mjonthetrack

[mjonthetrack]

folded

Page One Hundred Seventy-Nine

She never looked away.

Not once.

Even as the room swirled around her—people crying, shouting, hugging, calling doctors, calling each other—Kaia’s gaze stayed locked on him. Like he was the only thing holding her together. Like he was the rope pulling her back from somewhere dark and bottomless.

Her lips were pale. Chapped. She couldn’t speak, couldn’t even lift her hand again. But her eyes burned with something feral and soft, all at once.

Jey hovered, gripping her hand like a lifeline, one knee still on the floor beside her bed. His thumb brushed over the back of her hand, slow and steady. Grounding her. Grounding himself. He was still crying—quiet tears this time, dripping off his chin and falling right onto her wrist where their skin met.

And she blinked once. Just once. Her lashes trembled.

Then slowly, carefully—like it hurt—her lips parted just a little.

No sound came out.

But he saw it.

God, he saw it.

“I love you too.”

She mouthed the words like a promise she’d been holding onto in the dark. Like she’d waited her whole afterlife to say them. Like she’d clawed her way back to just say that and nothing else.

Jey’s breath caught. He nearly doubled over, forehead to their intertwined hands, shoulders shaking with the force of it all. Of her.

That was it. That was the whole world right there.

“God, baby—” his voice broke open, cracked and raw and full of everything he couldn’t say fast enough. “I love you. I love you. You hear me? I’m right here. I never left. You came back to me.”

Her lips moved again, smaller this time—just a little quiver of, “I know.”

Another tear slipped down his cheek.

“Whole world been waitin’ on you,” he whispered, voice thick with it, his forehead back to hers, breath trembling. “But not me. I ain’t waitin’. I ain’t never lettin’ go again.”

And her eyes—still foggy, still full of pain—lit up for the first time in weeks.

Like home.

Like him.

And even though the machines still beeped and the nurses were still whispering and her body still screamed, all she felt—all she knew—was him.

Jey Fatu. Her Big Samoa. Her wrasslin partner. Her person.

Her love.

And even if the words hadn’t made it out loud yet— He’d heard her. He’d felt her.

And it was everything.

Page One Hundred Eighty-One

The room was dead silent.

Like God hit the mute button.

Nobody breathed. Nobody moved. Even the machines seemed to quiet—just for that second, just long enough for her words to drop heavy into the air.

"I don’t want to die alone again..."

Kaia’s voice was threadbare, cracked like a vinyl record that’d been played too many times. Her lips barely moved, her lashes fluttered like she was fighting to stay conscious, but she meant it. Every word came from somewhere deeper than the pain. From that place people only speak from when they've been to hell and turned around.

"...have them get a bigger bed," she whispered, her gaze stuck to him, even as her eyes blurred again. "If I code again... I wanna die in the love of my life’s arms."

Jey’s whole chest caved in.

He damn near collapsed to his knees.

The love of my life.

He’d said it in rage. In panic. But she… she said it like a promise.

And now everyone else in that room—Trina, Deon, Sefa, Jimmy, Trinity, his mama, his daddy, Coach Washington, and even the doctors—stood frozen in that moment of raw, wrecked intimacy like they'd stepped into something sacred.

Talisua’s hand came up to her mouth, tears already welling. Solofa was holding her shoulders like even he couldn’t pretend to be stoic anymore.

Coach Washington blinked hard behind her glasses and muttered, “Lord Jesus…”

And Trina? Her hand went to her chest, eyes blown wide as she stared at her baby girl like she was seeing her for the first time. “She really in love…”

The doctors snapped into action again—Kaia’s vitals fluttering from the exertion of speaking—but they were gentler now, reverent almost. Like they’d just been granted access to something divine. One nurse spoke fast into a walkie asking for backup—“She needs sedation, new IV drip, pain is spiking—get that larger trauma bed prepped in room 3C immediately.”

But Jey didn’t move.

Didn’t even blink.

Because her fingers were still holding on.

Even with her whole body trembling. Even as her breath stuttered and her eyes glazed. Even as the meds hit her bloodstream and the haze swallowed her again.

She was holding him.

And he was holding her right back, his mouth to her temple, a whisper echoing into her skin:

"You ain’t dyin’, baby. Not on me. Not alone. I’m gonna be there. You hear me? Every time."

And everyone else?

They just watched—watching Jey Fatu, the man who used to run from attachment like it burned, fall apart and build himself whole again around the woman in that hospital bed.

Nobody said a word.

Because there was nothing else to say.

Page One Hundred Eighty-Two

The new suite felt more like a five-star recovery ward than a hospital room.

Somewhere between tragedy and miracle, they’d earned themselves the VIP treatment. Wide floor space. Plush seating. A mounted TV no one even cared to turn on. Soft lighting. Enough flowers from fans, teammates, and wrestlers alike that the room smelled like a damn botanical garden. But all of it faded into background noise when they finally wheeled Kaia in.

She looked small.

Not just physically—though the braces, bandages, and the faint pale hue to her skin made her look like she’d been sculpted from glass—but emotionally. Like the fire in her had dimmed, but not gone out. Just tucked away. Recovering.

And when the nurses gave Jey the nod?

He moved like a man starved of oxygen finally being allowed to breathe again.

Scrubbed, gloved, masked, sanitized to the last fingertip. They let him lay on the left side of the massive, hospital-issued recovery bed with medical clearance—because one look at the way she kept whispering his name in her sleep was all it took to prove he had to be there.

He slid in slow. Gentle.

She didn’t open her eyes at first—just shifted weakly, almost like instinct. Like her body knew where it belonged even before her mind did.

And when she did find the strength—barely, shakily, but still—she turned her face into his chest, resting over his heartbeat like it was the only place she trusted in the world. Her breath was shallow. Her lips barely moved.

But they moved.

"...tough crowd..."

It was soft. Drowsy. Laced with a dry wit even through all that pain.

Jey chuckled low, brushing his nose against her hairline, cradling her gently like she was made of spun sugar.

“You still got jokes, huh.”

But she was already gone again. Not the scary kind of gone—this time, sleep came to collect her softly. Her lashes fluttered, her mouth fell still, and her entire body sunk back into him, tucked safe.

He stayed right there, not even blinking, not even caring who else came and went.

And around them? The room quieted. The world held its breath.

Because she was still here. And so was he. And whatever came next—they’d face it together.

Page One Hundred Eighty-Three

The picture went up at 7:41 a.m.

No tag. No flash. No captions in bold font or thirst-trap filters—just a raw, grainy phone pic taken under the sterile hospital lights: his hand and hers, laced together. One big, tatted-up palm anchoring her smaller, bruised fingers. White tape on her wrist. Monitors in the blurred background.

Jey didn’t need to show her face. Didn’t need to show his.

The words were all anyone needed.

“She came back to me. Y’all keep praying. My baby’s still here.”

And that was it.

No PR statements. No press releases. Just Jey Uso—Big Samoa, Tag Champ, Main Event Yeet—letting the world know his girl, his everything, had come back to him.

The internet exploded within minutes.

ESPN reposted. WWE reshared it across every major page. The WNBA’s Twitter dropped a simple broken heart followed by a bandaged one. Teammates, superstars, commentators—hell, even celebrities—poured into the comments with prayers, love, and support.

But inside the hospital suite, where Kaia slept with her face tucked into Jey’s chest and the steady beep of her vitals gave quiet rhythm to the room, none of the chaos mattered.

Until the door opened.

It wasn’t a nurse. Wasn’t family.

The badge said Detective Camerson. His face said business. And his voice?

Cold. Calm. Bone-deep serious.

“We’ve detained the suspect,” he said into the quiet room.

Everyone froze.

Trina’s hand stilled where she was rubbing her daughter’s foot. Coach Washington stood up. Deon shifted forward in his seat, his jaw clenching.

The detective continued.

“She already confessed. Said she meant to kill Ms. Fields.” He looked at Jey directly. “Said—and I’m quoting here—‘If she’s not dead yet, she will be. I’ll make sure no one hears that laugh again if I can help it.’”

The temperature in the room dropped.

Trina stood slowly. “She said what?”

The detective nodded solemnly. “She smiled while she said it.”

The room rippled with restrained fury.

Sefa stood up. Jimmy rubbed a hand down his face. Coach Washington muttered something about finding her goddamn whistle and throwing hands.

But Jey?

He didn’t speak. Didn’t move. He just tightened his arm around Kaia a little more.

His jaw clenched so tight it ticked, and his hand—still holding hers—twitched like it wanted to wrap around something else.

Like maybe a throat.

But he didn’t speak. Not yet. Not while her heartbeat thumped against his chest. Not while she was still here.

Still his.

Page One Hundred Eighty-Four

The silence in the hospital suite cracked like thin ice.

The detective—Detective Camerson, tall, pale, creased brow like he ain’t slept in days—stood with his hand still resting on his temple like the weight of the whole case was pressing down on him. And maybe it was. Maybe he hadn’t dealt with anything like this before. Not just high-profile. Not just the violence. But the sheer malice of it.

He looked at Kaia—still curled up against Jey, IV in her arm, heart monitor beeping like a slow metronome. Her face was peaceful now, her body not. Casts and gauze and bruises everywhere like some kind of war-torn goddess resting after battle.

“I gotta be real with y’all,” Camerson finally said, voice quieter. “Professionalism aside… I’m a big fan of both of you. Been watchin’ her since the Carolina days—back when she wore mismatched socks and dropped thirty points like it was light work.”

Trina cracked the faintest watery laugh from her seat beside the bed.

Camerson’s eyes lingered on Kaia.

“That woman there is one of the strongest damn people I’ve ever seen. She was already hurt. Already down.” He gestured to the whole of her body, at the wires and metal and the bandages crawling up her limbs. “And still… this? Surviving this? It’s a miracle.”

Deon’s jaw ticked. He didn’t say anything. Just kept gripping the arms of the chair like they might break.

“But I gotta tell y’all something I’m not technically supposed to say,” Camerson muttered, glancing over his shoulder like someone might pop in and stop him. “That woman? The one who did this? She had intel. Like real intel. Personal addresses. A list of names. Of people in your families.”

Trina gasped, standing slowly. “What?”

“She had Kaia’s high school coach. Her WNBA teammate’s baby daddy. Your assistant, Jey. A couple names in Hawaii we’re still tracing. Your parents, Mr. Fatu.” His eyes flicked up to where Solofa and Talisua Fatu sat stone-faced, Talisua’s hand tight around her husband’s wrist.

“She was gonna finish what she started if Kaia lived through this. And if not her, then she wanted to make damn sure no one connected to her found peace.”

The room filled with pressure. Thick and mean. No one moved.

“And now,” Camerson sighed, shoulders sagging, “her legal team’s trying to argue insanity. To dodge a full sentence. Wants to plea out before this even hits a courtroom. They’re saying mental instability, lack of intent, hallucinations.”

Jey scoffed under his breath. “Hallucinations my ass,” he muttered, his voice low, dangerous. His arm pulled Kaia closer to his side, like his body knew what his voice hadn’t said yet: Not again. Not ever again.

Trina’s lips pressed into a thin, angry line. “So she can just do all this, and walk off sayin’ she ain’t in her right mind?”

Camerson shook his head. “We’re fighting it. I swear to you we are. But it’s gonna get messy. Media’s already picking it up. Public sympathy is loud right now—for Kaia, for you all. But they’ll spin it soon, if they get the chance. You know how this goes.”

Coach Washington crossed her arms, biting back a whole sermon.

Talisua’s voice finally broke through the tension—soft, accented, and firm. “We don’t let people like that win. Not in our family. Not in hers.”

Jey didn’t look away from Kaia. His jaw was tight, but his eyes—those tired, wrecked, bruised eyes—stayed locked on the soft rise and fall of her chest.

He whispered something no one else caught, and gently pressed his lips to her temple.

Whatever war that woman had planned?

She didn’t understand the kind of army Kaia Fields had behind her.

Page One Hundred Eighty-Five

The question hit the room like a thrown brick.

Jey blinked slowly, still holding Kaia’s fragile hand between both of his. Her skin was pale, fingers limp. But that little spark—that moment, when she’d mouthed I love you too—still echoed in his ribs. It was the only thing keeping his fury from boiling over.

The detective cleared his throat again. “Mr. Fatu?” Jey’s eyes finally lifted. Cold. Focused.

“How you wanna go about this? I can give you some leeway—not much—but I’m the lead on this case, and I owe her that much. Time’s everything though, and the DA’s already on my ass.”

The room waited. Nobody breathed loud.

Jey sat there with his shoulders squared, Kaia’s hand still in his lap, her body half tucked into his side like always—even if she was still more unconscious than not. His voice was calm when he finally answered. Low. Not rushed. Deadly clear.

“We’re not takin’ any insanity plea,” he said simply. “That bitch knew what she was doin’. She said it. She planned it. She hit the gas and didn’t stop.”

Deon exhaled slowly like that’s my son-in-law but didn’t interrupt.

“She didn’t have a break. She had a choice,” Jey went on, curling Kaia’s fingers gently with his own. “She wanted Kaia dead. Said so. That’s attempted murder, plain and simple. She don’t get to cry ‘crazy’ now 'cause the internet got her face on blast and her ass is grass.”

Camerson nodded once, jaw tight. “That’s what I needed to know.”

“I want her tried to the fullest extent,” Jey added, looking up with fire behind his eyes. “Federal. Public. Put her face on every screen. I want her known for what she is. Not a ‘hurt woman.’ Not an ‘unstable athlete.’ A goddamn felon.”

Trina nodded firmly from her corner. “Amen.”

“And while we’re at it,” Jey muttered, glancing back down at Kaia, brushing one of her curls back from her cheek, “I want Kaia’s name cleared. No drama. No media twisting. I’ll go public if I gotta. I’ll do every damn interview, podcast, press run they want. But she’s not gonna be known as the ‘crazy WNBA girl who popped off on Instagram.’ She’s gonna be the woman who got hit, survived, and still got people pressed.”

Camerson scribbled in his notepad fast. “Okay. Okay… I can work with that. I’ll make sure the DA knows. And I’ll keep your people looped in on the court date. You’ve got an army behind her, Mr. Fatu. Use it.”

Jey nodded once, then looked down again—his voice soft as he rubbed the top of Kaia’s hand with his thumb.

“She already fought once. I ain’t letting her fight this part alone.”

Page One Hundred Eighty-Six

The last person anyone expected to walk into the suite was Paul Levesque himself.

Dressed clean in slacks and a crisp navy button-down, his presence alone drew the attention of everyone in the room. Coach Washington stood up first, straightening her collar like she was about to be interviewed. Deon instinctively stood too, hand still on his daughter’s foot, while Trina blinked twice like her brain needed time to register the sight of “Triple H” in the flesh.

Solofa—Jey’s father—stood from where he’d been seated quietly with Talisua, his wife, in the corner. The two men greeted with a long, quiet handshake and one of those old-school nods that said respect given, respect earned.

Paul took a moment. He spoke first to Trina and Deon, introducing himself properly—not like the world-famous figurehead of WWE, but as a father, as a man.

“Mr. and Mrs. Fields,” he said, voice soft, “I’ve been watching your daughter for a long time—even before she stepped in the ring. She's something special.”

Trina sniffled, wiping her eyes and still trying to fix her scarf. “She’s my baby. She better be special.” Paul smiled, nodding once. “That she is.”

Then he turned, finally making his way toward Jey, who had barely looked up from where he sat beside Kaia’s bed, one arm cradling her gently against him like she'd break all over again if he moved too fast.

Jey figured the worst. His shoulders stiffened, jaw tight.

“You need me back?” he asked quietly, not bothering to sugarcoat it. “I’ll come. Just give me a couple days to get her stabilized and—”

Paul stopped him with a hand on the shoulder. Firm. Solid. Steady.

“You’re not going anywhere until you’re ready,” Paul said, voice low but clear. “Your girlfriend has been in Stephanie and I’s prayers every single night, Joshua.”

Jey blinked.

“Kaia is one hell of a fighter. No one can watch what she’s been through and not see that,” Paul went on. “You stay here. Paid leave. Indefinite. Until you say you’re good to come back. That’s it.”

Silence hit the room again.

Then: Trina let out a breath like she’d been holding it for days. Solofa nodded slowly, giving Paul a quiet look of gratitude. Coach Washington wiped under her glasses like dust had gotten in.

Jey finally looked up fully, eyes rimmed red but steady. “Thank you.”

Paul just nodded, then looked down at Kaia, who was still pale and asleep, a nasal cannula tucked beneath her nose and her head limp on Jey’s shoulder.

“You take care of her, Fatu,” Paul said, voice quieter now, eyes lingering on Kaia like a man who saw a warrior in recovery. “We’ll take care of everything else.”

Page One Hundred Eighty-Seven

The door clicked shut behind Paul Levesque.

And for the first time in what felt like weeks, Jey let out a long, shaky breath. Like the air had been caught in his lungs this whole time and he finally remembered how to let it go. His shoulders dropped. The tension in his jaw eased. The constant tick in his neck—gone.

No cameras. No ring. No crew, no demands. No one trying to tug him out the door or tell him who he had to be today.

He was just… Jey. Kaia’s man. Right here, right where he belonged.

He rubbed both hands down his face, still perched on the edge of her hospital bed like if he moved too far, she’d disappear again. His fingertips dragged over his beard, eyes red-rimmed but focused—trained on her the whole damn time.

No one was taking him away from her. Not now. Not ever.

“Damn,” he muttered under his breath, like even he couldn’t believe it. “They ain’t pulling me nowhere, huh?”

He leaned forward, careful of all the wires and IV lines, and rested his forehead gently against her temple. His fingers curled around hers tighter. Not too tight—but firm enough to remind them both he was there. That he wasn’t leaving. That she didn’t have to fight this part alone.

His voice, when it came, was barely above a whisper.

“You stuck with me now, baby,” he murmured against her skin. “Ain’t nobody takin’ me out this room but you.”

A small, involuntary twitch crossed her lips—maybe a dream, maybe a reaction, but it was enough to make his heart thump against his ribs. Jey smiled, just a little. Just for her.

The whole room seemed to exhale with him. Coach Washington nodded quietly in the corner. Sefa rubbed his neck and sat back down. Jimmy offered his twin a look like, finally, bruh. Talisua wiped her eyes and murmured a prayer. Trina stood a little taller beside Deon, her hand clutched tightly to her husband’s.

Kaia didn’t wake, not yet. But her presence was still loud. Still hers.

And Jey— Jey was still holding on. More than ever.

Page One Hundred Eighty-Eight

The sun hadn’t even fully crept through the blinds yet when Kaia stirred—barely.

A low, strangled little noise slipped from her throat, raw and confused. Her face scrunched in a slow-motion grimace, the weight of consciousness dragging her up like it was soaked in cement. She twitched—barely. Not even a full movement, more like her nerves were just testing the waters, checking if they still existed.

“Mmnnnh…” she breathed out, like the air hurt too.

She wasn’t fully awake. But she was close. Close enough that her body registered pain first.

“My body hurts…” she whispered into the quiet, the sound rough and warped, like it’d taken everything in her just to form the words. “Hurts so bad…”

Jey was already up, sitting beside her like he hadn’t slept much, if at all. His hand was right there, laced with hers. The moment he heard her voice—slurred, soft, barely above breath—he jolted forward like someone just defibrillated his heart.

“Kaia?” he said quick, eyes locked on her.

She didn’t open her eyes. Didn’t have the strength yet. But her brows were furrowed, the beginnings of tears building in the corners of her lashes. And that voice—hoarse, broken—mumbled again, confused.

“Can’t move… why can’t I…” she whispered, more panicked this time, the edges of fear wrapping around every word.

Jey swallowed hard, chest already tightening. He moved closer, gently brushing his thumb over her knuckles, his voice tender and low but steady, solid, like a boulder in a storm.

“Shhh, hey… hey, baby, I’m here. I got you,” he murmured, thumb brushing her temple now. “You got hurt real bad, okay? But you here, Kaia. You alive. Don’t try to move just yet.”

Her lips parted, but no new words came. Just a little hitch in her breath. Like her brain was catching up to the pain and the confusion and the not being able to move and trying to decide whether to cry or scream.

But she didn’t have to do either.

Jey leaned in close, pressed his lips to her forehead, and breathed her name into her skin like a promise.

“You made it back to me,” he whispered. “That’s all that matters right now.”

In the corner, Trina stood quietly with a hand over her heart, eyes welling up again. Coach Washington stared out the window but her jaw was clenched. Deon sat still, his fists balled on his knees. Sefa crossed his arms, his eyes red but resolute. And the room felt like it held its breath right along with her.

Kaia’s voice barely surfaced again. Just a whisper, like a prayer trying to make peace with pain.

“I’m scared…”

Jey’s answer came immediately, strong and unwavering:

“I ain’t going nowhere.”

Page One Hundred Eighty-Nine

It took everything she had.

Muscles trembling beneath swollen skin. Pain radiating from every inch of her body. Her mouth dry, throat raw, lungs working double-time just to get the words out.

But Kaia found him—his eyes.

Through the haze of exhaustion, through the blanket of agony trying to pull her back under, she locked onto the warm brown eyes of the man who hadn’t left her side for a single second.

And somehow, somehow, the corner of her lips curved up.

It was small. Shaky. Barely there.

But it was real.

“I know you not, Big Samoa,” she whispered, voice breathy but sure.

Her fingers flexed weakly, curling around his hand just a little tighter, like she needed him to feel her. Needed him to know this wasn’t the pain meds talking, this wasn’t just the aftershock.

It was her.

“I love you for that.”

Jey just stared at her—completely and utterly undone. That wall he always carried? Gone. That cool, laid-back bravado? Melted.

His jaw clenched, eyes welling before he even knew it. He nodded slow, thumb brushing against her hand, and dropped his forehead to hers so gently she could barely feel the weight of it.

“You ain’t never gotta thank me for staying,” he said, voice hoarse and thick. “You mine. I’m yours. That’s it.”

She blinked again, slow and heavy, but the smile stayed—tired, tender, true.

And even though her body was broken, her heart felt safe. Right there. With him.

Wrapped in his warmth, tethered to his voice, she finally let her eyes close again. Not from pain, not from fear.

But because she could rest.

Jey stayed right there, watching the rise and fall of her chest, holding on to her hand like a lifeline. And somewhere, just outside the door, the world kept spinning. But for him?

Everything that mattered was right here.

Page One Hundred Ninety

A few weeks into recovery, and the honeymoon phase of survival was over.

Kaia was still in the hospital—upgraded out of critical care, but far from mobile, far from healed. Bruises were faded, but the pain wasn’t. Her leg was in a cast, her arm in a sling, her side stitched up tight, her nerves screaming every time she dared to breathe too deep or twitch too fast.

And her mind? That was the loudest pain of all.

She was supposed to be grateful. Alive. Still here.

But today, she wasn’t grateful. Not even a little.

She was wrecked.

Her face was blotchy, eyes red and puffy from crying hard into the scratchy hospital pillow while the nurse stepped out. Jey had gone to go grab her some food with her parents—ten minutes tops—and the second they were gone, the walls caved in on her again.

“I can’t do this,” she whispered to herself, trying to sit up with her good arm, only to flop back with a breathless wince.

Her body felt foreign. Heavy. Useless.

“What if I’m done? What if this is it?”

Tears spilled again, fresh and fast, no warning. Her chest stung from sobbing so hard, jaw clenched like she could fight back the panic.

“I worked my whole life for this. I did everything right. I trained, I bled, I pushed through everything just to end up in a hospital bed with screws in my leg and no f–…” She choked, voice cracking so sharp it hurt. “Why me? Why do I keep getting hit with shit like this?”

The bathroom mirror across the room caught her reflection—her hair braided back, face pale, an oxygen tube still clipped to her nose, wires everywhere.

Not Special K. Not the athlete. Not the chaos-wielding, glitter-smiling dream girl who dunked on six-footers like it was easy.

Just Kaia. A girl in a bed. Stripped down to pain and fear and a future she couldn’t see anymore.

She clenched her fists and sobbed harder, letting the cry spill out like it had been waiting in her chest for years. No filters. No fronting.

“I just wanted a happy ending,” she whispered, voice cracked open, almost inaudible. “That’s all. Just one.”

And the worst part?

She wasn’t even sure if she still believed in them.

Page One Hundred Ninety-One

The door cracked open softly.

Jey stepped in first, quiet, a brown paper bag in hand, smelling like French fries and warmth. Behind him came Trina, then Deon, all chatting low—until they heard it.

That sound.

Raw, aching sobs. Shaky, breathless.

Jey froze in the doorway, his heart slamming against his ribs as he took it in—Kaia curled in on herself as much as her broken body would allow, shoulder trembling, voice cracked wide open and spilling like glass shattering on tile.

“I just wanted a happy ending,” she cried again, not seeing them yet. “Why can’t I have that? Why’s it always me? I don’t wanna be strong anymore, I just—I’m so tired, y’all.”

Her mama’s hand went straight to her heart. Deon stopped like the air left his lungs.

But it was Jey who dropped the food, quick and silent as it hit the chair. He crossed the room in three long strides, bending beside her, his face so open, so wrecked with hurt for her.

“Baby girl,” he whispered.

Kaia startled, blinking through her tears to see him there. His curls. His eyes. That worried look he wore like a second skin now.

“You wasn’t supposed to hear that,” she croaked, trying to wipe her face but too stiff to move properly. “I—I was just—”

“Hurting,” he finished for her, his hand already brushing the tears off her cheeks. “And you don’t gotta explain none of that to me.”

Behind him, her mama stepped closer, gentle. Her daddy stayed near the door, hands clenched in fists that trembled with helpless love. Nobody said anything yet.

Kaia's lip quivered again. “What if I don’t come back from this? What if that was it? My last real game, my last walk, my last—”

“No,” Jey said, firm now, his palm cradling her cheek. “Don’t even put that out in the world.”

“But what if I ain’t me no more, Jey?” she whispered, chest hitching. “What if I’m just… broken?”

He leaned in closer, forehead resting against hers, eyes locked in. “You still you. You Kaia Fields. You Special K. You the girl who dunked on that six-foot-something chick and took a whole crowd���s breath away. The one who stole my heart while yelling at Coach Washington high on pain meds. The one who came back to me.”

Her lashes fluttered, wet again. Her lip wobbled.

“You still here,” he whispered. “And I still here. That sound like a happy ending to me.”

She let out a small breath—more exhale than laugh—and his hand caught hers as he helped her relax back against the pillow.

Trina stepped forward quietly, smoothing Kaia’s curls back, soft like only a mama could. “It’s okay to break sometimes, baby,” she murmured. “We gon’ hold you ‘til you don’t feel so broken no more.”

Kaia closed her eyes, body sinking into the bed as the tears slowed. Jey stayed there, not moving, just holding her, thumb rubbing small circles on her palm.

The others pulled chairs close.

They didn’t have all the answers.

But they were here.

And for the first time in days—Kaia didn’t feel alone.

Page One Hundred Ninety-Two

Kaia’s voice cracked halfway through the sentence, brittle and splintered as glass beneath weight. Her eyes stayed on the ceiling, glossy, lashes wet as a fresh storm trembled on her face.

“You shouldn’t have to be held back by some broken girl like me, Jey,” she whispered, the words dragging themselves out of her like they didn’t want to be said but refused to stay inside. “You got your career, your whole damn life still moving. And I’m just… stuck. I’m stuck in this hospital bed with screws in my leg and wires on my chest and no real recovery in sight.”

She sniffled, cheeks damp, voice shaking like she didn’t know if she should cry or just disappear.

“I understand,” she whispered again. “If it’s too much… or if someone else—”

“Yo,” Jey cut in, low but sharp. The kind of sharp that slices through noise without raising his voice.

Kaia blinked, breath caught mid-sob as she finally turned her head toward him.

He looked wrecked. Not mad, but that deep, emotional jaw-clench kind of frustration. His brows furrowed like he was trying to hold back a whole sea of words but they spilled anyway.

“Don’t ever finish that sentence,” he said, voice tight. “Don’t ever say that again.”

Kaia opened her mouth—maybe to apologize, maybe to explain—but he was already speaking again.

“Yeah, I got my career,” he said. “Yeah, I could be anywhere right now. But I’m here. You hear me? Here. Sitting beside a woman I love. Watching her fight like hell. I’m not held back, K. I’m held down. There’s a difference.”

He leaned in, close enough for her to feel the heat of his forehead against hers. His hand gently slid across her wrist, anchoring her like a lighthouse in the dark.

“You not the thing weighing me down,” he whispered. “You the thing making me stand taller.”

A tear slid down her cheek.

“You think I want somebody else?” he scoffed quietly, eyes locked with hers. “Nah. You the one I want. Even if you never hoop again, even if it takes a year for you to walk—hell, even if you gotta ride around in a gold-plated wheelchair for the rest of your life. You still Kaia. You still mine. And I still ain’t going nowhere.”

Her chest hitched, overwhelmed and barely holding it in.

Jey brought her hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles softly.

“You don’t gotta be strong all the time,” he murmured. “But don’t you ever question what you are to me. Ain’t no version of this life where I leave you. No version where I don’t fight right beside you, boot or no boot.”

Her eyes squeezed shut, fresh tears squeezing past the corners as her lip wobbled.

“I just feel so broken,” she admitted in a whisper.

“You allowed to,” he said. “But you not alone in that. I got enough love to hold you through the breaking. And the healing too.”

Kaia breathed in slow, her chest still shaky but full of something warm again.

He kissed her forehead gently.

“You not a burden, K,” he whispered. “You my blessing.”

She didn’t say anything back right away.

But her fingers curled tighter around his. And that was enough.

Page One Hundred Ninety-Three

Kaia’s voice was soft, cracked in places from the tears and the war she’d been fighting inside her own head. But this time, it didn’t wobble from fear or doubt. This time it was laced with something real, solid—like honey and steel.

“I love you, Joshua,” she sniffed, her eyes glassy but calm now. There was weight behind her words. No hesitation. No what-ifs.

Jey blinked, stunned stupid for a moment.

Then—slowly, gingerly—Kaia pushed herself up with her good arm, her hand still holding his. Her neck trembled from the effort but she leaned forward anyway and pressed her lips to his in a soft, slow kiss.

Not rushed. Not desperate. Just everything she couldn’t say during the days she’d been trapped in silence. She kissed him like she needed him to feel what her broken body still couldn’t say out loud every second.

Jey didn’t move at first. He wasn’t expecting it—his brain still somewhere between protecting her, loving her, and trying to rebuild her all at once.

But when she pulled back, barely an inch, her voice was low and teasing as she said, “I heard you, by the way. When I was out. Still unconscious in that coma...”

His brows furrowed, lips parted.

“You kept callin’ me your wife,” she whispered with a tired smile, her lashes fluttering as she laid her head back against the pillow again. “Talkin’ all loud in the room like I couldn’t hear you. Pacing. Cryin’. Prayin’.”

Her grin curved gently. Weak but full of familiar mischief.

“You sounded like a real simp, Old Man.”

Jey’s mouth dropped open, the nerve in his jaw ticking—but not from frustration. From pure overwhelmed disbelief and love.

“I ain’t no simp,” he mumbled, trying not to grin, but the way she was lookin’ at him made it damn near impossible.

Kaia hummed, eyes closing as she settled back against the pillow.

“You are,” she murmured. “But you’re my simp.”

And just like that, she drifted again, pain meds gently tugging her into sleep, her fingers still locked in his. Her face calm, even with all the bruises and bandages, as peaceful as he’d seen her in weeks.

Jey didn’t move. Just stared at her like she was the only thing that mattered.

And maybe she was.

Page One Hundred Ninety-Four

Jey stayed there—propped up in that oversized hospital bed they’d wheeled in just for her, just for them—staring at her like his whole damn universe had just shifted again.

His chest was tight, not in a scary way, but in that heart-full kind of way. The kind that made it hard to breathe without choking on emotion.

She was already asleep again. Her lips still curved up just the tiniest bit. Her lashes fluttered softly against the bruising on her cheek. Her hand still rested over his chest like it belonged there.

Like she belonged there.

Jey let out a shaky breath and dragged his palm down his face, eyes glassing over. “Damn, baby…” he whispered. His voice caught on the end like it wasn’t used to saying things out loud that felt this big.

He looked down at her, traced her fingers with his thumb, and shook his head like he still couldn’t believe she was really here. Still here.

"You really heard all that, huh? My loud ass talkin’ to ghosts and angels and whoever else would listen, just tryna get you to come back to me..." His voice was low now, like he was talkin’ just to her spirit even while her body lay inches from him. “I meant it. Every word. I ain’t takin’ none of that back.”

He leaned down slow, careful not to jostle her or the wires and IVs. His lips brushed her forehead, then her temple. Gentle. Reverent.

“I don’t give a damn how broken you think you are,” he murmured into her hair. “You still the strongest thing I ever seen. Still mine. Ain’t nobody holdin’ me back. Ain’t nobody replacin’ you. Ain’t nobody else.”

He leaned back slightly, just enough to look at her again. One big hand gently cupped the side of her jaw, thumb brushing her cheek.

“I called you my wife,” he whispered, voice thick. “Because that’s what you are to me. Ain’t no piece of paper ever gone mean more than this right here. This—us? It’s already written.”

And then he just laid there. Held her like a vow. Wrapped around her in the bed like if he let go, she’d disappear.

She was asleep, but it didn’t matter.

He’d say it anyway, say it every night if he had to. Say it until it sank in so deep she never doubted it again.

“I love you, Kaia. All of you. Forever.”

Page One Hundred Ninety-Five

Kaia’s voice was mushy-sweet and barely above a whisper, tangled somewhere between dreamland and pain meds.

"Ain’t no ring on my finger, Fatu… I love you too, wrestleboy. Always have… since you rocked a custom number two jersey…”

And just like that, Jey’s entire soul short-circuited. The words landed like a crash, like an echo he didn’t even know he was waiting for—but once they were out, it felt like everything else stopped moving.

He looked down at her, still curled half on top of him in the hospital bed, a sleepy frown knitting her brows like she wasn’t even sure if she was speaking out loud or thinking at him.

“…You mean that?” His voice cracked despite the way he tried to keep it low, steady, chill. “You love me like that?”

Kaia didn’t open her eyes, just gave the softest smirk, lips barely curling. “Mmhmm. Even when I acted brand new… back when you were just a fineass problem in my DMs.”

Jey exhaled, slow. Rubbed his hand over his face like he was tryna calm the firestorm of feelings crashing into his chest.

“You know I wasn’t playin’ when I said you mine, right?” he murmured, voice thick now, the edge gone. “Ain’t just 'cause of all this. Ain’t just 'cause you broke and bruised and need somebody. I loved you before I even realized that’s what it was.”

Kaia shifted, weakly, and her fingers ghosted up like she was reaching for his face again. Her hand was trembling, barely making it to his cheek, but she still cradled it there like he was the fragile one. Like he needed the comfort.

“I heard you… when I was out. When y’all thought I wasn’t comin’ back,” she mumbled, thumb grazing his jaw like she was drawing strength from him. “You kept callin’ me your wife…”

His throat tightened.

“Yeah,” he breathed, letting his forehead fall to hers. “Because you are. Ring or not. Name change or not. You mine, Kaia Chantelle Fields. I feel it in my bones. I don’t need a courthouse to know that.”

She laughed—barely. The sound was scratchy, weak, but still full of something that shimmered.

“You sounded like a whole simp, Old Man.”

Jey grinned through the tears that were suddenly too damn close. “Hell yeah I did. Proud of it too. I was ready to legally change my middle name to ‘Please Wake Up’ if it meant you’d stay.”

Her head dropped against his chest again, her face relaxing as sleep crawled its way back up. But before it took her, she got one last sentence out, mumbled through half-consciousness and a snort:

“I ain’t no good at vows but I still wanna annoy you ‘til we’re old. You got me forever, Big Samoa… just don’t let me go.”

Jey held her tighter. Pressed a kiss to the top of her head and whispered back against her curls, voice raw:

“I got you. Always. Even if you snore like a baby bear and threaten me with Popeyes chicken. You stuck with me.”

And just like that, she was out again. But he didn’t move. Didn’t sleep. Just laid there holding her like she was the most sacred thing the world ever handed him.

Page One Hundred Ninety-Seven

The hospital hallway felt warmer than it should’ve. Maybe it was the laughter drifting down from where Coach Washington was throwing her head back over something Sefa said, or maybe it was the sight of Jimmy bouncing his youngest on his hip while Trinity stole bites of the hospital cookies nearby.

Maybe it was the way both their families had somehow become one big unit overnight.

But Jey… Jey had one thing on his mind.

He stepped out of the room quietly, careful not to wake Kaia as she slept with her face tucked over his heart. He still felt her there, even as the door closed gently behind him. He needed air. He needed… courage. Or maybe he just needed them.

Because right up ahead were Deon and Trina, deep in conversation with his own parents—Solofa and Talisua—swapping stories and recipes and something about whose grandkids looked like who. He saw his mom’s hand on Trina’s forearm. His dad’s easy grin. All of it felt… right.

His feet moved before he could think.

“Hey,” he called softly, voice cutting through the laughter but not harsh. Just enough. Just enough to make them all turn. “Mr. and Mrs. Fields, can I—can I talk to you a second?”

They both looked up, blinking. Trina tilted her head. Deon narrowed his eyes like a man already prepared to defend whatever this was about to be.

Solofa nudged his son’s arm, but Jey didn’t need help.

He walked closer and—dead serious—stood in front of them both, back straight, jaw set.

“I know this ain’t a normal time, and this ain’t no perfect setup,” he started, heart thundering in his chest. “But your daughter—Makaia Chantelle Fields—is the strongest, most brilliant, ridiculous, loud-ass blessing I ever had in my life.”

Trina covered her mouth instantly. Deon squinted harder.

“I ain’t met nobody who made me believe in all that ride or die, forever type shit. Until her.” His voice cracked just slightly, just enough to make his mama’s brow pinch and Trinity pause in the background with wide eyes.

He swallowed and looked Deon dead in the face.

“I love her. And I wanna marry her.”

Deon blinked. Hard.

Jey kept going, even though his voice was going soft and thick.

“I know she not healed yet. I know this ain’t a perfect moment. But I’ve seen her almost die, and I can’t waste another second pretending like this ain’t it for me.”

He dropped his eyes for a second, then lifted them again—serious, steady.

“I’m askin’ you, sir, if I can marry your daughter. If I can be part of your family. I promise you… I’ll spend the rest of my life makin’ sure she knows how much she’s loved. Not just in words, but in every damn way possible.”

For a long beat, it was silent.

Trina sniffled, hands trembling as she wiped under her eyes. “Oh baby…”

Solofa clapped a slow hand over his chest like that’s my boy.

But it was Deon who moved. Arms crossed, jaw locked.

“You sure?”

“Yes, sir. No doubt.”

Deon grunted. Then… exhaled.

“Then you better not fuck it up.”

And just like that, the hallway erupted—Trina pulling Jey into a tight hug, Talisua wiping tears, Trinity gasping, and Jimmy yelling “YEET” while the baby clapped.

Even Coach Washington raised a plastic water bottle in approval from down the hall.

And Jey?

Jey just stood there grinning, eyes wet, heart full.

Because now… he had all the pieces.

And one day soon—he was gonna give Kaia that ring she joked about.

And he’d do it knowing her mama and daddy already said yes.

Page One Hundred Ninety-Nine

It had been exactly thirty-three days since Kaia Fields had stepped onto a WNBA court.

Thirty-three days since her name was called with pride and heat and rowdy love, since number two jogged down that tunnel with that cocky grin, Jordans squeaking, ponytail swinging, whole arena going nuts like there she go.

But tonight?

Tonight felt different.

The arena was packed for the Dream’s home game in Atlanta, full capacity plus some, fans shoulder to shoulder. Jerseys everywhere. Signs that said “We Love You Special K” and “Fields Strong” and even one with her face Photoshopped onto Beyoncé’s Renaissance cover.

There was an energy buzzing underneath it all—nervous, heavy. People whispered to each other like it was a prayer service. Nobody knew where Kaia was. She hadn’t been seen publicly since the accident, hadn’t posted, hadn’t been spotted even in the background of anything. Not a photo. Not a sighting. Not a whisper.

Then the lights dimmed.

The starting five had already been called. The crowd clapped politely.

But it wasn’t polite when the music shifted. It wasn’t quiet when the announcer's voice came on again, a little shaky, like he couldn’t believe what he was about to say either.

