“Shit!”

The expletive bounces off the walls of the narrow corridor as I leave the stage and head for the greenroom to collect my things. I can’t believe I allowed that conniving chick to lure me into that trap.

“Grip!”

I don’t turn even though I hear Qwest right on my heels and calling my name.

“Grip, stop.”

I’m still not stopping. Rage pumps toxins into my bloodstream, and I might poison anyone I make contact with right now.

“Man, hold up,” Qwest says louder, irritation lacing the words. “Grip.”

“What?”

The word cannons from my mouth, and I turn around abruptly, Qwest slamming into my chest. Breathing like a bull, air streams from my nostrils. Angie Black is the red flag I can’t get out of my head. How dare she use a panel on such important issues to create drama? And to bring Bristol into it, to call her name and imply that I’m embarrassed to be with her. My jaws hurts; my teeth are locked so tightly together.

“About what happened out there—”

“You mean the ambush?” I snap.

“Yeah. I didn’t know anything about it.”

“Really?” A scoffing gush of air rushes past my lips. “You expect me to believe that? Don’t give me that shit, Q.”

“Who you think you talking to?” The goodwill on Qwest’s face gives way to irritation. “You better act like you got some sense talking to me.”

“So, it’s just coincidence that we ended up on this panel together? You’re asking me to believe you didn’t know things would go left like that?”

“I don’t care what you believe.” Qwest’s anger clashes with mine in the tight space. “My cousin was snatched when we were twelve years old. There were no TV cameras, no vigils, no magazine covers for months wondering what happened to her. She was just gone, and we never saw her again, never got answers. That’s why I’m here, not for your conceited ass.”

Real pain etches itself onto her face, and regret pinches in my chest.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have questioned your motives.” I blow out a frustrated breath and drag my hand over my jaw. “That was just some sideways shit I didn’t see coming, and this was not the time or the place for her to pull that.”

Qwest nods, something close to sympathy filling her dark eyes. Finally, we sigh in sync, each of us letting go of our anger at the same time.

“I swear I didn’t know,” Qwest says, her voice softer. “What Angie did out there, it wasn’t cool, and I’m sorry she went out like that.”

I tilt my head back to study the ceiling for a second before looking back to Qwest.

“And I’m sorry if I took any of this out on you.” I lean against the wall, bending my knee and propping my foot there. “I’m just tired of this. What does me wanting to spend the rest of my life with Bristol have to do with me wanting things to improve? Wanting better for our community?”

Surprise and then something that resembles hurt flits through Qwest’s eyes before she drops them to the cheap corridor carpet.

“The rest of your life?” She forces a laugh. “So it’s like that?”

Dammit. I’m so Bristol’s, sometimes I forget I was ever anyone else’s. In this moment, I definitely forgot Qwest ever felt she had any claim on me.

“I’m sorry.” I scrub the back of my neck. “I didn’t think—”

“That I still had feelings for you?” Her mocking smile is turned inside out. “You’re a hard man to get over.”

A sheet of ice falls over Qwest’s face.

“But I have,” she says. “I’ll admit, seeing you again . . .”

She rolls a lusty look from my head to my Jordans.

“You could still get it.” She tips her head up to meet my eyes, a question there, one I hope she doesn’t voice.

“Qwest, come on,” I say, clearing my throat of awkwardness. “You know I’m with somebody else.”

“I bet she don’t give it to you like I did,” she says, all sass and bravado.

Actually, she does, but I choose not to make things worse by saying so. I just watch her, keeping my face indifferent.

“Let’s not do this.” I push off the wall, intending to step around her, but she pushes me back, leaving her hand in the center of my chest. It feels wrong to have someone else touch me, but I tamp down my unease and leave it there for now. I still feel guilty about the way I dragged her into the complex web of my relationship with Bristol. I hate that I hurt her before, and I want to handle her more carefully than I did in the past. I’ll leave her hand there and leave our eyes connected until she says what she needs to say.

“If I had long, silky hair,” Qwest says, bitterness tingeing her voice, “and gray eyes and a pretty golden tan, would you want me then?”

Damn.

“It has nothing to do with that, with those things, Qwest.” I place my hand over hers, hoping the contact offers her some comfort. “Am I attracted to Bris? Of course, but I’ve been attracted to a lot of women.”

“You were attracted to me.” Boldness presses through the uncertainty on her face.

“I was,” I agree. “But I’ve only ever loved one woman, and that’s Bristol.”

I pause, meting out my next words with care.

“And she’s the only woman I plan to be in love with. So yeah, I’m spending the rest of my life with her, and I can’t know what would have happened if she looked different, if she were blond, if she was black. For me, it’s a moot point, because I’m in love with the version of her that I have. That’s all that matters.”

Qwest flinches, like my words were a slap in her face. She pulls back, and with the tiny weight of her palm lifted, I breathe easier. She steps away and clears her throat, the uncertain woman asking questions gone. The assertive badass I’m used to seeing, the one who has all the answers, stands in front of me again.

“Love who you want, Grip.” Her voice, her eyes, everything about her is resigned now. “Just be in the studio when my team needs you. I may not have any hold over your heart, but I still got your ass under contract for my album.”

I manage a laugh, hoping to get us back on the footing we’ve had over the last few weeks I’ve been working on her project while in New York.

“I’ll be there.”

My phone vibrates in my pocket, and I take it out to see Bristol’s name.

