“I don’t ever plan on letting go, B. It don’t matter who come in and out the door; I’ma be here. You know better,” he said. He kissed the side of her head, and Bleu pulled back. Her chin quivered, and she used the back of her hand to clear the snot from her nose as her eyes focused on those white Converse sneakers on her feet. Ironically, Messiah wore the same pair. Saviour had picked them out for both of them one year for Christmas. Two peas, two pods … they could never quite become one. Bleu turned her face sideways. Her ear to his chest.

“Your heart is racing,” she said. “Your heart is beating.” He felt her shudder. “I still can’t even believe you’re alive. I’m so grateful.”

Messiah breathed a sigh of relief, but the churning in his gut told him he was getting in over his head. He had a girl he loved. A girl he couldn’t wait to earn back, but here he was with another girl, one who he couldn’t quite see a life without. He didn’t know what to do with that, but he couldn’t let Bleu leave. He placed a hand to the back of her head, locking her in place as they embraced.

“What am I going to tell Iman? And Saviour?” Bleu asked.

“Shit, I’ll cut it to homie. You want me to do it, or you want to do it?” Messiah asked.

Bleu laughed, but she didn’t let go. Couldn’t quite let go because as much as Messiah needed her, she hated to admit that his friendship over the years had been a need too. A necessity that kept her focused, a light in the distance when she felt like she was lost, a listening ear when she felt like her cries fell upon the deaf. What they shared was reciprocal. Give-and-take in a world so cold that two damaged souls found shelter in each other’s hollowed hearts. “No. I’ll do it. You can’t be here for that.”

Messiah pulled back. “I’ll break out, no problems, B, as long as when I pull up, you’re here,” he answered.

“Aren’t I always?” she sighed. She walked over to the button near the door and pressed it. The garage opened. Iman stood in the yard giving orders as Saviour rode his bike on the sidewalk out front.

Messiah walked out, no nods or salutations given to Iman this time. The cordiality had been thrown out the window. Iman wanted smoke, and Messiah didn’t blame him, because Bleu was worth the battle.

“Uncle Messiah, wait! I want to say goodbye!” Saviour shouted as he hopped off his bike, tossing it into the grass handlebars first.

Messiah shook his head. “You ain’t going nowhere, nephew. Cuz I’m a man, not a what?” Messiah asked.

“Mouse!” Saviour shouted. “We’re really staying?”