“Ladies and gentlemen, for the Dream... returning tonight to her home court for the first time since the incident... y’all know her as Special K... Number Two... put your damn hands together for Kaia Fields.”

There was a beat of stunned silence.

Then the tunnel lights lit up—and the whole world damn near broke open.

The crowd screamed like a homecoming, like a miracle.

And there she was.

Kaia.

Hair braided back in her signature long rows, jersey on over a soft hoodie, left leg stretched out in a thick black cast with a Jordan ankle logo drawn in white marker, wrist wrapped and glittering from the custom brace her teammates had made. Her face was bare of makeup, cheeks still a little tired—but her smile? Oh baby, that smile was full tilt, bright and watery and unshakable.

Because she was crying. Openly.

And behind her?

Jey.

Pushing her wheelchair slow and steady like she was royalty being rolled out onto the battlefield. His head was held high, chain swinging, that custom Dream shirt with “FIELDS 02” across his back. He was calm—but his eyes were red, and his hand was gripping her shoulder tight.

She looked up at the fans, overwhelmed, blinking hard to see through the tears. People stood. Some screamed. Some sobbed. Her teammates—half of them broke formation and ran across the court. The coach had to wipe her eyes fast like it was allergies, and even the announcer went quiet.

Kaia wiped her cheeks with her sleeve and waved at the crowd, hand shaking. Then, with that same emotional smile, she took the mic they offered her and held it up slow.

“I didn’t think I’d get to hear y’all again,” she said, voice cracking, “so this right here? This sound? This joy? It’s my championship. Y’all kept me alive.”

The crowd lost it.

Her team surrounded her. Jey stepped back, letting them huddle around her like sisters who hadn’t seen each other in a lifetime. He stayed close though—always within reach. Always there.

And in that moment, with the stadium lit up like a dream and her tears soaking into her jersey, Kaia Fields came all the way home.

[mjonthetrack]

folded

Page 164

By the time Jey managed to sort of convince Kaia to take a nap—her head resting on his chest, boot propped up on a pillow like a little wounded gremlin—the world had already seen the video. Twice.

Maybe three times.

By the time he got her phone out of her hand, TikTok, Instagram and Twitter were deep in the trenches. The replies were flying in like a game of dodgeball at recess, and everybody was talking.

The video had already been reposted with slow motion captions. Some genius added anime music and dramatic zoom-ins.

“LISTEN HERE, GRISELDA BLANCO,” the audio played under a black-and-white filter while sparkles popped up around Kaia’s lone visible eyeball.

One fan had already edited her speech over footage of The Undertaker rising from a coffin.

Another dubbed it over a bald eagle screeching in a patriotic montage.

And then—

His phone buzzed.

“Jimmy: bruh. bruh. BRUHHHH. tell me that wasn’t Kaia 😭😭😭😭😭😭” “Sefa: ayo why shorty say hysterectomy back entrance way 💀💀💀💀” “Trinity: your girl got more bars than jay-z, lmaoooo I’m crying 😭” “Paul: please ask Kaia to take the video down before the legal team sees it.” “Coach Washington: I’m not speaking to her until I get an apology and a fruit basket.” “Mama Fatu: she high?? 😳 tell her to ice that foot and come eat. I made stew.” “Pops Fatu: that girl got a mouth on her. she right tho, that other one DO look like she breath through her gums.”**

Jey wheezed.

He was trying not to die laughing, but the moment he saw someone tag The Shade Room in a remix clip with Kaia’s face edited onto a Mortal Kombat fighter?

It was over.

“Finish her!” Kaia’s voice yelled, followed by the words “YOUR MAMA A HOE” exploding on screen in Comic Sans with flames.

He bit his fist and tried not to snort out loud.

Across the room, Kaia mumbled in her sleep, “Get her, Gloria…”

Jey turned his phone over and just shook his head, eyes wide as hell, trying to process the surreal moment of dating a woman who’d gone absolutely viral in the middle of a feud… on pain meds.

And it wasn’t even noon.

“You not real,” he whispered, looking at her tiny little wrap-wrapped body and soft snores. “You just a lil demon in a jersey. I know it.”

His phone buzzed again.

“Jacob: you bringing her to SummerSlam?” “Jey: …we might not be allowed in public after this.”

Page 165

Jey had done his due diligence.

He took the video down.

Slid it into the deleted folder. Cleared it from drafts. Even called Instagram support like somebody’s IT uncle trying to make sure it was really gone.

But baby—

The Internet already had it in 4K.

By lunchtime, the video had been reposted by everybody. Barstool. Complex. Baller Alert. The Neighborhood Talk. ESPN. Snoop Dogg reposted it with five laughing emojis and the caption:

“Whoever Kaia Fields is, I want her in my next skit. This girl a menace.”

Comedians were eating. KevOnStage dropped a reaction video. Druski posted a TikTok acting like the girl Kaia threatened with a towel on his head and lipgloss. Hell, even Lil Rel tweeted:

“Kaia said ‘back entrance hysterectomy’ and I laughed so hard I scared my daughter. That woman is a national treasure.”

And what was even funnier?

The WNBA didn’t even care.

In fact, the opposite.

A leaked clip surfaced from a private WNBA brunch—lowkey as hell—and someone at the table had pulled the video up for the commissioner herself.

The camera panned to Cathy Engelbert, drink in hand, absolutely howling.

"—back entrance hysterectomy!? Nah, she gotta be stopped—!"

She was damn near in tears, slapping the table, wheezing into her mimosa like a parent watching bad kids fight on TikTok.

Somebody off camera asked if Kaia would be fined.

“For what?” Cathy barked, wiping her eyes. “Being a cultural icon?”

Even the NBA’s verified page posted a meme: Kaia’s one-eyed glare in the hotel mirror, overlaid with:

“POV: When the squad asks if you’re okay after you rolled your ankle and you remember the burpees Coach made you do last week.”

It was Kaia’s world now. Everyone else just existed in it.

And Jey?

Jey was laying in bed, watching it all unfold with his own lil viral gremlin fast asleep on his chest, mouth open, drooling just a bit as she snored.

“Yup,” he murmured, pulling the blanket up around her shoulders like she wasn’t trending in six different languages, “that’s my girl.”

Page One Hundred Sixty-Seven

Atlanta was cloudy that morning, humid like it was holding its breath. Jey was already suited up, wrist tape tight, boots laced, hoodie on with the hood down low as he leaned against the wall in the prep area backstage. His phone buzzed once in his pocket, but he ignored it. He’d been texting Kaia since he left the hotel—she was supposed to be just behind him on the drive over, booted up, pain meds on board, bundled in a black hoodie and sunglasses while the team driver wheeled her out like a real-life sports princess in a Target-purchased wheelchair. She had said she'd make it by tipoff, right on time to see him walk out for the match.

But then his phone buzzed again. And again. The same Atlanta number. Then Trinity’s name flashed.

He frowned. Picked it up. “What’s up?”

Her voice was sharp, strained. “Jey. Turn on the news. Like right now.”

Before he could even move, someone from production came sprinting down the hallway with a headset on, breathless and wild-eyed. “Bro, your girl—Kaia—she was in an accident.”

The blood drained from his face.

“What?”

“They’re saying—she was in a black SUV headed to the stadium. Someone followed her. Deliberately hit her on the highway. It—it flipped. Rolled like four times. Bro.”

Jey didn’t even respond. He was already moving.

—

Thirty Minutes Earlier

Kaia had been vibing. Or what counted as vibing when you were semi-zooted on painkillers in the backseat of an Escalade with a neck pillow, a fuzzy blanket, and a half-eaten mini pack of gummy worms in your lap. The driver had the A/C blasting, gospel music playing low, and Kaia was mid-rant about how she was gonna order three Popeyes biscuits and dare the world to stop her.

That’s when it happened.

The highway was moving fast. They’d just passed the 285 merge outside of Atlanta when a white Benz SUV with illegal tint peeled up behind them, way too close, swerving like it had something to prove. Kaia’s brow furrowed.

“Yo, who Grand Theft Auto bumper car is that?” she murmured.

The driver adjusted the rearview, trying to give them space.

But it was too late.

The Benz gunned it—full-throttle, pedal-down, psychotic rage—and slammed into their rear-right corner going over 70mph.

Kaia didn’t scream.

She didn’t even have time to.

The Escalade spun violently. Tires screeched. Metal shrieked. The world became white and upside down.

The SUV flipped once.

Then twice.

A third time.

The fourth was slower, like time itself bent in half.

Her body tossed against the seatbelt and her braced boot caught on the ceiling. Her head slammed into the window as the airbags deployed all around her in a violent blossom.

And in the Benz, that same woman—the one who did it, the one who meant to—grinned like a lunatic behind the wheel. Happy. Like this was her victory lap. Like she'd finally leveled the playing field.

Like she didn’t just try to kill someone.

Kaia's world faded to black before she could even curse her out.

—

Backstage, Jey was already on the phone, shouting for car keys, for someone to pull up the hospital info, for something—anything. His hands were shaking. His face was blank but his body screamed murder. Sefa stood to the side, frozen in shock, while Jimmy cussed under his breath, pacing.

“I swear to God—” Jey muttered, jaw clenched so tight his teeth could’ve cracked. “I swear to God—”

“Jey,” Trinity said, voice low but steady. “We’re gonna find out who did it.”

He didn’t answer.

Because he already knew.

And when he found her?

There wouldn’t be enough security in the damn world to stop what came next.

Page One Hundred Sixty-Eight

The arena lights were hot. Not just hot—blinding. Cameras panned, the intro music for the night’s match blared through the speakers like it was any other Friday show.

But backstage?

Backstage was silent.

Frozen.

Because the TVs mounted in the talent hallway—all four of them—had just cut away from the usual lead-in to a breaking news bulletin that stopped everyone in their damn tracks.

Jey hadn’t even made it to gorilla position yet. His wrist tape was half finished, his hoodie was off, and his mind had been buzzing since the last call he got about Kaia—“on the way to the hospital” was all they said.

And then—

“What you’re seeing is live at the scene of a busy highway in Atlanta…”

He turned sharply.

Every monitor showed it.

A helicopter cam zooming in on a mangled black SUV, glass everywhere, the highway shut down in both directions. Emergency crews were swarming the wreckage, the frame so bent and crushed it was hard to tell where the roof ended and the side began. Smoke still billowed from the hood.

“…Famed and recently injured Pro-WNBA star Kaia Fields was brutally hunted and crashed into…”

“…authorities believe this was intentional. Witnesses say a white Benz was seen following and deliberately slamming into the SUV at high speeds before fleeing the scene…”

“…rescue crews are still trying to free any living parties from the vehicle. We do not yet have a status update on the occupants inside.”

The microphone slipped from Jey’s hand. It clattered to the floor.

His chest rose, then didn’t fall.

For a long second, he just stood there, shoulders squared, jaw clenched so tight the vein in his neck was pulsing like a drum.

Sefa backed up a step. Jimmy blinked, stunned, his hands halfway raised like he didn’t know whether to hold his twin back or collapse.

“Bro—”

Trinity, watching from just off-screen, shook her head slowly. “No way. No. No, no, no—that was her ride. That’s the car she left in. That’s the one.”

Jey didn’t even look at them.

He didn’t breathe.

Because there was Kaia’s name in red across the screen. Footage of her black SUV, flipped four times and barely resembling a vehicle anymore. Photos of her just days ago, smiling in the post-match shot from their tag team win.

And now this.

He flexed his hands. Opened and closed them like he was fighting ghosts.

And then the voice came over the PA.

“Jey Uso to gorilla. You're on in five.”

He turned.

Dead silence behind him.

No one moved. Not one sound.

Then he grabbed his hoodie, shoved it over his head, and walked—slowly, like his body had separated from his soul—straight to gorilla position.

Every camera was ready.

Every light trained on the ramp.

And the moment his music hit, the crowd erupted…

…but Jey didn’t hear it.

He couldn’t.

All he could hear was the anchor’s voice, still playing in his head:

“...still trying to free any living parties…”

His heart clenched like a fist.

And he walked to the ring like it was war.

Page One Hundred Sixty-Nine

The bell rang.

But Jey didn’t flinch.

Didn’t bounce on his toes like he usually did. Didn’t taunt. Didn’t dance. Didn’t even look at the crowd like he always did before a match.

He stood in the corner of the ring, head low, shoulders heaving once like he was steadying something deeper than breath. His fists flexed at his sides, and the ref looked at him for confirmation—

He didn’t nod.

He just moved.

Fast.

Relentless.

Like someone had set a fuse and lit it.

His opponent—one of the newer up-and-comers—barely got his hands up before Jey slammed into him with a spear so vicious the ropes rattled.

The crowd gasped.

The announce team tried to play it off—“Jey’s been intense lately!” “Focused, locked in!”—but even they sounded shook. Because this wasn’t performance. This wasn’t for the cameras.

This was grief in motion.

Jey didn’t let up. Strike after strike. Stiff, clean, brutal. He didn’t care about choreography tonight—he was working through something and the ring just so happened to be the only place he could put it.

The crowd felt it.

They started chanting louder. Not just his name—Kaia’s.

“SPE-CIAL K! SPE-CIAL K!”

The camera caught a close-up: the split-second twitch in his jaw. The barely there twitch at the corner of his eye like he was trying not to break in the middle of a live show.

By the end of the match, his opponent was out cold, and the ref called it early—not even the full finish. Just called it.

But Jey didn’t celebrate.

He didn’t pose.

He stood in the middle of the ring, chest heaving, sweat dripping down his temple, and stared into the camera like it had just insulted his entire bloodline.

And then he left.

Back through the curtain, the crowd roaring behind him, chanting her name. His boots hit the concrete hard on the way to the back, arms twitching at his sides, soaked through his shirt.

He didn’t go to medical.

Didn’t go to catering.

He grabbed his phone from the tech table—still buzzing.

And there it was.

Missed call – Atlanta Metro Hospital Missed call – Coach Washington Text – “She’s awake.”

Jey froze.

The breath left him like he’d just been hit with a chair to the ribs.

Then his thumb moved like it had a mind of its own.

CALLING: TRINA FIELDS (MOMMA BEAR 🐻)

The phone barely rang twice.

“She’s awake,” Mrs. Trina said, voice already thick with relief. “She was out of it when we got her out, but baby, she’s talking now. We’re still at the hospital—Atlanta Medical West, second floor, trauma center. It’s bad, but she’s alive. She’s here.”

He closed his eyes.

And finally—finally—let the shaking in his hands catch up.

“Say less.”

He was already changing. Already grabbing his keys.

Big Samoa was coming home.

Page One Hundred Seventy

Kaia Fields had been through it before.

Busted knees. Shattered fingers. Sprained ankles. Black eyes, concussions, bruised ribs. She was a hooper and a fighter and a southern Black girl raised on “you better not cry unless you bleeding.”

But this?

This was different.

This was war zone different.

This was lights flashing, sirens screaming, metal in her flesh and prayers on strangers’ lips different.

This was I love you croaked out on a stretcher with blood in her teeth and pain pills in her veins.

The SUV had been crushed in. Metal had shanked through her left side, a rib piercing skin like a blade. She’d coded twice. Her femur was snapped so clean the bone had shown through. Her right shoulder had been torn from its socket. Her wrist? Fractured. Her ankle? Already broken from the game, now just… mangled.

Kaia wasn’t in a hospital bed.

She was in a crime scene recovery unit. Alone.

Because trauma protocol meant no one was allowed in yet—not until they’d stabilized her vitals and confirmed the bleeding had slowed. Not until after the second code blue. Not until she stopped flatlining.

The nurses moved like clockwork.

Oxygen mask on. Blood transfusion going. Painkillers in. IV drip. Stitching. Resetting bones. Emergency trauma surgery for internal bleeding. More wires than limbs.

And Kaia?

She wasn’t Kaia right now.

She wasn’t “Special K” or “the Dream’s shooting guard” or “Jey’s chaos partner” or “that viral WNBA girl who smacked the mic talking about hysterectomies.”

She was quiet.

Still.

Unmoving under layers of bandages, IVs, tubes, and gauze.

And pale.

The girl who was all brown sugar and sunlit skin? Ashy. Cold. Monitored every second by nurses who’d been in this game twenty years and still looked at her like they weren’t sure she’d make it through the night.

A red sign blinked at the door: "NO VISITORS – CRITICAL TRAUMA UNIT"

And behind it, on the other side of reinforced glass, Jey was losing his entire mind.

He wasn’t saying much.

Wasn’t pacing. Wasn’t yelling.

Just sitting.

Hands clasped, knuckles white, jaw clenched, bouncing one knee—like the only thing keeping him from breaking down and shattering the hallway glass was the sound of her damn heart monitor going steady through the wall.

Coach Washington sat beside him. Her hand gripped his knee once.

“She’s a fighter,” the coach said quietly, eyes red but dry. “But this ain’t basketball. This ain’t even wrestling.”

He didn’t look at her.

Didn’t say a word.

Didn’t blink when his phone buzzed again with more notifications, messages, comments. Wrestlers, hoopers, reporters, fans, everybody and they mama was flooding socials about her.

Kaia Fields.

Crushed. Broken. Brutally targeted. Alive… but barely.

Jey just stared at the door.

Waiting. Praying.

Knowing if she opened her eyes again—if she even blinked—he’d be the first damn face she saw.

And God help whoever tried to keep him from her.

Page One Hundred Seventy-One

The door cracked open.

All those hours of silence. Of pacing. Of silent prayers and rage simmering under skin.

And now, it creaked.

The trauma doctor stepped out. Blood on his scrubs. Fatigue around his eyes. His hands still gloved. His voice… calm. But that kind of calm that came after death had sat down for coffee and decided to leave. For now.

“Family of Kaia Fields?”

Trina stood immediately. Deon beside her, tense and stock still. Coach Washington stood too. Jey didn’t. He couldn’t. His knees didn’t work right now. They were locked, stiff from sitting too long, shaking from the adrenaline.

“I’m Dr. Anand,” the doctor said. “Miss Fields made it through surgery, but… barely.”

Jey’s breath hitched.

The doctor kept going, voice clipped and professional. “She coded twice. First on the scene. Then again in the OR. We got her back both times. She lost a lot of blood. We had to stabilize a fractured femur, a dislocated shoulder, cracked ribs—some of which punctured through and caused internal bleeding. Her right wrist is fractured. Her already broken ankle was further crushed from the impact and may need reconstructive surgery. We removed the metal fragment that pierced her side. She’s stable for now.”

For now.

That’s all he heard.

“Can we see her?” Trina asked, her voice tight, holding back tears.

“She’s heavily sedated. Breathing with assistance. But yes. One at a time.”

Coach turned to look at Jey.

He didn’t move.

Didn’t breathe.

Just stared.

Until the words finally hit.

“She coded… twice?” he whispered.

Dr. Anand nodded slowly. “Yes. We nearly lost her.”

And that was it.

That was the line.

Jey stood so fast his chair screeched back across the tile. “You—you lost her twice?!”

The air shifted.

“I shouldn’t have left her!” His voice broke—ripped apart. “I should’ve been there! I should’ve been with her!”

“Josh—” Trina started.

“No!” He pushed his fingers through his curls, tugging at the roots, pacing like he was going to come out of his skin. “That’s my wife! My fucking wife just died—twice! And I wasn’t there to protect her!”

Deon blinked slowly, brows pinched.

Trina’s lips parted.

Coach Washington swallowed hard.

He didn’t even realize what he’d said.

Didn’t realize he’d said it like it was truth.

He just kept pacing. Angry tears tracking down his face, hands fisted, voice hoarse from yelling.

“She was in a fucking wheelchair, man. Already hurt. She wasn’t even supposed to be out there—and now I gotta stand out here while they stitch her together like she ain’t—like she—” He choked. “She called me her marshmallow this morning. We was laughing. She kissed me before I left. And now she’s in there…”

He crumpled to the bench.

Silent.

Shaking.

Face in his hands.

Trina stepped forward gently. Slowly. Sat beside him. One hand to his back. Just like she did with Kaia when she fell in high school and sprained her wrist.

“You love her like that?” she whispered, voice thick.

Jey nodded without looking up. “She got my whole heart, Miss Trina. I ain't never loved nobody like I love her."

Even Deon sat back stunned, watching the way the pain cracked him open in real time.

Coach turned away, wiping her eyes behind her sleeve.

The trauma had just begun. But in that moment, everybody knew—

This man wasn’t Kaia’s boyfriend.

He was already her everything.

Page One Hundred Seventy-Two

The room was too quiet.

Machines hummed low and slow, a rhythm that should’ve soothed—but only made it worse. Made it real.

Kaia lay still in the bed, tubes in her nose, wires snaking out from under the blanket to monitors and IVs. Her face was pale, lips dry. Her curls were matted at the edges from dried sweat and blood, and there were bruises blooming like ink down the left side of her face.

She looked so… small.

5’10 of fury, chaos, jokes, and Sour Patch Kids reduced to stillness and stitches.

Jey hadn’t moved from her side in over an hour.

The hospital had let him in—after Trina all but demanded it—and now he was just… there. His massive frame crammed in the recliner beside her, hand wrapped gently around hers like it was made of spun glass.

He hadn’t even wiped the tears from earlier all the way. His voice was gone. His body? On autopilot. Just stroking his thumb softly along the back of her hand, murmuring under his breath.

“You ain’t gotta wake up yet,” he whispered. “I know you tired. S’cool, baby. I’m right here.”

Her chest rose and fell with the vent’s help.

He watched the numbers on the screen rise and dip.

Her vitals were steady.

But that wasn’t her.

Not the loud, chaotic, wildass woman who cussed mid-shot and kissed him for good luck and danced in gas stations for no reason.

Not his Kaia.

He leaned forward, brushing his lips to her knuckles.

“I can’t do this shit without you, K. I need you to come back.”

The monitors beeped low. Steady. Unbothered.

“Remember that time you told me I was comfy like a marshmallow?” he asked, voice thick with a tired smile. “You said I was your big Samoa—said I was the reason you slept good.”

He laughed once, softly.

“Well, guess what, snack pack? I ain’t slept. Not since I saw your body flippin’ on that damn highway.”

His jaw clenched.

The image replayed in his mind again and again—the footage, the news, the fire, the screams, the silence after.

“You gotta wake up,” he said again. “You still owe me a rematch from that tag practice. And you said you was gonna wear them yeet pasties for SummerSlam, remember?”

Nothing.

Not a twitch. Not a flinch.

He let out a slow, shaky breath and wiped his face again with his hoodie sleeve.

“I know you fightin’. I know you hear me. You always hear me. So just… don’t leave me, alright? You come back when you ready. I’ll be here. I ain’t goin’ nowhere.”

He leaned back in the chair, never letting go of her hand.

And just sat with her.

A man the world knew as ruthless, fearless, a force to be reckoned with—now reduced to nothing more than a heartbroken lover at her bedside.

Waiting.

Protecting.

Praying.

Page One Hundred Seventy-Three

The hospital hallway had gone mostly still, the fluorescent lights buzzing overhead like bad jazz, until the echo of footsteps broke through.

Trina looked up first, bleary-eyed from where she sat next to Deon, her hand clutching his. She blinked like she wasn’t sure if her exhaustion was making her hallucinate. Deon stood up slowly beside her.

Down the hallway came Jimmy and Trinity—both out of their usual gear and in sweats, hoodies, and tired expressions. Two kids clung to their hands, a little girl with beads in her hair and a boy in a tiny WWE tee holding onto Jimmy’s fingers like lifelines. Sefa trailed behind them, arms full with duffel bags and snacks, somehow managing to hold a pack of juice boxes under his chin.

And then came three more.

A proud Polynesian woman in her 50s who moved like she ran things and was used to being respected. Her hair was long, black, coiled into a braid down her back. Beside her was a thick man with salt-and-pepper curls and tribal ink curling up his neck—his stare sharp, like he could smell danger on the wind. Behind them, another man walked with their exact build, likely an uncle or cousin, all three of them carrying quiet storm energy.

Trina stood.

Deon did too, squinting. “Who…?”

Jimmy stepped forward first, offering a tired half-smile. “Sorry to just pull up unannounced, ma’am. We, uh… we brought the rest of the village.”

The woman with the braid nodded once, her gaze locked directly on Trina’s, mother to mother. “I’m Talisua . Jey’s mom.”

Trina blinked. “Jey… as in—”

“My son,” she said. “Our son.”

The man beside her gave a polite nod. “Joshua’s father. Solofa.”

Sefa grinned sheepishly behind them. “We brought lunch… and support. And uh, also cookies. Mama made banana ones. Said it was healing.”

Trina’s lip trembled, and she suddenly didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Her grip on Deon’s hand tightened as Deon studied them with suspicion still locked in his shoulders.

“She still ain’t awake,” Trina whispered, looking at Talia with a kind of weary hope. “He’s been in there since he found out. Boy hasn’t even eaten.”

Talia’ face softened. “Then it’s good we came.”

She gently handed the banana cookies to one of the kids, passed the rest of the food off to Trinity, and without waiting for permission, stepped past them toward her son.

Deon stayed still, arms folded, gaze bouncing between all of them. “Y’all all wrestle or something?”

Jimmy lifted the little girl up into his arms. “Yes sir. Bloodline’s kinda our thing.”

“And Jey’s not just Kaia’s tag partner,” Trinity added with a soft smile. “He’s hers. All the way.”

Deon raised a brow, but Trina gently nudged his arm.

“Let them in, Deon. These people love her too.”

And Deon didn’t say anything at first. Just stared at them, all those strong shoulders and bigger hearts.

Then nodded once.

They all walked through together, into the space where a strong girl lay still and a stubborn man hadn’t moved from her side.

And for the first time since it all went down, that hospital hallway didn’t feel so quiet anymore.

Page One Hundred Seventy-Four

The beeping of the monitor hadn’t changed. Steady. Soft. Like a cruel lullaby.

Jey was still planted in the chair right beside Kaia’s hospital bed, elbows on knees, palms pressed together over his mouth. His hair was tied back, messy and half-fallen. He hadn’t moved in hours except to breathe and wipe his face. Every time her fingers twitched in that cast or the monitor skipped a beat, he jumped.

But when the door creaked open behind him, he didn’t move. Not at first.

Then he heard a voice—quiet, familiar.

“Joshua.”

His head jerked up.

There they were.

His mama, Talisua, standing right at the edge of the room in a cream sweater and jeans, her braid resting over her shoulder. Her eyes glassed over instantly when she saw him. Solofa stood behind her—stoic, solid—his arms folded across his chest like a sentry. His silvering curls were tied back too, tattoos peeking from under the sleeves of his hoodie. Sefa was behind them, beside Jimmy and Trinity who each had a kid hanging onto their leg, eyes wide in the sterile room light. Even the baby ones felt the weight.

And right there, just behind them all, were Trina and Deon. Coach Washington too, hands in her pockets, jaw tight like she hadn’t allowed herself to cry but was considering it now.

Jey blinked fast and swallowed hard. His mouth opened—then closed again. Words got stuck.

Talisua moved first.

She came to his side without hesitation, kneeling down and pressing her hands to his face like she used to when he was small. “I’m here, baby. We’re all here.”

That’s when he broke.

Not loud. Not dramatic. Just a shudder that rocked his shoulders and twisted his face up like he was trying not to let anyone see. But his mama saw. Mamas always do. She pressed her forehead to his and let him breathe through it.

Solofa moved to stand behind them, his hand landing heavy on his son’s shoulder. “You did everything you could, boy.”

“She ain’t even wake up,” Jey rasped. “I ain’t even—fuck, I was at work, I should’ve—”

“She’s alive,” Talisua whispered, glancing toward Kaia’s still body on the bed. “She made it. That’s all that matters right now.”

Coach Washington moved then, walking toward the foot of the bed and resting her hand on Kaia’s booted foot. “This girl stronger than any of us ever gave her credit for. She gone wake up. She got too much damn mouth not to.”

Deon snorted behind her. “Facts.”

Sefa stepped up beside the bed, rubbing at the back of his neck as he looked at his brother. “You good, uce?”

Jey looked up at him, eyes rimmed red. “Not even a little bit.”

Sefa just nodded. “Good. Means you love her.”

Jimmy came in next, scooping up his little boy and nodding at the bed. “We brought the kids. Figured… if she hears more love, it’ll pull her back faster.”

Trinity brushed tears away, leaning against the wall beside Coach. “I know she’d want to see all of us here.”

Jey looked around slowly then, eyes moving to Deon… to Trina… to his family and hers standing in the same room.

And Kaia, still laying silent between them all, her face pale, her wrist in a brace, her side wrapped tight.

He reached over and curled his fingers into hers, gentle as he could.

Then he whispered, just for her. “You hear all this, baby? That’s all your people. We waiting.”

Nobody moved.

Nobody left.

They stayed right there with her.

And the monitor kept beeping.

Steady.

Waiting.

Page One Hundred Seventy-Five

It had been a week. Seven long, aching, chaotic, silent days.

Kaia hadn’t woken up.

Not once.

The hospital floor knew their crew by name now. Jey hadn’t left except to shower, and even that took convincing. Her mama Trina had basically taken over one of the staff lounges with snacks, devotionals, and anointed oil. Deon grilled doctors with the same energy he once interrogated Jey. Coach Washington brought her tablet and pretended to be reading scouting reports, but her eyes rarely left the bed.

Sefa came and went with food and updates. Jimmy brought the kids every other day. Trinity rotated between holding Kaia’s hand and organizing group prayers in the hallway like she was running a megachurch.

And through it all, Jey sat there—jaw locked, hoodie up, leg bouncing in a rhythm that only stopped when he remembered to breathe.

But outside those walls? The world was losing its mind.

Socials were on fire.

#PrayForKaia was trending everywhere. The Shade Room ran a full breakdown of the attack and the aftermath. TMZ had Jey's reaction on camera right before his canceled match. ESPN was arguing if the WNBA should do more to protect their athletes. WWE hadn’t released a formal statement yet—but the commissioner did post a tweet: “Sending love and strength to Kaia Fields. That woman’s built different.”

The video of her pill-high rant had been remixed into memes, TikToks, and parody videos across the internet. One soundbite—“ya mama a hoe!”—had been edited into a summer jam with 2 million streams. Kids on Xbox were yelling it mid-match like it was scripture.

Even that didn’t faze Jey.

Because none of it mattered if she didn’t wake up.

He held her hand again that morning. Thumb brushing her fingers gently. Eyes low. Beard unkempt. Hoodie over his head even though the room was warm.

“She still out?” a nurse whispered to Trina in the corner.

Trina just nodded, arms folded.

Deon sighed from his chair near the window. “This girl stubborn like her mama. She ain’t gone let no damn coma win.”

But Jey was quiet.

Still.

He leaned close to Kaia again, brushing a strand of hair from her cheek.

“You got people waiting on you, Snack Pack,” he whispered, voice hoarse. “We need your mouthy ass back in the game.”

Her hand didn’t twitch.

Yet.

But he stayed right there anyway.

Because if nothing else, she’d know the moment she woke up…

He never left.

Page One Hundred Seventy-Six

Week two hit like a steel chair to the chest.

The room had been heavy, thick with the kind of tension that makes your ears ring. The doctors—calm-faced and rehearsed—stepped in with slow voices and words that should never be said in the presence of someone you love.

“Given the lack of neurological response… we may need to begin considering quality-of-life care options. Comfort measures. End of life planning—”

And that’s when it exploded.

“ARE YOU OUT YOUR DAMN MIND?” Trina was the first to snap, standing up so fast her chair screeched back. “She is NOT gone! My baby just stubborn, that don’t mean y’all get to bury her while she still breathin’!”

“You think I’m signing off on what?!” Deon barked, rising too. “I ain’t even got gray hairs yet and you tryna take my daughter out like she livestock? You better step the hell back with all that!”

Coach Washington was standing at the foot of the bed like an immovable statue, arms folded tight, her face unreadable except for the storm building behind her eyes. “You’re gonna walk that statement back. Now.”

Jey?

Jey lost it.

“You better back the fuck off, man!” His voice cracked with rage, and he was shaking. Shaking. His fists curled like he was ready to swing at God Himself. “Don’t talk about her like she already gone—she ain’t fucking gone! She right here! RIGHT HERE!” He pointed at her body, at her whole entire self laid out in that hospital bed, hooked to machines and covered in bruises. “She just—she just restin’, aight?! She just need time!”

Sefa was holding him back, arms locked around his brother’s chest.

Jimmy was arguing with another doctor, his own voice climbing, Trinity crying silently but firm in her stance.

And in the chaos—

No one noticed.

Not the way her fingers twitched against the blanket.

Not the way her lids fluttered, lashes flickering like a moth caught in a storm.

Kaia’s head was screaming—everything hurt. Her chest was tight, her throat dry, her ankle was molten fire, her ribs stabbed like broken glass every time she tried to breathe. But even through the fog, through the sharp thunder in her skull, she was awake. Barely. Faintly.

She couldn’t speak.

But she could see.

Blurry.

Shaky.

Confusing.

What the hell were they yelling about?

Where was she?

Why was her mouth dry? Why couldn’t she move? What was in her arm?

She tried to shift her hand. Nothing. Not really.

But her eyes… her eyes were open.

And the first thing she saw?

Jey, being dragged back, tears shining in his eyes, screaming her name like it was the only thing he remembered how to say.

“Makaia! Baby please—please!”

She blinked once.

It was slow.

Almost invisible.

But she blinked.

And she was coming back.

Even if they didn’t see it yet… Kaia Fields had just told death to run her the rematch.

Page One Hundred Seventy-Seven

Jey’s voice was hoarse from the screaming. His chest heaved like he’d gone ten rounds with pain itself. He wasn’t crying anymore—no, he was roaring, flailing in Sefa’s grip as his little brother tried to drag him out the hospital room like some security guard at an arena.

“Nah! Let me go! Don’t fuckin’ touch me, I’m not leavin’ her—”

“Uce, you gotta calm—”

“CALM?! They talkin’ ‘bout pullin’ the plug on the love of my life and you want me to CALM?!” Jey’s body bucked like electricity had surged straight through him, veins tight and pulse hammering behind his ears. “That’s my wife, man! My fucking wife! I don’t care if I never signed a damn paper! I ain’t lettin’ her go—”

Then it happened.

He stopped mid-swing.

Like his body hit an invisible wall.

His head snapped toward the bed.

Something… shifted.

He felt it before he saw it. Like some instinct lit up in the marrow of his bones, told him to look at her. Told him she was there. Told him she was still fighting.

His gaze landed on her.

Kaia. Still. Silent.

But those eyes—

Those damn eyes—

They were cracked open like sunrise through storm clouds, the warm brown hidden behind months of struggle and scars and strength blinking once, barely there, but undeniably alive.

He froze.

Then—

“KAIA?!”

Time stopped.

“Yo, move—MOVE—MOVE!!”

A rush of primal strength hit him like a tidal wave. Jey threw Sefa off, barreled through Jimmy and the nurse who’d tried to stop him, nearly ripped the IV stand from its socket. Chairs tumbled. The tray clattered. And suddenly—

He was at her side.

Breath ragged. Hand trembling.

“Baby…” he whispered, falling to his knees like the floor had dropped out beneath him. “You—you with me? You hear me, pretty girl?”

Kaia blinked again.

Tiny.

Barely there.

But it was real.

He choked on a sob, grabbed her hand and kissed it over and over, pressing it to his forehead like a prayer.

“I knew you was too damn stubborn to let go,” he laughed through tears. “Told ‘em. Told all of ‘em. You mine, remember? You mine, Kaia. You don’t get to leave me hangin’. I’m here. I ain’t goin’ nowhere.”

And even if she couldn’t smile yet, couldn’t speak, couldn’t move—

She was still here.

Still fighting.

And Jey Fatu? Was never letting go again.

Page One Hundred Seventy-Eight

It started slow—like the shift in atmosphere right before a storm breaks.

Jey’s voice had changed. Gone was the fury, the unhinged grief that had broken furniture and made nurses clutch their walkies with trembling fingers. Gone was the wild-eyed panic that made even Sefa back up with caution.

Now?

His voice was low. Trembling. Reverent.

“That’s it, baby girl,” he murmured, one big hand wrapping around her trembling fingers. “You in there. I see you. Don’t try to talk, just stay with me—just stay right here, yeah?”

He brought her hand to his lips again, knuckles kissed so soft it was worship.

She blinked. Slow. Heavy.

Then—

Her bottom lip wobbled. Not much. But enough.

Enough for the truth to crash over the room like thunder.

Trina gasped first—sharp and high and sudden, her hand flying to her chest. “She moved.”

Coach Washington dropped her clipboard.

Deon stood up so fast the chair behind him clattered to the wall.

“Wait—wait,” Jimmy breathed, grabbing Trinity’s arm as her eyes widened in shock.

“Holy shit…” Sefa whispered, voice barely audible over the heart monitor that beeped steady and strong for the first time in what felt like forever.

Kaia’s eyes were still wet, lashes sticking together from the fat tears sliding out the corners. Her face barely moved, muscles heavy and aching from disuse and trauma, but she was looking right at him.

Right at Jey.

Like nothing else in the room mattered.

And him? He was on his knees again, forehead to the back of her hand, tears sliding from his lashes like he’d been cracked wide open.

“I’m here,” he breathed. “You made it back to me. You hear me, K? You made it.”

Her throat flexed once, barely, and a tiny gasp slipped out—a whisper of sound that would’ve gone unnoticed if the room hadn’t gone dead silent.

One of the doctors—who hadn’t even believed in hope anymore—covered her mouth with both hands and whispered, “She’s conscious.”

A nurse burst into tears.

Trina folded forward, crying so hard into her palms that Deon finally just wrapped his arms around her and held on like a lifeline.

And through all of it, Jey didn’t look away.

Didn’t flinch.

Didn’t move.

His girl—the love of his life—had just clawed her way back from the edge of death.

And she did it with him in her eyes.

The room exploded in movement. People hugging. Others sobbing. Trinity on the floor holding Jimmy’s hand. Sefa wiping his face like it betrayed him. Coach slumping against the wall whispering thanks to every ancestor that could hear.

But all Jey saw was her.

Her eyes.

Her tears.

Her.

And he whispered again, for her and only her— “You’re safe, baby. You’re safe now. And I ain’t goin’ nowhere.”

[mjonthetrack]

folded

Page 149

The jet touched down smooth as butter at Atlanta’s private terminal. The sun was already warming up the runway, glinting off tinted windows and casting long shadows as Jey and Kaia came down the steps, both in oversized hoodies and sweats, matching backpacks slung over shoulders like it was the first day of school.

Kaia had her curls up in a messy bun and sunglasses on, sipping a smoothie from a big obnoxious cup Jey made good on. He was next to her in all black, hoodie pulled up over his braids and one arm looped lazily around her waist like muscle memory.

They weren’t even five steps into the terminal before a muffled squeal bounced off the walls.

"Is that—" "Bro, no way that’s Kaia Fields AND Jey Uso—" "Mom!! It’s the tag team couple from Friday Night!!"

A trio of kids—two girls and a boy, maybe 10 to 13—bolted across the lounge area with the speed of a Mario Kart boost. One of the girls had on a WNBA Kaia Fields jersey that hit her knees. The boy had a replica WWE belt slung across his chest. The youngest had on Uggs and a dream in her eyes.

Kaia blinked. “Oh no.”

Jey just grinned, stepping back so the kids could swarm her first.

“Miss Kaiaaaa!!” the oldest girl shouted, practically vibrating. “We saw you wrestle! My brother said you were gonna lose but then you did that twisty jumpy thing and you WON and then you were on Jey’s shoulders and I almost cried!!”

The boy nodded aggressively. “That move was like a Shooting Star Press but from a basketball player! That’s not even supposed to be possible!!”

The smallest girl just stared at Jey and Kaia with awe. “Are you married?”

Kaia choked on her smoothie. Jey straight up laughed, crouching down to their height.

“Nah, lil’ mama,” he said gently. “Not yet.”

“YET?!” the boy gasped.

Kaia swatted his shoulder, wide-eyed.

Jey just winked.

Kaia crouched too, balancing her cup on her knee and smiling at the kids. “Y’all real cute. You want pictures?”

All three shouted “YES!!” at once, nearly blowing the roof off the place.

They took selfies, the boy held Jey’s arm like it was an action figure, the girls sandwiched Kaia with grins so big they looked painful. Kaia leaned into them like a big sister, laughing as one said she wanted to “be a wrestler-basketballer too.”

