Page 6 of Before I Should Leave
He looked at me then. A full turn of his head. Not just through the mirror. “Nah,” he said. “Haven’t been since Draya was 'bout two.”
I blinked. “But… you said seven years.”
“I did. Seven years since I became her father,” he said, then paused before adding, “That’s the most important relationship I got.”
The words sat heavy between us. Not in a sad way. Not bitter either. Just… honest. I didn’t realize how long I was holding eye contact until a car horn startled us from the next lane.
Diesel looked forward again, easing off the brake as traffic crawled a few feet forward. The wipers swiped again, music still humming low, and I exhaled.
Somewhere between “yeah, baby” and “her name’s Draya,” this ride turned into something else. Something that felt too damn close to intimacy. To understanding. And I didn’t know what to do with that. So I sat back and watched the rain like it could drown the feeling forming in my chest.
We sat in that stretch of traffic like the world had paused for us. The sky outside had gone full charcoal, clouds swallowing the last bits of dusk. The rain showed no signs of slowing, beating hard against the roof like it was tryna get in. The music was something old school again—Tevin Campbell, low and soulful—smooth enough to hum to, but dangerous if you let the lyrics sit too long.
I hadn’t said much since he showed me the picture of Draya. I was still chewing on how open he was, on how wrong I was to assume what “baby” meant, and on how I felt a twinge of guilt for the flash of jealousy I hadn’t invited but felt anyway.
Diesel reached into the center console again and unscrewed the flask. He took a slow sip, keeping his eyes on the road like heneeded a little something too. Then he held it up toward the back without turning. “You want more?”
I hesitated, then leaned forward just enough to take it. “Thank you.”
He passed it back like it was no big deal. Like he wasn’t sitting in the front seat being the most present, calm, fine-ass man I’d encountered in a long time. I sipped more slowly this time and let the tequila settle in my chest. Warmth spreading, loosening the knots in my stomach and shoulders, I didn’t realize I’d been carrying since the second I got in this car.
“You always this tense?” he asked, voice a little lower now. “Or is it just me?”
I glanced at him. “It’s not you.”
“But I’m not helpin’ either, huh?”
I bit back a smile. “That depends.”
“On what?”
“On if this is how you usually talk to clients.”
He chuckled. “I usually let clients talk to me. You different.”
“Different how?”
He looked at me again. This time, fully, like he needed me to really feel what he was about to say. “Beautiful.”
My eyes flicked away quickly, catching my own reflection in the window. The gold hoop glinting beneath my hair. The gloss on my lips. The hint of collarbone peeking beneath the open lapel of my trench. I looked good. I always did. But the way hesaid it wasn’t about my outfit or my image. It was the kind of “beautiful” that made me feel… seen. I let a beat pass before I answered.
“You say that to all of your clients, too?”
“Nah,” he said simply. “Just the ones that make me look at the clock and wish traffic would slow just a lil’ bit longer.” I didn’t respond because what the hell was I supposed to say to that? He turned back toward the windshield like he hadn’t just set something in me on fire. “Can I ask you somethin’?”
I leaned back into my seat slowly. “You already are.”
“What’s got a woman like you flyin’ out solo at night? Big conference, storm rollin’ in… Nobody special sendin’ you off though?”
I raised an eyebrow. “That’s bold.”
“I mean it respectfully.”
I sighed, letting my head tip against the rest. “Nobody waiting on either end,” I said, voice calm but honest. “No ‘somebody.’ No man stressing me out. Just me and my work like it’s always been.”
He nodded once, eyes still ahead. “You ever want more than that?”
I didn’t answer right away. I stared at the droplets racing each other down the window and listened to the song change to something even slower. More deliberate. One of those tracksthat reminded you how long lonely could feel, even when you swore you were fine.
