Page 27 of Awakening
“Right, right. You don’t owe him anything. I promiseyou that, but if you wanted to say all the things to him that you never got the chance to, you can do it for yourself.”
The lump in my throat swelled yet again: “I’m so damn tired of carrying this.”
“I know,” His voice broke, “I know you are.”
I rubbed my eyes, trying to blink back the tears threatening to fall. I hadn’t cried over James Sr. in years, not since I left that house and swore I’d never look back.
“I love you, little bro,” I whispered, “I need you to know that.”
“I know, Mav, I love you too, and whatever you decide, I’ve got you.”
“I need some time,” I said, “I need to think.”
“Take all the time you need. I just wanted you to hear it from me.”
We sat there in silence for a long moment, breathing together across the miles.
“Thanks for calling, Jay,” I finally said, “For being the one who always tells me the truth.”
“Always.”
“I’m heading out of the country with Ajaih, and I’ll let you know if and when I’m coming when we get back.”
“Bet. Y’all be safe and have fun,” he said, his voice lighter than when he first called, and then the line went dead.
I stood there for a long time, staring at the phone in my hand, my heart caught somewhere between fury and grief, between the past and the pieces of who I was still trying to become.
I stared at the blank screen long after the call ended, Maverick’s voice still ringing in my head like some kind of echo I couldn’t shake.
"I met someone.”
I closed my eyes and rubbed my hands over my face. The words didn’t sting like I thought they would, at least not in the way people might assume. There was no jealousy coiling in my gut, no sharp pang of betrayal. I loved Maverick too much for that. We’d always promised each other honesty, freedom, room to grow—even if it wasn’t always easy.
And yet this was a curveball I hadn’t seen coming.
A woman.
Ajaih.
I repeated her name silently, letting the syllables roll around in my mind like puzzle pieces that didn’t quite fit yet.
I wasn’t naive. I knew Maverick’s capacity to love went far beyond the neat labels most people liked to shove us into. Hell, I was bisexual myself. I understood that love wasn’t a straight line, but it was more of a messy, unpredictable, expansive thing. We'd talked about polyamory before, about openness, about trusting eachother to explore when the time came, but this didn’t appear to be the casual exploration we’d occasionally engaged in during late nights as 20-somethings, being wild and free. This was something else.
He was falling.
For someone new.
For someone I didn’t know.
For someone who might, in time, take up space, I’d gotten used to calling ours.
I stood up and paced my newly renovated floors, my bare feet cool against the hardwood. The tranquil night air breezed through my open windows, caressing my skin. My head was buzzing, full of questions I wasn’t sure how I should even ask.
Who was she?
Did she see him? Like, really see him?
What did he see in her?