Jey stood off to the side, arms crossed, watching her with soft eyes like he could stay in that moment forever. His girl—because yeah, she was his now—was a star in both worlds. And she shined just as bright for the little ones as she did under the lights.

As they walked off to meet their waiting car, Kaia murmured under her breath, “Damn. That made my whole week.”

Jey looked over at her, chin tilted. “Yeah?”

She smiled slow. “Yeah.”

Then he smirked, eyes crinkling. “Told you. We stars, baby.”

Page 150

Kaia regretted everything.

The moment she stepped into the practice facility and saw Coach Tasha in her all-black jumpsuit and murder in her eyes, she should’ve turned right back around and played dead. Or at least claimed flight delays. A sprained eyelash. Food poisoning from her mama's potato salad. Something.

Instead, she was in full practice gear, staring down the barrel of warm-ups like she hadn’t just eaten three plates of soul food, half a pan of cobbler, and a whole Popeyes combo in the last 48 hours.

“Fields!” Coach barked from across the gym. “You got ten burpees. Now.”

Kaia blinked.

“Ten?! What did I do?!”

“Existing,” Coach said flatly. “And flying back here looking like a love-struck deer. You think them tag team wins gonna save your cardio?”

Kaia groaned like her spirit was trying to flee her body. “Coach, I’m full of cobbler and regret. Have mercy.”

But Coach didn’t even blink. “Burpees. Or I’m adding laps.”

“THIS IS A HATE CRIME!”

Still, Kaia dropped down with the grace of someone who had just seen the gates of hell. She barely made it to the second rep before she flopped on her back dramatically like a Disney princess fainting from heartbreak.

“Ain’t no way I’m gonna make it,” she wheezed, legs twitching. “Somebody tell Shortie I loved her. Jey can have my sour patch stash.”

Coach walked right past her, not even phased. “Keep talking, Fields. I’ll make it twenty.”

“OHMYGOD—”

Nearby, the rest of the team was losing it. Some were laughing into their shirts, others just stared like they couldn’t believe the same Kaia who bodied Nya Jax from the top rope on Friday was currently ugly crying doing burpees like a baby deer in sneakers.

Even the assistant coach looked concerned. “She okay?”

Coach waved her off. “She built for this. She just full of mac and cheese and sin.”

Kaia groaned from the floor again, limbs starfish’d. “I hate it here.”

And then, like the clown she was, she opened one eye and whispered dramatically: “Tell Coach she’s a tyrant. A beautifultyrant. But a tyrant nonetheless.”

One of the rookies filmed the whole thing.

It would end up on TikTok with the caption: "When your WNBA star teammate spends a weekend being a wrestling goddess and forgets cardio exists."

It got a million views by lunchtime.

Page 151

Jey rolled into the gym like he owned the place—smooth, confident, curls still damp from his morning sweat session, and a smug grin that could cut glass. He spotted Kaia sprawled out on the floor, panting like a dog who’d just run a marathon, arms flopped over her head like she’d surrendered to the world.

He shook his head, shaking his head hard, and plopped down on the bleachers with a protein smoothie in hand. “Look at you, all tough and stuff,” he teased, voice dripping with pure mischief.

Kaia shot him a glare that was half-dead and half-murderous. “You’re an asshole.”

He smirked, taking a slow sip. “Nah, I’m your asshole. You love me.”

“Love you? I wanna kill you right now.”

Jey laughed, loud and unapologetic. “Bro, I’m just sayin’, you got all that fire in the ring, but on the floor doing burpees? Girl, you’re the cutest mess I’ve ever seen.”

Kaia groaned again, flopping onto her side. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”

“Yeah, cause it’s hilarious. You? Hating cardio but still coming back for more? That’s commitment. Also, I lowkey wanna see if you actually make it through the next set or if I gotta call an ambulance.”

She glared up at him, chest heaving. “You’re gonna regret this.”

He raised an eyebrow, grinning like he just dealt the winning hand. “Regret? Nah. I’m just getting started.”

And with that, he leaned over and flicked her forehead lightly. “One more set, champ. Let’s see if you can actually keep up with me.”

Kaia rolled her eyes but couldn’t help the smile tugging at her lips. Even as she gasped through another set of burpees, she knew this asshole was the only one who’d make her push through the pain and keep coming back for more.

Because sometimes, being miserable was better when you had someone to tease you through it.

Page 152

Jey sat low in the front row, one arm draped over the back of the empty seat beside him, legs spread like he owned the damn arena—and maybe he didn’t, but the look on his face said he owned something. His chain glinted under the warm arena lights, but it wasn’t the shine he was focused on.

It was her.

Kaia.

Out on the court in full team gear, sweat-slicked and all business. She had her curls pulled up, her face focused, her body moving with the kind of confidence that came from being built for this.

She was in her element.

Jey watched as she darted down the court, took the pass, and nailed a three like it owed her money. Nothing but net. Her teammates hollered, slapping hands as they reset the drill, but Kaia didn’t even crack a smile. She was locked in—laser sharp, gliding on instinct. This wasn’t WWE Kaia. This was Kaia Fields, number two, star shooting guard, hometown hero, and absolute problem on the hardwood.

“Sheesh,” he murmured, more to himself than anyone else.

A couple of assistant coaches had walked past him, glancing at the inked-up man in designer sneakers watching like a hawk.

“That her man?” one whispered.

“Looks like it. Man been sitting there all quiet since warmups. Ain’t blinked in ten minutes.”

Kaia snagged another pass, pivoted with a spin so clean Jey leaned forward slightly in his seat, biting the edge of his bottom lip like damn. She drove in for a layup, caught a little contact, and still made the shot.

The whistle blew.

She jogged back, high-fived her teammates, and finally—finally—glanced toward the seats. Her eyes caught his. Her smile curved just slightly, a secret tucked between them.

He nodded once, slow and proud.

This was her world, and she ruled it like a damn queen. And he? He was just a front-row witness—happily watching her shine.

And even surrounded by squeaking shoes, bouncing balls, and the growing buzz of the arriving crowd, all Jey could think was:

That’s mine.

Page 153

Kaia’s hand was warm in his, fingers laced like it was muscle memory, like she didn’t even think about it anymore—just tugged him along like he belonged.

And yeah. He did.

They dipped off the main court and into the player’s tunnel, the buzz of the arena dimming behind them as concrete walls swallowed them up. Jey glanced around, still taking it all in, his free hand brushing the edge of a championship mural painted along the hallway.

“This where the magic happen, huh?” he murmured, low and amused.

Kaia grinned back at him over her shoulder, all smug pride and sleepy charm. “Oh, you ain’t seen nothin’ yet, baby.”

She stopped at a wide black door and shoved it open with her shoulder, revealing the player’s locker room. It smelled like eucalyptus and sports tape and Gatorade—the kind of scent that made Jey’s nose scrunch and his chest feel weirdly proudof her hustle.

“Welcome to the sanctum,” she said, spreading her arms dramatically like Vanna White. “No boys allowed—unless they fine, tatted, and got their name saved in my phone under ‘Big Samoa.’”

Jey chuckled, that deep gravelly sound that sat way down in his chest. “You flirtin’ with me while showin’ me your locker?”

“Might be,” she said, walking ahead with a bounce in her step and stopping in front of her setup.

He followed behind slowly, eyes scanning the space. Jerseys lined up. Towels stacked neat. Her nameplate—FIELDS—bold as hell in team colors. And under it, her Jordans.

She pointed at them like they were relics behind museum glass. “Boom. You see the heat. Game day kicks. Limited edition.”

He crouched a little to get a better look, brows raising. “Damn. They clean.”

“I know,” she said proudly, leaning back against the locker. “You gettin’ the VIP tour, by the way. Exclusive shit. Behind the scenes access. Most people don’t get this.”

Jey stood back up and tilted his head, taking her in—sweats low on her hips, sports bra peeking from under her hoodie, the way her curls framed her smug little face.

“And I ain’t even have to pay a ticket?”

She smirked. “Didn’t even charge you a pre-game kiss for it.”

His brows lifted, slow and playful. “You still takin’ payments? 'Cause I can settle that invoice right now.”

Kaia gave him a look that was half challenge, half daydream—and maybe all heart.

“I’ll let you know after I drop thirty on these girls tonight.”

Jey leaned in, eyes locked on hers. “Bet. But after that? I’m collectin’, Snack Pack.”

She grinned, cheeks puffed as she tilted her head and murmured, “We’ll see.”

Page 154

Kaia grinned up at him, wicked and warm, already bouncing on the balls of her feet like her muscles were vibrating with pre-game energy.

“I’ll let you collect at the hotel later,” she said, low enough for just him, “if you cheer for me hard enough, old head.”

She bumped her hip into his with a teasing sway and made him snort as she peeled away. But not before she stole a kiss—quick and soft, a little spark of possession in front of whoever might be looking. Then she was off, disappearing down the tunnel like a storm cloud in sneakers.

Jey blew out a breath, still tasting her lip gloss.

He took his seat courtside, right in the family section, tucked in next to Kaia’s mama who was already fanning herself with a folded program like she was in church. Shortie the bulldog was half-dozing at her feet in a specially cleared spot marked off with a sticker that literally said “FIELDS FAMILY ONLY.”

“You better make some noise for my baby,” Trina whispered, handing him a cowbell and a little mini flag that said “#2 Special K.” “Don’t be all quiet and mysterious now. That’s my baby girl—our baby now, if you wanna keep eatin’ my Sunday dressing.”

Jey just shook his head, laughing. “Yes ma’am.”

The lights dimmed and the bass dropped as the announcer’s voice boomed through the arena speakers.

“Dream Team Nation—make some noise!!”

A surge of cheers swept through the stadium like a wave crashing down the court. People were standing, hollering, clapping, stomping, shaking signs. Jey blinked, caught off guard by the details he hadn’t expected to see—

WWE merch.

His merch.

Their merch.

One fan had on a hoodie with both of them on it—Kaia mid-air from her top rope move, Jey behind her with his arms crossed, grinning like the devil. Another held a sign that said “Samoan Yeet Meets Hardwood Heat!” in bold glitter.

Jey whistled, low.

“…yo, what the hell,” he muttered under his breath, grinning despite himself.

Then the lights burst back on with a dramatic drumbeat, and the announcer lit the fuse.

“And now, coming in hot—your Dream Team’s sharpest shooter, your WNBA heartbreaker, your top-tier tag team partner—and ours too—number two, Special K… KAIAAAAA FIELDS!!”

The roof damn near exploded with noise.

Out came Kaia in her black and gold jersey and fitted shorts, lazy jogging down the tunnel like this was just a neighborhood pickup game. Her curls bounced, her grin was megawatt, and she threw up a peace sign toward the crowd before cupping her hands around her mouth.

“WHAT’S UP, ATLANTA?!”

Fans roared.

Jey watched with his whole chest tight and buzzing like she’d run her name through his blood. And then—

She jogged past the bench… and right up to him.

Without breaking stride, she pressed a kiss to his lips, one hand curling around his jaw real quick, like it was routine now.

A casual "mine."

Then she winked, turned, and loped back to the bench.

Trina was screaming. Shortie was barking. The fans were eating it up.

And Jey just sat there, dazed and grinning, licking his bottom lip like he just got punched with sugar.

“Damn,” he muttered. “That’s my girl.”

Page 155

Ball went up.

Tip-off slapped the air, and Kaia was off like a shot, her curls a blur behind her, jersey clinging to her frame as she cut across the court with that smooth, gliding speed that made the defense look like they were stuck in molasses.

First possession?

She faked left, stepped back with that lethal right, and drained a three like it was personal.

Swish.

Crowd lost it.

Jey was already on his feet, yelling like she just hit a game-winner in the Finals. “Ayyy! THAT’S MY GIRL! WHAT Y’ALL GONNA DO ABOUT IT?!”

Mrs. Trina was next to him shaking a whole tambourine that no one knew she brought in, screaming, “That’s my baby! That’s my baby out there! Born with that wrist action!”

Shortie barked once, tail thumping.

Second possession? Opponent tried to body Kaia on a screen—too slow. She slipped through like smoke and poked the ball loose from behind, then dove for it full body like a woman possessed.

“Elbows up! That’s a foul, ref!” Jey hollered, pointing dramatically, waving his hand like he had stripes on. “You see that bullshit?! She been baptized and everything, don’t play with her!”

“Ref’s probably cross-eyed,” Trina muttered, sipping her Pepsi through a straw. “Ain’t no way you miss that dirty-ass trip. Oughta be ashamed—lookin’ like somebody uncle after a night out.”

Kaia stood up with the ball, hair wild, lips twisted into that cocky grin that could ruin a man’s week. She tossed the ball to the ref like she knew this was her court, her crowd, her damn game.

Then came the fire.

Layup after layup. Mid-range shot so clean Jey felt it in his knees. A fast break where she did a spin move around a taller defender and kissed the glass with a finesse that made three rows of people stand up and scream.

She was on fire.

And every time the opposing team tried to slow her down? Foul. Elbow. Cheap hand check?

Jey was up again, already stomping and barking.

“AYE! TOUCH HER AGAIN I’M STEPPIN’ IN THIS GAME MYSELF!”

Trina nodded beside him, tambourine rattling. “I got bail money, baby. I got it ready.”

Kaia didn’t even look their way—just grinned bigger every time the ref blew the whistle. Her adrenaline was damn near visible, glistening under the stadium lights. She moved like a highlight reel, instinct taking over, cocky and sharp with every bounce.

Timeout. Her team huddled up.

She jogged to the sideline, water bottle handed off by a teammate—and her eyes found Jey immediately. That little grin of his already waiting on her, all smug and sweet and hers.

He motioned a halo over her head, mouthing, "Keep showin’ out, angel. I’m watchin’.”

She winked back, sweat running down her cheek, chest heaving as she mouthed, “You better be loud or I ain’t cookin’ tonight.”

“You ain’t gotta cook! I’ll eat you for dinner!”

“Joshua Samuel!” Trina yelped, smacking his arm. “Not next to the dog!”

Shortie barked again like she agreed.

Kaia just laughed, tucking the towel around her neck and heading back to the huddle with a bounce in her step.

The game was far from over—but from the look on her face?

Kaia Fields was just getting started.

Page 156

Crowd was rocking.

Stadium shook like it had a pulse—feet stomping, voices clashing, cameras flashing.

Kaia was locked in.

Fourth quarter. Tie game. Energy electric.

And then it happened.

Fast break—ball snapped to her on a tight pass. One-two dribble, pivot, fake right—and launch.

The girl in front of her? Easily 6’1. Towering.

Didn’t matter.

Kaia twisted in the air, legs slicing open the air like a blade, leaned her shoulder for a layup—

—then switched mid-air into a full-body two-handed dunk.

BOOM.

Glass rattled.

Rims shook.

The crowd exploded like it was an All-Star game and a WWE entrance at the same time. Half the stadium stood up. The bench damn near ran onto the court. Cameras caught the moment Kaia hung in the air, face focused, curls flying, arms above her head like she was baptizing the court in pure smoke.

Jey? Already halfway over the damn barrier.

“OH SHIIIIIIIIIT! THAT’S MY GIRL!”

Trina was on the floor. Flat out. Tambourine clattered somewhere and she had her fists to the sky like she’d been delivered.

“That’s my baby! That’s my child! Blessed and highly favored!”

The opposing player?

Not clapping.

She stalked back red-faced, jaw tight, and something dangerous behind her glare.

Next play started.

Kaia took off again—too fast, too fluid. That’s when it happened.

The same girl pivoted wide. Too wide.

And her sneaker—on purpose, absolutely on purpose—came down on Kaia’s Jordan.

Twist.

Snap.

Kaia crashed.

The sound ripped across the court—her yell tore out from the floor like it had claws, “AHH—shit, shit, shit!”

She rolled over, grabbing her ankle, curls a mess around her face, teeth clenched so tight her jawline locked.

The ref blew the whistle. Trainers ran.

“Kaia!” Jey was already moving. Gone. Hopped the barrier like it was nothing and sprinted straight to her on instinct, shirt clinging to him, chain bouncing as he dropped to his knees beside her.

“Hey, hey—look at me,” he said, voice steady but eyes wild, reaching for her hand, squeezing it tight as she winced. “You good? You still with me, baby?”

She nodded fast, chest heaving, eyes glassy. “M’with you. I’m with you.”

“Lemme see it. Don’t move too much, okay?”

The ankle was bad. Swollen already.

Coach was beside them, talking fast with the med crew. Trina was screaming at the refs from the side, pointing and calling the other girl “a dirty-ass oversized Build-A-Bear.”

Jey brushed Kaia’s curls off her forehead, his jaw clenched tight as he whispered, “It’s alright. I got you. Ain’t nobody touchin’ you again. I swear it.”

And Kaia? Even through the pain?

Still squeezed his hand and said through gritted teeth, “At least I dunked on her ass though.”

He laughed once, shaking his head and leaning down to kiss her temple. “You a menace. That’s why I love you.”

Page 157

Kaia was gritting through it—lips pressed tight, eyes glassy but still wide open, still stubborn, still her.

The med team was fast. They’d seen enough on the replay already. The moment the sneaker rolled—how her ankle gave out like a faulty hinge.

“It’s broken,” one of them confirmed, voice clipped but calm as they assessed, already strapping her in gently.

Jey’s whole face twisted like he’d taken the hit himself.

The crowd?

Lost it.

A wave of gasps, hands over mouths, phones up everywhere. Her teammates were shouting. People were standing on seats. Security had to hold a few fans back from trying to get closer just for a peek. Kaia Fields, Special K, down bad after one of the filthiest dunks in Dream history.

And through all of it—Trina in the stands going full-on Southern Baptist with the dramatics, Jey stuck to her side like velcro, crouched low and holding her hand like the world could fall if he didn’t—

Kaia smiled.

Wincing, still half-cringing, but her grin cut through.

She tilted her head lazily toward him as they lifted her gently onto the gurney, strapped and braced.

And with a rasp in her voice, barely loud enough to hear over the stadium noise, she said:

“You said you love me.”

Jey froze.

Just for a beat.

Eyes locked.

Then he exhaled, soft and slow—grin cracking that serious face wide open like she was the sun finally rising—and leaned down closer, lips brushing her temple.

“Damn right I did.”

He didn’t care who heard it. Didn’t care that her mama was probably already texting florists for an engagement party. Didn’t care that the whole arena was watching.

“Love your loud ass. Your crazy ass. Your competitive, cocky, make-me-wanna-throw-you-over-my-shoulder ass.”

Kaia snorted through a groan. “That better be the pain meds or you bout to make me cry in front of ten thousand people.”

“Nah,” he said, brushing his thumb across her knuckles as the med team wheeled her off. “You good. You just lucky I’m a simp.”

He jogged alongside the gurney as they made their way out the court, cameras following, crowd still roaring.

And she, broken ankle and all, still managed to flip a peace sign at the jumbotron, grinning sideways like a damn champ.

Page 158

The hospital room was too cold.

Sterile white walls, fluorescent lights overhead, that weird plastic curtain pulled halfway closed for privacy. Kaia’s jersey was folded neatly on the chair. Her leg was propped up on a pile of hospital blankets, ankle already swollen past recognition, bruising blooming like thunderclouds under her skin.

Jey had been pacing—big man steps, slow and tight—just trying to keep it together.

Until he heard her scream.

It wasn’t the theatrical kind. Not the dramatic flair she was known for when she missed a three-pointer or flopped mid-match. This was real. Raw. That kind of sound that punched you in the chest and stole your breath.

He was through that curtain in half a second.

“Hey—hey, hey, I’m here.”

Kaia was clinging to the rails of the exam table, eyes squeezed shut, jaw clenched hard enough to crack. The med staff had her mid-stabilization—trying to shift the foot gently into alignment before the splint went on, and it was hell.

Her knuckles were white. Her forehead slick. No jokes. No bravado. Just tears streaking down her cheeks and soft whimpers that ripped him clean in half.

“Kaia,” Jey said low, crouching by her good side, voice gentle like he was talking to a hurt dog or a child. “I got you, baby. I got you. Look at me.”

She tried. Blinked at him through blurry eyes, lip trembling.

“Hurts, Jey,” she choked out, voice barely there. “I c-can’t—I can’t—”

“You can,” he said immediately, grabbing her hand and squeezing it firm. “You can. You that girl, remember? You dropped that two-hand dunk on a girl six-foot-three with your off foot, baby. This ain’t gonna take you out.”

She was still crying, chest hiccuping with pain, but she let her head fall to his shoulder, curling toward his presence like instinct.

He rubbed slow circles on her back. “It’s gon’ be okay, I promise. They just got you for a minute. We gon’ get you right.”

“I can’t even feel my damn ankle,” she whimpered into his shirt. “Feel like it’s pulsing on its own. Jey—”

“I know, I know,” he whispered, holding her tighter. “Let ‘em do what they need. I’m not going nowhere.”

The nurse offered him a tired smile of understanding. “We’re almost done with the manipulation. She’s doing good.”

Jey nodded but kept his eyes on her, pressing his lips to the top of her head. “You hear that? You killin’ it. Toughest woman in this whole damn state right now.”

Kaia sniffled, finally letting herself sag into his hold fully. The worst of it was over for the moment. They wrapped her up tight, loaded her up on painkillers, and gave her the first bit of silence she’d had since it happened.

That’s when the rest of the noise started.

His phone buzzed—Coach, Trinity, Jimmy, Sefa, Paul, media alerts, tweets.

Kaia dozed in and out under the meds while the hallway filled up with the voices of the team, her coaches, and—yep—her mama, loud as hell demanding updates and threatening to burn the building down if her baby wasn’t okay.

Jey chuckled low to himself, brushing her hair off her forehead as she mumbled nonsense into his chest.

“Rest, baby,” he murmured. “You did what you had to do.”

Her fingers twitched in his hoodie.

He looked down and swore he caught the smallest smile on her lips before she drifted again.

Page 159

Jey sat in one of those stiff-ass hospital chairs, hunched over with his elbows on his knees, thumbing through his phone like it was the only lifeline to sanity he had. His other hand was loosely tangled with Kaia’s, her fingers twitching every so often in her sleep—if you could even call that foggy-eyed mumbling and giggling sleep.

She was gone.

Not like dead. Just… medically lifted.

The group chat with Jimmy, Sefa, and Trinity was blowing up.

Sefa:

Yo y’all let her dunk like that??? I woulda faked an injury myself.

Jimmy:

Someone posted it on Twitter already. She flew like she had wings, bro.

Trinity:

IS SHE OKAY?!? I SWEAR TO GOD IF I FIND OUT THAT GIRL STEPPED ON HER ON PURPOSE—👊🏾

Jimmy again:

They wheeled Kaia out with a smile on her face talmbout “he said he love me” in front of a stadium, we need to unpack that.

Jey just sighed, ran a hand down his face, then glanced over at the bed.

Kaia was propped up like a little princess in a mountain of pillows, her injured ankle looking like it had its own zip code with how thick and wrapped up it was. A nurse had come in thirty minutes ago and upped her dosage.

Now?

She was staring at the ceiling like it had secrets, slowly turning her head to look at him with the world’s biggest, slowest grin.

“Big… Samoa,” she said dreamily, dragging the words like molasses. “You ever think about how toast is just bread but with trauma?”

Jey blinked. “What?”

She giggled. Actually giggled, her whole body jiggling a little. “Like… bread been through it. That’s why it’s crunchy. That’s how I feel right now. I’m toast, baby.”

Jey barked a laugh despite himself, rubbing his temples. “You high as hell.”

“I’m fabulous as hell,” she replied, raising both arms like she’d just won an award. “You know they said I can’t play for like six to eight weeks. That’s so many days. So many waffles. Ima eat so many waffles, Jey.”

“Mhm.” He tucked her arm back under the blanket and reached for the water cup. “Hydrate before you dehydrate, ma’am.”

She took the cup and sipped like it was holy nectar. “You gone wipe my booty if I can’t stand up later?”

“Absolutely not.”

She gasped. “Fake! Wow. You fake.”

“I’ll hire you a nurse.”

“Is she cute?”

“…That’s a trap, and I’m not answering.”

Before she could respond, the door creaked open and in came Trinity—with a bag of snacks, a hoodie Kaia had left in the locker room, and a look on her face like she was about to swing on a doctor if she didn’t like what she saw.

“Oh thank God,” Trinity said, rushing over. “I was two seconds from flipping a desk—hey, baby, how you feelin’?”

Kaia looked up at her and grinned. “Like toast.”

Jey cracked up again, shaking his head as he stood to give Trinity the seat. “She’ll be like this for at least another hour.”

“And then?”

“And then the pain gon’ hit like karma in a bonnet,” he said grimly.

Kaia raised a finger, wobbly. “Tell Coach I’m still coming to practice.”

“Girl, you gon’ be in a cast.”

“I’ll dribble in a wheelchair. Don’t test me.”

Trinity busted out laughing as Jey turned toward the door, finally texting back:

She’s high. Still spicy. She’ll be alright.

Then he looked back once more—Kaia now trying to unwrap a pack of crackers and missing her mouth completely.

Yeah. She was still his girl. Broken ankle and all.

Page 160

Kaia had never felt more victorious in her entire life.

Sure, she was high off prescription meds, one foot was currently the size of a cantaloupe, and she had to pee every twenty minutes because of all the Gatorade they made her drink at the hospital—but none of that mattered.

Because today?

Today, she had won.

She was cozied up in the big hotel bed like a dramatic princess fresh from battle, hoodie half zipped, leg propped up on five pillows, and a smug-ass grin splitting her face. Jey was somewhere in the kitchenette trying to open the stubborn seal on her peach applesauce cup, but Kaia’s focus was squarely on the FaceTime call taking up her screen.

And more importantly: the woman on it.

Coach Washington. 6’1 of stone-cold basketball wisdom. Salt-and-pepper braids. Eyes like judgment and a whistle that sounded like death. Kaia’s mentor. Her tormentor. Her nemesis.

“HA!” Kaia pointed both fingers into the air like she was in a damn Western. “You evil witch! No more BURPEES FOR MEEEEE!”

Coach raised a brow, unbothered. “You sure about that?”

Kaia was already giggling like a menace, flopping back dramatically against the pillows, her curls fanned like a halo. “Burpee this, Coach! Look at me! Ain’t no warmups, ain’t no suicides, ain’t no ‘ten laps and then we talk!’ I’m freeeee! I’m injured and liberated!”

She made an exaggerated double middle finger at the screen, then tucked her hands under her blanket all satisfied, grinning like she just claimed victory in a war.

Coach didn’t flinch. “Mmmhmm. Laugh now. Wait ‘til physical therapy kick your ass.”

Kaia’s face dropped for half a second.

Then she smiled again, waving her fingers lazily. “That’s Future Kaia’s problem. Present Kaia is in recovery mode, baby. No suicides, no defense drills, no screamin’, no extra laps 'cause I talked back. I win. I’m a delicate flower now. A tragic heroine.”

From the kitchenette, Jey finally opened the applesauce and called, “You a damn Disney villain.”

Kaia raised a single finger without looking. “You love it.”

Coach sighed heavily, like she was trying not to smile. “You lucky I like your mama.”

“I am!” Kaia nodded enthusiastically. “That woman cook too good to be mad at.”

Coach shook her head. “Alright. Get some rest. We’ll see how you feel next week. But don’t think I won’t still call your ass for film sessions.”

Kaia gasped. “Even while I’m wounded?!”

“Especially while you’re wounded.”

Kaia whimpered. “The devil works hard but Coach Washington works harder.”

The call ended and Kaia let her phone flop onto her chest dramatically.

Jey walked over with the applesauce, spoon already dipped, shaking his head at her whole performance. “You ain’t right.”

She smiled up at him, batting her lashes. “But I’m cute tho.”

“You so damn dramatic,” he muttered, feeding her a bite anyway. “Ain’t no way you fought in the ring and still cryin’ about burpees.”

“Because they’re evil, Jey,” she said solemnly. “Evil.”

He chuckled, tucking the blanket around her better before sitting on the edge of the bed and smoothing a hand down her thigh.

“Guess you stuck with me for a little while, huh?”

Kaia grinned. “Better than burpees.”

He leaned down and kissed her forehead gently. “Everything’s better than burpees.”

Page 161

Kaia was deep in her painkiller princess era.

Every few hours, it was a new personality unlock.

One minute she was cocooned in the hotel bed whispering to the room service menu like it was a hostage negotiator, and the next she was crying because the syrup on her pancakes reminded her of a warm hug.

Jey, bless his patient ass, had just finished getting off the phone with the team rep who was handling media inquiries about the ankle injury. Apparently the video of her smiling through the pain and yelling “YOU SAID YOU LOVE ME!” as she was stretchered off the court had gone supernova.

#SpecialK was trending on Twitter, ESPN picked it up, and some drama page on TikTok already edited the moment over a sped-up version of SZA’s “Saturn.”

“I’m not even mad,” Jey mumbled, watching Kaia from where he sat cross-legged on the floor, phone buzzing like crazy next to him. “They really made you the main character this week, huh.”

Kaia blinked from the bed, eyes glassy, a half-eaten banana on her chest like she forgot what it was mid-bite.

“You ever think about how giraffes probably be embarrassed when they trip?” she asked, voice heavy and thick with the meds.

Jey slowly turned his head. “What.”

“Like,” she paused, wiggling her toes under the blanket, “they got all that leg, and then BOOM—gravity. You think the other giraffes be like, ‘damn Jamal, again?’”

He blinked at her. “Who is Jamal?”

“The giraffe.”

“…Right.”

She squinted at the ceiling. “You ever seen a giraffe fight? Shit’s crazy. It’s all necks. Like slap-boxing with whiplash.”

Jey didn’t even have the energy to argue. He just reached up, plucked the banana off her chest, and took a bite like it was his now.

Kaia gasped. “You stole my fruit.”

“You wasn’t even eating it.”

“I was savoring the vibes, you oversized Hawaiian Juicebox.”

He barked a laugh at that, falling back on the carpet with a soft thud, head tilted toward her as she giggled from her throne of pillows.

“Yo,” she said, voice suddenly serious.

He looked up. “What?”

“…you think if I dye my hair purple, Coach Washington will still let me start when I’m healed?”

He stared at her a beat. “You not even gonna remember asking me that tomorrow.”

“Exactly. That’s Future Kaia’s problem.” She flopped onto her side. “Right now I’m vibing. Vibing and surviving.”

Her phone buzzed again. This time it was a group message from the team, with about fifty memes, screenshots of news coverage, and one video of the game crowd yelling “YEET HER BACK TO HEALTH” during the stretcher moment. Kaia snorted so hard she choked.

“Oh my god,” she wheezed, showing Jey the phone. “Look at this—they put my dunk in an anime edit. WITH FLAMES.”

He leaned over to see and shook his head. “You breaking ankles—your own included—and still going viral.”

“Damn right.” She dropped the phone on her stomach and beamed. “Special K stay on top.”

He just smiled, eyes soft as he watched her wiggle and mumble nonsense again.

She may have been down a leg and high as the blimp outside, but his girl was still her.

And he wouldn’t want her any other way.

Page 162

Kaia was just about to take a sip of her Gatorade-slash-slushy concoction—don’t ask—when her phone dinged again. And again. And again. The group chat with her teammates had gone from mild to DEFCON 1 in less than three minutes.

She blinked, still high off meds, and tilted her phone toward Jey where he sat on the bed scrolling his own feed.

“Big Samoa…why everybody typing in caps?”

Jey raised a brow, glanced at the screen—and froze.

“Aw, hell.”

Kaia squinted harder, clicked the latest video link someone sent. It loaded. There was the girl from the opposing team, the same one who stepped on her foot and left her in a gurney-bound mess.

She had her lashes done, edges gelled, and was recording from what looked like her car.

“I ain’t even gon’ lie,” the girl started, smacking gum between every other word, “I don’t feel bad. Sis should’ve watched where she was going. You wanna do cute little highlight reel dunks like that, you better learn how to land. Don’t blame me ‘cause your ankle folded like a lawn chair. That’s your own fault.”

The gum popped.

“I said what I said.”

Kaia’s jaw dropped. “EXCUSE ME?”

“Yo.” Jey was already grabbing her phone out her hand and setting it aside before she could throw it. “No ma’am. You still hopped up on painkillers. You respond now, it’s gon’ be in wingdings.”

But Kaia was already halfway to flipping the blanket off herself, ponytail crooked, shirt wrinkled. “Nah, nah, nah—get my boot. Get my damn boot. Lemme call Coach—I’m playin’ on one leg. They not bout to disrespect me AND my bones on the timeline like I’m sweet.”

Jey tried not to laugh. “Baby. You got one functioning ankle, and even that one’s probably emotionally scarred.”

She pointed with wide eyes. “She said I folded! Like a lawn chair! She said—”

“I heard her.”

“She posted it with the caption ‘Y’all hero crumbled like a Nature Valley bar.’” Kaia clutched her chest. “I’M Y’ALL HERO!”

“Okay now that part was disrespectful.”

“Extremely.”

Her phone was still buzzing—Instagram now, Twitter blowing up with fans and analysts, calling the girl classless, trash, you name it. SportsCenter reposted the video. WNBA reporters were circling. Former pros were quote-tweeting like sharks who smelled blood.

And Kaia? High and offended was a terrifying combo.

“Where the team group chat,” she grumbled, swiping. “Somebody give me the addie. No way I’m letting some bargain-bin reality villain come for me while I’m wrapped like a spring roll in gauze and shame.”

Jey had the audacity to be grinning as he gently pulled the phone from her hands again. “Baby. Let the league cook. You’re about to be the most talked about ankle since KD.”

She narrowed her eyes. “I swear if I see her at All-Star weekend I’m swinging with my crutch. And I’m gonna have you drive me away like we Bonnie and Clyde.”

“Oh, now I’m the getaway driver?”

“You got broad shoulders and a fast stride. Embrace your role.”

He snorted. “Man. I’mma need Coach to put a muzzle on you.”

“Coach knows I’m unhinged. She encourages it.”

Just then, her phone lit up again—but this time with a notification from the league itself.

Jey blinked. “Hold up…”

Kaia paused, reached for it.

“Official statement regarding the incident involving Kaia Fields of the Atlanta Dream and [REDACTED] of the [REDACTED TEAM]. Investigation ongoing. Disciplinary action pending.”

Her eyes sparkled. “Ohhh, it’s about to get real interesting.”

“Try not to break the other ankle celebrating, okay?”

“Can’t make no promises.”

Page 163

Jey was minding his business, scrolling through his phone and sipping on one of those protein shakes Kaia always clowned him for—when he heard it.

That telltale “bing” from her phone. Then another. Then three in a row.

Then?

“LISTEN HERE, GRISELDA BLANCO—”

He nearly choked.

His head snapped up, eyes wide as hell when he realized the sound was coming from her phone. He bolted upright, staring at the screen where her TikTok was already blowing the hell up. It’d been posted all of ninety seconds.

And there she was.

Kaia Fields, high as a helium balloon off that hospital-prescribed pain cocktail, filming from the bathroom in the mirror with the camera way too close, half her forehead and just one eyeball in frame like it was a hostage video.

“—it’s UP like a PUSH POP,” she declared, smacking her lips hard enough to echo. “Give me ten minutes and a better boot and I’ma put my other foot up your big ass!”

Jey’s eyes went wide. “Oh hell.”

The bathroom light was flickering slightly, and she looked like she was both wrapped in gauze and righteous fury.

“Ima give you a HYSTERECTOMY the back entrance way—the back EN-TRANCE way!” she hollered, pointing one heavily wrapped hand at the screen like she was testifying in church.

“Your breath smelled like Funyuns anyway, ma’am,” she hissed, shaking her head like a disappointed school principal. “And your mama a hoe!”

The video cut off mid-rant, like her phone either died or she dropped it.

Jey put his protein shake down slowly, jaw clenched to hold back his laughter.

From the open bathroom door, he heard the crash of a shampoo bottle hitting the floor.

“Oh she really did it,” he whispered, swiping to refresh. The post was already at fifty thousand views.

Just then, the bathroom door creaked open. Kaia emerged in her sleep shirt and a sock on one foot, bracing her hand on the wall like she was on a voyage across the sea. Her eyes were big and so very gone. Pupils dialed to “satellite dish.”

“Baaaaabe,” she grinned, “did you see my rebuttal?”

He blinked. “Yeah. I seen it.”

“I think I used my court voice,” she nodded. “And my nanna voice. I channeled my ancestors.”

“You said her mama a hoe.”

“And I meant that from the depths of my soul.”

She wandered over and sat on his lap sideways, her leg in the boot resting across his thighs like a baby deer trying to find balance.

“You think I’ll get fined?” she asked, batting her lashes.

Jey snorted. “You think you’re not?”

Kaia shrugged. “That’s alright. When I dunk on her next time, I’ll pay in installments.”

He rubbed a hand down his face, trying to hold in his absolute joy. “Yo. Coach Washington gonna kill you.”

She pointed dramatically. “Then let me die a legend.”

Jey sighed, kissed her temple, and grabbed her phone. “I’ma go ahead and delete that right now while you still high enough not to notice.”

Kaia blinked at him, then tilted her head. “Wait, wait, wait. Lemme add a filter first.”

“…A filter?”

She blinked innocently. “The sparkly one. With the floating hearts. I want her to feel the petty.”

[mjonthetrack]

folded

Page 122

The ropes squeaked under Jey’s weight as he popped back up from the mat, sweat slicking the curve of his jaw, shirt clinging to every flex and twitch of his abs. He exhaled deep, hands on his hips, pacing to cool down between drills while the ring crew reset.

Outside the ring, the energy was chill but nosey as hell.

Kaia was across the training space, posted up in a corner on a bench near the fan with Trinity, both of them laughing loud, sipping smoothies like they weren’t distracting half the damn roster. Every now and then, Kaia would glance up and catch Jey’s eye with that smile—the one that curled at the corners and made his stomach feel like it caught a right hook.

Sefa dropped down onto the bench beside the ring, toweling off. “Ayo.”

Jey looked up, already knowing that tone.

“You doing family pop ups for situationships now?” Sefa said, real casual-like, but with that signature eyebrow raised.

Jey gave him a look. “Don’t start.”

Jimmy leaned in from the other side of the ring where he was stretching, grinning like a damn devil. “You normally don’t speak after you hit, uce. What happened to ghostin’ like Casper after round two?”

Sefa snorted. “Now you RSVP-ing to family reunions like you the man she sometimes wrestles with and occasionally does ‘extracurricular cardio’ with—what Kaia call it? Wrasslin?”

Jey rolled his neck, trying to ignore the smirks closing in on him.

Jimmy kept going. “What happened to ‘I ain’t lookin’ for commitment right now’ and ‘I don’t need all that extra drama’? Now you wearin’ her jersey and holdin’ her dog in Instagram stories?”

Jey pointed at him with his water bottle. “Don’t talk about Shortie. That’s my girl now.”

“Oh, damn!” Sefa hollered, throwing his towel. “He said the dog got claimin’ rights! He really gone.”

Jimmy collapsed onto the mat dramatically. “Lord, take me now. We lost him to the WNBA.”

They were clowning hard, laughing like hyenas, but Jey just shook his head and smiled low to himself—because it didn’t feel like pressure. It didn’t feel like a trap.

It felt like something real that snuck up on him when he wasn’t lookin’. Something with bright eyes and fast hands and a mouth full of sugar and smoke who laughed too loud and called him Big Samoa like it meant something special.

“Y’all done?” he asked, hopping back into the ring.

Sefa grinned. “Depends. You gon’ propose at the reunion or wait until Thanksgiving?”

Jey flipped him off with no hesitation. “Ask me that again after I pin your ass next match.”

From across the room, Kaia cupped her hands around her mouth and shouted, “Y’all talking about me?!”

Trinity choked on her smoothie, Jimmy yelled back, “Always!” and Sefa whispered under his breath, “She probably got him baking pies with her aunties already.”

And Jey?

He just smiled to himself again.

Because honestly?

He’d do it. Pie and all.

Page 123

It was about two hours before showtime, the backstage hustle in full tilt—production carts wheeling past, wardrobe crew darting between dressing rooms, camera guys doing lighting checks, the usual controlled chaos.

But over in a far corner, by one of the fold-out catering tables stacked with protein bars and sad bananas, something weird was happening.

Jimmy froze mid-chew on a granola bar. "Uh... y’all seeing this?"

Sefa followed his line of sight and let out a short, confused laugh. “Yo… who baby hippo is that?”

Jey turned, brows pulling tight.

The “baby hippo” in question was none other than Miss Shortie Fields—government name Shortcake—Kaia’s XL bully who was damn near the size of a baby seal and just as dramatic. The dog was currently thumping her thick tail on the concrete, basking in royal affection from both Cody Rhodes and CM Punk, who were crouched down beside her like she was the eighth wonder of the world.

Cody was grinning ear to ear, scratching behind her ears. “Oh, she’s a sweetheart. What’s your name, huh?”

CM Punk, deadpan as ever, was gently rubbing Shortie’s belly like it was the most sacred act on earth. “She’s shaped like a meatloaf with legs. I love her.”

Shortie huffed in delight and rolled onto her side, letting out a snort that echoed.

Kaia stood a few feet away, arms folded, brows scrunched like someone just told her wrestling was fake. “Ma! You didn’t have to fly out from North Carolina just to bring Shortie. I’m not even wrasslin’ tonight!”

The woman who stood beside her—shorter, soft around the edges, dressed in a matching velour jumpsuit and hoop earrings that could double as bracelets—looked entirely unbothered.

“You didn’t answer your phone,” she said, patting her curls into place like she didn’t just crash WWE backstage. “And Shortie missed her mama. So we flew out. Spirit Airlines. Don’t ask about the turbulence.”

Jey blinked. “Yo… is that your mom?”

“Unfortunately,” Kaia muttered, pushing a loc behind her ear as she walked toward Shortie, who was still belly-up between two of the company’s biggest stars. “Ma, can you please call before you bring my child on cross-country trips like this?”

Her mom patted Cody on the shoulder. “This one’s real nice. Got that country club smile. And that one”—she pointed at CM Punk—“got serial killer eyes, but he got good hands. You can tell by how he pet the dog.”

CM Punk didn’t even look up. “She knows what’s up.”

Kaia groaned, rubbing her temples as Jey and his brothers tried (and failed) not to laugh.

Jimmy leaned toward Jey, whispering, “You meet the mom already, huh? She bold. You might already be son-in-law status, Uce.”

Sefa chuckled low. “He better hope he on her good side. She look like she’ll whoop ass and pray over you in the same breath.”

Jey just shook his head, biting back a grin as Kaia bent to scoop up Shortie’s leash. The dog rolled dramatically and licked her face.

Kaia sighed. “You traitor. You just sold me out for forehead kisses and white man snacks.”

Shortie burped in response.

Jey raised a brow, arms crossed. “You gonna tell me this wasn’t a setup?”

Kaia looked up, eyes bright but playful. “I ain’t even know she was comin’, Big Samoa. But since you here…”

Her mother, arms folded now, smirked at Jey.

“You the one she calls wrestleboy?”

He cleared his throat. “Yes, ma’am.”

She looked him up and down. Nodded once. “Mmm. Big arms. Decent teeth. If you hurt her, I’ll flatten your tires and Shortie’ll bite your ankles.”

Then she smiled sweetly. “Welcome to the family, baby.”

Kaia groaned again. “This is why I don’t let you anywhere near my jobs!”

Her mom waved her off, already asking Cody where he got his suit tailored, and Shortie thumped her tail again, proud to be the most loved creature in the building.

Jey? He just watched Kaia try (and fail) to herd the chaos and thought to himself—

Yeah. I’m in trouble.

Page 124

It was always the ones you least expected.

Trinity and Jimmy barely made it two steps into the room before they got snatched up—not by security, not by fans—but by Kaia’s mama, who took one look at the bruises on both their arms and let out a gasp like she just caught them stealing from the collection plate.

“Oh nah, what is this?!” she exclaimed, reaching for Trinity’s forearm like a concerned auntie in church. “Y’all lettin’ people put hands on this beautiful melanated skin? Look at you, bruised up like you fell out a tree!”

Jimmy opened his mouth to speak, but she was already pivoting to him. “And you, baby, don’t try to laugh it off! Uh-uh! That’s a contusion right there. You icing that?”

Trinity, amused but trying to keep her composure, gave Kaia a sidelong look. “This your mama?”

Kaia, currently being held hostage on the floor by Shortie—who was stretched out across her lap like a weighted blanket with a superiority complex—groaned loudly. “Don’t even start. She finds one bruise and turns into WebMD.”

Her mama looked offended. “And I should! Y’all too fine to be out here gettin’ body slammed by angry folks in sparkly drawers! You know what’s nice? Basketball. You ever tried that? Less bruises, more cardio.”

Jimmy was crying, trying to muffle his laugh behind a bottle of Gatorade. “You said ‘sparkly drawers’—”

But then her mama turned those eyes—those eyes—on Jey.

And he knew.

He knew.

It was over for him.

“You,” she said, squinting, one hand on her hip like she had just declared war. “You gon’ be trouble. I can tell. Got them dark eyes and that brooding face like you been through four breakups and a Marvel movie. You a Scorpio?”

Kaia shouted, “MA!”

But her mother did not break eye contact.

“You better stop playin’ and get my daughter a nice ring, lil man,” she said, dead serious, voice loud enough to carry across the catering area. “Don’t be slick. I know y’all got benefits up in here. This whole place smell like money and 401k. I see them protein shakes and medical-grade ice packs. Don’t play with me.”

Jey blinked, hands up like she was holding him at gunpoint. “Yes, ma’am.”

But of course she wasn’t done.

“If you ain’t tryna do right by her, that’s fine. I’m pickin’ that one.” She pointed a long, bejeweled acrylic toward Sefa, who choked on his soda mid-sip. “He got that thickness to him. I like that. Looks like he can build a shed and make banana pudding.”

Kaia gaped, mortified. “MA!”

“I’m just sayin’!”

“Stop pickin’ husbands for me like it’s bingo!”

Her mama shrugged. “And stop hidin’ your full name! It’s pretty. Makaia Chantelle sounds like somebody who owns a soul food spot with velvet paintings on the wall.”

Sefa grinned, whispering to Jey, “You better hurry up, Uce, she tryna take me home.”

Jimmy dabbed fake tears from his eyes. “This the best day of my life. I want her to meet my mama.”

Kaia flopped backward dramatically under Shortie, who refused to move an inch.

“I hate y’all. All of y’all.”

And her mama?

Smiling like she owned the building, one hand now rubbing Shortie’s back while the other gestured at the entire Bloodline.

“Now which one of y’all know how to make sweet tea the right way? I got questions.”

Page 125

Kaia was already halfway to the nearest stack of folding chairs, hoodie pulled halfway over her head like she could cloakherself into the shadows, when she heard it:

“Uh uh—Ma’am!”

Her entire body locked up.

Her mama’s voice rang through the building like it had its own mic pack, cutting through chatter, crowd noise, everything.

“What I tell you about that posture?!” she scolded, one hand on her hip, the other still absentmindedly scratching Shortie behind the ears like the dog had her on payroll. “You walkin’ away like your back gave out, and don’t you dare think I ain’t peep that limp either! Mmmhmm. Girl, straighten up!”

Kaia froze mid-hobble, muttering to herself, “Why are you like this…”

But Mama Fields wasn’t done. Oh no. She had a platform now.

“This big ol’ bear you been rollin’ around with?” She pointed squarely at Jey, who stood about twenty feet away and immediately straightened up like he was about to get corrected too. “He got strong genes! Look at this whole family! Built like the Avengers with trauma!”

Someone—maybe Jimmy—cackled loud enough to echo.

Kaia groaned like a cartoon character in slow collapse. “Ma, PLEASE—”

“You not gon’ survive the first trimester if you hobblin’ outta here in shame like Pirate Pete!”

The entire locker room went silent.

Sami Zayn, halfway through a bite of a protein bar, blinked. “Who the hell is Pirate Pete?”

Kaia muttered through gritted teeth, “My cousin…”

Her mama nodded sagely, lips pursed. “Yup. Tried to sneak off after prom, came back bow-legged with a black eye and a story ‘bout tryna jump a fence. Boy looked like he fought a goat. I told him, posture matters.”

CM Punk was WHEEZING. Trinity had to sit down. Jimmy clutched his ribs, sliding halfway down the catering table.

Jey? That man was leaning against the wall for support, laughter deep and raspy as hell. He hadn’t seen Kaia move this fast since the 1v1 game—girl was damn near sprinting away with her face covered, muttering, “I’m switching families. Somebody call Beyoncé and ask if she adoptin’.”

Sefa wiped tears from his eyes. “Your mama got hall of fame mic skills, uce. I’m scared of her.”

Paul Levesque walked by, blinked once, and went, “Who’s cutting a promo in catering?”

Kaia, still hiding, yelled from behind a stack of crates, “Mind your business, Paul!”

Her mama? Beaming.

“Posture!” she called again, hand to her chest like she just blessed the building. “We don’t do shame in this family. Shoulders back, head high. Especially if you struttin’ around after doin’ the grown folk tango with Mufasa Jr. over there!”

“MA!”

“I SAID WHAT I SAID!”

At that point, it was over. The whole damn roster was doubled over, snorting and howling like this was the real main event. Even Shortie rolled over and kicked her legs like she got the joke.

And Jey? He just stood there, arms crossed, grin wide, watching Kaia combust from a distance.

“Damn,” he murmured to himself, shaking his head. “I’m definitely in now.”

Page 126

Kaia was just starting to recover from the verbal dropkick her mama had delivered like a seasoned WWE legend when she heard it:

“Oh baby, you in?”

She froze behind the crate again like a raccoon caught mid-crime.

Her mama, arms crossed, leaned real casual next to Jey—like they’d known each other years—with that signature Black Southern Auntie tilt to her head. The one that meant you was either about to get fussed or adopted.

“Oh baby,” she said again, smacking her lips and nodding at Jey’s arms like they owed her money, “you not just in, you colease signed.”

Jey blinked. “Co-what?”

“Colease. Co-tenancy. Co-life. Co-damn-mitted. You hear me?”

Kaia’s muffled groan could be heard from behind the catering crates: “Somebody unplug her mic—”

Her mama was already on a roll. “Baby names? Picked. Thanksgiving plate? Got your name on it. I already told the girls down at the hospital my son-in-law got a back like a lifted truck and a lineup like he be doin’ modeling for Jesus. They gone be askin’ if you single, I’ma say he taken, praise the Lord.”

Jey—who had just taken a sip of water—choked.

“Son-in-law?” he managed, voice rasping from that near-death hydration attempt.

Kaia, now slowly crawling out from behind the crates with the most disbelieving face on the planet, held up both hands. “Can we not adopt this man in public?!”

Her mama wasn’t fazed. She gave Jey a quick once-over and smiled like a proud scoutmaster. “Don’t even worry, baby. I got you a plate for the family reunion this weekend too. You play your cards right? I might even slide a good word in with her daddy.”

Jey blinked. “Her—Deon?”

“The one and only,” Mama Fields said, voice dropping low like a horror movie narrator. “Bald-headed. Retired lineman. Built like a vending machine. Been mad since ‘86.”

Kaia shot up, pointing wildly. “See?! You hear that tone?! He ain’t gon’ like this!”

“Oh he ain’t,” her mama confirmed cheerfully, patting Jey’s shoulder. “But he’ll deal. Deon a mean-ass, stubborn, bald-headed ol’ dog with knees older than God’s sandals… but he mean well. Most of the time. Just don’t stand between him and his pork chops or say the words ‘Duke basketball’ out loud.”

At this point, Trinity was crying laughing in a corner, Jimmy had his face buried in a towel, and Paul Levesque walked past again, raising a brow. “…Y’all adopting wrestlers now or…?”

Kaia didn’t even look up as she muttered, “Paul, if you don’t get on somewhere—”

Meanwhile, Jey was just standing there, arms still crossed, grin deep as hell.

“You know what,” he said low, glancing toward Kaia, who was now standing like she was in trouble in Sunday school, “I think I like it here.”

Her mama beamed. “See? Told you. You got sense.”

Kaia? Flopped onto a folding chair with a dramatic sigh. “Somebody hand me Shortie. I need comfort and emotional support snacks. And maybe a new last name if she keeps talking.”

Page 127

Thirty minutes to showtime.

The locker room was chaos in the usual way—boots being laced, gear being zipped, last-minute tweaks to entrances and pyro being barked over walkies—but somehow, the most intense energy in the whole building?

Was coming from Mama Fields.

More specifically, from the swivel chair throne she’d claimed in the corner of the room like she owned the place, with Jey Uso sitting in front of her like her personal favorite prizefighter.

“Sit still, baby,” she said, smoothing her fingers through his curls with that laser-focused gentleness only Black mamas wield. “You want this part to lay flat or you want it wild like the girls scream for?”

Jey blinked. “Uhh… flat?”

“Wrong answer,” she muttered, fluffing his curls just right. “Wild it is.”

The woman had already taped his wrists—expertly, might I add, like she’d been wrapping up Samoan legends her whole life—and now she was dabbing his cheekbones with a little coconut oil, muttering to herself about lighting and sweat reflectivity like she was prepping him for America’s Next Top Wrestler.

“You see this?” she whispered, pinching his jaw gently. “This face? That’s a million-dollar face, baby boy. You are the main attraction tonight.”

Jey just chuckled, dazed. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Drink your water,” she added quickly, handing him the cold bottle like she’d just cracked it herself. “Can’t have you dehydrated out there falling out like one of them skinny boys.”

Meanwhile—Kaia?

Was standing off to the side, arms crossed, watching this whole situation with a deeply offended squint.

Her mouth curled. “Wow. Wowwwww.”

“Don’t stand there with that mug,” her mama snapped suddenly, without even looking. “Makaia Chantelle, rub this man’s shoulders. He gotta be in prime form for his lil wrasslin show!”

“His lil wrasslin show?!”

“I said what I said.”

Jey looked over his shoulder with a smug little smirk. “C’mon now, Snack Pack. Doctor’s orders.”

Kaia huffed but dragged herself over, glaring all the while. “Can’t believe I’m out here massaging you while you get babied.”

Her mama smacked her on the thigh. “You lucky to even be touching this man. I’d be printing wedding invitations if I had a laptop and a Cricut right now.”

Jey damn near wheezed laughing as Kaia groaned and massaged his shoulders anyway, muttering curses under her breath.

“I’m in hell,” she gritted.

“No you not, baby,” Mama Fields smiled, tucking Jey’s curls one last time before standing up and placing a kiss right to his forehead. “You in love.”

Kaia and Jey froze at the same time like someone hit the pause button.

Her mama just turned on her heel, humming as she went off to go find Otis and R-Truth again—her “babies” who “needed feeding” before the show.

Kaia leaned in slowly, still rubbing Jey’s shoulders. “You hear that, Big Samoa?”

He tilted his head back enough to grin at her upside down.

“Oh yeah. Loud and clear, Snack Pack.”

Page 128

The crowd was loud, Chicago hot in the way only Chicago could be—sweaty, rowdy, and riding the energy like a packed L train barreling through the Loop. Music blared, lights cut wild across the darkened arena, and fans were on their feet screaming for what was billed as one of the night’s main events.

But nobody—and I mean nobody—was louder than Mrs. Trina Fields.

“Why that Rapunzel-haired man dressed like Elton John at a Rite Aid concert?” she hissed, squinting at the ramp while yanking Kaia down beside her in the front row.

Kaia wheezed, trying not to spill her lemonade. “Ma—that’s Seth Rollins!”

“I know who he is! I ain’t blind, Makaia Chantelle, I got Peacock like everybody else.” Her mama rolled her eyes and folded her arms. “Still look like he robbed a sparkly Goodwill. Ain’t no way he got dressed in peace.”

Seth Rollins strutted down the ramp in a neon sequined trench coat, sunglasses that looked like a disco ball exploded, and boots so tall they may as well have been stilts.

Mrs. Fields clucked her tongue like a church lady during announcements. “Look at that! Look at him! Got all that glitter like he workin’ the second shift at Claire’s.”

Kaia was practically folded over her knees, hiding her face behind a fan someone passed her from the row behind.

And then Jey’s music hit.

The bass dropped. The crowd screamed.

Mrs. Trina Fields? Stood straight up like it was her cue.

“THERE GO MY BABY!” she bellowed, hands to her mouth like a megaphone. “YOU BETTA STRUT OUT THAT CURTAIN LIKE YOU OWN IT, BOY! YES LAWD!”

Kaia’s jaw hit the floor. “Ma—please—”

“Hush! Let me see him walk like God made him with purpose.”

Jey came out cocky, chain glittering under the lights, face all sharp lines and silent heat, and when his eyes scanned the crowd—

He found them.

Well, he found her, technically. But he also found the waving, hollering mama next to her.

Trina Fields made a fist and pumped it in the air like she was ringside at a heavyweight title match. “THAT’S MY BABY RIGHT THERE. BIG SAMOA HIMSELF. OOH YOU BETTA WRECK SOMEBODY’S HUSBAND TONIGHT!”

Kaia sunk lower into her seat. “Oh my god.”

Bell rang.

Match started.

And Mrs. Fields? Immediately turned coach.

“JAB HIM! JAB HIM IN THE THROAT! THIS AIN’T NO PEACE TREATY, BABY—IT’S WAR!”

Seth circled, all grace and sparkle. Jey bounced on his heels, rolling his shoulders, focused like steel. And somewhere between a headlock and a takedown, Trina was up again.

“YEAH! GET HIM! MAKE HIM REGRET THOSE SEQUINS!”

She was swinging her arms, standing like she was shadowboxing herself, trying to mime directions from the front row like this was Street Fighter II and she had the joystick.

Kaia gave up. Fully laid across the metal guard rail, face buried in her folded arms.

“I’m never bringing you to work again,” she muttered.

“YOU DIDN’T BRING ME, I CAME ON MY OWN SPIRITUAL MISSION,” her mama hollered back, never taking her eyes off the ring. “NOW DROP HIM ON HIS GLITTERY ASS, BABY!”

Jey managed a smirk mid-match, just barely, after tossing Seth into the ropes and spotting Mama Fields wagging a finger like she was his corner coach.

“Y’all hear her?” he muttered to the ref as they circled. “That’s Kaia’s mama. She wild.”

The ref blinked. “...I thought that was your mama.”

“Nah,” Jey grinned through his panting, “but she adoptin’ me in real time.”

Back at ringside, Kaia gave up the ghost, clapping slowly as her mama screamed, “BODY SLAM HIM LIKE HE OWES YOU RENT, JAYVION!”

Kaia blinked. “...That is not his government name.”

“I DON’T CARE,” her mama shouted, both fists in the air. “IT SOUNDED STRONG.”

And Jey? Wrecked Seth in the final few minutes of the match—fluid, dominant, with a finishing move so clean it made the crowd explode.

And as he rose to his feet, chest heaving, eyes scanning for Kaia—

He saw her mama first, blowing kisses.

Then Kaia, who was mouthing "I'm so sorry" with the saddest little shrug he’d ever seen.

He blew her a kiss.

Then winked at her mama.

It was a wrap.

Page 129

Kaia’s sneakers squeaked as she all but sprinted through the side hallway, dodging crew and backstage staff like it was a defensive drill. She hit catering like she was running a fast break, darting past the snack table, juking around the beverage cart, and slid behind the nearest piece of cover like she was going under the ring.

Which, in this case, was a giant couch.

Occupied.

By none other than Damian Priest and Dominik Mysterio.

“Yo,” Damian blinked as Kaia dropped to a crouch and flattened herself behind them like she was trying to merge with the floor, curls bouncing as she yanked the hem of her hoodie up over her nose. “You good?”

“I’m not here,” she hissed. “You didn’t see me. I’m an apparition. A sexy basketball ghost with strong knees and poor life decisions.”

Dom squinted over his shoulder. “Uh… are you hiding from a fan or—?”

“My mama,” Kaia whispered, like it was a code red. “My mama is out there violating every human boundary possible and acting like she discovered Jey herself. I needed a breather or else I was gonna burst into flames like a Sims character in a cheap kitchen.”

Damian held up a half-eaten protein bar. “You want some emotional support food?”

“I want an eject button from life, but I’ll take the bar.”

She grabbed it and bit like it owed her money, peeking over the back of the couch dramatically.

“You didn’t tell her you were leaving?” Dom asked, clearly enjoying the chaos.

Kaia wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, cheeks puffed out. “I told her I was going to the bathroom. Which is technically true. This is the emotional bathroom. For my soul.”

Dom laughed, handing her his unopened water. “Girl, you better hope she doesn’t have mama radar. That sixth sense is real.”

“She do!” Kaia whispered, eyes wide. “She found me once at a house party when I was seventeen, using smell alone. Said I left the house smelling like Bath & Body Works and came home smelling like vibes and sin.”

Damian laughed so hard he choked on a sip of water.

Kaia pressed a hand over her face. “If she finds me hiding behind catering furniture like an unsponsored gremlin, she gonna drag me by the ankle in front of Paul Levesque and ask why he got me in here acting like somebody’s girlfriend without benefits.”

Just then—

A voice boomed faintly from the hallway.

“Makaia Chantelle?! You in there baby?! Don’t be crouching like one of them little animated felines—I know them knees!”

Kaia froze.

Dom mouthed “Chantelle?” and wheezed into his arm.

Damian turned, trying not to laugh. “Yo… I think you better run.”

Kaia nodded solemnly, already crawling out the opposite side of the couch. “I’m making a break for the practice ring. If she asks, I’m shadowboxing Jey in a romantic haze. Don’t fold on me.”

“We got you,” Dom saluted.

And with that, Kaia booked it, hoodie flapping behind her, while somewhere behind her, her mama’s voice echoed like judgment and fried fish grease:

“Don’t let me catch you behind a couch like a fool in love! I raised you better than this!”

The whole catering crew was howling.

Page 130

Kaia bolted down the corridor like she had a demon on her heels—which, to be fair, she kinda did. A Southern mama with no chill and zero fear of public scenes. Her curls bounced with every sprinting step, the hoodie flapping behind her like a cape, breath catching in her throat as she rounded the corner—

And froze.

Jey Uso.

Leaning casually against the wall, smirk painted across his face like he was waiting for her.

Next to him? Sefa. Jimmy. Trinity.

All four of them just posted up like villains at the end of a hallway boss level.

Jey had his arms crossed, gold chain glinting, that look in his eye like he knew she was in flight mode and was loving every damn second of it. “Where you goin', Snack Pack?”

“Oh hell no,” Kaia muttered, narrowing her eyes. “Y’all the ops.”

Trinity blinked innocently. “We ain’t even do nothin’ yet.”

“Y’all standing is the crime!” she shouted mid-stride—and then juked left like a point guard, dodging Sefa’s open arms like she was avoiding a double team.

“AYE!” Jimmy barked, wheezing with laughter. “She dipped!”

Sefa clutched his chest. “I almost had her, bruh!”

“Too slow, Cheeks,” she called back, not stopping.

Jey let out a low whistle as she sprinted past. “That girl got track speed when her mama mad.”

She hit the exit door like she was busting out of Alcatraz, stumbling into the private parking garage where all the talent buses were lined up. Empty. Quiet.

Too quiet.

She wasn’t taking any chances.

“Don’t stop, Kaia,” she panted to herself, slapping the garage door release and hauling ass down the bus lane, past catering crews, camera rigs, and security guards who just blinked like was that the WNBA girl again?

She flew past Jimmy’s bus. Flew past the Bloodline bus.

Then she dove toward the exit gate like it was the buzzer beater in the fourth quarter.

A crew member standing by the street-level security gate blinked at her. “Hey uh—you good? You lost?”

Kaia, breathless, hoodie hanging off one shoulder, turned with fire in her eyes and declared:

“My mama’s in the building and she already called Jey Uso ‘her baby boy’ and picked out wedding colors. I am not ready for this emotional tax bracket.”

And with that, she disappeared through the street side exit into the Chicago air, hood up, sneakers flying, face full of panic and poor decision-making.

Back inside, Jey wiped tears from his eyes, still laughing, and murmured under his breath:

“She gone.”

Page 131

Trinity stood with one hip cocked, arms folded, watching the last swing of Kaia’s curls vanish beyond the parking lot gate like a damn ghost in Jordans.

She turned slowly to Jey, her brow already raised to the heavens. “You know her mama gon’ be hot, right? Like—red beans left on the stove too long hot.”

Sefa was still bent over, hands on knees, laughing like his soul had been tickled. “Bruh. I ain’t never seen nobody juke me that hard since middle school flag football. She hit that shimmy-step like she had GPS routes built in.”

Jimmy wheezed, wiping his eyes. “She really said ‘none of the Bloodline knows either’ then dipped. I'm weak.”

But Trinity wasn’t done. She pointed toward the building like Kaia was still visible. “And Shortie—her XL bully—is still sittin’ in catering like a land hippo bodyguard waitin’ on snacks and head pats. That dog been pouting since she left.”

Jey finally stood straight, exhaling like the last laugh had just left his chest. His grin was boyish, crooked, like he’d just fallen harder than he planned.

“Bruh… she just ran straight into Chicago nightlife with no plan, no shoes good for runnin’, and all that Southern main character energy,” he murmured, head shaking. “I love that for her.”

“I don’t love that for us,” Trinity deadpanned, smacking him lightly on the shoulder. “We supposed to be wrasslin' tonight and now we gotta find a 5’10 star athlete who ran off like the government was after her.”

Jimmy held up a finger. “Correction: yo girl ran off.”

“She not my girl,” Jey said automatically, but his voice caught a little at the end.

Sefa didn’t miss it. “Mmm. But you wanted to go after her, didn’t you?”

Jey didn’t answer, but the quiet said enough.

Just then, one of the stage managers jogged up with an iPad in hand, brows furrowed. “Uh—guys? There’s like ten missed calls from someone named ‘Miss Trina Fields’ and she’s lookin’ for her daughter. Said she might’ve run off with ‘that handsome Samoa’ and threatened to check every Bloodline bus and locker room.”

Trinity clicked her tongue. “Y’all better act like y’all got sense.”

Jimmy smirked. “Too late. Kaia already yeeted herself into witness protection.”

Jey rubbed his beard, trying not to smile.

“Imma go find her.”

Sefa blinked. “Right now?”

“She got my hoodie,” Jey said simply, already heading for the exit gate she slipped through, his chain bouncing against his chest.

Trinity watched him go, then looked at Jimmy. “Five bucks says he don’t come back alone.”

Jimmy leaned into her shoulder. “I say they come back married.”

Sefa pointed to the catering hallway. “Aight but somebody better go sit with that dog before she starts crying real tears. Shortie look like she ready to call CPS.”

And somewhere out in Chicago, Kaia was probably already hiding behind a deep dish pizza, plotting her return like it was Mission Impossible.

Page 132

Jey had the hood of his sweatshirt pulled low, chain tucked in, phone in his pocket as he moved through the Chicago streets like a man on a mission—and, technically, he was.

His woman who wasn’t his woman but sure as hell was his if any man so much as blinked at her wrong had vanished like a Scooby-Doo villain mid-show prep. And he knew her well enough by now to know exactly what kind of emotional support she’d go looking for: fried chicken.

And not just any fried chicken.

Popeyes.

Sure enough, not even half a block away from the venue, there she was.

Kaia.

Sitting cross-legged on one of those grimy little metal outdoor tables like it was her throne, shoulders hunched over a crinkled paper box of spicy buffalo—all drums, like the menace she was—and sipping a fat lemonade like it held the secrets of the universe. She hadn’t even noticed him yet, her head nodding to herself as she carefully picked at the crispy skin like it was a spiritual ritual.

He stopped walking and just… watched her for a second.

She was still in her show outfit—sweats over her gear, hair all over the place from ducking and dodging people, socks mismatched, expression pure gremlin peace. Grease on her fingertips, hot sauce packets torn open beside her like casualties, and her big-ass tumbler of lemonade clutched like a love letter.

Jey let out a laugh through his nose, shaking his head.

“Lord. She really out here treating Popeyes like it’s Sunday service.”

He walked over slow, letting his steps be heard.

She clocked him without even looking up. “You followed me?”

He smirked, sitting across from her and resting his elbows on the table. “Nah. I just so happened to know exactly where my chicken-loving runaway partner would be hiding mid-show.”

Kaia licked hot sauce off her thumb and squinted at him. “You a stalker.”

He tilted his head. “You dramatic.”

She popped a whole drumstick in her mouth, chewed for a second, then pointed it at him. “You really let me get tackled by my own mama and ambushed by the entire roster. I had to escape. I was fight or flight and baby—I’m built for flight.”

Jey chuckled low. “You ran like the rent was due.”

“I did!” she hissed. “My mama was tryna wife you! That woman was two seconds from throwin’ a bouquet at my head.”

“She also said I had ‘good shoulders for carrying lineage.’”

Kaia choked on her lemonade. “Stop! Not lineage—Jey, I will drop dead.”

They laughed, loud and unfiltered. The streetlights buzzed over them, the occasional breeze carrying the scent of fried food and traffic, and for a moment—it didn’t matter that a whole arena full of people were probably looking for both of them.

“You good, though?” he asked finally, softer this time. “You ran outta there like your sneakers had rockets.”

Kaia shrugged, popping open another sauce packet. “I just needed a second, you know? All this still new. This whole… whatever it is we’re doing. The wrasslin’. The us thing. The fans, the travel. The snacks. It’s all a lot.”

He nodded, watching her.

“I get it,” he said. “But… I’m not goin’ nowhere. Just so you know.”

She blinked, eyes lifting to meet his.

“You not?”

He leaned back a little, grinning slow. “Nah. You mine, ain’t you?”

Kaia smirked, licking sauce off her finger. “I’m a free agent with a chicken contract.”

“Well, consider this your multi-year Yeet Deal.”

She snorted. “Come with perks?”

“Unlimited carry-outs. One Samoan back massage a week. And protection from emotional mamas.”

“Mmm.” She leaned on her elbow. “Throw in hot fries and a nap and we got a deal.”

Jey grinned wider, reaching over to steal one of her biscuits without asking. She didn’t even smack his hand this time.

Progress.

And across from him, Kaia smiled to herself.

Maybe she had yeeted out of the stadium like a dramatic cartoon character.

But somehow—right here, eating Popeyes under the Chicago sky—she felt more centered than she had all night.

Page 133

Kaia tilted her head slowly, eyes narrowed in mock-serious contemplation like she was judging an art exhibit and not a 6’2" man currently chewing the last of her biscuit under the glow of a Popeyes sign.

“You know,” she said between bites of crispy chicken skin, “you kinda handsome eating my biscuit in the orange sign light from Popeyes. It’s giving potential non-situationship vibes.”

Jey froze mid-chew.

Brows up. Lips still parted. Crumbs stuck in the corner of his beard.

“Non situationship,” he repeated, suspicious. “That mean what I think it mean, or is that Kaia-speak for ‘we gonna hang out till I vanish again with my cleats and a family-size bag of Skittles’?”

Kaia gave a mischievous smile and leaned forward on her elbows. “Mmm, I mean, technically it means you’re looking real dateable right now. Chicken crumbs and all. It means if I blink too long I might accidentally put your number under Emergency Contacts. It means I might, hypothetically, ask you to help me build Ikea furniture and hold the flashlight while I complain.”

Jey snorted. “So basically… serious.”

She shrugged like it wasn’t a big deal even though her heart was tap dancing behind her ribs. “I mean… not serious serious. But you passed the biscuit-stealing test. That’s step one.”

He licked his fingers slow, looking right at her like he could see the way she was playing cool to cover the warmth creeping up her neck.

“What’s step two then?” he asked, voice dipped low.

Kaia took a dramatic sip of lemonade. “Step two is surviving Gloria.”

Jey blinked. “The truck?”

“Mmmhmm.” She leaned closer. “Gloria ain’t just a vehicle, baby. She judges. She knows if your intentions are pure or if you just here for the biscuits and the thighs.”

He couldn’t help it—he full-on laughed, tilting his head back as he rubbed a hand over his face.

“Alright then. Bring on Gloria.”

Kaia looked at him, really looked, the streetlight catching on the gold glint of his smile, the soft curl of his lashes, the way his whole body leaned in when he was locked into her like this.

And her smirk dropped just enough to show the honesty behind it.

“You sure?” she asked quietly, playful but not joking now. “'Cause I come with chaos, Big Samoa. Southern-fried, sweet-tea, noise-and-glitter chaos. I’m not the easy road.”

Jey leaned forward too, elbows on the table now, eyes fixed on hers.

“That’s alright,” he murmured. “I like the scenic route.”

And Kaia didn’t say anything for a second, just stared at him—mind racing, heart trying not to trip—and smiled like something inside her had finally clicked into place.

“…You still owe me another biscuit,” she muttered, kicking him lightly under the table.

“I’ll get you a whole box, Snack Pack,” he said, already reaching for the app on his phone. “But only if you stop running out the stadium every time somebody breathes too close to your mama.”

She sucked her teeth and threw a crumpled napkin at him.

Under the orange neon, with empty fry boxes between them and the night wrapped in summer heat, it felt like maybe—just maybe—they weren’t in a situationship anymore.

They were just them. And that was enough.

Page 134

Jey tapped the Popeyes app like he was dead serious about ordering Kaia her own personal biscuit bundle, but he wasn’t really lookin’ at the screen.

He was lookin’ at her.

Kaia was lounged back in her chair like a queen with her throne made of orange plastic and secondhand grease. Her legs stretched long in her faded jeans, one foot hooked under the other like she owned this little corner of Chicago—and maybe she did. Her braids were piled in a lazy bun now, edges a lil fuzzy from the match earlier, cheeks still flushed from the rush of it all. And her lips were glossy again, probably from that damn lemonade, and curved in this soft-ass smile like she didn’t even know she was knocking the wind out of him just by existing.

He had one arm sprawled across the table, Popeyes bag crinkling under his elbow, and he let the silence stretch just long enough for her to get suspicious.

“…Why you looking at me like that?” she asked slowly, narrowing her eyes.

Jey tilted his head, chewing his gum now that the biscuit was long gone. “You said it.”

She blinked. “Said what?”

He leaned in, elbow still on the table, voice low and lazy. “Said I’m giving non-situationship vibes.”

Kaia narrowed her eyes further, already wary. “Mmm… okay, and?”

“And I ain’t no situationship man, baby. Not with you.”

She tilted her head slowly, the wary in her gaze softening into something warmer. “No?”

“Nah.” He shrugged. “I want the real thing. I want all that stuff you joked about. The flashlight and the Ikea furniture and the arguing in Target over which throw blanket goes on the couch even though you already picked one in your head before we got there.”

Kaia blinked.

Her smile flickered, lips parting slightly like she hadn’t really expected him to say all that. Like she'd thought maybe they were still skating on jokes and biscuits and sexual tension. But here he was. Raw and real and damn near glowing in the streetlight.

“So…” he said, voice rough but sure, “be my girl.”

She snorted. “Boy, this ain’t 2007.”

“I’m bein’ serious.” He leaned in. “Kaia Chantelle Fields. Will you be my girlfriend?”

Kaia blinked again, biting back the grin that immediately threatened to take over her whole damn face. “You remembered my middle name? After my mama shouted it across catering?”

“That and half the arena, yeah.” His grin was wide, boyish, sweet.

She looked at him for a long moment.

Then slowly, slowly—like her body already decided before her mouth caught up—she nodded. “Yeah, alright.”

Jey smiled so hard it cracked into a full laugh, and he stood without warning, chair scraping, just so he could yank her up from her seat and haul her into his arms. She squealed, nearly dropped her lemonade, but wrapped her legs around his waist like it was nothing.

“I’m tellin’ everybody,” he said, turning in a slow circle with her still clutched to his chest.

“NO,” she wheezed through laughter. “DO NOT.”

“You my girlfriend now,” he teased, nuzzling her neck. “Ain’t no hiding.”

“You ain’t even let me finish my chicken, damn!”

“You can eat it on the plane. My girl needs sustenance.”

She kicked her heels against his back, laughing so hard she hiccupped.

And under that busted neon, with spicy buffalo on her breath and the outline of his chain still warm against her chest, Kaia knew—

This was real.

They were real.

Page 135

Big Joshua “Jey” Samuel Fatu was a menace. A mean mugging, gold-grilled, curl-poppin', eyebrow-arching menace. He looked like trouble, walked like sin, and moved like a man who kept a spare folding chair in his back pocket just in case somebody needed to get humbled.

But he—he was also the biggest damn simp known to man the moment Kaia Fields so much as smiled at him.

By the time they got back to the venue, he was still carrying her. Still. Like she wasn’t damn near six feet tall. Like she wasn’t a full-grown, full-thigh’d, D1-caliber athlete. Like he hadn’t just wrestled a whole ass match before running off to Popeyes and catching her like she was the end of a romcom he financed himself.

Kaia was perched in his arms with her box of leftovers on her lap and that content, lazy smile on her face like she was floating. He had one thick forearm under her knees, the other locked behind her back, and was walking like her ass weighed less than a strong breeze.

And the moment they stepped into the back corridor?

“YO,” Jimmy burst out, cracking up. “Is she levitating?!”

Trinity slapped his chest. “Shut UP, you see they in love!”

Sefa whistled, blinking in disbelief. “Damn, uce. You said forget subtle.”

But the kicker? The absolute killer?

Was Jey’s phone blowing up in his pocket.

Because the second he lifted Kaia up outside Popeyes, he’d taken a picture. Just a casual one—her looking down at him mid-laugh, a biscuit in her hand and his chain caught between them.

And he posted it.

With the caption:

"She got me. 😮‍💨 #MyGirl #YeetAndSnackPack #GoneForReal"

Tagged her. Changed his bio to "Kaia’s man 🍬💥." Posted it to his story with the song “Best I Ever Had.”

Kaia didn’t even know yet. She was sipping on her lemonade and minding her business.

But the rest of the roster? They knew.

Liv Morgan literally squealed when she passed them in the hall. “KAIA FIELDS GOT A MAN Y’ALL—SHE GOT A MAN!”

Damian Priest looked up from his protein shake and nodded once like it was law now. “Can’t lie. That’s goals.”

Gunther blinked. “I thought they were already together.”

“They were,” JD McDonagh muttered from the corner. “We just didn’t have confirmation.”

Even Adam Pearce raised a brow when he passed, glancing from Jey’s proud grin to Kaia’s relaxed curl against his shoulder. “Is there a match I didn’t book, or is this just a win I wasn’t told about?”

But Jey?

Jey didn’t flinch. He just adjusted her gently in his arms, dropped a kiss to her temple, and muttered, “Let ‘em talk.”

Because he was happy.

Like full-on, sunshine-out-my-damn-grill happy.

And he didn’t give a damn who saw it.

Page 136

Kaia was chilling—relaxed relaxed—on Jey’s shoulder, half-eaten biscuit in one hand and her Popeyes lemonade in the other. She had no idea her life was blowing up on the internet like a Fourth of July firework with a grudge.

It wasn’t until they were finally back in catering—her still in his lap, because clearly the man had zero intentions of letting her go—that she casually opened her phone.

And then blinked.

Paused.

Scrolled.

Then blinked again.

“…Wait a damn minute.”

She scrolled faster.

“Oh—nah. NAH.”

She held her screen up to Jey’s face like she was catching him in 4K, jaw dropped and voice full of betrayal. “Jey.”

He bit back a grin. “Hmm?”

“You,” she said, dramatic finger pointed right at his grill, “really just hard launched us to the world while I was mid-chew. A biscuit. My gremlin biscuit face is now on The Shade Room, bruh.”

Jey leaned in, peeking over her shoulder like it wasn’t literally his post she was reading. The comments were already out of pocket:

"Kaia Fields fumbled the WNBA and picked up a man with six abs and a family legacy. We stan."

"Jey really tagged her like she the championship belt 😭😭"

"I KNEW IT. THE WAY HE LOOKED AT HER IN THAT INTERVIEW HAD ME SWEATING."

"Snack Pack and Yeet God forever."

Kaia dragged a hand down her face. “You tagged me. You changed your bio. I was not ready for this PR rollout.”

He just shrugged like a smug bastard. “Told you. Not hiding nothin’. You mine, right?”

She huffed, clicking her tongue like she wasn’t absolutely melting inside. “Yeah, yeah, you a bold bitch.”

Still muttering, she opened her camera app, flipped it to selfie mode, and smooshed her cheek to his. “Smile, Mr. Yeet.”

Jey grinned instantly—no hesitation, no tough guy front—just a big, dimple-cutting, soft-ass smile like she made the sun rise and set.

She snapped the photo and threw it straight to her Instagram with a caption that read:

“Hard launched while mid-biscuit but it’s cool 😒💅🏾 #snackpack&yeet #hebetternothidehiscomments”

Within seconds, it was live.

And then?

