Page 56 of Crave

She weren’t wrong. Carrying twins, Lennon’s twins, had her glowing. Round face, shining skin, a soft fullness meaning life kept going no matter how dirty the streets got.

And me? I was the grime on her welcome mat.

“You look fucking good.” I stepped back, rubbing her belly through the thin blue of her scrubs. She’d just come off a shift, by the looks of it. An A&E nurse, seeing the worst of the worst. Probably never got a minute’s peace.

Lennon would’ve planned it different. He liked order, savings, lists on the fridge. Twins this early? That’d have shaken him. Me turning up here would, too.

So I got to it. “I got this for Kee, but it’s a twin one.” I tilted the buggy so she could see. “Top range. Two car seats. Folds like a bastard, but you’ll figure it out.”

Amara flicked her braids off her shoulder. “Oh my god, Razor. Do you even know how much these cost?”

“Yeah. That’s why I’m giving it to you. Twins ain’t cheap.”

“Tell me about it. Double nappies, double prams, double everything. And no one gives you extra for that.”

“So you’ll take it?”

Her smile faltered, the warmth slipping a touch. “I’d have to ask Lenn.”

I nodded, swallowing that small sting. “Yeah. Course. Look, I get it. I’ll leave it here and if he don’t—”

“He’s home.” She cut me off with an angle of her head. “Come in. You can stop him falling asleep in his dinner.”

That pulled a laugh out of me. “Still grafting himself half to death, is he?”

“Always.” She stepped aside, pushing the door wider. “Come on, before you change your mind.”

And I might’ve. Even with the warmth pulling me in. That soft, homely heat reminding me of the baths Mum used to run on Sundays after football, when my knees were scraped and the world was simple. When Lennon and I were joined at the hip. When there were three of us, before the world got mean and took one away.

I swallowed that down.

Amara tilted her neck. “He still cares about you.”

I knew he did. That was the fucking problem.

Still, I stepped inside. Couldn’t help it.

Amara gave me a gentle shove forward, nodding to the living room. The telly flickered blue light over the walls, some quiz show in the background. Lennon sat on the sofa, balancing a plate of chicken and rice on his knees, still in his high-vis from the job site. He looked over his shoulder, caught me standing there. Wish I could say his face said welcome.

It didn’t.

But he stood anyway, sliding his plate on the coffee table, wiping his hands on his trousers before holding one out. I took it, and maybe it was him, maybe it was me, but one of us pulled. Turned it into a hug. Brief. Hard. Full of years and things neither of us ever talk about.

When we broke apart, he stepped back. “What brings you off your line?”

Yeah, there was a dig in it. Half-joke, half-warning.

“Was in the neighbourhood.”

He gave me that look, the one that said bullshit, then jerked his chin towards the other end of the sofa.

I sat. “Amara looks good.”

His grin cracked him wide open, lit his whole face like it used to when we were kids running the estate rooftops, daring each other to jump the gaps. For a second, he looked exactly the same. The laugh lines, the warmth, the spark getting us both into trouble more than once. He scrubbed a hand over his close-cropped hair, still damp with sweat from work. He’d had locs once, back when music and mischief ruled everything. Cut them when the site took him on. Said it was practical. I’d said it was selling out. Maybe we’d both been right.

“Yeah,” he said, pride soft under his voice. “She does look good, don’t she? Suits her, carrying my blood. Just wish she’d slow down a bit. She’s still on shifts, stubborn woman.”

“She knows what she’s doing.” I leant back. “And if she don’t, she’s surrounded by people who do. Perks of working in a hospital, right?”