Taylor stumbled back, heel catching slightly as she grabbed the wall to steady herself.
“I didn’t mean,” she mumbled.
“I don’t know what you meant,” the bartender said, drying a glass slowly, “but baby, read the room.”
Taylor’s eyes glossed over. She scanned the table once more. Kayla breathing hard. Jason tense. Shea unblinking.
Then she turned and ran.
The door chimed behind her.
Silence settled over the table.
“Girl, what was that?” Shea asked, brows raised.
“I mean,” Jason said, straightening his jacket and glancing at his sleeve, “have me wrestling in Armani.”
Kayla blinked.
Shea blinked.
Then the three of them burst into laughter.
A little too loud.
A little too long.
The kind of laugh that covers something no one wants to name.
Shea shuffled in her seat.
“I definitely needed that laugh.”
“Same,” Jason added.
“Y’all haven’t the slightest idea,” Kayla said, lifting her glass and chugging the rest.
Jason chuckled. “Apparently we don’t.”
Shea glanced at her watch. “I’m going to go ahead and head out.”
Kayla’s brows lifted. “Hot date with that fine model?”
Jason’s head snapped toward Shea. “What fine model?”
Shea blushed, pushing her hair behind her ear. “There is no fine model. I have a date with my computer. I need to edit some files and decompress from all the drama you create.”
Kayla rolled her eyes.
Jason leaned back, studying Shea a little too long. “Interesting.”
“I’m going to roll too,” Jason said, grabbing his jacket.
“As per usual,” Kayla smirked.
“Don’t start,” Jason and Shea said in unison.
They paused.
Looked at each other.
Then laughed again as they headed toward the door.
Kayla lingered behind for a second, watching them walk out together.
Her smile faded before she finished the last sip of her drink.
Kayla grabbed her purse and exited. She slid into her car, started it, turned the music up, and sat there for a moment. Engine running. Thoughts louder than the speakers.
Jason pulled onto the road, Luther Vandross filling the cabin.
🎶 Tell me can heaven wait, can heaven wait just one more night 🎶
He knew he should change the song.
He did not.
It was exactly how he felt.
He swallowed hard, blinking against the burn gathering in his eyes. The bridge began and something inside him gave way. Ava’s face flooded his mind. The hospital room. The machines. The steady mechanical rhythm of the ventilator.
Beep.
Beep.
Beep.
The melody and the memory fused.
His grip tightened around the steering wheel.
His vision blurred.
The car drifted.
He corrected too late.
The tires screeched. The back end fishtailed. The world outside his windshield spun in violent circles.
“Damn it,” he shouted, fighting the wheel.
The car spun once. Twice.
Then stopped.
Just feet from the metal barrier lining the roadway.
Silence.
Except for Luther still singing.
Jason’s chest heaved. His hands trembled against the wheel. Tears streamed freely down his face now.
He leaned forward, pressing his forehead against the steering wheel.
“Get it together, Jay,” he yelled into the empty car.
His voice cracked under the weight of it.
The song played on.
Shea entered her condo, tossed her keys into the bowl on the entry table, pulled her hair into a messy ponytail, and settled at the dining table with her laptop.
“Alexa, play sounds of Kenny G on volume level three.”
The smooth soprano saxophone filled the space, wrapping the room in calm. It was the kind of sound that steadied her breathing and quieted the noise in her head.
She began editing the photos from her latest shoots.
The colors deepened. The lighting softened. The details sharpened under her careful touch. The edits were coming along beautifully.
She stretched her neck and rolled her shoulders slowly.
“Too much screen time,” she murmured.
After another moment, she closed her laptop and stood, swaying slightly to the melody. Jazz had always been her reset button. Her calm. Her anchor.
She made her way to the bathroom and pulled eucalyptus from the closet shelf. The scent hit her instantly, fresh and grounding.
She turned on the faucet and began filling the garden tub, steam rising as the water climbed. She poured in a few drops of rose bath milk, watching it bloom softly across the surface.
Tonight, she needed more than relaxation.
She needed release.
She leaned against the counter, staring at the water.
Ready to let the stress of the day dissolve.
Ready to let it slip down the drain.
She undressed, positioned her neck pillow against the rim of the tub, and eased her feet into the water. It was just how she liked it. Hot enough to melt the stress. Warm enough to coat her skin in comfort.
Jazz floated through the condo, soft and steady. The water wrapped around her as she lowered herself fully into the garden tub.
“God, this feels amazing,” she whispered, pressing the button to activate the jets.
The vibration hummed beneath her back.
Her breathing slowed.
Her mind wandered.
Before she knew it, her thoughts drifted backward. Back to the conference room. Back to polished wood and stale grief.
Back to the will reading.
***Three Months Ago***
The attorney sat at the head of the table. Legal pad aligned. Documents neatly stacked. A glass of water rested beside his hand.
Family members of the late Elias Johnson Sr. filled the room, quiet and waiting.
“Thank you all for coming,” Attorney Campbell began, adjusting his glasses. “We are here to formally review the Last Will and Testament of Elias Johnson Sr. As Executor of the estate, it is my responsibility to outline the terms of distribution as filed with the probate court.”
Shea’s hands were damp. Her eyes swollen. Her grief still fresh and heavy. Tears slipped down her cheeks without permission.
She glanced toward her mother.
Composed.
Too composed.
Her mother sat upright, hands folded in her lap, posture impeccable. Not a tremor in her shoulders. Not a crack in her expression. Weeks after her father’s passing, she looked untouched by it.
Shea did not understand how.
“Ms. Shea Johnson has been named primary beneficiary of the estate,” Attorney Campbell continued. “This includes Capturing Shea Studios, the condominium located on Maple Crest, and all liquid trust holdings.”
Her mother’s head turned sharply.
“What does primary beneficiary mean?” she asked.
Shea blinked through tears, stunned. She had assumed she was present out of formality. Out of respect. She did not expect this.
The attorney cleared his throat.
“Primary beneficiary indicates that the majority of the estate has been allocated to Ms. Johnson. However, said inheritance is subject to a contingency clause.”
Her mother’s eyes sharpened.
Shea’s brows lifted, then furrowed in confusion.
Contingency.
***Present Day***
Shea jolted upright at the sound of her phone ringing.
Her heart pounded.
“I must’ve dozed off.”
The water had cooled. The bubbles faded to a thin film along the edges of the tub.
She pulled the drain halfway, letting some of the lukewarm water slip away before turning the hot faucet back on.
She stepped out, wrapped herself in her robe, and padded toward her bedroom to grab her phone.
Shea glanced at the screen.
Kayla.
She exhaled slowly, bracing herself for whatever chaos usually followed her friend’s name.
“Hello?”
“Shea,” Kayla mumbled. “You home?”
Shea pulled the phone from her ear, staring at the screen as if it might explain the tone.
“Yeah, Kay. What’s up?”
“Can you talk?”
There it was.
The shift.
This was not confident, loud, take up the room Kayla.
This was stripped.
“Yeah, Kay. Let me turn my bath water off.”
She hurried back into the bathroom and shut off the faucet. The room felt different now. Less serene. More alert.
“What’s going on?” she asked, lowering her voice instinctively.
There was a pause.
Then a crack.
“Am I a bad person, Shea?”
The question landed heavy.
Shea froze.
She had never heard Kayla cry. Not like this. Not unsure. Not small.
“Kay, no. You’re not a bad person. Where is this coming from?”
Silence again.
Breathing.
Kayla swallowed hard on the other end. “Can you let me in?”
Shea’s heart skipped. “You’re here?”
A knock sounded at the door.
Three quick raps.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
“I’m at the door.”
Kae Jaye The Writer 