“Alright,” she said, waving her phone at him, “go ahead, you extra ass—fix my bio. Make it cute. But if you add anything cringe like ‘his lil cinnamon roll’ I will fight you in this venue.”

He took her phone with a straight face and started typing.

She peeked.

Then wheezed when she saw what he was writing:

“📍Currently being yeeted. Taken by the realest in and out the ring 💥🍬”

“Joshua—!”

“Too late, baby. It's posted.” He locked the phone, leaned back, and nuzzled her temple like the lovesick simp he was. “You hard launched now.”

She groaned into his hoodie, whisper-laughing, “I’m gonna have to mute my name on Twitter, ain't I?”

“Yup,” he said proudly. “But it’s okay. You got me now.”

Page 137

The sun in Winston-Salem, North Carolina hit different—like it had beef with your pores and a vendetta against lace front glue. The heat slapped Kaia full-force the second she stepped off the private flight, her locs tied back under a wrap and her sunglasses already sliding down her nose.

“Lawd have mercy,” she muttered, fanning herself with the reunion itinerary as Shortie the XL bully trotted ahead on her leash like she owned the tarmac. “This humidity got hands.”

Behind her, her mama, Mrs. Trina Fields, had on her brightest sunflower church dress and an even brighter attitude, gliding down the steps like the Southern First Lady of Chaos she was. “You better hush, girl. This heat builds character.”

“Ma it builds sweat stains,” Kaia groaned, adjusting her bag.

And Jey—Big Samoa himself—was just behind them both, duffel slung over his shoulder,curls loose, sunglasses on, and that chill grin that said he’d go through worse climates as long as Kaia was leading the way. “Damn. Y’all wasn’t kidding about the heat.”

Kaia shot him a look, lips curled. “Welcome to the South, baby. Where the air is thick, the tea is sweet, and the relatives don’t know boundaries.”

He laughed under his breath, eyes squinting behind his frames. “Long as I don’t get hit with a chancleta or a turkey leg, I’m good.”

Trina whipped around from the front, already halfway toward the black SUV waiting for them, “Boy, you better duck if Deon so much as lifts a grill fork—he don't miss.”

Kaia just winced.

“Ma—please don’t hype Daddy up before we even touch grass. Let me ease him in.”

But Shortie didn’t wait.

The dog was already tugging toward the open SUV like she had a schedule to keep. Jey chuckled, watching her barrel forward like she was trying to be captain of the reunion.

“Shortie got somewhere to be, huh?”

“She probably smell the BBQ,” Kaia sighed, slapping her thighs before calling, “SHORTCAKE! You better not jump on nobody in church shoes! I swear if you embarrass me—!”

“She’s just like you,” Jey mumbled with a grin. “Thick, dramatic, and got tunnel vision for snacks.”

Kaia side-eyed him but couldn’t hide her smile. “Boy shut up and grab the cooler.”

By the time they were packed in the car—Trina in the front, Shortie spread across both Kaia and Jey’s laps like an emotional support linebacker—the vibe was weirdly calm. Jey’s arm was slung casually around Kaia’s shoulders, her curls bouncing as she scrolled through music, already setting the tone for the drive to the park.

“You ready?” she asked him under her breath.

He looked over at her, then leaned in just enough to nuzzle her temple. “For you? I’d walk into a family reunion wearing a name tag that says ‘Kaia’s Man.’”

Kaia blinked once. Then twice. Then grinned like a lunatic.

“You’re so damn corny.”

He winked. “And you love it.”

Trina didn’t even turn around. “Y’all done back there? Some of us tryin’ to pray over this reunion plate in peace.”

Kaia snorted. Jey bit his lip to hide a grin.

Shortie barked once in approval.

North Carolina, here they definitely were.

Page 138

Kaia didn’t even wait for the SUV to park all the way before her soul tried to leave her body.

“Ah shit, here he go,” she muttered, sinking lower in the backseat like she could fold into the upholstery and disappear from existence. Shortie thumped her tail and panted happily over her lap, completely unbothered by the tension radiating through her human’s limbs.

Mrs. Trina, however, looked delighted.

“Sit up straight, girl,” she swatted Kaia’s thigh with the back of her hand as she adjusted her wig and reached to pop the door. “Don’t be actin’ like he ain’t met your lil friends before.”

Kaia groaned into her palm. “This ain’t no friend, Mama, this is a wrasslin entanglement who might also be the best sex of my life and a potential stepdaddy if I blink too hard—”

“What was that, Makaia Chantelle?!”

“Nothing!” Kaia squeaked, already hopping out on the passenger side with Shortie leaping down like a tank on four legs.

The second her sneakers hit the grass, she heard it.

That unmistakable thunderclap of a Southern Black Daddy Voice.

“Uh UH, Trina! Who that deep ass voice I hear back there with my baby?!”

Jey was barely out of the SUV, straightening to his full height, when the air temperature dropped. Not the literal heat—it was still hotter than sin—but the mood. Kaia had frozen mid-stretch with her hoodie half off, eyes squeezed shut like saying nothing might make her invisible.

Her daddy, Deon Fields, stood all 6’3” of himself at the edge of the lot, built like a middle linebacker turned deacon, arms folded tight across his chest and one eyebrow arched high enough to touch the sky. His bald head gleamed in the sun, and his scowl said: I got time today.

Trina sashayed around the hood of the SUV with a hand on her hip and a kiss still fresh on her cheek. “Now baby, don’t start. That’s just her little wrasslin partner, don’t be embarrassing nobody.”

“Wrasslin partner?!” Deon echoed like it was a sin. “Ain’t no wrasslin that got folks flying cross-country and sittin’ in the backseat with my child like they payin’ her rent.”

Jey stepped forward then, smooth as ever, calm with a deep nod and that respectful, slightly nervous smile Kaia had never seen him wear until this very moment. “Sir,” he said with that rich, calm voice. “I’m Jey. It’s a real honor to meet you.”

Deon squinted like he was trying to detect lies on his breath. “…Jey what?”

“Fatu.”

There was a pause.

Then another.

“…You the one with the teeth and the curls who be grindin’ all up on her in them fights on the TV?”

Kaia squeaked. “Daddy!”

“I knew it,” he said, stepping closer with his arms still folded, sniffing like a bloodhound. “You got that look in your eyes like you done touched a thigh you wasn’t married to.”

Trina swatted him on the shoulder. “Deon, hush. You gone scare him off.”

Jey grinned under his breath. “Ain’t that easy, ma’am.”

Deon raised both brows, clearly catching that. “…Ima remember that.”

Kaia groaned, pulling her hoodie all the way off and shoving it at Shortie, who licked it like it was a treat. “Lord, let the ground open up and swallow me before they bring up baby names—”

“I already picked out a few!” Trina hollered from the driver’s seat as she grabbed her purse and opened the trunk. “One of ‘em’s Jeyonna!”

“Mama, PLEASE!”

“Shut up and grab the potato salad!”

Page 139

Kaia barely got five steps past the front grass before the crowd froze.

Like time stopped. Like she had walked into a live-action game of freeze tag and every last cousin, auntie, uncle, niece, nephew, church member, second cousin by marriage and Miss Pearl from down the street paused like a scene from a sitcom.

She heard someone drop a soda can.

“...Oh my God,” one cousin whispered.

“Is that—?”

“Girl, that’s Makaia! Ain’t no way—”

“IS THAT THE BASKETBALL ONE?”

“That’s her!”

They were in shock. The kind of shock that made people stand with their mouths open and their phones halfway raised. Kaia, in a cropped WNBA tee and ripped denim shorts, had showed up like the prodigal cousin returned from Olympus—but what really took the air out the family BBQ was who had his arm heavy and casual ‘round her hips.

Jey Fatu.

All six-foot-something of muscle, tattoos, and Polynesian jawline perfection. Beard lined up. Curls glistening. Muscles poking through the black tee he’d barely bothered to roll the sleeves up on. And that arm? That hand? Resting right at Kaia’s hip like he paid rent there.

Aunt Geneva dropped her plate. “Lord, I just caught the Holy Ghost.”

Uncle Reggie whispered, “That’s one of them Samoan boys. The wrasslin ones. From the TV.”

“THAT’S THE ONE THAT BE YEETIN’!” someone shouted from the folding chair section.

Jey, for his part, looked calm as hell—stone-faced like he had no idea every woman from ages 19 to 97 was currently fanning herself with a solo cup and whispering Jesus under their breath.

Kaia muttered out the side of her mouth, “Why is it so quiet? Where the music go?”

“Baby, they looking at me like I’m the entree,” Jey said low, smirking.

“You are! Look at you! You built like a tank in a Fashion Nova ad!”

Miss Charlene, her great-aunt with the gold tooth and bingo hustle, waddled over with a lemonade and stared. “Whew. He fine as frog hair split four ways. Kaia baby, he come in a twin pack? Or y’all done marked each other already?”

Kaia just blinked. “Marked, Charlene?! What is this, Twilight?!”

Trina came breezing by with her apron on, flipping burgers and smacking her daughter’s butt. “Kaia, baby, show ‘em that picture of y’all from Popeyes. He looked so in love.”

“Mama!”

Too late. Someone already pulled it up on The Shade Room’s Instagram.

Cousin Nia hollered. “Girl y’all HARD launched?!”

Then the floodgates broke.

The Fields family surged toward them like a wave—cameras out, cousins calling dibs on wrestling tickets, aunties asking about his skincare routine, little kids pointing and yelling “YEET!” with glee.

“Y’all got a joint TikTok yet?!”

“Where the ring at, huh Jey?! You proposing or playing?!”

“Uncle Deon better be icing his knees, he gotta wrestle this one to ask for your hand—”

Kaia just stood there, frozen, whispering sideways through her teeth, “If we don’t get to the damn potato salad table in thirty seconds, I swear to God I’m faking an ankle injury and calling an Uber back to Chicago.”

Jey just laughed low, warm against her neck, and squeezed her hip a little tighter. “Nah, baby,” he murmured, voice just for her. “You brought me here. Now we gone make ‘em remember who walked in together.”

And then—because this man had nerve—he kissed her temple in front of the entire family.

Aunt Renee fainted.

Uncle Curtis filmed it.

Kaia, meanwhile, short-circuited right there in the shade of the reunion tent, lemonade sloshing in her solo cup as the crowd lost their damn minds.

Page 140

The Fields Family Chaos™ was alive and well.

Somebody had started playing Frankie Beverly & Maze on a Bluetooth speaker. A folding table buckled under the weight of tin foil pans and red velvet cake. Children were screaming joyfully. Aunties were dancing barefoot in the grass. And Deon Fields—the bald-headed menace himself—was standing ten toes down at the grill, tongs in one hand and holy vengeance in his eyes.

And those tongs? Pointed directly at Jey.

“You ain’t foolin’ me, Fatu,” he barked, eyes narrowed like he could see through time. “You too damn glowly. Skin too clear, edges too lined up. You been bumpin’ uglies with my baby!”

Jey didn’t even get a chance to answer before Deon raised the tongs higher. “Don’t even play with me—I know you done defiled my daughter with no latex! Got the audacity to walk in here with that smug ass Samoan smirk. Like I can’t tell by the knees, boy! I seen the knees!”

Trina, who had just walked up with a fresh peach cobbler, slapped her husband’s arm so hard the tongs clanked against his chest. “DEON. If you don’t stop before your blood pressure spike! He is a guest! And you better not embarrass me in front of the rest of the family or I swear for God I’m telling your mama what you said about her potato salad last year.”

Jey stood there with the patience of a seasoned vet, lips twitching at the corners. “Mr. Fields, I got nothing but respect for you and Kaia—”

“Uh huh,” Deon grunted, waving the tongs again. “You better. Big ol’ linebacker built ass, think you slick. You got thatface. That face that knows it’s cute.”

Meanwhile—Kaia?

She didn’t hear none of it.

Why?

Because the moment she stepped on the grass, about nine of her male cousins snatched her up like she was the damn championship belt at WrestleMania. Phones out. Arms around her neck. Flashing peace signs and gang signs they didn’t belong to.

“Yoooo we got Makaia Chantelle Fields in the building!”

“My cousin really out here on TV with that bounce pass and body slam combo!”

“Girl smile! Ima make this my new lock screen, lemme get that angle!”

Before she could blink, she was being dragged toward the faded old concrete court at the back of the event space, someone tossing her a basketball like it was a crown.

“Come on, sis! Hit that free throw, lemme show my coworkers how deep the gene pool run!”

“Hell yeah! Fields Legacy still undefeated, baby!”

“I told my girl you was my cousin and she ain’t believe me—I need video evidence!”

Kaia wheezed through her grin, hair bouncing as she got pulled left and right like a damn museum exhibit. “I hate all of y’all. Every single one of you.”

One of her uncles hollered from the cookout tent, “We love you too, superstar! Shoot that three like you mean it!”

Kaia lined up at the paint and called over her shoulder, “If I miss, it’s ‘cause I been YEETED for a week straight!”

The ball flew.

Swish.

Her cousins screamed.

Deon, from behind the grill: “Boy, I swear if you got her out there with shaky knees and a glowing aura I’ma set your car on fire with you in it.”

Jey, smirking to himself: “Damn… she said ‘yeeted,’ huh.”

Trina, sipping lemonade with her shades on: “Mmm. That’s her man.”

Page 141

Jey hadn’t even taken three full sips of his lemonade before he found himself flanked—ambushed, really—by two sturdy, salt-and-pepper, absolutely-too-old-to-be-that-intimidating-but-somehow-they-still-were Black men.

On the left: Deon Fields, bald dome glinting in the North Carolina sun, still holding them goddamn grill tongs like a weapon.

On the right: Uncle Russell, tall, belly-out proud, rocking an “I’m Retired—Do It Yourself” T-shirt, socks and slides combo, and an aura that screamed Vietnam flashbacks and unpaid child support jokes.

The classic Uncle-Daddy Interrogation Formation™.

And Jey? He was smack in the middle, surrounded like a plate of ribs at a Sunday cookout.

“So,” Deon started, looking him up and down like a clearance rack he still didn’t trust. “You wrasslin’, huh?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Travelin’ all around the country?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Shirtless most the time?”

“Yes, sir,” Jey said, confused but still polite.

Uncle Russell squinted. “What you benchin’ these days?”

“Uh… ‘round 335.”

He grunted. “Mmhm. And squat?”

“Near 500.”

“Damn,” Deon muttered. “You Samoans just naturally come out like rotisserie linebackers, huh?”

Jey blinked, unsure if it was a compliment.

Uncle Russell leaned closer, breath loudly scented like red Kool-Aid and deviled eggs. “You done met her mama. But you met me now. So let’s start with the real: you plan on playing my niece like a part-time job or you in this like it’s your 401k?”

“I’m in,” Jey said without hesitation, voice low and steady. “All in. Ain’t no part-time about it.”

“Mmhm. You ever been to jail?”

“No, sir.”

“Kids?”

“No, sir.”

“Credit score?”

“Uh… seven eighty-five.”

Deon’s eyes actually narrowed harder. “What the hell you hiding?”

“I pay my bills on time?”

“…Ain’t no need to be smug,” Deon snapped, folding his arms.

Uncle Russell popped a peanut from his shirt pocket and chewed slow. “You got any past crazy exes we need to worry about? Any women show up to matches screaming your name and waving paternity tests?”

“No sir,” Jey said, holding back a laugh. “Just the fans.”

Deon gestured with his tongs again. “I see how she be lookin’ at you. All twinkly-eyed like you a new Jay-Z album. But that’s my baby, hear me? Only girl I got. And if I even sense heartbreak? If I even dream you played her—”

“I’m getting castrated in my sleep?” Jey finished dryly.

“No,” Deon grunted. “You ain’t gon’ have time to sleep.”

Uncle Russell snorted. “He talkin’ big now. But he cried during Soul Food. Whole scene with Big Mama had him sniffin’.”

Deon swung his tongs like a weapon. “Shut up, Russell! That was an emotional film.”

Before they could keep going, Kaia popped her head around the corner of the drink tent, hair wild from all the hugs and basketball her cousins had her doing.

“Daddy, are you grilling this man with your emotionally unstable brother again?”

“Yes.”

“…Did you already bring up Soul Food?”

“Yes.”

“DADDY.”

Uncle Russell coughed on his Kool-Aid laughing.

Jey just grinned.

Deon huffed and pointed a tong-heavy hand at him. “You good for now, boy. But I’m watchin’. Like Tom from Tom & Jerry—just blinkin’ once every 15 minutes.”

Jey nodded, still smiling.

Kaia rolled her eyes walking up. “He survived y’all?”

“He still breathin’, ain’t he?”

She looped an arm around Jey’s waist and looked up at him, smirking. “If you start twitchin’ or smell like smoke, let me know.”

Jey kissed the side of her temple casually. “If I didn’t survive them, I wouldn’t survive you.”

Uncle Russell muttered, “Aw, hell, he got the lines too?!”

“Trina!” Deon hollered across the lot. “Get your daughter and this damn Polynesian Romeo!”

Page 142

Kaia plopped down beside Jey with the kind of theatrical sigh that let the whole reunion know her feet were tired and her attitude was on a timer. She set the heavy-ass paper plate in front of him like it was an offering at the altar of Big Samoa himself—barbecue ribs stacked like Jenga, mac and cheese baked with somebody’s whole ancestry in it, collards with visible turkey neck, and cornbread so golden it had a halo.

She handed him a cold mason jar of fresh lemonade with a fat lemon slice floating inside like a luxury yacht.

“Survived round one of Daddy,” she said, wiping invisible sweat from her forehead with dramatic flair. “That deserves a plate and a drink, Big Samoa.”

He looked down at the feast, brows lifting. “This a reward or a setup?”

“Bit of both,” she said, grinning as she kissed his cheek. “You passed the Deon Interview. That’s a feat. Half the dudes I dated couldn’t make it past his first glare.”

He leaned toward her slightly, that low crooked smile curving his lips. “What about the Soul Food question?”

“Oh no, baby, that’s the final boss. You answer that wrong, he confiscating your manhood.”

She giggled, leaned into his side, and without warning, scooped up a bite of mac and cheese with her fork and brought it to his lips. “C’mon now, open up.”

Jey raised a brow but didn’t fight it—he opened his mouth and took the bite like a champ. His eyes actually fluttered closed for a second, the flavor punching him in the taste buds.

“…Damn,” he muttered. “Y’all season like you tryna start wars.”

“Told you,” she said smugly, already scooping another bite, this time of ribs. “Now hush. Lemme feed my favorite gladiator.”

The whole table watched out the corners of their eyes like nosy aunties pretending not to stare. Some of her younger cousins were definitely whispering and giggling behind their red Solo cups. And her grandma Charlene had the gall to cackle and nudge Uncle Russell.

Kaia didn’t care. She was leaned into her man—who was not officially her man on paper, but the way her body curled against him and the way her eyes stayed on his lips like she was watching him preach the gospel? Yeah. That was hers.

“You really that comfy feeding me in public?” Jey teased, licking his lips after another forkful.

She shrugged, chewing on her own bite like it was nothing. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

He gave her that look again—that quiet, hot, reverent kind of stare that said he still wasn’t used to this. To her. To this soft, weird, perfect thing between them.

“…You dangerous,” he mumbled.

“And you hungry,” she shot back, grinning. “So eat, handsome. You got a whole second round with my uncles and I ain’t saving you when they ask about taxes and your government name.”

“Government name? They trying to put me on a census?”

“Boy, you family now. You been on the census,” she laughed, reaching for a napkin to wipe his chin. “Welcome to the Fields.”

Page 143

By the end of the reunion, it was clear.

Jey Fatu had been absorbed into the Fields family like he’d always been there—like he was carved into the tree trunk out front with the rest of the kinfolk names and “Trina + Deon 4L” from 1989. Somehow, in the span of one afternoon, this 6’2" Polynesian menace with tribal ink and soft curls had become everyone’s favorite.

Uncles who barely knew how to work their phones were in the group chat sending blurry selfies with him like they’d known him since he was in Pampers.

“Thas my boy right there,” her Uncle Leon said, slapping Jey on the back like they played high school football together. “Solid handshake, good posture, know how to eat greens without no damn vinegar. We keepin’ him.”

The aunties were even worse. Kaia stood in pure disbelief watching her great-auntie Cheryl fluff Jey’s curls while cooing at him like he was a damn newborn. “Look at you,” she hummed, her gold tooth catching the sun. “Look like you just got poured straight out a coconut. You got baby hairs and a future!”

Jey just chuckled, dimples out and full smile shining like he’d been waiting his whole life to be someone’s good Southern son-in-law. He was polite, funny, and full of “yes ma’am”s and “you want me to carry that for you?”s. It was infuriating.

Kaia sat in the shade at a picnic table, halfway through her sweet tea and stunned at how the gravitational pull of her family had completely shifted. No one was fighting over who got to be on her 2K team. No one was asking her about her last triple-double or who she was dating.

They were all boo-loving Jey. Even Shortie was laying under his chair with her tongue out like he gave her a reason to exist.

Across the lawn, her cousin Lil Ray shouted, “Unc Jey, you comin’ back for Thanksgiving?! We can do a turkey-leg arm wrestling contest!”

And Jey? He waved back like of course. “Only if I get to make the mac and cheese!”

“See?!” Aunt Pam shrieked from the grill. “I told y’all he got a spirit of provision! He a provider!”

Kaia gawked. “A spirit of provision?!”

Deon—her daddy—stood off to the side with the tongs in his fist and a plate of ribs ignored on the table. He was watching it all with a deep, exhausted frown like he was the only one who still had sense left.

“He done made my own kin switch teams on me,” he grumbled under his breath. “Damn boy ain’t even been through one hurricane season and they done gave him the good cornbread.”

Meanwhile, Trina Fields was positively glowing. She was snapping photos of her new “son-in-law,” asking someone to go grab the cobbler and cheesecake to box it up for him. “Make sure my baby got fed and got something sweet for later! Jey, baby, you want banana pudding too?!”

From the other side of the yard, Kaia gaped, her plate halfway to her mouth. She turned to her cousin Tayla in disbelief.

“I used to be the special one,” she muttered, eyes wide. “I was the Fields family flex. WNBA. College grad. Remember that? I had awards. Rings.”

Tayla just grinned, sipping her drink. “You had a good run. But baby, that man got tribal tattoos, a fade, and knows how to say ‘yes ma’am.’ We had no choice.”

Kaia dropped her fork and dragged her hand down her face. “I got replaced by cheekbones and a chain.”

“And dimples,” Tayla added. “Don’t forget the dimples.”

Jey looked across the lawn and caught Kaia’s eye just as her soul was slipping into the earth. He grinned, held up a to-go box someone shoved into his hands, and winked.

Kaia groaned. “This man got cobbler privileges.”

The rest of the family? Still boosting him like he was a first-round draft pick from heaven.

And Kaia? Still sitting there in disbelief, wondering how the hell she just got benched at her own family reunion.

Page 144

Of course they ended up at the house. The Fields’ family home sat at the end of a quiet Winston-Salem street like it had authority—like every one of Kaia’s childhood memories still haunted the hallways and the carpet creaked with generational seasoning.

Jey took it all in with slow, observant eyes—like he was studying her roots in real time.

The porch had wind chimes, three rocking chairs, and a “No Soliciting Unless You Got Pound Cake” sign. The air smelled like grass, grill smoke, and good history. Her mama’s flowers were in full bloom on the walkway, and a pink garden gnome wore Kaia’s old baby bib like a cape.

“Home sweet chaos,” Kaia mumbled as she unlocked the door, Shortie huffing right behind her like she owned the joint.

Jey stepped inside and got snatched into another timeline immediately.

The hallway walls? Covered in framed memories. Little Makaia in pigtails holding a basketball. Makaia in a glittery cheer costume frowning like she’d been tricked into it. Makaia in braces next to a poorly decorated eighth-grade cake. And that one horrible phase where she wore neon green skinny jeans and a fauxhawk.

“Ohhh shit,” he said, pausing in front of a middle school yearbook photo where she looked half possessed and half asleep. “Yo, Snack Pack. You looked like a cursed Furby in sixth grade.”

She groaned from the kitchen. “Please go outside and meet Gloria.”

“I need answers, though. You was out here lookin’ like you listened to Paramore and bootlegged Soulja Boy tracks on Limewire.”

He kept walking, each photo older than the last. Her high school prom pic had him snorting out loud.

“Yo—why your date look like a substitute geometry teacher?”

“That’s Taye!” she yelled. “He’s an engineer now! And he had asthma, so be nice!”

The pictures kept coming: Kaia on her signing day. Kaia in her cap and gown at college, holding her diploma up with pride and lipstick on her teeth. A few selfies she must’ve snuck in and printed herself.

And finally—her room.

He paused in the doorway like it was sacred ground. It was simple but still her. A wall covered in photos and a bulletin board full of old ticket stubs, player badges, and random notes. A lava lamp on the dresser. Some old-ass trophies. And a wrinkled UNC blanket still folded at the foot of the bed.

“Damn,” he murmured, stepping inside. “This where the legend began.”

She peeked her head in behind him. “Don’t be dramatic.”

“I’m serious,” he said, slowly spinning in the room. “You Kaia Fields, WNBA legend, childhood menace, cursed sixth grade gremlin, born in this room. History.”

Then came the real moment of truth.

He stepped outside again, past the porch swing, and saw her daddy standing beside something that looked like it roared in 1973 and ain’t shut up since.

Gloria.

The truck. Massive, matte green, with a grill like it could eat a Corolla whole and tires taller than his niece.

“There she go,” Deon said, patting the hood lovingly. “My Gloria. Four-hundred thousand miles. Ain’t never needed therapy, just a good oil change and some gospel music.”

Jey blinked. “She...she got a nameplate?”

Kaia appeared beside him, smirking. “Told you. She been in family photos since ‘93.”

Gloria's name was literally engraved in chrome on the back bumper.

Deon nodded slowly, eyes still skeptical. “She survived three ex-girlfriends, a deer collision, and my wife’s attempt to replace her in ‘06. I hope you plan on doing the same.”

Kaia leaned on Jey’s shoulder, grinning up at him. “Welcome to the real trenches, Big Samoa.”

And Jey? He just grinned, wide and real, like he’d been waiting his whole life to be this deep in someone’s roots.

“Yeah,” he said, sliding his arm around her waist. “I’m in.”

And Gloria? She hummed like she approved.

Page 145

He didn’t mean to find her high school time capsule. Or the journal labeled “PRIVATE—K.F. EYES ONLY” with glitter gel pen and a Lisa Frank sticker on the cover. Or the shoebox marked “RAGE BOX: DO NOT OPEN UNLESS YOU WANT SMOKE” tucked under the bed.

But listen.

Kaia was busy in the kitchen helping her mama prep dinner, and Shortie was napping dramatically under the ceiling fan in the living room like a diva. Jey had nothing but time—and the universe clearly wanted him to snoop.

So he cracked open the journal first.

And immediately started wheezing.

"Day 16 of summer workouts. Coach said I needed more hustle, but like... hustle don’t come with an on switch, sir. I’m not a Prius."

"If one more person says I look like Ciara, I’m putting them in a headlock. This forehead is custom, not cloned."

"Also. Reminder to myself: do NOT date any boy who wears socks with flip flops. That’s a felony in God’s eyes."

“Bruh,” he muttered, slapping a hand over his face. “You been unhinged since thirteen.”

Then came the RAGE BOX.

He opened it like it might bite.

Inside: a busted Nokia phone, a snapped friendship bracelet, crumpled notes from someone named Monica the Betrayer, a glittery pen with no ink, and a photo of her middle school basketball rival with the eyes scratched out.

He raised a brow. “Yo... not you on your Tony Montana arc at fifteen.”

But the real crown jewel?

A crumpled, folded notebook paper with "FUTURE HUSBAND WISH LIST" written at the top.

“Oh we readin’ this,” Jey whispered to no one.

He unfolded it carefully like it was national treasure.

Future Husband Must Be:

Taller than me. (Not hard. I’m 5’10 but the Lord owes me a 6’4 king.)

Nice arms. Not like bodybuilder gross but like… carry-me-to-the-fridge strong.

Smells like woods and expensive Target deodorant.

Laughs at my jokes. Even the dark ones.

Has a cute laugh.

Let’s me be mean sometimes but only in a flirty way.

Kisses me like the end of a movie.

Hates ketchup. (Non-negotiable. Ketchup is for toddlers and pain.)

Likes dogs. (Shortie > everybody.)

Good with kids. Not tryna have any soon but like… I gotta know if you got the vibe.

Sexy voice. The kind that makes me forget my name.

Looks at me like I’m a miracle.

Wrestles. Or could wrestle.

Can fight.

Could win a fight for me.

Would fight my enemies on sight.

Has tattoos but like… soft core bad boy, not actual felon.

Can cook breakfast.

Will hype me up even when I’m sweaty and look like a glazed ham.

Will love me hard and loud.

He was speechless.

Because like… check, check, check, and… check.

Every box, including “wrestles,” “soft-core bad boy tattoos,” and loves her loud.

She was prophetic with that damn glitter pen.

Just as he was folding it up, she walked back into the room balancing a bag of frozen peas and a paper towel full of cornbread samples.

Kaia paused when she saw him sitting crisscross on her old bedroom floor, surrounded by chaos.

“Big Samoa,” she said slowly, one brow arching. “Why you look like you just read my social security number out loud?”

He lifted the list, eyes sparkling. “So… I’m just supposed to pretend this list don’t exist?”

Her eyes bulged. “Jey—”

“‘Smells like woods and Target deodorant’? That’s me.”

“PUT THAT DOWN—”

He stood, reading dramatically like a Shakespearean actor. “'Looks at me like I’m a miracle.’ Damn right I do. ‘Will fight my enemies on sight’? Who want it?! I got a folding chair and no fear!”

She launched a cornbread bite at his face but couldn’t stop laughing. “I wrote that in the tenth grade!”

“Manifestation, baby. You spoke me into existence.”

She pouted as he walked toward her, slipping the note into his pocket.

“I’m framing this, by the way. And every time you doubt this thing, I’ma pull it out like a Yu-Gi-Oh trap card.”

Kaia rolled her eyes but didn’t move when he pulled her close, cornbread squished between them.

“Yeah yeah,” she mumbled into his chest. “But you still owe me for going through my rage box.”

He grinned. “Just say the word. I’ll fight Monica the Betrayer tomorrow.”

“...You really are my future husband, huh?”

He didn’t say anything.

Just kissed her forehead.

Page 146

The dining table was crowded with steam and soul food and soft chatter—the kind of noise that felt lived-in. Fried pork chops sizzled beside bowls of buttered cabbage, and a glass pan of mac and cheese sat like royalty at the center. Kaia’s grandma Charlene had already claimed the big recliner in the den, hollering that her blood sugar was “too low for family mess” while she watched her soaps. Shortie lay flopped belly-up by the back door like the XL diva she was.

Kaia sat beside Jey, poking at her plate and trying to keep the cornbread from soaking up all the collard green juice. Her thigh rested against his under the table, comfortable—warm. They were laughing over some old picture of her mama wearing gold chains and acid wash jeans when the mood shifted.

Jey caught it first.

His eyes wandered toward the head of the table, to the empty chair that hadn’t been filled since they sat down. A little off to the right, framed in dark wood and love-worn edges, sat a picture of a young man—strong build, short cropped hair, eyes sharp like Kaia’s, smile soft like Mrs. Trina’s. He looked about Jey’s age, maybe younger. Dressed in military fatigues, formal, proud. He sat still in that frame like a ghost who'd never really left.

Jey’s brows furrowed. “Who’s that?” he asked gently, voice dipping softer than usual.

Trina followed his gaze and smiled, not sad but deep, the way someone does when a memory still breathes.

“That’s my Mikhail,” she said, voice light with something sacred. “He should be about your age now. My firstborn. He was in the Marines.”

Jey didn’t even register the way Kaia tensed beside him—not at first.

Not until her fork stopped mid-air and stayed there. Not until her leg stiffened, and her whole frame leaned just a hair away from his like her body didn’t know what to do with itself.

Mikhail.

A brother. One he’d never heard about.

Kaia, who had told him about her busted ankles, her 7th grade heartbreak, her time in rehab after that nasty knee injury in college—Kaia who let him see her rage box and her glittery dreams. That Kaia had never once mentioned having a brother.

And now he knew why.

“I didn’t know you had a brother,” Jey said, quiet, turning slightly to her.

She blinked, her eyes a little glassy—but she smiled anyway. Not for herself, but for her mama.

“Most people don’t,” she said softly. “We… we don’t talk about it much.”

“He’s still in the house though,” her daddy added, reaching for the potato salad. “Always will be. Kaia was still little when it happened, but she don’t forget. She was his shadow.”

Kaia swallowed and finally set her fork down. “He died overseas. I was six. He used to call me ‘Bug.’ Said I was always buzzing around where I didn’t belong.”

Her voice cracked on the last word, just barely.

Trina reached over and rubbed her back with a feather-light touch. “She was his world,” she said, smiling fondly at her daughter. “Spoiled her worse than Deon or I ever could. Taught her how to ride a bike, braid hair on her dolls, even sneak snacks when I wasn’t looking. He used to tell me, ‘Mama, if anything happen to me, Kaia gonna be just fine. That girl already got my stubborn in her blood.’”

Jey looked over at Kaia again, and suddenly… so much made sense.

The fire in her. The fight. The way she cracked jokes when shit got too deep. How hard she clung to the people she loved—like she was always trying to hold on for two.

He reached under the table and took her hand.

Didn’t say a word. Just held it.

And when she squeezed back, hard and fast, like thank you for not asking too many questions, he squeezed once more to say, I got you anyway.

They didn’t talk about it again that night.

But when dinner wrapped and the dishes were cleared, Kaia stood in front of Mikhail’s photo for a long while. Just stood there in silence.

Jey watched her from the couch, arms crossed, and said nothing.

Until her mama passed by and leaned down to whisper in his ear:

“She talks in her sleep sometimes. Calls his name. Sometimes cries a little. But don’t be scared by that, baby. That just means she’s still got room in her heart to love hard.”

He didn’t blink.

Didn’t flinch.

Just whispered, “I know,” and kept watching the girl who he would fight a thousand matches for, stand there with her shoulders squared, still carrying grief like a badge under all that loud joy.

Page 147

Kaia was curled sideways on the old couch in her parents’ living room, her long legs tucked half under Jey’s thigh. The familiar creak of the ceiling fan spun above them as the house settled into night. Shortie snored in the corner like a chainsaw in a denim vest, and somewhere down the hallway, her daddy had started snoring too—deep, dramatic, and guaranteed to make a raccoon turn around.

She was warm, tired, and full—her belly stuffed with three types of cobbler and at least six different forms of love disguised as side dishes. Her head was resting against Jey’s shoulder now, boneless and heavy, her arm loosely curled around his middle like she couldn’t be bothered to keep it polite anymore.

Then her phone buzzed on the armrest.

She groaned like death.

Jey shifted just enough to glance down at it. The screen lit up: Coach Washington.

“Oof. That ‘yes ma’am’ tone better be ready,” he teased, brushing his thumb against her arm.

Kaia sighed dramatically and sat up enough to answer, tapping the green bubble. “Hey Coach,” she said, trying to put some pep in her voice but sounding like she’d been hit by a biscuit truck.

“You alive, Fields?”

“Define alive.”

“I saw your highlight reel floating around the internet,” Coach Washington drawled, not unamused. “Tell me why you’re in Chicago jumping off top ropes like it’s a trampoline park and not a basketball court?”

Kaia winced and laughed softly. “Just a little side quest, Coach. I’ll be back in Atlanta for tomorrow’s game, I promise.”

“You better. The stadium sold out overnight. You’re the damn draw now.”

Kaia slumped back down onto Jey’s chest with a huff, rubbing her face. “Yes ma’am. I’ll be there. I just… might be moving a little slow.”

“Don’t care if you crawl onto the court like a turtle with shin splints. Just be there.”

“Yes ma’am,” she repeated, with the kind of resignation only a tired athlete could manage.

When she finally hung up and dropped her phone with a groan, Jey looked down at her, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Back to Atlanta, huh?”

She squinted up at him like a sleepy cat. “You got space in your carry-on for me?”

“Thought you had wings, superstar.”

“I do, but they currently feel like noodles.”

He laughed and kissed her forehead, fingers lazily brushing through her curls. “You really gonna play after all this?”

She grunted. “Apparently I’m the people’s princess or whatever. Whole game might shut down if I’m not there.”

“You know I’m coming with you, right?”

She blinked.

“Game’s in Atlanta. I got a show there this week too. I’ll be on the sidelines, wearing your jersey, yelling at the refs and embarrassing you.”

Kaia smiled—tired, warm, adoring. “You better bring a sign.”

He leaned down and kissed her slow. “Only if it says ‘Mini Storm’s #1 Fan.’”

She snorted into his neck, laughing herself right back to sleep.

Page 148

The private jet hummed softly as it cut through the clouds, the city of Winston shrinking far behind them. Kaia was knocked out—head tilted, lips parted slightly, her cheek squished comfortably against Jey’s thigh as she curled into herself in the plush leather seat. She had her hood up, one hand still lightly gripping her phone even though the screen was black now.

Jey was scrolling through Instagram with his free hand, the other resting gently on the back of her head, absently running his fingers through her curls. His feed was absolutely flooded—fan edits of them from the match, screenshots of their Popeyes debut, memes already popping off with captions like “Not the WNBA x WWE crossover we needed, but the one we deserved.”

He chuckled to himself, low and proud, until Kaia’s phone suddenly lit up again with a vibrating buzz against his leg.

COACH WASHINGTON (AGAIN).

He blinked.

Kaia didn’t even twitch.

The phone buzzed again.

“Alright, alright, damn,” he muttered, grabbing it before it buzzed her right off his lap. He answered it quietly, thumb tapping the green bubble. “Hello?”

There was a pause, then a very skeptical voice on the other end.

“…This Kaia’s phone?”

“Yes ma’am.”

“And you are?”

“Jey. Her… partner.”

“Mmhm.” Coach Washington didn’t sound impressed, didn’t sound mad either. She sounded like a woman who had zero time for foolishness and had been coaching long enough to smell it from two states away. “So you the lil’ boyfriend.”

Jey blinked, then smirked. “Yes ma’am. Lil’ big boyfriend, technically.”

Coach didn’t miss a beat. “Well, Mr. Big Samoa—tell Kaia she not slick, and if she tries to nap her way out of warm-ups, we runnin’ suicides till Jesus taps in. And you? If you taggin’ along, bring some sneakers. I got cones. You can stretch too.”

Jey grinned, completely delighted. “You tryna work me too, Coach?”

“I’m just sayin’—if you got all that upper body, might as well see what your footwork look like. Can’t be lookin’ like a linebacker and movin’ like a recliner.”

Jey burst out laughing, shaking Kaia gently. “Yo. Wake up. Coach just flamed me through your phone.”

Kaia groaned like death returned. “Tell her I’m unconscious.”

“She said no naps. Suicides till Jesus.”

Kaia rolled onto her back and threw an arm dramatically across her face. “I hate it here.”

Coach’s voice piped up through the phone speaker, loud enough to hear. “And Jey—don’t let her fool you. She run this whole league. I just supervise the chaos.”

Jey looked down at Kaia, who was now glaring up at him from his lap with the most tragic expression known to man.

He kissed her forehead.

“Guess we stretching together, champ.”

She pouted. “If I sweat too hard tomorrow, you owe me a smoothie.”

“Done.”

“And a foot rub.”

“Double done.”

Coach clicked her tongue. “Y’all better land soon. I’ll be waiting.”

The line went dead.

Kaia threw her hoodie back over her face like a ghost. “This what happens when you date a celebrated athlete. My coach got no chill.”

Jey leaned down with a smirk, brushing his lips across the edge of her hood. “Nah. This what happens when you date another one.”

[mjonthetrack]

folded

Page Eighty-Nine

The sun had shifted by the time Kaia was up and moving—slanting low and honey-gold across the floor of her hotel room, making the space feel warm and too quiet.

She’d slipped out of bed gently, careful not to wake him. Didn’t even bother trying to pull on jeans—just her cropped hoodie, a clean pair of Nike sweats, and her sneakers. Her curls were brushed out into a soft halo, gold hoops peeking through. Barefaced. Still glowing a little.

Her duffel bag sat zipped by the door, her folded jersey tucked neatly on top.

Now she sat cross-legged in the lobby’s corner Starbucks, iced coffee sweating in one hand, her other scrolling through her phone while lo-fi music murmured through her earbuds. Her long lashes were low, still heavy from a lack of sleep—but the little satisfied curve of her mouth gave her away.

