaction.