Page 94 of Justice

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JUSTICE

I went straight from Kira’s restaurant to Freetown. The interaction was still wracking my brain. My jaw was tight the entire drive, replaying what I said to her, replaying what she said back. The calls were already made. Deon at the health department, the liquor board, my lawyer. The wheels were turning and I didn’t feel one ounce of bad about it.

I wanted to treat her just like I did Tron. She broke my babygirl’s heart in an unimaginable way. But something didn’t set right with me about physically hurting her. Besides, destroying her legacy would harm her family, just like her choices harmed mine.

Today I had a walk-through with Roman to check on phase-two progress, and I wasn’t about to let Kira knock me off my square. We were finally getting somewhere out there. The framing on the first block of houses was almost done, the rec center was taking shape, and Roman’s crew had been putting in real hours. I pulled up to the trailer we’d set up on-site and parked next to his truck.

When I got out, I noticed a teenage boy sitting on the trailer steps scrolling his phone. He had brown skin, an athletic build, and a pair of familiar eyes that didn’t belong to Roman. He looked to be close to Storie’s age.

Roman stepped out behind him. “Justice. Right on time.” He nodded down at the boy. “That’s my son Keenan. He’s off school today, riding with me. Keenan, get up. Say hello to Mr. Banks. Shake his hand.”

I liked that. A man bringing his boy out to the job site, letting him see where his father’s work was going. Letting him walk the dirt his daddy was turning into something. That’s how you raise a young man. You show him what building looks like up close in the hopes that he’ll take over when he’s old enough.

The boy stepped forward and offered his hand. The grip was soft, hesitant, more polite than confident. Roman caught it.

“Firm.” He said it sharp, from behind the boy. Then he clamped a hand down on Keenan’s shoulder hard enough that I saw the kid’s body tighten under it. “Like a real man. Like I taught you.” His voice turned uncomfortably stern.

Keenan adjusted his grip. Squeezed harder. Didn’t look at his father while he did it.

“There you go,” Roman said. He kept his hand on the boy’s shoulder a beat longer than he needed to, steering him into the trailer like somebody who doesn’t get a choice about where he’s going.

I shook the kid’s hand and let it go. Didn’t say anything about it. But I clocked it. How quick that boy corrected himself, how his posture changed under his father’s hand, sat with me. Not my business. Not my kid. But I noticed.

We got into the utilities timeline and Keenan sat off to the side on a folding chair, quiet, scrolling his phone, not causing any trouble. Good kid, far as I could tell. Didn’t interrupt, didn’t fidget, just sat there and waited for his daddy to be done. I respected that.

After about twenty minutes he asked to use the bathroom. Roman waved him off, and once the door closed behind him, the energy in the room shifted. Roman leaned back in his chair and loosened up a little.

“Teenagers, man.” He shook his head. “I swear, every day with that boy is something new. You got girls, right?”

“Two. Fifteen and six.”

“The fifteen-year-old giving you hell?”

“You have no idea.” I almost laughed. “She’s testing every boundary I got. But we’re working on it.”

“That’s the age, bro. They push just to see what breaks.” He rubbed his jaw. “Keenan’s the same. He’s a good kid underneath it, but I gotta stay on him. Boys need structure. They need a firm hand or they go sideways fast.”

I nodded. There was something in how he said “firm hand” that I couldn’t place, but the man was talking about raising a Black boy in America. I understood the weight of that even if I didn’t have a son.

Then his face changed. His demeanor shifted into a somber mood. What the fuck was he about to reveal to me?

“I had a daughter too,” he said. “A little girl. She died in a tragic accident.”

I stopped what I was doing. “I’m sorry to hear that, man.”

“Yeah.” He looked at the table. “She was just two.” He cleared his throat. “Her mother was neglectful. That’s the simplest way I can put it. My ex wasn’t fit to take care of those kids, and my little girl paid the price for it. I don’t really talk about it.”

“You don’t have to.”

“Nah, it’s alright. It’s been a while.” He sat with it a second. “I’m in a better place now. I got remarried. My wife Aria, she’s a real one. She’s stable and reliable. She’s actually carrying my baby right now, so we got another one on the way. Another little girl.”

“Congratulations,” I said, and I meant it. Whatever this man had been through, he was building forward. I could respect that.

Keenan came back from the bathroom and Roman’s face rearranged itself, the sadness tucked away clean, the professional back in place. I watched that transition and thought about how many times I’d done the same thing in front of my own kids.

We wrapped the timeline, shook on a revised schedule, and they left. Roman with his hand on Keenan’s back, guiding him out. The boy walked slightly ahead, slightly stiff, not looking back.