Yeah. She was good.

Better than good.

Behind her shades, she kept smirking to herself every few minutes like she remembered something Jey said—something Jey did—and it kept catching her off guard.

The bruise blooming at the base of her neck was small and discreet, hidden mostly by her hoodie. But every now and then, she touched it. Absentminded.

Back upstairs, Jey sat on the edge of the bed, phone lighting up with back-to-back texts.

Jimmy: “u alive??” Sefa: “Driver downstairs 🛫” Paul: “Call me before wheels up.”

He exhaled through his nose, rubbing the back of his neck as he stood, tugging on his black tee and sliding on his chain. His Louis duffel was already packed in the corner. But his attention kept drifting to the empty bed. The rumpled sheets.

The faint smell of her perfume still on the pillow.

He lingered.

Just a second too long.

Then he shook it off and grabbed his things.

The hallway outside was quiet, and when he stepped into the elevator, he caught his reflection in the mirrored walls—jaw tense, eyes thoughtful. He blinked once and ran his tongue over his teeth. The corners of his mouth twitched.

Downstairs, just before he pushed through the hotel’s rotating doors, he paused.

And there she was.

Kaia.

Legs crossed, hoodie loose around her hips, sipping that iced coffee like she wasn’t the reason he could barely walk straight.

His smile crept in slow, like it didn’t need permission.

He walked over, hands in his pockets, stopping just in front of her table. She looked up behind her shades, lips curling instantly.

“Well hey there, Big Samoa,” she said, voice a little too casual for someone who’d just body slammed his soul into a mattress a few hours ago.

Jey chuckled, low and rough. “You wasn’t gon’ come wake me up?”

“You looked peaceful.” She took another sip, eyes twinkling. “Didn’t wanna disturb that Samoan beauty sleep. Heard y’all need all the recovery time you can get.”

He raised a brow, then leaned down slightly, hand braced on the back of her chair as he murmured near her ear, “You tryna start something in the middle of Starbucks, Carolina?”

She smirked. “Just trying to keep morale up, partner.”

Their eyes held for a beat too long.

Then his phone buzzed again, breaking the spell.

He exhaled, straightening up. “I gotta head out. Flight to catch.”

Kaia nodded, not skipping a beat. “I’ll see you in Chicago, then.”

He gave her one last look—something unreadable behind his smile—and tapped two fingers against the table.

“You will.”

And with that, he walked off.

Kaia watched him go, tongue tucked behind her teeth, grinning like a girl who already knew the game was hers. She leaned back in her seat, swirling her straw in the ice and whispered to no one:

“Whew. I mighta messed around and met my match.”

Page Ninety

Jey slowed right before the sliding glass doors of the hotel.

Outside, the SUV was waiting—black, polished, engine humming low. His driver stood by the back, already loading the bags. The sun was damn near setting, streaking the Atlanta sky in that deep orange hue that made the whole street look like it was dipped in gold.

But he didn’t move.

Not forward.

Not yet.

He stood there, thumb hovering above his home screen before he sighed, pulled up his recents, and tapped Paul’s number.

It rang once.

Then— “Joshua.”

“Yeah. I saw the text,” he said, already rubbing his jaw like he was working through something. “I figured I’d call back before I took off.”

Paul’s voice was steady on the other end. “Good timing. Listen, I was gonna run something by you. Talent relations wants to lean harder into the crossover angle with you and Kaia. Numbers were crazy from that halftime game and the Vogue interview—”

“Paul,” Jey interrupted, voice lower. “You got a second?”

A pause. “Always.”

He turned slightly, eyes drifting toward the Starbucks in the lobby—right where he’d left her. Kaia was still sitting there, sipping the last of her drink, earbuds in. Twirling one of her curls with absent fingers. Her hoodie had slipped a little off one shoulder.

She looked like she belonged. Right there.

In his life. In this moment. In that chair like she was waiting on him to figure it out.

“I don’t wanna fly out without her.”

Silence.

Jey stepped back from the glass, ran a hand down his beard. “I know it’s early. And I know this ain’t the usual pace. But she cool as hell, Paul. And I don’t mean just for show or the storyline. I mean like—she get it. She get me.”

Paul was quiet again for a moment before replying, a little smile in his voice. “You want me to add her to the charter for Chicago?”

“Yes,” Jey said without hesitation. “And if she says no, I’ma miss my damn flight tryna convince her.”

That earned a dry laugh through the line. “I’ll let the team know. But it might help if you ask her, you know. Like a person.”

“I am asking,” Jey said, already turning on his heel. “Just… needed the logistics handled first.”

Click.

He hung up and strode back across the lobby, moving with that deliberate kind of purpose that came from being a man who just made a decision and stood on it. His sneakers scuffed a little against the tile as he approached the table.

Kaia glanced up, pulling one earbud out with a slight tilt of her head. “Forget your charger or something?”

He exhaled, looked down at her, then pulled the chair out and sat across from her—wide-legged, forearms braced on the table.

“Nah. I forgot something else.”

She blinked, caught a little off guard by his seriousness. “You good?”

“I don’t wanna get on that plane without you.”

That made her freeze.

He went on, voice level, low. “I know we been moving fast. I know this might sound wild. But when you ain’t there, shit feel real quiet. Like the volume turn down on everything.”

Kaia set her drink down slowly.

He looked her right in the eye.

“You wanna come with me to Chicago?”

A beat of silence.

Then her lips curved, slow and syrupy like a song lyric.

She leaned back in her chair, arms folding under her hoodie. “You asking me to fly across state lines with you like we not half strangers, Big Samoa?”

“I’m asking like a man who ain’t tryna be strangers no more.”

Kaia bit her bottom lip, then reached for her phone.

“Gimme twenty minutes,” she said, already texting her team.

“I pack fast.”

Page Ninety-One

Kaia came gliding back through the lobby like she owned the building and had just decided to grace the floors with her presence.

Her rolling carry-on tapped rhythmically behind her, duffel bag slung across one shoulder, hair tied up in a slick puff that showed off the clean lines of her cheekbones. The hoodie she wore was cropped, her abs peeking out with every step, and her jeans were that worn-in kind of perfect—hugging her curves like they were sculpted for it.

Jey looked up from his phone the moment he heard her voice.

“I got my things,” she announced casually, like they were heading to brunch and not flying across state lines on a whim. “My people cool with it, I got my charger, my edges, and I even used some cover-up on the hickey you left on me.”

His head tilted, mouth twitching in a grin that was one part amused and three parts proud.

“Oh, so now you actin’ brand new like I ain’t mark you proper,” he said, stepping in to grab her duffel like it weighed nothing. “I shoulda left it on your forehead.”

Kaia rolled her eyes but she was grinning too, cheeks warming as she adjusted her hoodie. “Boy, don’t play—my mama follow me on Instagram.”

“You lucky I didn’t autograph it,” he muttered under his breath, mostly to himself, and she snorted, bumping his shoulder as they walked toward the SUV.

Outside, the breeze hit them with that late summer warmth—thick enough to coat your skin, soft enough to make you breathe a little deeper. Kaia slid her sunglasses on like a celebrity dodging paparazzi.

Jey opened the SUV door for her without a word. She raised an eyebrow.

“Well damn,” she said, hand on her chest in mock shock. “Opening doors now? You tryna seduce me with Southern hospitality?”

He looked her up and down, slow and lazy like he had all the time in the world. “I ain’t tryin’, ma. I am.”

That made her pause. She stood there for a second, lips parted slightly like he’d caught her off guard again—just like that first night at the meet and greet when she called him “Unc.”

But then she smirked and slid into the SUV, legs crossing like she was settling into a throne.

Jey tossed her bag in the back, climbed in beside her, and pulled the door shut.

“Chicago next,” she said under her breath, glancing out the window as the driver pulled off.

He leaned back in the seat, head tilted toward her, voice low. “You ever been before?”

She looked over at him, her grin spreading slow. “Nope. But I’m down to be shown around... long as the tour guide ain’t tryna leave no more damn hickeys.”

Jey just laughed, eyes gleaming, his hand brushing against hers where they rested between them.

“No promises, Carolina.”

“Didn’t think so,” she said, and their fingers laced anyway.

Page Ninety-Two

The hum of the private jet was soft and steady, a low luxury that wrapped around them like warm static. Kaia sat curled up in the plush leather seat near the window, hoodie sleeves tugged over her palms, one leg folded under her as she watched clouds slide past like secrets they weren’t supposed to know.

Jey sat across from her, long legs stretched out, hoodie tossed somewhere, black tee hugging his chest like it was made for him. He had one AirPod in, jaw working slow on a piece of gum, scrolling through something on his phone while trying to act like he wasn’t checking on her every five seconds.

Kaia tapped her fingers against her thigh, her voice softer now that it was just them and a cabin full of sky.

“Hey, champ?” she said, head tilted slightly.

Jey looked up immediately, his thumb pausing mid-scroll. “Yeah, Carolina?”

She bit the inside of her cheek, looking more unsure than she usually ever let show. “What you think I’ma do when we get there? Like… am I gonna be sitting in the audience or what?”

He blinked.

“I mean,” she added quickly, like she hated even saying it out loud, “I know we got that one tag team thing to run through in practice before tomorrow, but… what else? Like… is this just vibes? Or—am I crew now?”

Her tone wasn’t insecure, not exactly. It was careful. Curious. Like a girl who’d been running on instinct and adrenaline now wondering if the ground under her feet was real or just air she’d learned to trust.

Jey set his phone down, sat up a little straighter.

He looked at her—really looked—like she wasn’t just a viral clip, or a fine woman in his shirt, or a walking chaos storm who’d hijacked his life in two weeks flat.

She was Kaia.

All heart, all hustle, all heat.

And she was asking to be seen.

“You think I brought you all the way to Chicago just to sit in the audience?” he asked finally, voice low and warm, almost amused—but not at her. At the idea.

She shrugged one shoulder, lips pursed. “I don’t know. You might be tryna make me your lil cheerleader on the sidelines with a foam finger or something.”

“Girl, please,” he said, shaking his head. “You are the damn headline. You think I want you in the crowd when you damn near had the roof lifted off in Atlanta? Paul got plans for you. Big ones. Not just a guest slot no more.”

Kaia’s brows shot up. “Wait… huh?”

Jey leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. “I called him, remember? Back at the hotel. Told him if you was serious—and it looked like you were—he needed to quit playing and lock you in for real.”

Her eyes flicked over his face. “You did that?”

“I do talk sometimes, you know,” he said with a smirk. “Especially when it’s ‘bout somethin’ I actually care about.”

She blinked once. Twice. Then leaned back with a quiet exhale. “…Damn.”

Jey’s grin softened. “So nah, Carolina. You ain’t in the audience. You in the ring. With me. Tomorrow, next week, next city—if that’s what you want.”

She smiled slowly, still processing, and nodded. “Okay then. Bet.”

And after a pause, with a little tilt to her head:

“...You still got that foam finger, though? Might need it for the vibes.”

Jey laughed, head thrown back. “Man, shut up.”

Their knees bumped under the table between them.

And they kept flying, higher than ever.

Page Ninety-Three

Kaia narrowed her eyes at him from across the jet, leaning back in her seat like she was trying to do some complex algebra but the numbers had the audacity to smirk back.

“So wait,” she said, slow and skeptical, “does this mean one weekday I’m sweating my curls out running drills on a basketball court—then the next I’m all limbs gettin’ flung across a ring like a ragdoll in glitter boots, doing that wrasslin' stuff?”

She blinked at him, waiting.

Jey tilted his head, one brow cocked, clearly holding back a laugh. “I mean… yeah, basically. You the cross-training queen now.”

Kaia groaned and buried her face in her hoodie sleeve for dramatic effect. “Lord, my physical therapist gon’ file for early retirement. I already got two knees and a dream, now I’m tryna add suplexes into the mix?”

Jey just grinned.

But Kaia sat up straighter, lips curling as a wicked thought bloomed across her face. “Okay, but if that’s the arrangement,” she said, tapping her fingers together like she was making a deal with the devil, “then when it’s basketball season? You gotta come with me.”

Jey raised a brow. “Yeah?”

“Mhm.” She pointed at him. “And I want you on the sidelines. Either in a glittery latex crop top and some biker shorts, abs out, screaming my government name like a proud little groupie—”

He snorted, trying to hold it in.

“—or,” she went on, voice louder now over his laughter, “you could hop in, full jersey, and run some drills with my teammates while I chill on the bench and eat my sour patch kids when Coach ain’t looking.”

Jey was full-on laughing now, the deep kind that made his shoulders shake. “You want me in glitter and latex now, huh?”

“I think you’d look fabulous,” she deadpanned. “Give ‘em a little crop top action. Glitter on the beard. Bedazzle the braids. Serve.”

He rubbed a hand over his face, still laughing. “You are outta pocket, Carolina.”

She grinned and leaned forward, elbow on the armrest, chin in her hand. “Nah, I’m serious. We a team now, right? That means if I gotta get thrown over some top rope on a Tuesday, you gotta do suicides on the court with me on Thursday. Equal suffering. Equal snack breaks.”

Jey licked his lips, eyes dragging over her face like she was his new favorite problem. “Mmm… You really tryna see me in shorts that tight, huh?”

“I am a woman of culture,” she said, biting back a grin.

He shook his head, still smiling, then leaned in closer, voice low. “You wild, Kaia.”

“And you love it.”

His eyes didn’t leave hers. “Yeah,” he said, not even trying to play it cool this time. “I really do.”

And right then, in the air somewhere over Tennessee or wherever the hell they were—

She grinned back, wide and real.

They were officially in it now. Basketball. Wrestling. Glitter crop tops. Sour patch kids. Cities and flights and practices and punches.

And maybe something more.

Page Ninety-Four

Kaia side-eyed him with all the skepticism of a woman who had seen some things.

“But lemme just say this now,” she said, crossing one leg over the other in that casual, baddie-who-knows-her-worth kind of way, “if Paul only wants me there to be a personal kendo stick for your big ass cousin Nya?” She pointed two fingers at her own chest. “I’m out.”

Jey blinked, caught off guard. “Wait, what?”

Kaia leaned in like she was delivering bad news. “I’m serious. I’m five-foot-ten of slight squish and long legs, built like the damn car dealership inflatables. You know the ones.” She waved her arms like she was mid-wind tunnel.

He lost it—head tilted back, full chest laugh like she just told the funniest joke in the locker room.

“I’m not muscle, Jey!” she continued dramatically, tossing her curls. “I’m sinew and stubbornness. That woman would yeet me into another universe. My soul would leave my body. I’m not tryna go viral for getting ragdolled like a toddler’s Build-A-Bear.”

Jey wiped a tear from the corner of his eye, still laughing. “Car dealership inflatables though? You wild.”

Kaia raised a brow, unmoved. “Your cousin Nya pickin’ people up like they stuffed animals, and I’m over here with a Popeyes-based diet and hope in my heart. I’ll pass.”

“She’d love you,” Jey said, chuckling still but more genuine now. “But for real, ain’t nobody gonna toss you if I’m around. You on my team, Carolina.”

“Mmm.” She squinted at him like she wanted to believe it. “So I won’t end up being used like a folding chair during a bloodline family reunion?”

“Not unless you start talkin’ shit first,” he teased, eyes sparkling.

She huffed. “Damn. There goes half my personality.”

He laughed again, reaching over to nudge her knee with his. “You’ll be fine. Nya don’t eat folks. Just stares real hard.”

“Y’all say that like it’s reassuring!” she said, wide-eyed. “Her stare built like a death sentence and a warning all in one!”

Jey smirked, leaning back into his seat. “I’ll protect you.”

Kaia narrowed her eyes playfully. “That supposed to make me feel better?”

“It should.”

“...It kinda does.”

He smiled slow at that, like he was tucking the moment into his back pocket to hold onto later.

And Kaia, for all her dramatics and inflatable-arm comparisons, smiled too.

Because maybe—just maybe—she could hang with the wrasslin’ folks after all. As long as she had one big Samoan with a soft spot sitting next to her.

Page Ninety-Five

Kaia tilted her head, chewing thoughtfully on the end of a Sour Patch Kid like it held the secrets of the universe.

“But wait,” she said slowly, her brows pulling together. “Ain’t tag teams usually like… dude on dude? Or, you know, whatever?” She waved a hand. “No offense or nothin’, but I did my research—and I saw that stank face move thing your family member used to do back in the day.”

Jey blinked, confused. “Wait, what—?”

Kaia pointed a deadly serious finger at him, eyes wide. “If Jacob Fatu comes at me cheeks first, I’m not even playin’—I will cry, throw up, and leave the ring immediately. Not in that order.”

Jey wheezed.

“Kaia—”

“No, because you laughing, but I saw the footage! I was mindin’ my business, scrolling on YouTube, and boom—there go your cousin Rikishi sittin’ on somebody’s face like it was a folding chair at a cookout.”

“Yo,” Jey said, doubled over with laughter, “not the folding chair!”

“I’m just sayin’,” Kaia huffed, popping another sour candy into her mouth. “This ass is a threat. Not an opponent.”

Jey wiped his eyes, still grinning. “Relax, Carolina. It’s a mixed tag. Means it’s me vs Jacob, you vs whoever the women’s side is—ain’t nobody throwing booty at you in the ring.”

Kaia side-eyed him. “You sure? Because the way y’all move sometimes, I don’t know who gon’ tag who in or what direction y’all wrestling physics go in.”

“I promise,” Jey said, holding up a hand like he was swearing an oath. “No cheeks to the face. Not unless you ask for ‘em.”

She choked on her drink, coughing and laughing at the same time. “Oh you bold now!”

He leaned back, looking smug. “You like it.”

Kaia grinned, lips sticky with sugar and mischief. “...I really do.”

There was a beat of silence between them, full of inside jokes and too much eye contact. Kaia bit her lip. Jey reached for one of her Sour Patch Kids like it was second nature.

This was ridiculous. And fun. And a little dangerous.

Exactly how she liked it.

Page Ninety-Six

Jey tossed a Sour Patch Kid into his mouth like he was doing a confessional instead of dropping a bomb. He leaned back in the plush seat of the private jet, lips quirking up into that slow, smug grin that always spelled trouble.

“He’s not my cousin, by the way,” he said casually, voice all velvet and bass.

Kaia blinked. “Huh?”

Jey chewed. Swallowed. Let the silence hang just long enough before dropping it.

“That’s my dad you were talking about.”

Kaia froze mid-sip of her iced coffee.

“…I’m sorry.” She blinked again, brain buffering like a broken TikTok. “Your dad?”

“Mhmm.”

She slowly lowered her drink, staring at him like he just told her he invented Pop-Tarts.

“So you tryna tell me—” she pointed to his chest, then wildly in the air like the family tree was floating in front of her. “—that them cheeks I seen on my phone at two in the morning… was your father’s cheeks?”

Jey burst out laughing.

Kaia covered her mouth. “No. No. Ain’t no way I seen your dad throw his whole ass on somebody’s face before I even met him—no fucking way! That’s not even fair! That’s not normal!”

He doubled over, clutching his side, nearly spilling the last of his drink. “Girl—”

“That’s gon’ be a wild introduction,” she groaned, flopping back in her seat like she’d taken psychic damage. “‘Hi, nice to meet you, sir, big fan of your, uh, historic contributions to posterior-based violence.’”

“Stop,” Jey wheezed.

“No, cause I can’t unsee it!” she hollered, hands flailing. “I looked up the entire dynasty trying to do my lil research, and bam, I’m hit with Rikishi cheekage in 240p!”

“You did not just say cheekage—”

Kaia pointed a finger at him, wide-eyed. “And you were real casual about letting me find out like this! Sir, this is psychological warfare!”

He smirked, eyes twinkling. “You wanted to do your research.”

“I was tryna understand your ring psychology, not get acquainted with your family’s gluteal legacy!”

Jey just shook his head, still laughing, still watching her lose it like she was spiraling into cheek-related chaos.

Kaia sighed dramatically, rubbing her temples. “Just know when I do meet him, I’m gonna be thinking about that move and I will laugh. I’m not disrespectful, but I am a little unserious.”

Jey leaned close, bumping her shoulder with his. “You gon’ fit right in.”

She side-eyed him, grinning despite herself. “Mm. If somebody else moons me in the ring, I’m swinging.”

He held up both hands, solemn. “Fair.”

Page Ninety-Seven

Kaia leaned back in the seat, arms crossed over her chest as she gave him a long, narrow-eyed look—like she was putting pieces together mid–true crime documentary.

“Damn,” she muttered, chewing her bottom lip thoughtfully. “Y’all run deep in the ring, huh?”

Jey tilted his head, smiling just enough to make it cocky. “Something like that.”

“No, like…” She turned slightly in her seat to face him fully now, chin resting on her hand. “That Polynesian sauce goes crazy. I didn’t even realize it ’til now, but it’s giving… full-on divide and conquer.”

He laughed low in his chest, tongue clicking against his teeth. “Ain’t nobody tryna conquer nothin’, Kaia.”

She raised an eyebrow, looking far from convinced. “That’s what all conquerors say.”

“Girl.”

She pointed at him with the straw in her cup, dramatic as hell. “No, for real! You mean to tell me I’m just now realizing your entire family tree could probably headline WrestleMania without ever calling in a special guest?”

“I mean…” He shrugged one shoulder, humble in theory, cocky in energy. “You not wrong.”

She held up her hand, counting off fingers. “You, your brother, your other brother, your dad, your cousin who I thought was your cousin but now I gotta reevaluate everything. Trinity out here looking like Black Girl Magic personified. Jacob built like an ancient oak tree. Nya got muscles I ain’t even heard of.”

Jey was grinning now, stretching his legs out, arms draped comfortably as he watched her rant with an amused glint in his eye.

“And then y’all just—pop up everywhere! Tag teams, solo belts, interfering in other people’s drama like it’s a family reunion at Olive Garden!”

“That’s wild disrespectful,” he chuckled.

“It’s facts!” she shot back, laughing. “I’m on YouTube just watching match footage and y’all multiplying. Every single time someone goes down, here come a cousin, a brother, a spiritually adjacent second uncle twice removed flying in from the back like a Marvel crossover.”

Jey wheezed. “Spiritually adjacent is crazy.”

She sipped her drink, eyes never leaving his. “Don’t even act like it’s not true. The Bloodline got lore. Like franchise-level lore.”

Jey leaned over, close enough that his knee brushed hers, voice low and playful. “So what you saying, Carolina? You feelin’ recruited?”

Kaia gave him a long, sweet-smiling once-over. “Nah. I’m sayin’ I see what y’all doin’. Quietly putting your people everywhere, building an empire while looking fine as hell. It’s giving strategy. It’s giving Game of Thrones meets Waffle House.”

He blinked. “Waffle House?”

“Exactly. Unpredictable. Chaos. Maybe a lil syrup involved.”

He shook his head, laughing as he muttered, “Girl, you ain’t right.”

She grinned. “Never claimed to be.”

Page Ninety-Nine

Kaia’s mouth pulled into a dramatic pout, one hand on her hip and the other balancing her Starbucks drink like a mic.

“Wait a minute,” she said slowly, narrowing her eyes at him like he was hiding classified info. “If I’m your new tag team partner… does that mean Jimmy gets benched?”

Jey blinked, amused at her full body shift into fake outrage. “I mean, technically—”

“That’s booty!” she interrupted, clutching her chest like this was daytime soap opera betrayal. “Jimmy is a national treasure! That man gives grade-A hugs and I know he be gettin’ his feelings hurt easy!”

Jey laughed, sliding his hands into the pockets of his sweats as they walked through the private jet hangar toward the black SUV waiting at the curb. “He is kinda sensitive,” he admitted, grinning. “He act tough but you say the wrong thing about his braids or his favorite snacks and he spiral a lil’ bit.”

Kaia gasped. “Not the snack spiral. That’s so tragic.”

“He’ll be aight,” Jey chuckled. “He knew about the change. It’s not permanent, just for this stretch of the storyline. Paul thought it’d be dope to shake things up. Plus, you know…” He gave her a look. That look. The one that said: you came in and turned all this shit upside down.

Kaia smirked and sipped. “So I’m a story arc now. Look at me bein’ disruptive.”

“You’re somethin’, alright.”

“I still feel bad though!” she huffed, tossing her braids dramatically. “Jimmy got them cute lil' slow blinks like he always buffering, but his spirit is gentle. He be lookin’ at people like they’re about to offer him snacks and a coloring book.”

Jey cackled at that one, wheezing, “Kaia!”

She lifted her hands, defensive but still smiling. “I’m just sayin’! You ever seen him blink? He blink like Siri just gave him bad directions and he tryna recalculate!”

“You wild,” Jey muttered, shoulders shaking as he opened the SUV door for her.

Kaia paused dramatically before getting in. “If he asks, I didn’t bench him, okay? Tell him I voted for hugs and participation trophies.”

“I’ll let him know,” Jey promised, climbing in after her. “And maybe we’ll let him tag in when your squishy 5’10” ass gets folded in half by my little cousin again.”

“Boy—!” she pointed a warning finger, then flopped back in the seat, muttering into her straw, “They really threw me into the Samoan deep end with no floaties.”

And Jey, grinning like he had a whole lifeguard uniform in the trunk, just buckled his seatbelt and said, “Don’t worry. I got you.”

Page One Hundred

Kaia slid into the plush leather seat of the SUV like she owned it—legs crossed, shoulders relaxed, whole vibe screaming I been here before. Her Starbucks cup was tucked neatly in the cupholder as she pulled her phone out, fingers tapping the screen absently, a little grin playing on her lips.

“I like Trinity,” she said after a beat, glancing up at Jey with that same easy, honey-slicked tone she always used when she was feelin’ good. “She’s like the sister I never got to have—but like… the chaotic version that might throw hands in public and then talk to Jesus about it later.”

Jey snorted, already knowing where this was going. “She is a little crazy.”

“Lowkey crazy,” Kaia corrected, wagging a finger. “Like, she’ll hit you with a glow stick and then gaslight you about it.”

That had him laughing for real, hand on his chest. “Damn, you got her read down already?”

“I respect it,” she nodded, leaning back. “And that ‘proceed with caution’ thing she got goin’ on in the new fits? Has her cheeks sitting like they got direct sponsorship. Them tights not tight—they disciplinary.”

Jey shook his head, laughing into his palm. “You stupid.”

Kaia leaned over, wide-eyed. “You think Paul got something cheeked up for me in wardrobe? Like… something that says ‘don’t let the hoop shorts fool you, I got bounce back there’?”

He choked.

“I could totally go for that mommy energy Rhea Ripley got,” she continued like she wasn’t being a menace. “All black, leather, maybe a chain or two. Or that swole goddess vibe Jade be on. Oof. She be walkin’ like the final boss of a protein shake.”

Jey groaned, rubbing the bridge of his nose like he was trying to fight off the image. “You tryna get me fired already.”

Kaia laughed, smug. “I’m just sayin’! You already got me ringside, might as well let me be a lil’ dangerous and cheeks adjacent.”

“You already dangerous, Carolina,” he said low, eyes dragging over her without subtlety.

That grin she gave him? Wicked. “Oh I know. I’m just tryna see if WWE got a health hazard bonus for it.”

She leaned back, biting her straw, a glint in her eye like she dared the company to make her their next problem. And Jey? Jey just sat there, staring at her like he was the problem she’d been waitin’ on.

Page One Hundred-One

Kaia tilted her head, resting her cheek on her knuckles as the SUV rolled through the city streets—her curls bouncing with the hum of the wheels beneath them, that devilish little grin creeping slow over her glossed lips.

“Oooh,” she drawled, looking over at Jey like she was about to say something just unholy. “What if they kick it old school and throw me in one of them disrespectful-ass fits—you know, back when women’s matches were basically strip shows with elbow drops?”

Jey damn near choked on his water, coughing into his fist. “Kaia.”

She cackled, shameless. “You know exactly what I’m talkin’ about! Like that one era where the fit was just glitter, dental floss, and the occasional malfunction—talkin’ bout some ‘bra and panties match’ type beat.”

He ran a hand over his face, groaning, “Girl—please—”

“No no,” she grinned wider, eyes sparkling, “imagine me pullin’ up to the ring in six inches of fabric and vibes—wig snatched back, hoop earrings locked in, just out there lookin’ like I fight crime and also got banned from prom.”

Jey let out a strangled laugh, “You tryna give the production crew a heart attack?”

“I’m tryna give ratings, baby,” she said with a wink. “That nostalgia sells.”

He shook his head, smirking, “You tryna fight or start a revolution?”

Kaia turned fully toward him now, one leg folded beneath her as she leaned into his space. “Why not both?” she said, her voice teasing and low. “Start off in a glittery disrespectful fit, then yeet somebody into the fourth row and hit my lil’ special K pose while the crowd goes feral.”

“…You dangerous,” Jey murmured, eyes dragging from her mouth to her thighs like she wasn’t currently describing chaos in stilettos.

“Mmhm,” she said sweetly, leaning back again. “And if they do try and put me in one of them lace thong situations with no purpose? Just know I’m slapping the first man that tries to body slam me.”

She paused, fake thoughtful. “Unless it’s you. I might let you get away with that.”

Jey stared for a second, deadpan, jaw clenched like he was trying very hard to stay composed.

“Girl, you gon’ get me jumped by HR,” he muttered.

Kaia just laughed, tossing her curls back, eyes dancing. “Tell them it’s for morale. And marketing.”

And just like that—he was cooked all over again.

Page One Hundred-Two

Kaia shrugged, like she hadn’t just set the entire SUV on spiritual fire with her last comment.

“It’s okay,” she said breezily, stretching her arms overhead with a dramatic yawn that made the hem of her cropped hoodie lift just enough to flash a tease of skin. “I can pull off the yeetification fits. Maybe they can make me some Yeet pasties or somethin’.”

Jey’s soul momentarily left his body.

“…Kaia.”

She blinked at him, all mock innocence and baby-voiced sweet. “What? Imagine it—purple rhinestones, lil' glittery ‘YEET’ across each one. Functional and festive.”

“You tryna get banned from cable,” he said, rubbing the bridge of his nose, visibly trying to collect himself while his imagination clearly ran laps behind his eyes.

Kaia grinned, satisfied. “Nah. I’m tryna expand your brand.”

“My brand don’t include nipples,” he deadpanned.

“Not yet,” she sang, winking. “But with the right creative direction and a lil’ sponsorship from Savage X Fenty—who knows?”

Jey dragged his palm down his face, his voice muffled as he muttered, “I need a helmet. And prayer. Maybe a lawyer.”

Kaia was fully giggling now, bent over her own knees with laughter. “C’mon now, Big Samoa, if I gotta body slam your cousins in a cheeked-up spandex romper, I deserve a little razzle dazzle.”

“You don’t need pasties for razzle dazzle,” he grumbled, but his mouth was twitching like he couldn’t help but smile.

“You right,” she said, giving him a sideways glance full of teeth and trouble. “I am the razzle dazzle.”

Jey looked over at her like she was the sun at high noon. Like she was dangerous and golden and irresistible.

“You somethin’, alright,” he murmured, eyes trailing down the length of her again like he’d already committed her to memory.

Kaia just smiled smug. “I know.”

And then she kicked her Jordans up onto the seat in front of her and popped a Sour Patch Kid in her mouth like she hadn’t just threatened to revolutionize women’s wrestling with nothing but confidence and body glitter.

Page One Hundred-Three

The Chicago event space buzzed with that electric backstage energy—the hum of crew chatter, wrestlers stretching and prepping, managers flipping through schedules. The air was cool but inside, the heat was rising fast.

Kaia stepped in like she owned the joint. No hesitation, no nerves—just that confident swag of hers. She snagged a bottle of water from the catering table, took a long, deliberate sip, and then started waving her hand like she was greeting her whole squad on a Sunday cookout.

“Hey Michael Cole! Hey Sami! Hey R-Truth! Hey Rhea! Hey Trinity! Hey Sefa! Hey Jimmy! Hey Jacob!” Her voice rang out clear, playful, and genuine as she made her way through the backstage chaos.

Heads turned. Eyebrows lifted. Murmurs floated, like, wait, she knows all their names? The WWE crew weren’t used to that kind of instant familiarity from someone new, especially a guest tag partner fresh off the WNBA courts.

She didn’t miss a beat.

“Hey Paul! Hey Otis! Hey Rey! Hey Dominic! Hey Nya! Hey Adam and Nick! Hey Liv! Hey Gunther! Hey Raquelle and Damien! Hey Penta! Hey Sarah, the lighting guru! Hey Fin and JD! Hey iyyooooo!” She threw in a playful imitation of one of the women’s signature moves, eyes sparkling with mischief, lips curling into that effortless grin that had everyone feeling like they were in on a fun secret.

Michael Cole blinked, exchanging a surprised look with Sami and R-Truth, who was shaking his head with a chuckle. “She remembered all our names,” Sami muttered, impressed. “And spoke to everyone like she been part of the crew for years.”

Rhea grinned from ear to ear, nudging Trinity, whispering, “Girl, she’s low-key our new hype woman.”

Trinity nodded, barely able to hide her smile. “And she’s already waving like she owns the place. I’m here for it.”

Sefa and Jimmy exchanged amused looks, smirking as Kaia’s voice carried over the backstage. Jacob gave a thumbs-up from a distance, clearly impressed.

Even the event staff paused, whispering, “Who’s that? She’s got the whole room buzzing.”

Kaia took another long pull from her water, her gaze drifting to Jey, who stood just a few steps behind her, arms crossed, the faintest grin tugging at his lips. The pride in his eyes was unmistakable—the way he watched her made it clear she wasn’t just a tag partner; she was his secret weapon.

With a satisfied sigh, Kaia spun away, casually heading back toward the catering table like she was just here to hydrate. But everyone knew better. She was already staking her claim, owning the moment, and setting the tone for what was about to go down.

And trust—Chicago wasn’t ready.

Page One Hundred-Four

As Kaia settled into the rhythm of the backstage scene, Jey found himself suddenly surrounded.

Michael Cole was the first to slide up, clapping a hand on his shoulder like they’d known each other for years. “Yo, Uso, I didn’t expect your girl to roll back with you like that. She’s fire.”

Sami and R-Truth flanked him, nodding in agreement.

Sami grinned wide, eyes bright. “Man, that energy? That vibe? We all need a little of that backstage.”

R-Truth laughed, “She’s got that ‘whole squad’ glow-up. You better keep her close, Jey.”

Jey just chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck, but you could tell he was proud—and a little surprised—how easy she was fitting in.

Trinity swooped in next, leaning in with a sly smile, “For real though, Jey. I didn’t think she was gonna come back for the next shows. We love having her around.”

“Right?” Jimmy piped up, grinning. “She’s a whole vibe. Like she’s been in this world longer than some of us.”

Even Sefa nodded, arms crossed, eyes gleaming. “And that’s exactly why she’s got my respect. That energy? It’s contagious.”

Jey’s grin got wider, watching Kaia from across the room, laughing with Raquelle about something wild she just said.

“Man, I lucked up,” Jey said low, “ain’t never seen someone slide into this crazy world so easy.”

Michael Cole raised a brow. “Bro, that’s your lane now. You two gonna shake things up—on and off the ring.”

Jey shrugged, eyes locked on Kaia, who was now showing off some wild dance move that had half the crew cracking up.

“Yup,” Jey said with a slow smile, “I think this just got a whole lot more interesting.”

Page One Hundred Five

Trinity, Jey, Jimmy, and Sefa were pacing the hall like detectives on a missing person case.

Jimmy huffed, “Yo, where the hell Kaia at? She ghosting us or what?”

Trinity rolled her eyes, “Girl probably wandered into Narnia or got stuck in a ring somewhere.”

Jey checked his phone again, “She ain’t answering. We ‘bout to send a search party.”

They turned the corner and heard booming laughter echoing down the hall.

Peeking in, they caught a sight that had all of them freezing:

Kaia, decked out like a pint-sized Jade—well, as mini as 5’10 can get—was trying to hoist Jade up from behind, arms wrapped around Jade’s waist like she was about to lift a damn rhino.

Jade was laughing so hard she almost dropped her, yelling, “Girl, lift with your legs, not your back! What you doing, trying to wrestle a grizzly?”

Kaia groaned, cheeks flushed red, voice strained, “My legs done logged off for the day. If I pull any harder, I’m either throwing out my back or I’m about to cut one that’ll clear the whole arena.”

Sefa burst out laughing, “Bruh, that’s some real-world wrestling right there.”

Jimmy doubled over, “Girl, you about to wrestle Jade or audition for the next Silent But Deadly?”

Trinity shook her head, smirking, “And here I thought Kaia was just gonna show up and flex. Nah, she’s out here providing comedic relief.”

Jey smirked, “That’s our girl—always making moves… just not always the right ones.”

Kaia threw her hands up and huffed, “Okay, okay, I admit it—I’m weak sauce today. But just wait, next time I’m lifting you like you’re a feather.”

Jade winked, “Keep talking, and I’m dropping you for real next time.”

They all cracked up, the room buzzing with that wild, goofy energy only Kaia could bring to the squad.

Page One Hundred Six

Kaia folded her arms, chest puffed out like she was about to drop a motivational speech. “Don’t even sweat it,” she said with that signature confident grin. “Give me two days and half a bag of sour patch, and I’m gonna be ripped like Jade. They’ll be calling me Mini Storm.”

She struck a pose—half flex, half sassy, with one hip popped—making everyone crack up.

“After that,” she continued, eyes gleaming, “I’m moving moves like a Mini Trinity. Trust me, I could totally pull off that cushion tape look, like I’m some kind of wrestling ninja with style.”

Jade snorted, “Girl, you’re already a whole vibe. Don’t even need the tape.”

Trinity laughed, crossing her arms, “Mini Storm? Mini Trinity? Sounds like the start of a tag team I wanna see.”

Jimmy grinned, “The Snack Pack just leveled up. Somebody get the merch ready.”

Sefa nodded, “No cap, Kaia bringing the heat—and the jokes.”

Kaia winked, “Watch out world, the mini storm’s comin’, and she’s packing all the sugar and spice.”

Page One Hundred Seven

Kaia threw her hands up like she was calling a truce in a battlefield. “Please, no fighting,” she said, flashing that mischievous grin. “I know I’m a hot commodity for a wrasslin’ partner, but y’all— I’m already accounted for.”

She stepped right up to Jey, looping her arm through his like they owned the whole damn room. Her eyes sparkled with that playful fire only she had. “It’s yeet or be yeeted, ain’t that right, partner?”

Jey smirked, looking down at her with that slow, confident nod. “Yeet it is, ma. You already know.”

The crew around them chuckled and nudged each other, eyes lighting up like they were witnessing the start of a legendary duo. Trinity elbowed Jimmy, whispering, “They’re totally gonna break the internet.”

Jimmy just shook his head with a smile, “Man, they got that energy. Can’t wait.”

Page One Hundred Eight

The gym was alive with the sounds of grunts, the smack of bodies hitting mats, and the sharp bark of coaches calling out corrections. Kaia wiped the slick of sweat from her brow, cheeks flushed, but her eyes sparkled with that unmistakable “this is wild but fun” kind of energy. She stretched her legs out and eyed Jey with a sly grin.

“How y’all stay so bendy in here? I got about a move and a half in me and I need a nap,” she joked, shaking her head like she couldn’t believe the crazy flexibility these wrasslers had.

Jey smirked, stepping forward like he was about to drop some secret knowledge. “It’s all about repetition, baby. Watch this.”

He demonstrated a slick tag-team move—sliding behind her, one hand steady on her waist, guiding her into a perfectly timed spin that ended with her flipping over his shoulder and landing on her feet. Kaia squealed mid-spin, laughter bubbling out as she hit the landing, breath catching. “Yo! Okay, that was lowkey fire.”

Jey chuckled deep and nodded. “See? Now you try it.”

Kaia gave him a mock serious look. “Try it? Boy, you just flipped me like a pancake! You gonna catch me or nah?”

He held his arms out, a slow grin spreading. “I got you, Carolina. Just trust the process.”

She hopped into position, laughing as Jey walked her through each step—where to plant her feet, how to tuck, when to push off. It was a wild mix of focus and fun, her competitive streak shining as she practiced the moves over and over, gradually getting smoother.

On the opposite side of the ring, Sefa and Nya were sparring playfully, throwing quick jabs and teasing each other between moves. Nya’s grin was fierce but infectious, and Sefa laughed, shaking his head at her boldness. Kaia caught their eyes, waved, and called out, “Y’all better not be slacking over there! I’m trying to get mini-storm ready for this tag team!”