“Well, I guess I should let you handle that,” Qwest says, eyeing the screen.

Her typical swagger is at odds with the lingering hurt I see in her eyes as she turns to walk away.

“Bris, I—”

“Why is she touching you?”

Bristol’s voice is that dangerous, about-to-go-HAM quiet.

“Um, babe, what?” I’m disoriented. “Why is who touching me?”

“Qwest. She was all over you.”

“The hell she was. I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, maybe you should check Instagram. That’s where you and I and Qwest are all tagged in a picture that shows her touching you.”

With her still on the line, I pull my phone away from my ear and go to my little-used Instagram account.

“Well, damn.”

Some intern, production assistant, gofer-ass punk skulking around here in the halls must have snapped a picture of Qwest with her hand on my chest and posted it just that fast. The moment that felt wrong when it was happening looks even worse out of context on Instagram. What was me trying to protect Qwest’s feelings and not hurt her any more than I already have looks intimate, like a secret, and the caption only adds fuel.

Neither Bristol nor Qwest are referenced specifically, but both are tagged.

Fuck my life.

“Bris.” Now my voice is dangerously soft. I’m good and damn tired of people in my damn business every time I turn around, poking their noses in my shit where it doesn’t belong, messing with me and my girl. “You know this isn’t real.”

“It looks real,” she whispers. “It feels real.”

“Bristol Gray, if you tell me you believe this, I’m fucking you into next week when I see you.”

Typically, she would say, Is that a promise? or offer some smartass comment, but the other end stays silent.

“Bris, come on.” I bang my fist into the wall. “You know this isn’t true. If she were a guy, I would kick Angie’s ass.”

“Well she’s a girl,” Bristol says, her voice hardening. “And I do plan to kick her ass where it will hurt most.”

“What do you mean?”

“Meaning I’m calling her producer. That shit was way beyond the scope of what we agreed to, and I want her head on a platter.”

“That isn’t the way to handle it.”

“The hell it isn’t.” Bristol’s indignation and resentment nearly choke her words. “She thinks she can come for me—for us like that with no consequences? She’s about to learn differently.”

I squeeze the bridge of my nose, bracing myself for a fight I really don’t want right now.

“Bris, you’re not doing that.”

Her voice drops. “What did you say?”

Aw hell.

“I said you’re not doing that. That’s what she wants.”

“Then she’ll be very happy to find herself out of a job because if she wants a fight, I’m her girl, and she should know better than to bring a fucking tweet to a gun fight.”

“You don’t want beef with this chick. It’ll only turn the tide against you.”

“Why? Because I’m white? Because everyone’s looking for a reason to turn against me anyway since I’m with you? Like the tide wasn’t already against me.”

“We’re in the twenty-first century, and nobody should still hold these views, but it’s just a few, Bris. They are just the vocal ones. I know it’s hard. It’s hard for me, too.”

“I’m so sorry I’m making life hard for you, Grip.”

“Stop it.” Anger flares in my words. “We’re not doing this. Us fighting won’t make things any better.”

“No, what will make things better is teaching Angie Black that I’m not the bitch to mess with. She’s firing shots? I’m firing back.”

“You’re not,” I say, barely holding on to my calm. “Not representing me, you’re not.”

An ominous silence swells from the other end, reaching across the country to suffocate me.

“What did you say?” she finally asks.

“Look, it’s my career,” I force myself to reply. “And I determine what will or won’t be done on my behalf, and I say no.”

“I see,” she says, suppressed fury embedded in her response.

As soon as the words left my mouth, I wanted to take them back. I know this will only push Bristol away, will only make her angrier, but I will not have her embroiled in some beef with one of the most influential figures in the socialsphere. They want to come for me? Let them, but I’m not having them hurting Bristol. I should have just said that; it would have gotten a better response than this.

“Bristol, look, I–”

“I should go,” she cuts in. “Kai’s almost done with her segment, and Aria’s here with me. She just woke up.”

I sigh, resigned to not making this right until she comes home.

“Okay. Can I pick you up from the airport tomorrow? What time does your flight land?”

“I don’t think I’m coming.” Her voice is cool and distant. “Things are still hectic for Kai. Luke’s reality show starts production this weekend, and I’m thinking I should stay here for that. I’ll come . . . I don’t know, next week.”

This is bullshit. I know it, and so does she. Does she not feel how this distance is killing me? Not just the three thousand miles separating us, but the chasm opened up by this asinine fight.

“Are you sure that’s why you’re not coming home?” I ask, letting my frustration leak through the words.

A baby’s cry cuts off her response. Aria.

“I have to go,” Bristol says hastily. I hear her shhhh-ing our goddaughter.

“Bristol, wait.”

The line dies, and there is nothing but silence on the other end, a gaping hush swallowing all the things I wish I’d said instead of all the wrong shit I spoke. I consider calling her right back, but I don’t want to distract her when she’s taking care of Aria for Kai. Besides, I need to get to the studio in Harlem for a session. I glance at my watch to see how much time I have to get there. I stare at the piece-of-shit watch I never take off, only to find that it has died. After almost a decade, this watch that has never failed me decides to die today. I’ll never forget the night Bristol gave me this watch, the night of our first kiss, trading hurts and hearts a hundred feet in the air, stuck on a Ferris wheel. The watch may have finally stopped working, but we still work. We’ll always work. In a world of pieces that never seem to fit, we do. We work. We make sense when nothing else does, and I have to remind her of that.