Page 75 of Falling Into Gravity

Lunar nodded, allowing the smoke to roll slow from the corner of his mouth. “I can tell you now, he gon’ blow a fuse.”

“Hell yea, he is. But not for the reason you think…” Bu leaned forward, palms heavy on his knees, eyes flicking with that knowing look only a man with a past could carry. “French gon’ see himself in that nigga.”

And that was always the problem—when a man’s reflection came walking through the door wearing someone else’s skin.

Bu already knew how that was gonna go down the second Aku pulled up with a yellow-ass nigga built like secrets and survival. Soft-spoken but street enough to saytry me.A little too smart and a little too wounded. The kind of man who looked at love like it was a second chance, instead of a guarantee. French was gonna see right through him—and see himself.That alone would crack something in his chest.

Bu wasn’t just preparing for the smoke that would follow. He’d already lived it. Already felt it stir in his gut every time he thought about his future baby girl coming home talking slick about some boy at school. She was gonna bring home her version of him one day…a young Bu - one who probably banged. Probably scarred up with a sweet mouth and too much charm for his own good…and Bu would have to swallow his own blood to let her figure it out on her own.

“Little girls always look for they daddies,” Bu muttered, almost to himself, shaking his head with a crooked smile that didn’t reach all the way to his eyes. “Even when he ain’t shit, even when he don’t show up like he s’posed to. That don’t stop ‘em. They just go searchin’ for whatever version of love they got handed…even if it’s pain…even if it’s abandonment.”

Lunar didn’t say anything at first. He just stared at the ember at the end of the blunt, letting the music fill his bones. Then he exhaled, sharp and short. “Damn,” he said, “that’s real.”

“Yea,” Bu sighed, “and that’s why French gon’ lose his mind. ’Cause it ain’t gon’ be about the nigga Aku bring home. It’s gon’ be about the mirror she holdin’ up.”

Aku was still on the dance floor, lost in the sway of her own hips, untouched by the storm brewing a few feet away. She didn’t see the conversation, the glances, or the silent head nods that passed between men who knew what it looked like when a nigga was ready to risk it all. All she knew was the bass was thumping, her drink had her loose, and the cute boy behind her had warm hands and enough rhythm to keep up.

His arms slid comfortably around her waist, and she let him. She even leaned back into him, her arms hooking behind his neck. Her bob brushed his jawline every time she rocked forward. The boy didn’t even ask her name—he just smiled, grateful. And she smiled too, because it felt good to be admired…wanted…touched. Especially when the person she really wantedhad dipped out that morning like he didn’t feel everything she gave him.

Across the room, Malik tipped his beer up slow, lips tight, jaw tighter. That was the thing about her. Aku always wanted to see how far she could push before the fire kissed her back. She was bold like that. Dangerous with it. Daring him to show his hand.

And he was two seconds away from flipping the whole club upside down.

The blue in him was bubbling. Hood nigga rage, controlled only by the threadbare leash of patience he’d been learning to grip. But this? Nah. This was more than disrespect. This was her choosing to pretend he didn’t exist. Like he hadn’t had his hands all over her just a few hours ago.

Lunar finally spotted Malik, standing to his feet.

Bu pushed his arm out to stop him. “Nah, let him rock…see how this shit plays out.”

Lunar nodded, sitting back down.

As “Burning Blue” started to slide through the speakers, that soulful rasp meeting the beat like a heart skipping a step, Malik sat his beer down without finishing it. He wiped his hands on his jeans, breathed through his nose once, and stepped onto the floor like he owned it.

His hand found hers mid-sway, his palm rough, fingers curling tight—not enough to snatch, but enough to saywe got unfinished business.

Aku turned, caught off guard at first. Then her eyes settled on him and narrowed slightly, chin tilted in defiance.

Malik’s lips curved.

“This might be our song,” his voice dripped with charm, his eyes heavy with heat. His hair was braided neatly, the line-up so crisp she could still smell the clippers. That hood royalty air surrounded him. He looked like the kind of man who didn’t chase what was his—he took it.

She pulled her hand back with a smile that wasn’t sweet at all. Then she turned, giving him her back and melting back into her new partner’s arms like she had something to prove.

Malik stood there, unmoved. Head tilted slightly, willing himself to chill before he showed her a side she wasn’t ready for.

“She wild,” someone behind him mumbled with a snicker.

But Malik wasn’t worried about the room. He was locked in on her.

The boy behind her chuckled, probably feeling bold off liquor and the good vibes she gave. “You sure about this?” he asked, his voice by her ear. “Cause that nigga standin’ there like you his.”

Aku’s lips brushed his cheek. “I’m with you right now,” she said, her tone syrupy and sharp. “He can wait.”

That was her mistake.

Malik’s laugh came slow, a low thunder of disbelief. Then he moved smooth and deliberate. He stepped to her, close enough that her dance partner let go like his instinct told him to. Malik didn’t touch her yet, just leaned in so close his words melted into her skin.

“You like playin’, huh?” he asked, calm as a storm right before it tears the roof off. “Keep dancin’ with clowns if you want, but don’t be surprised when the circus burn down.”

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