Jey glanced over and smirked, “That’s your competition, ma. Gotta bring your A-game.”

Kaia puffed out her chest playfully. “Pfft, they ain’t ready for this hurricane.”

The vibe was loose but electric — sweaty bodies, roaring laughter, and that charged feeling of a team gearing up for something huge. Jey caught her eye and nodded, “We gonna wreck ‘em out here. Just gotta keep moving, keep grinding.”

Kaia laughed, feeling alive and hyped, the kind of adrenaline rush that only comes from doing something new and wild with someone you vibe with. “Aight, coach, let’s get this show on the road.”

And with that, she dove back in, every move a mix of playful teasing and pure fire, proving that the rookie with the hoops background could hold her own in the ring—and then some.

Page One Hundred Ten

The ring was electric with anticipation. Kaia locked eyes with Nya, who was circling her like a hawk, ready to strike. But Kaia’s grin was fierce — that “watch this” look that made the crowd hold their breath.

She climbed the turnbuckle with fluid grace, her bare feet gripping the canvas like she owned it. The crowd’s roar softened into a suspenseful hush. Jey’s eyes widened from the corner as he sensed what was coming but couldn’t quite believe it.

Kaia took a breath, the arena lights shimmering off her glistening skin, and then she launched herself off the top rope like a comet — twisting mid-air in a perfect shooting star press.

Time seemed to slow.

Her body arched, arms stretched wide, hair trailing like a flame behind her, eyes locked on the target.

She landed square on Nya’s chest with flawless precision.

The impact sent Nya sprawling to the mat, the crowd erupting into screams and cheers that shook the rafters.

Jey whooped from the corner, hands in the air, his grin impossibly wide — “That’s my partner! That’s the Yeet Storm!”

Kaia rolled off Nya, breath heavy but victorious, flashing that signature mischievous smirk that said, Bet you didn’t see that coming.

The crowd was losing it, chanting her name, buzzing with the undeniable thrill of a star born in the squared circle.

Jey slid into the ring, pulling Kaia into a quick, celebratory high-five, their chemistry undeniable — electricity crackling between them, the match now not just a fight, but a statement.

“Damn, Special K,” Jey laughed, shaking his head, “you just rewrote the playbook.”

Page One Hundred Eleven

The bell rang and the arena erupted like a live wire—Kaia and Jey’s victory had the crowd buzzing louder than a summer storm. Kaia’s laugh was a bright spark in the chaos, ringing clear and fearless as she bounced on the balls of her feet, still riding the wave of adrenaline that came with pulling off that insane win.

Jey caught her eye and grinned—big, unapologetic, that cocky kind of smile that only he could rock—and before she could even blink, she was suddenly hoisted up onto his broad shoulders like a queen claiming her throne. The crowd lost it.

“Yeet storm riding high!” Jey shouted, steady and proud, hands firm on her thighs as Kaia threw her arms up, waving and grinning like she’d just won the world. Her curls caught the arena lights, bouncing as she soaked in every cheer, every chant of her name. “Kaia! Jey! Kaia! Jey!” echoed off the walls, a wild electric hum that wrapped around them both.

They circled the ring one more time, the perfect tag team—dynamic, unstoppable, and dripping with that undeniable chemistry that had the internet and crowd obsessing. Kaia leaned forward, shouting playful jabs at the fans, blowing kisses and laughing as if the whole night was just a game they were winning with style.

Backstage, the noise was muffled but the tension was thick. Paul Levesque stood waiting just beyond the curtain, arms crossed, watching with eyes that missed nothing. There was a calm control to him, but also a flicker of something else—approval? Calculation? Kaia and Jey didn’t notice him at first, caught up in their victory high.

But the moment they stepped off the stage, Paul was there—blocking the way, authoritative but not unkind.

“Jey. Kaia. Good match,” Paul started, voice smooth but carrying weight. “I’ve been watching you both—this chemistry? It’s real. There’s something here, more than just the ring. I want to talk about what that means for the future.”

Jey’s grin tightened just a bit, eyebrows raising. Kaia caught the shift, stepping a little closer, still catching her breath but all ears.

Paul continued, “You’re both stars in your own right. Together? You could change the game.”

Kaia smirked, exchanging a quick look with Jey, whose eyes sparkled with a mix of pride and challenge.

“Looks like the real fun’s just getting started,” she said, voice low and playful, but the undercurrent was serious—they knew this moment was bigger than just one win.

Paul nodded, a slow smile curling on his lips. “Exactly. Let’s make sure the world sees it.”

And just like that, backstage shifted from after-party to new beginning, the weight of what was coming settling over them like electricity in the air.

Page One Hundred and Twelve

Kaia was still perched pretty on Jey’s shoulders as they strolled down the back hallway like they hadn’t just lit the whole damn arena on fire.

She had one hand casually resting in his curls—fingertips drumming an aimless rhythm while she sipped from a water bottle with the other, her legs draped relaxed over his chest like she’d been up there a hundred times before. Her face was flushed and glowing, still lit up with the aftershock of the win. Sweat kissed her collarbones. The crowd’s roar still echoed somewhere in her ears.

Jey, for his part, was walking like a man on a mission. Easy, confident stride. Big hands wrapped around the back of her thighs to steady her, like she weighed nothing. Like carrying a full-grown WNBA star after a match wasn’t even registering as extra cardio.

“You sure you okay up there?” he asked, voice a low rumble as they neared the catering area.

Kaia blinked down at him, breath still a little shallow. “Why you sound winded, Big Samoa? I thought carrying thick women was in your bloodline.”

He huffed out a short laugh, lips twitching. “Ain’t nobody say you wasn’t thick. Just makin’ sure you ain’t bout to slide off or somethin’.”

She leaned forward with a smirk, elbow resting on top of his head now, playing with one of the small braids in his curls. “Please. I’m gripped up tighter than TSA. You strong as hell, I’m just along for the view.”

Jey grinned under her weight, hand sliding a little higher on her thigh for balance—or maybe not balance. “Glad you trust me. ‘Cause we movin’ like this the rest of the night.”

“You mean that? You just gon’ big Samoan parade me through catering like I’m a trophy?” she teased.

He dipped one shoulder like a shrug. “Did you not just hit a shooting star press on Nya damn Jax, Carolina? You earned that shoulder ride.”

She snorted. “Don’t hype me up—I’ll start requesting a travel throne. A lil bejeweled seat y’all can carry me in to the next show.”

He chuckled as they turned the corner into catering, heads turning instantly as the sight of 6’2 Jey Uso strolling in like nothing—with 5’10 Kaia Fields balanced perfectly on his shoulders—caught everyone by surprise.

Otis choked on his protein shake. Liv nearly dropped her wrap. Rey Mysterio did a visible double take. Even Rhea raised her brows and muttered something to Trinity, who looked smug as hell like she’d known all along.

“She really just...up there?” someone whispered.

“She look comfy,” someone else added.

Jey just kept walking.

Kaia waved her water bottle like a pageant queen, grinning at the startled faces around the room. “Hi friends! Just me and my personal Lyft driver!”

Jey rolled his eyes. “You lucky you cute.”

“And you lucky I let you get away with stealing my drumstick last week.”

“Still think about that drumstick…”

“And you still ain’t got your own.”

Laughter echoed around them, but there was a current in the air that ran deeper. One that smelled like sweat and new chemistry and something building slow and steady, unspoken but loud.

Everyone could feel it—this wasn’t just some tag team promo push.

This? This had legs.

And Kaia, ever the chaos goddess, just raised her water bottle again, leaned down low enough to whisper in Jey’s ear with a grin:

“So what’s for dessert, Wrestleboy?”

And Jey—bless him—just kept walking like he wasn’t three seconds from flipping the catering table.

Page 114

Kaia had just pulled her bonnet over her curls, tugging it down with sleepy fingers, when she heard the knock. One quick rap—sharp, confident—then two softer ones, like whoever it was didn’t want to wake the whole damn floor.

She blinked, confused for half a second. Most of the crew had already retreated for the night. It was creeping past midnight, and she'd been damn near dozing off during the third rerun of Martin playing low on the hotel TV.

Bare legs padded quietly across the carpet as she adjusted the oversized T-shirt slipping off one shoulder—it was his, not that she’d say it aloud. The fabric still smelled like his cologne and whatever hotel-brand detergent he used, and it hung low on her thighs like a dress. She glanced through the peephole and paused.

Then opened the door.

“...Oh hey, Big Samoa,” she said, voice soft with a smile as she leaned her shoulder against the frame. “You lost, partner?”

Jey stood there with a look on his face she couldn’t quite place—soft around the eyes, but quiet in the mouth. Hands in the pockets of his joggers. Hoodie zipped up, collar tugged a little high like he’d left his room in a hurry. His braids were freshly twisted back, face dewy from a recent shower. He looked like trouble and temptation and something in between.

“Nah,” he said, a little low, scratching the back of his neck. “I was just… thinkin’. Couldn’t sleep.”

She raised a brow, amused. “And you thought, ‘lemme go knock on Kaia’s door like it’s a sleepover and we gon’ braid hair and gossip about the main event’?”

He smiled, a little lopsided, stepping closer just enough that she could feel the warmth rolling off him in waves. “Somethin’ like that. Just… wanted to see you.”

Kaia’s smirk twitched, caught off guard by the honesty. Her sleep shirt shifted slightly as she crossed her arms. “Oh, you soft soft tonight, huh?”

Jey chuckled and leaned his shoulder against the frame opposite hers. Their bodies mirrored each other like muscle memory. “I might be,” he murmured. “You gon’ let me in or make me plead my case out in this hallway?”

She paused, playful but still watching him close. Her hand lingered on the doorframe. “You pack snacks?”

He grinned. “I brought vibes.”

Kaia rolled her eyes but stepped back, motioning him in with two fingers. “Alright, come in then, Mr. Vibes.”

He slid past her slow, close enough to brush her arm, and she shut the door with a quiet click. The room was warm, soft-lit by the bedside lamp, TV murmuring something in the background about reruns and sitcom love. Jey looked around once, then dropped onto the edge of her bed like it was familiar territory.

Kaia padded over and sat beside him, knees touching. “You alright?” she asked eventually, more serious now. “You look like you got thoughts weighing down your curls.”

Jey glanced over, studying her face for a beat before answering. “Just been thinkin’ about a lot. This whole tag team thing. The crowd. Us.”

“Us?”

He nodded slowly. “Yeah. You and me. We good together. In the ring. Outta it too.”

Her heart did a little stutter, but her voice stayed light. “You tryna say we got chemistry, Wrestleboy?”

“Nah,” he murmured, eyes dipping to her lips. “I’m sayin’ we might’ve started as partners, but now it’s feelin’ like something real. Like… I don’t really wanna go to sleep if I’m not hearin’ your voice first.”

Kaia blinked once, lips parting on instinct, warmth crawling from her chest all the way up her cheeks.

“Oh,” she said finally, voice caught in her throat.

Jey leaned forward just a little, fingers brushing her knee where the shirt had ridden up. “That okay?”

She smiled slow, soft, sleepy.

“Yeah,” she whispered. “That’s okay.”

And for a while, they didn’t need to say anything else.

Page 115

Kaia gave him a look—head tilted, mouth twitching at the corners, one perfectly arched brow lifted like she could read every single layered thought behind his smooth words. Her bare leg bounced just slightly where it brushed against his joggers, the oversized shirt riding up a little more. She was comfy, cute, and very much in her element.

“That’s a pretty dramatic way of saying you wanna sleep with me for tonight,” she said, eyes narrowed in amused suspicion.

Jey grinned, slow and shameless, leaning back on his palms like he had nothing to hide. “I ain’t sayin’ it like that.”

Kaia side-eyed him, unconvinced. “Mhm. You showed up at my door after midnight with moisturized skin and feelings, and now you on my bed talkin’ ‘bout us like this a Nicholas Sparks movie.”

He laughed low in his chest, his gold chain catching a glint of the warm lamplight. “Damn, Kaia. Can’t a man miss your energy without catchin’ a cross-examination?”

“You can,” she said sweetly, “but let’s not act like I don’t know what kinda vibes you brought. You think I didn’t clock that lil hoodie/jogger combo? You’re tryin’ to be cozy and fine. That’s calculated behavior.”

Jey held up his hands, still smiling. “Alright, alright. You got me. Maybe I was hopin’ you’d let me stay.”

Kaia hummed, not answering right away. She reached across the bed, grabbed the remote, and turned the TV volume down to a whisper. When she looked back, her expression had softened just enough to let the playfulness give way to something more grounded.

“You know I don’t do this often, right?” she said, her voice quiet now. “Like… letting somebody stay. Especially after the ‘wrestle me til I can’t see straight’ part.”

Jey’s grin faded into something more sincere. He reached for her hand, warm and deliberate, fingers brushing hers before lacing them together.

“I know. That’s why I’m not just stayin’ to sleep with you,” he said, eyes locked on hers. “I’m stayin’ to sleep next to you.”

Kaia sucked her teeth but her lips curved up anyway. “God, you smooth as hell.”

“I try,” he said, tugging her hand gently. “C’mere.”

She climbed up, tucking in beside him with a little huff, her head fitting against his chest like it belonged there. The two of them settled into the pillows, tangled limbs and soft exhale between them. No heavy tension, no post-match chaos. Just warmth. Just presence.

Kaia mumbled into his shoulder, “I’m only lettin’ you stay because I’m too tired to kick you out.”

Jey kissed her curls. “Uh huh. Keep tellin’ yourself that.”

She yawned, pulling the covers up over both of them. “Don’t snore, Big Samoa.”

“No promises.”

And in the quiet that followed, sleep pulled them down slow and easy.

Page 116

Sunlight slid through the hotel curtains like it knew how to mind its business—soft, golden, warm without being rude about it. Somewhere far off, the sound of the city was waking up too, a low hum of horns and buses and Chicago getting back to work.

But inside this hotel room, inside this bed, everything was still.

Jey blinked slowly, breath heavy and even, chest rising under the soft weight curled into him. He hadn't meant to sleep this deep, this well. Normally, his sleep was broken—too light, too aware, too many years of travel and matches and tension folded into his spine. He was used to waking up every few hours like his body didn’t trust rest.

But this time?

This time he hadn’t even noticed sleep dragging him under. Just remembered Kaia's body pressing warm against his, her mouth moving around a smartass quip one minute—and then nothing. Just her, curled up small and perfect against his side, one leg hitched over his thigh, her cheek against his bare shoulder. Soft breaths. Deep sleep.

And Jey felt everything.

His hand was still resting on the small of her back, fingertips just brushing the curve where her shirt had ridden up in the night. Her skin was warm. Her curls were soft against his jaw. She was pressed so close it was like her heartbeat was syncing with his.

And that’s when it hit him.

This was the only way he ever wanted to sleep again.

The thought was quiet but immediate. No drama. No fanfare. Just truth. The kind that settles in your bones before your brain can argue with it.

She shifted slightly, one hand sliding up his chest in her sleep, lips parting as she tucked herself even closer with a little sleepy sigh.

Damn.

He closed his eyes again, breathing her in. Fruity shampoo. Sleep-warm skin. A whisper of that perfume she always wore that made him feel like summer and sin at the same time.

It was more than the sex. Way more. It was the way she moved around him like she wasn’t scared. The way she talked to him like he was just a person—not a legacy, not a name, not a gimmick. It was how she made everything fun, even the chaos, even the violence. The way she looked at him like he mattered.

He hadn't even known he was missing that until she showed up with her messy curls, her long legs, her mouth slick with sarcasm and sour patch residue, and took up space in his life like she belonged there.

And now?

Now she was asleep in his arms and Jey Fatu had no idea what the hell he was supposed to do next, because letting her gowasn’t on the list anymore.

He pressed a kiss to her temple, barely touching, afraid to wake her.

“I’m in trouble,” he whispered, smiling against her skin.

Kaia didn’t wake—but she hummed low in her throat, like she felt it anyway, her hand sliding up to cup his neck like she was anchoring him in her dreams too.

And Jey lay there with his eyes open, heart thudding slow and steady like a drum.

Yeah.

He was in deep.

Page 117

Kaia stirred with a soft groan, stretching one leg out under the sheets, her toes curling instinctively against the warmth next to her. Her nose wrinkled at the light sneaking through the blinds—rude. But the bed? The bed was giving. Extra soft. And—

Warm?

She blinked a few times, vision blurry with sleep. Her cheek was pressed against something solid… definitely not a pillow. Something warm, breathing, firm.

She tilted her head up, squinting blearily until her eyes adjusted—and nearly blinked again in disbelief.

Jey.

Still there.

Still asleep—or halfway, one eye barely cracked open like he could sense her waking up even in his dreams.

Kaia didn’t move right away. Just… looked at him. At the slight smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth like her waking up had him entertained. His chain was slightly twisted, one side sliding low against his chest. His hair was tousled from sleep, lips parted just a bit, and her leg was still thrown haphazardly across his lap like she’d claimed the whole man in her sleep.

She tilted her head, blinking again like she needed confirmation.

“…Morning, Big Samoa,” she finally said, her voice thick with sleep and rasp. “You stayed.”

His other eye opened, slow and lazy, and he blinked at her like she was the dream.

“I did.”

Kaia grinned and tucked her chin on his chest, body still wrapped around him like a human octopus. “You’re comfy by the way,” she mumbled. “Like a muscular marshmallow. Or a warm brick. I can’t decide.”

He huffed a sleepy laugh, deep and scratchy, arm flexing where it rested low on her waist. “You callin’ me squishy?”

“I’m callin’ you effective,” she said with a yawn. “Supportive. Solid. Ten outta ten. Would snuggle again.”

He rolled his eyes fondly and tucked a curl behind her ear, fingers trailing down her jaw. “You talk even in the morning, huh?”

“I’m Southern. It’s a condition.” She gave a little shrug and pressed a kiss to his collarbone, just because it was there. “Besides, I had to make sure you weren’t a sleep paralysis demon or a fever dream.”

“Baby, I’m realer than your NBA stats,” he rumbled, grinning.

She narrowed her eyes playfully. “Don’t quote my stats to me like that’s sexy.”

He kissed the top of her head. “Worked, didn’t it?”

Kaia hummed, her smile crooked as she let her eyes drift shut again for just a second. It felt good—too good—waking up like this. Wrapped up in him, wrapped up in something that didn’t have a name yet but sure as hell had weight. It hit different. Like safety and tension all at once.

“You hungry?” he asked, fingers tracing the curve of her back.

“Mmm… in general, or for food?”

Jey laughed, that same deep belly laugh she was starting to crave. “Both, but let’s start with breakfast before you say something filthy.”

She stretched dramatically, still tangled around him. “Only if you’re making waffles, Big Samoa.”

He shifted like he was about to get up—and she immediately tightened her grip. “Hold up. Gimme five more minutes of marshmallow cuddles.”

Jey leaned down, brushing his lips over hers in a soft, slow kiss that tasted like morning and mischief. “You got four,” he murmured.

Kaia sighed, melting right back into his chest like she lived there. “Rude,” she whispered, but she was smiling. “Fine. Four.”

Page 118

The hotel room smelled like syrup and victory.

Kaia sat cross-legged on the edge of the bed, a hotel plate of waffles balanced in her lap—stacked three high, golden brown, fluffy with butter melting like a crown. She was in his hoodie now, legs bare, curls still a little wild from sleep and sin. And she was eating them slow, like each bite was a religious experience.

Jey was leaning against the counter near the window, watching her with a grin and sipping on hotel coffee that barely qualified as drinkable. He looked like the cat that caught the canary, shirtless and smug, chain still on like it had seen the whole movie and was now waiting for the sequel.

Kaia moaned dramatically around a bite of waffle, closing her eyes. “Big Samoa, you done made me breakfast and reorganized my spine. What’s next, a mortgage?”

He smirked. “Don’t tempt me. I’ll put you on the deed and in the ring.”

But then her phone buzzed. And buzzed again.

And again.

Kaia groaned louder this time—like something physically pained her—and slowly reached for it. She glanced down once and her face scrunched immediately like she'd bitten a lemon.

“What?” Jey asked, raising a brow.

She didn’t respond. Instead, with the flair of a woman mourning her peace, she thunked her forehead directly to the table.

Hard.

“Bang.”

Then she just stayed there, face down like life had finally won.

Jey blinked. “Uh… Carolina?”

Kaia lifted her hand wordlessly and shoved her phone in his direction, forehead still pressed dramatically to the table like a woman defeated. He grabbed it with a confused squint and read the notification lighting up her screen.

An itinerary. A long one.

At the top, in bold cheerful font, perched above a giant-ass photo of an actual tree, it read:

FIELDS FAMILY REUNION: JULY 19th - 21st — OAK TREE PARK, WINSTON-SALEM NC 🌳💛

Jey choked on his coffee.

Kaia mumbled into the tabletop, “I forgot the family reunion was this weekend.”

He blinked again, holding back a laugh. “And that’s a bad thing?”

She sat up finally, eyes wide with real fear. “You don’t understand. This ain’t just a cookout, this is the Fields Event.Everybody named cousin gon’ be there. Like hundreds. Of cousins. And if they smell a man on me they’re gonna bring out the gospel playlists, baby pictures, and pitchforks in that order.”

Jey couldn’t stop the grin that split his face. “You got a pitchfork auntie?”

“Yes!” she cried. “Her name is Belinda and she will pray over your loins!”

He laughed so hard he nearly dropped the phone.

Kaia flopped backward onto the bed with another dramatic sigh. “And they gon’ ask about my job and if I’m still playing, and why I dyed my hair, and why I look all glowed up like I’ve been spending time with a ‘tall glass of sin’—which is what they’ll call you if you show up.”

Jey cocked a brow, still grinning. “So what you saying? You don’t want me to meet Auntie Belinda and get my loins blessed?”

She threw a waffle at him. “Jey!”

He caught it midair and took a bite. “I’m just sayin’, if they feed like you do, I’ll survive.”

Kaia stared at him like he was an alien. Then she snorted and threw an arm over her face, mumbling through a laugh, “I hate how unbothered you are.”

He sat down on the edge of the bed beside her, brushing his fingers down her bare thigh. “I’m not unbothered. I just don’t scare easy. Especially not if it means I get to meet the people who made you.”

She lowered her arm, peeked at him with a soft blink. “You serious?”

He nodded, hand squeezing hers. “Deadass. Invite me. I’ll bring my Sunday best and let Auntie Belinda baptize my soul if it means I get to be near you.”

Kaia groaned again, this time with her heart trying to leap out her chest. “God. I cannot bring you to the family reunion. They’re gon’ see us and start playing Luther Vandross.”

Jey shrugged, smiling like a man already in too deep. “Bet. I’ll bring the aux.”

Page 119

Kaia peeked at him from over her waffle plate, one brow arched, lips still glossy from syrup and sleep. She was lounging now—bare legs stretched, hoodie swallowing her frame, one hand twirling a fork like she was preparing to break bad news gently.

“You know my momma gon’ be there, right?”

Jey looked up from where he was scrolling casually through the itinerary again, head resting against the headboard. “Yeah? That’s cool. I like moms.”

Kaia snorted. “Mmm. No. My momma is like a CIA agent mixed with Miss Cleo. She don’t need no explanation, she knows. You gone step one foot on Winston-Salem soil, and she gon’ smell you coming before she even see you.”

Jey chuckled, unbothered and amused. “I smell that strong, huh?”

“Boy,” she said, grinning as she pushed her empty plate aside, “She gon’ sniff the sin off you from three counties over. She been preparing for this moment her whole life. Any time I breathe near a man, she got a sixth sense about it. You showing up to the Fields family reunion? That’s like telling her to bring out the lie detector and the holy oil.”

He tilted his head, eyes twinkling. “So I should bring flowers… or, like, garlic and a Bible?”

She laughed. “Both.”

“But wait,” she continued, suddenly sitting up, the dramatic flare in her voice back in full force, “I ain’t even started on my daddy yet.”

Jey raised a brow. “Hit me.”

Kaia clutched her chest like a Southern aunt at revival. “That man is the blueprint for every bald-headed, black father with an attitude problem and a grill that’s seen more ribs than people. He’s somewhere between Bernie Mac and Deebo from Friday—and if he don’t say, ‘Who this big dude think he is walkin’ up in here all tatted and handsome?’ I’ll give you twenty dollars.”

Jey wheezed, hand over his mouth to stop his laugh. “Damn, I gotta square up with your daddy?”

“Oh not yet, because next is Charlene. My grandma on my daddy’s side.”

Jey blinked. “Charlene sound sweet.”

“Don’t let the name fool you!” Kaia clapped once like she was summoning a ghost. “Charlene is messy, has a gold tooth, and a bingo addiction that she pretends is ‘just a social activity.’ That woman once ran a dominoes table like a mob boss, and if she sees you, she gon’ lean in and ask me if you ‘putting it down proper’ within three minutes.”

Jey's jaw dropped, laughing harder. “Three minutes?!”

“She messy like that!” Kaia said through her own cackling. “She got no filter. Zero. She gon’ say you look like you got strong knees and a pension and then pull you into a bingo match to see if you’re husband material.”

“Okay okay—” he was wheezing now, tears in his eyes.

“And then—” Kaia added, pointing dramatically, “the uncles. All seven of them. One played semi-pro football in the 90s and won’t stop talking about it. Another owns a car wash but calls himself an entrepreneur. Then you got Uncle Peanut—”

“Uncle Peanut?!”

“Don’t ask. Just know he will challenge you to a slap-boxing match by the potato salad. And then we got my cousins, the ones my momma call the ‘Knuck If You Buck’ division. They love me. Protective as hell. And they will absolutely pull up your wrestling highlights and talk mad shit.”

Jey wiped his face with both hands, grinning like a fool. “Carolina. Baby. This sound like the best family reunion I ever heard of. You actin’ like this gon’ scare me off.”

She narrowed her eyes at him playfully, heart beating a little too fast.

“You serious?”

He scooted closer, hand sliding up her bare thigh, voice low. “I’m Samoan, remember? We built for family chaos. You bring the Fields… I’ll bring the yeet.”

Kaia burst out laughing, covering her face. “You stupid.”

Jey kissed her cheek and whispered, “And you mine. So send the invite.”

Page 120

Kaia sat cross-legged on the edge of the bed, her phone in one hand, thumb hovering over the text with a dramatic grimace on her face. “Alright. I just sent the invite to my mama and told her I’m bringin’ company to the reunion.”

Jey, stretched out shirtless across the mattress beside her, turned his head slowly. “That sounded way too ominous.”

She didn’t answer right away.

Just looked at him for a beat… real slow-like.

Then squinted. Warily.

“I ain’t even gon’ warn you about Gloria.”

He sat up, confused, one brow raised. “Who’s Gloria? That your great aunt or some—”

“Champ, no.”

She clicked her tongue like he was already in danger.

“Gloria is a truck.”

He blinked. “…a what?”

Kaia nodded solemnly, setting the phone down in her lap. “A truck, Jey. My daddy’s truck. And probably his first-born child if we bein’ real. Man treats her like a sentient being. Gloria from the seventies. She’s a busted-up brown Ford with a busted-up brown soul and she still got ashtrays in the doors and no power steering.”

Jey let out a snort, already trying not to laugh. “You’re joking.”

“I wish I was,” Kaia groaned, flopping back onto the bed like the weight of family secrets was too much. “She been in family photos, Jey. Christmas cards. You think I’m exaggerating, but one year, Gloria got more gifts under the tree than I did. Daddy waxed her down and parked her in the driveway like she was the damn guest of honor.”

“Gloria?”

“Gloria.”

Jey ran a hand down his face, wheezing. “Okay, so if I show up and compliment the truck—”

“You better. And not in a jokey way either. That man hears you say anything sideways about Gloria, you’ll be on the next flight back to Samoa in a box.”

Jey laughed loud and sharp, sitting up straighter. “You’re really tryna scare me off, huh?”

“Nah,” she said with a grin, rolling over to rest her chin on his thigh, big eyes gleaming with mischief. “I’m just preparing you. You survived Nya… let’s see if you survive Gloria.”

Jey shook his head, already smiling like he was too deep in it to turn back. “You got the wildest life, Carolina.”

Kaia grinned. “And you signed up for it, Big Samoa.”

He leaned down to kiss her, low and lingering.

“I really did.”

Page 121

Kaia pecked his lips—soft, sweet, like it didn’t mean nothin’ but still somehow said everything.

Then she pulled back slow, blinking up at him like she suddenly remembered a very important part of the fine print.

“Oh,” she said with the weight of a warning. “And be prepared.”

Jey raised a brow. “Prepared for what, Snack Pack?”

She sat up, one hand dragging lazily down his chest, eyes wide with mock innocence. “For the onslaught, baby. Every single woman from age nineteen to ninety is gonna be tryin’ to draft you.”

“…Draft me?”

“Draft. Recruit. Sign to their personal roster. Whatever you wanna call it.” She gestured in the air dramatically. “You walk into a Fields family function lookin’ like you do, all tatted and pretty with them teeth shinin’ and that voice deep like a pothole—nah. They gon’ be lined up like you the last plate of ribs on the grill.”

Jey blinked. “...The last plate of ribs?”

She nodded solemnly, eyes serious. “And they ain’t got no shame. I’m talkin’ full-blown aunties fannin’ themselves like it’s Sunday service, great-grandmothers winkin’ behind their oxygen tanks, cousins tryna sit in your lap just ‘cause there’s no ‘more chairs.’”

Jey laughed, loud and from the gut. “Oh nah, not the cousins.”

“Especially the cousins. They bold and disrespectful. One of ‘em is definitely gonna ask if you’re lookin’ for a baby mama, a sugar baby, or a new wife. Possibly all three.”

He smirked, eyes sparkling as he leaned in, forearms resting on his knees. “And what you gon’ do if I entertain it?”

Kaia narrowed her eyes and smiled sweetly. “I’ll castrate you with a spork and toss what’s left into the deep fryer next to the hush puppies.”

Jey wheezed, falling back onto the pillows.

“Damn, Carolina!”

She leaned over him, that same soft, playful grin stretched across her face. “You mine at this family reunion, wrestleboy. Don’t get drafted.”

He pulled her closer by the waist, eyes half-lidded and amused. “I wasn’t even planning on entering the draft, baby.”

Kaia shrugged, pressing another kiss to his jaw. “Good. ‘Cause my grandma Charlene don’t miss.”

He groaned, already imagining the chaos.

“God help me.”

[mjonthetrack]

folded

PAGE SEVENTY-SIX Setting: Hotel room in Atlanta, warm glow of bedside lamps, R&B still humming low in the background. The phone’s still tilted just right to show Kaia’s bonnet, her glowing skin, and that slightly smug, casually flirty expression. The frozen peas now lay forgotten at the foot of the bed, one sock-covered foot nudging them occasionally like she was bored but not enough to pick them up.

Jey hadn’t stopped smiling since the minute she picked up the FaceTime. He was leaned all the way back in his chair now, his chain swinging a little as he twirled a toothpick between his fingers, eyes stuck on her like he was watching his favorite show.

Kaia glanced back at the camera with that soft-country-girl-but-chaotic-good smile, chewing on the straw of her Gatorade bottle.

Then, like she was talking about the weather or the price of milk, she let it slip smooth as butter:

“You should come back over.”

Jey blinked, his smirk faltering just a little. “Huh?”

She rolled her eyes playfully, like he was the one being ridiculous. “We gotta be together in a few days anyway for the match—duh. So, like, it’s more economical to just crash in the same space.”

She even threw in a light wrist flick, the universal sign of don’t be dumb, just say yes. Then hit him with the emoji trifecta: 🙄👋🏾🍬

Jey’s grin slowly spread like syrup melting over warm pancakes.

“Economical, huh?” he repeated, biting back a full-blown laugh. “That what we calling it now?”

“Yup,” she said, popping the ‘p.’ “Cut costs. Team bonding. Builds chemistry. Whole tax write-off energy.”

He shook his head, looking at her like she hung the moon. “You’re somethin’ else, girl.”

“And you slow to answer,” she quipped, raising both brows. “Don’t make me rescind the invite, Big Samoa. I’ll put a chair under the doorknob and pretend I ain’t know you.”

Jey stood up on his end, adjusting the waistband of his sweats and grabbing his keys off the dresser.

“I’m on my way.”

Kaia blinked, startled.

“Oh—OH. Wait—”

But he’d already hung up.

Kaia stared at her blank screen for a beat, then turned slowly to look at the mess of empty snack wrappers, her sour patch bag ripped and living its best life on the pillow beside her, her Popeyes box half-crushed.

She whispered to herself, “...Damn. That man really ‘bout to see me mid snack attack. Lort, let me brush my teeth so he don’t think my breath smell like spicy thighs and high fructose corn syrup.”

But she was grinning. Hard.

PAGE SEVENTY-SEVEN Setting: Late evening, hotel hallway warm and dim-lit, her room glowing behind her. The air smelled like her body butter and pink sugar perfume, and everything about the moment said “casual,” except she was not, in any way, casual.

Kaia had moved like a damn Nascar pit crew the moment that call ended. Not a single crumb of sour patch was left to tell the story of the chaos that was there 15 minutes ago. The bed was made tight enough to get military approval, ESPN was humming low on the flat screen (just enough to look effortless), and sis had made it through a full wash-exfoliate-wax-lotion-perfume routine in record time.

She gave herself a once-over in the full-length mirror. Her skin? Glowing. Legs? Glossed and smooth like satin. Her curls? Coiled and sitting pretty like she ain’t just had them shoved in a bonnet twenty minutes ago. The cotton lounge set she tugged on—tiny shorts and a tank top that sat cropped above her belly ring—looked innocent, but only if you weren’t the type to notice how good she looked in it.

She did a little bounce on her toes, biting her lip. Then quickly stopped.

Act normal, Kaia. You’re not pressed. …Even though you shaved every part of your body like he was TSA.

When the knock came, she nearly jumped. But she paused, casually grabbed her Gatorade off the dresser like she was busy or something, and waited a full three minutes.

Then—like she was just getting around to it—she opened the door.

And there he was.

Leaning slightly to the side, one arm looped through a Louis Vuitton duffel, the other pulling a sleek carry-on behind him. His black hoodie sat snug around his chest, the zipper a little open, showing the silver chain and skin beneath. Grills caught the hallway light just enough to make her blink and recalibrate. His locs were tied back, eyes dark and slow-dragging over her from head to toe.

She leaned against the doorframe like she didn’t just spend the last hour trying to manifest a chill personality.

“Hey, Big Samoa.”

Jey’s smile crept up, lazy and slow like molasses in July.

“Damn, Carolina…” he drawled. “You answerin’ the door like this? You tryin’ to start somethin’ already?”

She blinked all sweet and country. “This?” she echoed, gesturing down at herself with a fake gasp. “This lil ol’ set? I sleep in this!”

Jey chuckled low, voice dipping like it had extra bass built in. “I bet you do.”

Kaia rolled her eyes, grinning, but stepped aside.

“You comin’ in or just gon’ keep starin’ like TSA tryna scan me?”

He passed her with a little smirk, letting his shoulder graze hers. “Shit, if I was TSA, I’d have to pat you down. You lookin’ like a security risk.”

Kaia closed the door behind him with a soft click, biting her smile, watching him make himself at home like he belonged there. He set his bags down and looked back, eyes dark with something unreadable but warm. He wasn’t grinning anymore, just watching her in that way that felt too intimate for how new this was. But she didn’t flinch.

“Lemme guess,” she teased, walking past him to grab another Gatorade from the fridge. “You gon’ try and sleep in that hoodie and tell me you not hot?”

“Nah,” he replied, watching her hips sway the whole walk. “I ain’t even bring pajamas. Figured I’d just wear what I slept in last time.”

Kaia raised a brow. “Last time?”

Jey licked his lips, grinning again. “You ain’t know? You been in my dreams three nights straight.”

Kaia choked on air, laughing and tossing him the extra Gatorade.

“Ohhh, you smooooth smooth. I see you.”

“You invited me, remember?” he said, twisting the cap off.

“Yeah yeah,” she waved him off, curling up on the bed, her legs folded and bare against the sheets, remote in hand. “Team bonding, budget efficiency, yadda yadda.”

Jey took his hoodie off, T-shirt riding up just enough to make her side-eye his tattooed stomach before she refocused on the TV.

“So,” he said, settling in beside her. “What we watchin’?”

“Norbit,” she replied. “It was on earlier. You lucky, Rasputia just pulled up.”

He snorted, leaning back against the headboard beside her.

Kaia leaned into him a little, head brushing his shoulder, like it was just the easiest thing in the world.

And just like that, they were sat up side by side, watching Eddie Murphy act a fool, one in a tank and shorts, one in sweats and tattoos, pretending like this was normal. But nothing about it felt casual anymore.

PAGE SEVENTY-EIGHT Setting: Hotel room, TV low, the blue light flickering across two bodies laid lazy on the bed. The scent of Kaia’s perfume hangs in the air like a secret too good to keep. Rasputia screaming on the screen, but neither of them laughing anymore.

They didn’t mean to get that comfortable.

It just… happened.

The TV was still on, playing Norbit in the background, but the jokes had taken a backseat somewhere between the third laugh attack and Kaia throwing her head back howling over the scene where Rasputia yells, “How YOU doin’!”

They’d started joking about fake WWE entrance themes for her if she ever went full-time. Jey said hers would be the Popeyes jingle mixed with Megan Thee Stallion’s “Body” and a splash of gospel ad-libs. She said his theme was just thirty seconds of someone yelling “UNC!” on loop over bass drums.

They laughed so hard she dropped her Gatorade bottle. Again.

And then—without planning—they weren’t laughing anymore.

Kaia laid on her side, facing him, her curls a crown of soft coils fanning against the pillow. Her arm was tucked under her cheek, legs curled a little, the hem of her cotton shorts riding slightly higher from where she’d kicked her legs in laughter just minutes ago. Her skin was glowing, cheeks flushed with joy. And maybe the heat.

Jey was leaned into his elbow, watching her with that same hooded gaze he’d had since the day he first laid eyes on her from courtside.

It was subtle at first—the lull in laughter, the quiet. The kind of hush that only ever slips in when something is about to change.

Then she looked at him.

And smiled.

Soft. Unfiltered. Honest.

And right there—mistake number one—Kaia’s lips parted just a little, gloss catching the TV light like it was made of something cosmic. And that blush bloomed on her cheeks, a dusky rose that deepened the longer their eyes held. She didn’t look away.

And neither did he.

Jey’s heart thudded like he’d just taken a frog splash, not watched one. The moment stretched long. Her perfume curled around his nose, all sweet and warm like melted candy and sugar butter skin.

He blinked slow.

Then said it, low and rough.

“You gon’ kiss me or keep lookin’ at me like that?”

Kaia let out a small breath of laughter, eyes flicking down to his mouth before dancing back up to his eyes. “I ain’t kissin’ nobody with Gatorade breath.”

“Bet.” He leaned in an inch. “I’ll risk it.”

“You really feelin’ yourself, huh?”

Jey smiled, leaning in another inch. “Nah. I’m feelin’ you, Carolina.”

That one had her cheeks flaring hot again, and she covered her mouth like it would stop the smile growing behind it.

She didn’t move. Didn’t pull away.

And neither did he.

They were close now. So close that if either of them leaned even a little—

“Kaia,” he said, voice warm like night.

She blinked. “Mhm?”

“Your lips still look like they tryna kiss me.”

“And yours still talkin’ instead of doing.”

And just like that—

The room disappeared.

Norbit kept playing in the background, but neither of them heard it anymore.

PAGE SEVENTY-NINE Setting: Hotel room. The TV is still going but it’s white noise now. The air between them? Charged. That slow-burn tension finally burning bright, hotter than it has any right to be. The kiss? Oh, it’s about to change everything.

Kaia blinked once.

Then twice.

But her mouth was still curved into that teasing smirk, like she wasn’t just halfway to swooning off the bed. Like her heart wasn’t doing a whole damn marching band routine in her chest. And Jey? That man was looking at her like he’d already memorized her laugh, her voice, the angle of her smile—like he didn’t even need to guess where this was going, because he knew.

Still.

He didn’t rush.

He leaned in like he had all the time in the world to get to her. Like this wasn’t a moment two weeks in the making. His gaze dropped once—lips, then eyes again—checking, waiting.

Kaia’s breath hitched.

Just enough.

And that was his green light.

His nose brushed hers first, soft and slow like a whisper. Her eyes fluttered shut when his hand found her waist, warm and steady, thumb pressing gentle into her side like he was grounding himself. Her skin buzzed at the contact. Fire, electric, holy.

And then—finally—he kissed her.

It was soft. At first.

Like he wanted to savor it. Like he’d imagined it too many times to let it pass him by too fast.

Kaia melted. Melted. Like sugar on the stove. Her fingers curled in the cotton of his shirt, tugging just enough to pull him closer, as if her body was tired of pretending it didn’t want this. Her lips moved with his, slow but sure, matching his rhythm—learning it. The way he kissed her? Grown man energy. He wasn’t fumbling, wasn’t rushing. He was feelingevery second, every slide, every soft sigh she made into his mouth.

And God, she tasted like Gatorade and honey and heat.

His grill caught the corner of her bottom lip when they shifted, and she let out a little laugh against his mouth, her thumb brushing his jaw.

“You really risked the Gatorade breath,” she murmured.

Jey opened his eyes, his voice low, gravelly, amused. “I’d risk worse for that mouth, ma.”

Kaia let her forehead rest against his. “You smooth as hell when you wanna be.”

“You bring it outta me,” he said honestly, hand still resting on her hip, thumb brushing the soft cotton of her shorts. “Been tryin’ to be cool around you since day one. Shit ain’t workin’.”

“You think this gon’ complicate things?” she asked, still not pulling back, still close enough that his breath warmed her lips.

He smirked. “What, us kissin’?”

“Us… likin’ it.”

Jey tilted his head, brushing his lips once more over hers just because he could now. “We’ll figure it out. After we kiss a few more times.”

Kaia’s grin widened, cheeks warm, eyes bright. “Big Samoa got jokes.”

“Nah,” he whispered, voice dropping low and smooth, “Big Samoa got you.”

And that was that.

She kissed him again—this time deeper, fingers curling at the back of his neck, and when he groaned against her mouth, low and full and so damn pleased, she felt it vibrate down her spine.

They broke apart only when the room got too hot. When the taste of shared breath and anticipation started to curl into something hungrier, heavier.

Jey leaned back slightly, just to look at her.

“I ain’t tryna rush nothin’,” he said, rubbing her hip slow. “I just—been thinkin’ ‘bout you. A lot.”

Kaia bit her bottom lip, eyes searching his. “Yeah?”

He nodded. “Like… a lot, Carolina. You funny, you fine, you got that lil country ass accent that be livin’ rent free in my head.”

Her laugh bloomed again, soft and fond.

“And you callin’ me Big Samoa like I ain’t two seconds from bein’ your snackpack.”

She blinked. “Oh, you mine now?”

He grinned, cocky and sweet all at once.

“You lettin’ me eat your chicken and kiss you like that? Yeah, I’m yours.”

Kaia snorted. “Boy—”

“You know I’m right.”

She didn’t argue.

Just kissed him again.

And neither of them said it, but yeah— This? This wasn’t just a moment.

This was a beginning.

PAGE EIGHTY Setting: The hotel room, late. Not late like “I should head out soon” but late like “ain’t nobody leaving.” ESPN long turned off. The lights low. The tension? Not even tension anymore. Just heat. Familiar and sweet and reckless in the way only two people who been dancing around this for weeks can make it.

Kaia hadn’t planned to kiss him again. She really hadn’t.

But then again, she didn’t plan to let him in her room. Or share her chicken. Or offer him a Popeyes drumstick like it was a communion wafer for the soul.

So really, it was already downhill.

She was stretched out across the bed again, one leg crossed over the other, hoodie long since tossed somewhere, them little cotton shorts not doing a damn thing for decency, and Jey? He was sat back on the other side of the bed watching her like she was something rare.

Something his.

She looked over at him, slow, head tilted. “You always stare like that?”

“Only when I’m tryna behave,” he said, voice low like molasses and whiskey. “But I’m thinkin’ ‘bout quittin’.”

Kaia’s lip curled up. She sat up on her elbows, curls soft against her silk pillowcase, bare legs sliding slow against the comforter.

“You got a confession to make, Old Man?”

Jey didn’t answer right away.

He stood.

Came to her side of the bed.

Looked down at her like he knew she was trouble. Knew he wanted every second of it.

Then leaned down—one hand braced beside her thigh, the other gently sliding up her calf to her knee. His touch was warm. Confident. Possessive in the way that said, I want you to feel this tomorrow.

“I’ve been dreamin’ about this,” he murmured against her jaw, grazing the corner of her mouth. “Thinkin’ about what you sound like when you stop bein’ the loud one.”

Kaia let out a slow breath. “Oh I’m still loud, baby.”

“Yeah?” His voice dropped. “Bet.”

The next kiss wasn’t sweet.

It was hungry. Heavy. That grown-ass, I want you and I don’t need to ask twice kinda kiss. His hands found her hips, gripping soft skin and holding her close like he needed to feel all of her. Her fingers tangled in his hair, tugging slightly as she kissed him back, mouths sliding together like they were tryna prove something.

Jey let out a low groan when she bit his bottom lip, a grin curving on her face.

“You dangerous, Carolina,” he whispered against her skin, lips trailing hot along her jaw.

“You just found that out?” she breathed, tugging his hoodie off his frame.

Shirt followed. Skin on skin. Heat on heat. He kissed down her neck like he wanted to memorize the taste of her laugh, her warmth, her everything. She rolled them over without warning, straddling him, cotton shorts slipping up her thighs, halter barely holding on, all soft curves and pretty brown skin.

“I’m not tryna be cute about this,” she said, watching him like she already knew the effect she had. “So if you not ready to act like you grown—”

He grabbed her hips and sat up in one move, nose brushing hers, voice low and feral.

“Girl if you don’t bring that snack pack ass here—”

She screamed laughing and he shut her up the only way he knew how.

With his mouth. His hands. His patience (brief). His everything.

The room got loud. Then quiet. Then loud again. Something about her singing a little “YEEET” as she grinded down on him had his whole brain lagging like a PlayStation from 2006.

And by the time the sun started creeping up, her curls were all frizzed, bonnet tossed to the side, and her body tangled with his under the sheets.

The morning light wasn’t shy — it sneaked right through the cracked blinds, dust motes floating lazy in the glow like tiny spotlights on the mess of sheets and limbs tangled in the afterglow.

Kaia woke slow, chest rising and falling against Jey’s, her curls wild and free, cheeks flushed a soft dusky rose. She blinked once, then twice, caught between the pull of sleep and the sharp awareness of him lying right there—breathing steady, eyes still closed but twitching like he was already dreaming.

Her lips twitched into a grin. This was a whole different vibe from her usual “run-around-like-I’m-about-to-ball” energy. This was… quieter. Softer.

She pressed her palm flat against his warm chest, feeling the steady thump-thump, and whispered, “You awake in there, Big Samoa?”

Jey’s eyes fluttered open slow, like a bear rousing from hibernation, and when they locked with hers, that crooked grin spread across his face like pure mischief.

“Yeah,” he muttered, voice husky, thick with last night’s heat and this morning’s promise. “You got me good, Carolina.”

Kaia laughed quietly, brushing a stray curl from her face. “Had to. Somebody had to keep your ass on your toes.”

He shifted, pulling her closer with an arm that wrapped possessively around her waist. His fingers traced lazy patterns along her side and she felt that familiar pull — the one that made her heart skip like a scratched record.

“So what now?” His breath hit her neck. “You finna bounce back to the Dream, or you gonna let me steal you for a minute longer?”

Kaia’s eyes sparkled, that Southern drawl soft but teasing. “Mmm, girl, you already stole the snack pack.”

Jey chuckled, the sound low and satisfied. “That’s right. And I’m not givin’ it back.”

She leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to the hollow of his throat, then looked up with that grin that could stop traffic.

“Alright then, Big Samoa,” she said, voice dripping playful challenge. “Show me what you got. But fair warnin’ — I’m not that easy to keep.”

Jey caught her wrist gently, fingers curling around hers. “Baby, I’m ready for the whole damn marathon.”

They stayed like that — quiet, tangled, no rush — the world outside the hotel room fading until it was just them, two perfectly messy souls making up for lost time.

The second her lips left that soft spot on his neck, it was like a switch flipped — and suddenly, the room was a whole vibe of fast laughs and faster hands.

Kaia pushed up, eyes blazing with that chaotic good spark, fingers dragging teasing trails down Jey’s chest like she was marking her territory, wild and free. “You really think you ready for this, Big Samoa?” she teased, voice low and thick like honey mixed with heat.

Jey smirked, chest rising heavy. “I been ready. You just too damn fine to be messin’ with, Carolina.”

She laughed — that loud, goofy, can’t-help-it laugh that made her eyes crinkle up, and he felt like he’d been punched right in the chest. “Boy, you bout to get roasted for that corny ass line.”

“Nah, it’s the truth,” he shot back, eyes locking with hers like he was about to dare her into a whole new level of crazy. “And I ain’t just talkin’ looks. I’m talkin’ whole package, got me feelin’ like I’m on some movie shit.”

Kaia’s grin was all teeth and mischief as she leaned closer, breath hot on his jaw. “Well, movie star, then act like one. Show me what you got besides sweet talk.”

Before he could answer, she flipped the script, hands grabbing the hem of his shirt and yanking it off in one smooth motion, tossing it aside like it was no big deal — revealing skin sun-kissed and tattoos that told stories he’d been dying to read in person.

Jey’s grin widened, muscles flexing as he mirrored her move, fingers pulling off her crop top, exposing her toned stomach, a faint line of sweat glistening like a secret only he was lucky to see.

“Damn, girl,” he breathed out, eyes darkening. “You made me wanna break every rule I got.”

Kaia bit her lip, stepping forward until their bodies pressed, heat radiating between them. “Rules? I don’t know ‘bout no rules. Just chaos, laughter, and a little bit of pain.” She winked, fingers tracing his collarbone.

He caught her wrist with his hand, tugging her closer until their breaths mingled, voices low and rough. “Pain, huh? I can give you that — and the kind that makes you beg for more.”

Her laugh was a whisper, breathy and dangerous. “Oh, Big Samoa, you got my attention now.”

“Ready to see if you can keep up?” Kaia challenged, eyes blazing with unapologetic flame.

Jey smiled that crooked grin, lips just brushing hers. “Baby, I was born ready. Let’s burn this whole damn place down.”

Page Eighty One (Morning After Remix)

The sunlight sneaking past the curtains caught on her bare shoulders, soft and warm, but the real heat was right there — between them, thick and unspoken.

Kaia lounged back against the headboard, his oversized Jey Uso tee draped over her like a security blanket, sleeves brushing the tops of her thighs. No jeans, no barriers, just skin and fabric and all the tension that didn’t need words.

Jey was sitting sideways on the edge of the bed, fingers tracing lazy circles on her arm — that slow, deliberate kind of touch that made her insides flip like a damn roller coaster.

Her breath hitched every time his hand drifted a little closer, like gravity was pulling them together and she was ready to fall all over again.

“Morning, Carolina,” his voice was low, still thick with sleep and something more — something that said last night wasn’t just a moment, it was a whole vibe.

She smirked, eyes half-lidded, biting the inside of her cheek. “You really gonna do all that touching and talking before breakfast?”

His grin stretched wide, teeth shining like the grills she’d caught a glimpse of the night before. “You let me, didn’t you?”

Her fingers curled around his wrist, pulling him closer, heat rolling off them like waves. “Yeah, I did. You gonna complain?”

“Nah,” he said, voice rough, leaning in so his breath ghosted over her jaw. “I’m just making sure you know I’m not going anywhere.”

Kaia’s heart sped up — no grand declarations, no over-the-top lines — just the raw, electric touch of him, the way his palm pressed into her skin like a silent promise.

She lifted her hand, fingers sliding up his neck, tracing the curve where his jaw met his ear. “Big Samoa, you full of surprises.”

Jey’s chuckle rumbled in his chest, warm and steady. “Only for you, Special K.”

They stayed like that — caught in the quiet tension of skin-on-skin and slow smiles — like the world could wait a little longer while they figured out what this was.

And honestly? Neither of them wanted to rush.

Page Eighty Two

Kaia didn’t walk — she glided, all smooth hips and warm skin, moving like someone who knew they were both the problem and the solution. Jey was still sitting on the edge of the bed, hands loosely clasped between his knees, wearing nothing but his chain, his grill, and that look — the one reserved just for her now.

Without hesitation, she eased herself into his lap, her bare thighs settling on either side of his hips, wrapping him in warmth like she belonged there. And let’s be real — she did.

“Morning, Big Samoa,” she smiled, the sound of it like Sunday sunlight filtered through sweet tea and Southern heat.

His hands, instinctive now, found their way to her waist, thumbs resting just under the curve of her ribs, brushing the hem of the T-shirt she’d stolen off his body the night before.

He exhaled, slow. “Morning, Carolina.”

Kaia tilted her head, curls brushing his cheek as she leaned in, arms looping lazily around his neck. Her skin smelled like cocoa butter, fruity perfume, and sin. Her lips were glossy and parted just enough to make his heart trip a little.

“You feel that?” she teased, her voice a sultry whisper as her hips shifted just enough to make him groan under his breath. “That’s me checkin’ to see if you’re really awake.”

Jey chuckled, low and rough, biting his bottom lip as he looked up at her — his grin crooked, his eyes warm with that slow, syrup-thick kind of affection. “Baby, I been up since I felt you climb back on me.”

Kaia smiled with mock innocence, fingers playing at the edge of his fade. “Mm. Awake enough to try a second round? Or you not stamina-oriented, Old Man?” she grinned, a brow raised in faux concern.

That man blinked. Once. Twice. Then his tongue came out to run over his grill, and the look he gave her was so lethal her thighs tensed on instinct.

“You really think I’m the one who can’t keep up?” he murmured, voice dipping an octave lower, hands tightening on her waist. “Sweetheart, you the one who was crying into my shoulder talkin’ ‘bout your legs went numb.”

Kaia hollered, smacked his chest, but didn’t move — not even a little. “Wowww. So we lying now. This what we doin’?”

He shrugged. “I’m just sayin’. You talkin’ spicy for somebody who needed electrolytes and Jesus after round one.”

She tilted her head, lips brushing the shell of his ear as she whispered, “Keep talkin’ and I’mma show you what spicy really looks like.”

He grinned so wide his dimples were showing. “Aight then. Show me, Snack Pack.”

Page Eighty-Three

Kaia didn’t flinch when he threw the gauntlet. Didn’t blink. Didn’t bat a single one of them pretty, fluttery lashes. Instead, she arched one brow, the kind of expression that said bet, and rolled her hips forward — slow, deliberate, just once.

But once was enough.

Because the second her heat pressed flush through the thin cotton of his boxers, she felt the sharp inhale Jey took through his nose, like he’d just been hit in the chest with a revelation. His grip on her waist flexed, fingers digging in, but he didn’t pull her back. Nah. He sat there, jaw clenched, arms tensing beneath her touch like he was working real hard to keep himself on this side of respectful.

Kaia’s grin was syrupy sweet and sharp as a switchblade. “What’s wrong, Big Samoa?” she asked, all butter-wouldn’t-melt. “You was talkin’ big. Stamina this, backshots that, but now you real quiet.”

Jey let out a low laugh, the kind that vibrated in his chest and rumbled against her thighs. His grill caught the morning light, and the look he gave her wasn’t just hunger — it was promise. Slow-burn, bonfire-in-the-bayou kinda promise.

“Aight,” he murmured, voice rough and steady like gravel in honey. “You wanna play that game, ma?”

Kaia just smiled wider, shifting her weight subtly to grind one more time, her lips brushing the corner of his mouth as she whispered, “Do I look like I’m bluffin’?”

And that? That was all he needed.

In one motion, Jey shifted forward, hands gripping her thighs as he stood up with her in his arms like she weighed nothing, like she wasn’t damn near 5’10 of muscle and chaos. Kaia shrieked, laughing breathlessly as she threw her arms around his shoulders for balance.

“Oh, so we manhandling now?! You really feelin’ bold, huh—”

He tossed her gently back onto the bed, her legs bouncing once before she propped herself up on her elbows, curls bouncing, cheeks flushed. Her tank had slid up just enough to show the line of her stomach and the little belly chain glinting around her waist.

Jey just stared for a beat, chest rising and falling like he was trying to remember how to breathe.

Then, real low, real serious, he said, “Keep that same energy.”

Kaia grinned slow, her accent thick and sweet as molasses. “Bring it outta me then, Island Boy.”

He leaned over her, bracing himself with one arm, brushing a thumb along her jawline as he murmured, “Ain’t gon’ be no takin’ it back once I do, Carolina.”

She blinked up at him, soft and daring all at once. “Good. ‘Cause I don’t want you to.”

And yeah — he didn’t hold back after that.

Page Eighty-Four

Kaia barely had time to blink.

One second she was teasing him from his lap, thighs hugging his hips like she knew what she was doing, lips shiny with that devilish little smile—

—and the next, her back hit the mattress like gravity owed her rent.

Jey was on her before she could laugh, his big hands pressing her wrists gently to the sheets as he settled between her legs, heavy and real and hot all over. His chain brushed against her collarbone as he leaned in, voice low and ragged at her ear:

“You sure you wanna play with me this early, baby?”

She squirmed a little underneath him, mock-innocent like the menace she was. “Ain’t my fault you built like a retirement plan with benefits. I’m just tryna see what all that talk is about.”

That grin.

That damn grin.

He leaned back on his knees, tugging the shirt she was wearing—the one he had on yesterday night—up and over her head, exposing smooth skin and a sleepy arch of her back. She didn’t flinch, didn’t shy—she arched up for him like a flame asking to be fed.

Jey took one long look—brown skin glowing gold in the morning light, pretty thighs already parted, curly lashes fluttering like she wasn’t the same girl who folded him just ten hours ago—and muttered a prayer under his breath in straight Samoan.

Then he flipped her.

No warning.

She yelped, hands splayed on the sheets, face shoved half into a pillow as her hips were hiked up.

“Jey—!”

“Oh, now you got something to say?” he drawled, tugging her back by her hips like she was the last good meal left in the world. “Where all that mouth now, huh?”

She kicked one foot weakly behind her, laughing through her breath. “Boy, shut up and put it in!”

He gripped tighter.

“Yes, ma’am.”

And when he slid into her—it wasn’t slow, it wasn’t soft—it was deep and final, like the first slam of a door in a new house.

Kaia’s head snapped back with a gasp, hands fisting the sheets as her back arched like he’d plugged her into a socket. “OHHHHH—shit!”

Her accent came out thick as cornbread and twice as dangerous when she whined, “Jey… Jey, I’m not gon’ make it…”

He kissed between her shoulder blades, thrusting slow, deep, patient. “Yes you are. You talk too much to die, baby. Breathe.”

But she wasn’t breathing—she was clawing, grabbing for anything on the bed, ass bouncing back to meet him because her body had no manners.

The clapping of skin on skin echoed through the room like an ovation and Jey was eating it up, biting his bottom lip, sweat trailing down his neck as she snapped back against him again.

“Sound like you tryna kill me,” she breathed out, voice cracked and delighted. “This how y’all Samoan men act?!”

He growled low, digging his teeth into the curve of her shoulder. “Nah. Just me, baby.”

Then he picked her up.

Yes, picked. Like a deli order.

Kaia squealed—genuinely screamed, giggling while trying to cuss—as he manhandled her onto his lap in one swoop, her legs spreading to straddle him like instinct. Her back bowed and her nails carved down his shoulders as he slid back in and found that spot like he paid rent on it.

Her forehead pressed to his, gasping, “Oh my god—”

“You feel that?” he said, voice rough, forehead damp with sweat as he slammed up again. “Right there?”

“Yes—yesyesyesYES!”

She bit his lip mid-kiss and he groaned so deep she felt it in her spine.

Her thighs shook. His arms flexed. Their sweat mixed like they’d done this a thousand times before and were just relearning each other in tongues and hips and teeth.

He bent her back gently and watched her face contort as she shattered again, muscles pulling tight like a bowstring as she gasped his name—

“Jey… Jey—fuck—I can’t—I can’t!”

“Yes, you can. Gimme one more. C’mon, Snack Pack.”

She laughed and sobbed at the same time, grabbing the back of his neck and whispering through a grin, “If I die, tell my mama it was your big Samoan fault.”

And he grinned, kissing her hard as the world tilted and everything burst.

Page Eighty-Five

Kaia’s perched on his lap, hips swaying like she owns the world, but Jey’s hands—big, sure, and demanding—are the ones steering the ship. His thumbs dig into the soft curves of her waist, kneading and holding, telling her without words who’s in charge. His breath brushes over her skin, warm and ragged, and his eyes lock onto hers with a smoldering hunger that makes her pulse hit warp speed.

“You think you’re running this?” His voice is thick and low, a promise and a challenge wrapped together. “Girl, I’m the one calling the shots.”

Kaia laughs, that spicy, knowing laugh. “Big talk for a man who about to get schooled.”

Jey’s grin spreads slow, cocky, that devil-may-care swagger that’s got her hooked. His hands slide from her hips down to the back of her thighs, squeezing just right to ground her as she moves. He sets the pace—slow, patient, owning every inch—guiding her like she’s the rhythm but he’s the beat.

“Ride me like you mean it,” he commands, his voice dipping lower, husky with want. “But don’t you dare get ahead of me. I decide when it’s time to let go.”

Her body trembles at his control, hips rolling, testing, teasing—each move pulling a low groan from his chest. His hands tighten, holding her like she’s both fragile and fire, and his thumb brushes over the sensitive skin at her waist, making her shiver in that delicious way.

“Feel that, baby?” His breath fans over her collarbone. “That’s all me. I’m right here, all in. You gon’ come for me, or what?”

She bites her lip, eyes blazing with need and mischief, “Tryna make me beg?”

He chuckles, dark and deep, teeth grazing the shell of her ear. “Nah, I want you to earn it. Come on my time.”

Kaia’s laugh is breathless, raw, as she leans down, pressing her lips to the side of his neck, tasting, teasing. “Alright, Big Samoa. Teach me.”

His hands roam, mapping her curves, trailing up her spine, grabbing her hair to pull her face back so their eyes meet. His control isn’t just in his grip; it’s in that steady, possessive gaze that makes her melt and burn all at once.

“I’m gonna slow you down,” he says, voice thick, “make you feel every damn inch—make you remember who’s got you.”

And then he moves—deep, firm, unrelenting, setting a rhythm that’s part heat, part promise. Every thrust is a conversation, his hands keeping her steady, making her hips snap back just the way he wants, his mouth capturing hers in a fierce kiss that steals her breath.

Her nails dig into his shoulders, skin hot under her touch, breath hitching as her body quivers with the slow build he’s commanding. Sweat beads at their skin, mingling, the scent of her perfume mixed with the rawness of the moment.

“Fuck, Kaia,” he groans, voice rough as he bends her back gently, “you’re fire. You drive me crazy.”

She gasps, trembling, eyes wide and wild. “Jey… I’m—”

“Not yet,” he hisses, biting down gently on her shoulder, “I’m the one saying when you come.”

Her breath breaks, shaky and desperate, but she obeys, riding that edge—each movement a tease, every moan caught and held. His hands roam lower, palms pressing into her skin, fingers tracing slow patterns that make her shudder.

“Look at you,” he mutters, voice thick with want. “So damn beautiful when you’re about to lose it.”

She bites her lip hard, trying to hold herself together, but her hips snap faster, chasing that wave he’s building like a master conductor. Her body trembles, heart racing like a thunderstorm, hands clutching his neck for dear life.

“Jey—fuck—I can’t—”

“Yes, you can,” he growls, voice commanding, “Come on, Snack Pack. Show me what you got.”

And then he flips the switch—harder, faster, deeper—gripping her hips, pulling her flush, owning every inch of her. Her back arches, a breathless scream caught in her throat as the tension snaps.

Their bodies move as one, sweat slick and hot, breaths tangled, lips colliding in a kiss that’s wild and hungry. Her legs wrap around him tight, pulling him closer, nails dragging down his back as she shatters beneath him, gasping his name like a prayer.

Jey’s grip tightens, holding her through every shudder, his voice a low rumble in her ear, “That’s my girl. Come down slow.”

She trembles against him, heart pounding, lips curling into a satisfied, breathless smile.

“You wreck me, Big Samoa,” she whispers, eyes half-lidded with that delicious mix of exhaustion and want.

He smirks against her skin, voice thick with pride and heat, “That’s the whole damn point, Special K.”

They collapse together in the afterglow, bodies slick and warm, knowing this heat’s only just begun.

Page Eighty-Six

Kaia’s body still shuddered from the last wave, breath ragged, cheeks flushed and slick with sweat, but Jey wasn’t about to let her catch her breath—not yet. He settled heavier on top of her, chest pressing into her warm back, hands firm on her hips like he was claiming every inch. The heat radiating off him was electric, making her skin burn even hotter.

His voice was low and rough, a growl deep in his throat as he murmured right into her ear, “Ain’t no rush, baby. We’re doing this my way.”

She felt him grind slow against her, setting a deliberate, possessive pace that had her thighs trembling and heart hammering. It wasn’t just physical—it was him controlling, teasing, making sure every move was about owning her, and damn, she was loving every second of it.

His hands slid under her shirt, fingers trailing fire across the curve of her spine, pulling her closer until she was flush against him. “You like this, huh? You like when I take control?”

She shivered, biting her lip, voice husky as she whispered back, “Fuck yes. Don’t stop. Make me forget everything else.”

Jey’s grip tightened, nails grazing her hips as he slammed into her with slow, punishing thrusts, each one measured but fierce, dragging out the pleasure. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, loud and messy, raw and real.

She gasped and moaned, pressing back into him, hips rocking with his rhythm as heat pooled low and deep inside her. “Jey, I’m gonna—”

He silenced her with a deep kiss on her shoulder, his breath hot and ragged. “Not yet. Hold it. Ride this out with me.”

Every movement was deliberate, his control absolute—he wanted to savor this, fuck her slow and deep until they were both on the edge, teetering between fire and falling apart.

Her hands clawed at the sheets, breath hitching with every powerful stroke, body trembling in that delicious, unbearable way only he could bring out. Her voice cracked on a desperate plea, “Please… I need you—”

He growled low, lips brushing her neck as he drove harder, deeper, commanding and claiming every inch of her. “I’m right here, baby. We in this together. You feel that?”

She cried out, hot and wild, every nerve ending igniting as her body surged, muscles tightening like coiled springs. But Jey held her there, steadying the storm, slow and relentless, letting the fire build higher, hotter, longer than she ever thought possible.

Finally, when she couldn’t hold back anymore, she shattered against him, breath breaking, tears prickling at the corners of her eyes as waves of pleasure rolled through her, messy and overwhelming.

Jey kissed her neck, whispered, “That’s my girl. Always come back to me.”

Their sweat mingled, hearts pounding in sync, bodies still locked tight as the world outside faded, leaving only the heat, the hunger, and the undeniable pull between them.

Page Eighty-Eight

The silence after was thick. Not empty—but full in that way only silence gets when two people have said way too much with their bodies and not enough with their mouths.

Kaia lay sprawled out on her stomach, cheek pressed against the pillow, lips parted like she was still catching up to oxygen. Her curls were wild, sticking to her forehead and temples, and the sheen of sweat made her brown skin glow like morning gold. One leg was bent at the knee, toes flexing slowly like her body hadn’t fully powered back on.

Behind her, Jey hovered for a moment—hands still on her waist like he hadn’t told them to let go yet. His forehead dropped to her shoulder blade, chain falling forward to kiss the dip of her back, breath ragged against her skin.

Neither of them said anything for a long stretch.

Not because they didn’t want to. Because they didn’t know how.

Kaia finally broke it, voice soft and laced in a drawl, “You still alive, Big Samoa?”

Jey huffed out a breath. Almost a laugh. He rolled to the side but didn’t stray far—just enough to lay next to her, arm draped loose across her back, fingers dragging idle lines along the dip of her spine.

“I think so,” he murmured, voice low and worn out in the best way. “You?”

She smirked, eyes still closed. “Barely.”

He chuckled again, and this time it reached his eyes. Kaia cracked one open, looking over her shoulder at him.

That was the first time their eyes really met since all of it—since the teasing, the tension, the breathless unraveling.

And it hit.

Hard.

Because suddenly the air wasn’t just hot and humid from what they’d done—it was heavy with realization. They weren’t just teammates. Weren’t just flirting. Weren’t just in some crossover promotion storyline that got a little too real.

They’d crossed something. And there wasn’t a map back.

Kaia shifted, propping herself up on one elbow, biting her bottom lip as she looked at him. Her voice was playful, but quieter now. “Sooo… this is a team-building exercise, right?”

Jey rolled his eyes, but he smiled, slow and soft and real. “Uh-huh. Strictly professional. Full contact… cardio.”

“Mmm,” she hummed. “We should probably check with HR.”

He laughed, eyes crinkling. But when the laughter faded, his thumb found her hip bone and stayed there, holding, tracing light circles.

“Kaia.”

She looked at him. He wasn’t smiling anymore. Not teasing.

His voice was gentle, like he didn’t wanna spook whatever this was becoming. “You good?”

She blinked, then nodded. Honest. “Yeah. I’m good.”

But she didn’t look away. And neither did he.

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward. It was… curious. Careful. Like both of them were waiting for the other to say what they were scared to admit first:

That it wasn’t just sex. That this was something.

Maybe not everything. Not yet. But it was something.

And neither of them wanted to be the first one to ruin it by saying too much.

So Kaia just reached for the sheet, tugging it up around them as the sun crept higher in the sky. She laid back down, curling toward him this time, close enough that their foreheads brushed.

Jey exhaled, slow. His eyes closed. His arm wrapped around her waist.

They didn’t need words just yet.

Not when the quiet between them felt like a promise.

[mjonthetrack]

folded

PAGE SIXTY-SIX — “Snack Pack Nation Press Conference”

The game was barely over and the post-game footage already looked like someone mixed press duty with prom season.

Kaia had slipped out of her jersey into an oversized Atlanta Dream tee tied in the back, her shorts still on, and her lashes still fanned to the heavens. She stood in front of the mic in the tunnel area—sweaty curls at her neck, purple Gatorade bottle in one hand, the mic in the other.

Jey?

Yeah. Still there. Still in her jersey. Still refusing to go anywhere further than ten feet from her unless security made him.

A reporter raised their hand. “Kaia! Everyone wants to know… was that a planned 1v1? Or did you really not know he was coming?”

Kaia grinned wide, her accent thick as she leaned toward the mic.

“Chile please, y’all saw my face. I ain’t know nothin’ 'bout no friendly 1v1. I looked up and there go this big ol’ wrassler in my jersey like he got season tickets and joint custody. I was SHOOK.”

Laughter from the crowd of media. Jey behind her? Just smirking. Cool as hell now. Hands behind his back like he’s notthe main character of the internet this week.

Kaia kept going, chuckling. “I thought maybe he was gon’ pull a muscle or pass out in them jeans he had on. That was denim sweatpants y’all, I swear to God.”

Jey finally stepped up to her mic, gently bumping her hip with his own, voice low and smug as hell.

“I had you sweatin’ though.”

She narrowed her eyes, trying not to laugh. “Boy, that’s cause we was in a stadium. And you built like a central A/C unit with a haircut.”

More laughter. The mic picked it all up—her cackling, him biting back a grin like he didn’t wanna show the dimples again.

Then another question.

“Jey, this the second game you’ve been spotted courtside… You a Dream fan now, or is it a Kaia fan thing?”

He didn't even blink. “I’m a #2 fan. Been one. Probably the president.”

Kaia face-palmed and leaned back from the mic, shaking her head while the press hollered. A beat later, she turned back to face the cameras, tongue poking through her teeth.

“And here I thought I was the dramatic one.”

He nudged her elbow. “Nah, you just loud. I’m dramatic and committed.”

The moment was sealed. Every press outlet. Every camera. Every mic.

Two people, both fine as hell, playful as hell, vibing like they had a script.

Except it wasn’t scripted.

@ BleacherReportWBB:

Kaia Fields & Jey Uso might be the greatest crossover since peanut butter met jelly.

@ WNBAfan4life:

“Joint custody” SENT ME. She act like she don’t love him and be smiling like that?? Girl we see you.

@ WrestleBabesUnite:

No cause why she call him a central A/C unit 😭😭😭 I need them on a reality show immediately.

PAGE SIXTY-SEVEN — “20 Questions with Kaia & Jey (Vogue Digital Exclusive)”

Setting: A softly lit studio in New York. Cream background, two chairs angled toward each other. Jey in all black—fitted tee, sweats, chain, grills. Kaia in a cropped varsity jacket over a body-hugging tank and biker shorts, hoop earrings glinting, curls wild and free. Her signature sour patch bag tucked in her armrest like security clearance. The vibe? Chaotic flirt school meets slow-burn “we’re not dating yet but…”

[CAMERA: ROLLING]

🎥 Interviewer (off screen): “Twenty questions, two people, rapid fire. Jey Uso. Kaia Fields. Let’s go.”

Q1: Who made the first move? Kaia: “Don’t lie now—” Jey: “Technically me. I was courtside with the jersey, y’all remember.” Kaia: “Not him citing evidence.”

Q2: Favorite food? Kaia: “Popeyes. Spicy. All drums.” Jey: “Whatever she eating, I’m eating it too.” Kaia: “You hear that? That’s soulmate talk.”

Q3: Biggest fear? Kaia: “Heights. And moths. But mostly moths.” Jey: “Losing her wig mid-dunk.” Kaia: “BOY— I knew you was gon’ say something!” Jey: “A real traumatic event.”

Q4: Favorite nickname for each other? Jey: “Snack Pack.” Kaia: “Big Samoa.” Jey: [grinning hard] “You really gon’ say that on camera?” Kaia: “Ain’t no NDAs on vibes.”

Q5: Pet peeve? Kaia: “People who take the last fry and don’t say nothing.” Jey: “People who talk through movies—” Kaia: “So you don’t love me then.”

Q6: What’s your love language? Jey: “Acts of service. Like flying to New York on 4 hours notice to watch my girl dunk on somebody.” Kaia: “Gift giving. I be handing out sour patch like peace treaties.”

Q7: Celebrity crush growing up? Kaia: “Omarion with the braids. Don’t judge me.” Jey: “Her.” Kaia: [eyes widening] “You was a fan before the fame?” Jey: “Absolutely. I was there for the Sour Patch Saga of 2022.”

Q8: Who’s more competitive? Both: “Her.” Kaia: “Hey! Okay yeah, fair.”

Q9: Who would survive a zombie apocalypse? Kaia: “Me. I’m Southern. I’d just go barefoot and hide in a tree with my snacks.” Jey: “She’d leave me behind though.” Kaia: “Depends how loud you breathe.”

Q10: Who's most likely to start a dance battle at a team event? Kaia: “Me, duh.” Jey: “And win it. With a Popeyes bag in hand.”

CAMERA: PAUSES

🎥 Interviewer (off screen): “Ten more to go. Y’all need a water break?”

Kaia holds up her Gatorade. “I’m hydrated and petty. Let’s go.”

Jey, smiling down at her, his voice low: “Go ahead, Snack Pack.”

She side-eyes him, biting a Sour Patch, chewing slowly.

“I’m still not sharing these.”

PAGE SIXTY-EIGHT — “20 Questions with Kaia & Jey (Vogue Digital Exclusive) — Part 2”

🎥 Interviewer: “Alright y’all, ten more — rapid fire! Ready? First up — who’s the bigger prankster?”

Jey: without hesitation “Kaia, 100%. She’s always schemin’.” Kaia: laughing “I’m just trying to keep the team on their toes!” Jey: “Like the time she swapped my protein powder with sugar.” Kaia: “Hey, you still bounced off the ropes that night.”

🎥 Interviewer: “Who’s the biggest foodie?”

Kaia: “Obviously me.” Jey: “True, but I’m learning fast. Snack Pack’s got me hooked.” Kaia: “I got him eating spicy, and now he’s all ‘Where’s my wipes?’”

🎥 Interviewer: “Who’s the loudest in public?”

Jey: “Her. She don’t even try.” Kaia: grinning “I’m just here to make sure y’all know who’s boss.” Jey: “And she does it with that Carolina twang.” Kaia: “Y’all better get used to it.”

🎥 Interviewer: “Who’s the better dancer?”

Kaia: “Obviously me, the WNBA knows it.” Jey: smirking “She got moves, but I got the swag.” Kaia: “Swag don’t help when you can’t keep up.”

🎥 Interviewer: “What’s your go-to karaoke song?”

Kaia: laughs “’Be Faithful’ by Fatman Scoop, always.” Jey: “I’m rolling with some Usos theme remix.” Kaia: “Can’t wait to hear that.”

🎥 Interviewer: “Who’s the early riser?”

Jey: “Me, but she’s catching up.” Kaia: “Yeah, only ‘cause I’m usually up ‘til 2 am laughing.”

🎥 Interviewer: “Who’s the bigger softie?”

Kaia: “Jey, hands down.” Jey: “You caught me.” Kaia: “He’s tough in the ring but cries at puppy videos.”

🎥 Interviewer: “Who takes longer to get ready?”

Kaia: snaps “Me, of course! Can’t rush perfection.” Jey: “But I gotta wait on her wigs and finger waves.” Kaia: “Priorities, uce.”

🎥 Interviewer: “Who’s the better teammate?”

Jey: “She is. On and off the court.” Kaia: “You keepin’ me humble.”

🎥 Interviewer: “And last but not least — who’s more likely to say ‘I love you’ first?”

Jey: grinning wide “Definitely me. I’m always tryna catch up.” Kaia: “He’s the biggest cheeseball, but I love him for it.”

CUT. The two laugh, Kaia playfully shoves Jey, and the camera fades out on their contagious smiles.

PAGE SIXTY-NINE — “Internet & Socials React to Kaia & Jey’s Vogue 20 Qs”

Tweetstorm:

@ hoopsandwrasslin “Y’all see this Vogue interview?? Chemistry so loud it broke my speakers 🔥🔥 #SnackPack #DreamTeam”

@ SlamDunkQueen24 “Why is Jey Uso so smooth but also like a puppy around Kaia?? They’re not dating yet and I’m already obsessed 😭”

@ WNBABuzzDaily “Kaia Fields really said ‘six years you ain’t got Big Samoa’ and Jey was just chilling like ‘I’m not that old’ 😂 This is best content we didn’t know we needed.”

@ WrasslinFan4Life “Jey calling himself ‘Joshua’ like he’s auditioning for a rom-com. Kaia’s accent slaying tho, this duo is everything #DreamTeamXUso”

Instagram Stories:

Fan1: “Y’all, they look like the cutest chaotic duo ever. Kaia’s laugh is iconic.” Fan2: “Jey’s eyes when she called him ‘Grandpa Islander’ had me dead 😂😂” Fan3: “If they don’t date, WWE and WNBA are missing out big time.”

TikTok Reactions:

Clip mashups of Kaia laughing at Jey’s jokes, Jey trying to keep up with her energy, and their silly faces during the interview.

Caption: “When the athlete meets the wrasslin king — but they not even dating yet??!”

Comments flooded with heart emojis, “Snack Pack goals,” and “YEET energy on a whole other level.”

Reddit Thread: r/sportsfans

u/TripleDoubleFatu: “Y’all seen the Vogue 20 Qs? Jey’s smitten but still lowkey awkward. Kaia’s energy is next level. The internet NEEDS to ship these two.”

u/SlamKing88: “If this ain’t a rom-com waiting to happen, idk what is. Kaia’s ‘Big Samoa’ clap back was legendary.”

u/HoopDreams: “The way they bounce off each other? Chemistry for days. This just made me stan both WNBA and WWE harder.”

Jey’s Phone Screen (text from Sefa):

“Yo if you don’t stop acting like you got a crush I’m deleting this app.” “Bro I’m dead. Chill.”

Kaia’s phone buzzing nonstop with notifications — she smirks and whispers, “Snack Pack, y’all wild.”

Page Seventy

Kaia slid through the backstage buzz like she owned the place, her laughter trailing behind her like a melody you couldn’t ignore. She spotted Jey leaning against the wall, that slightly awkward but charming grin already on his face, eyes lighting up the second she stepped close. The air smelled faintly of sweat and leather from the ring but mixed with the sweetness of her perfume—something fruity, like mango and honey—that instantly pulled him in.

“Yo,” she said, voice warm but teasing as she tapped his shoulder, “you tryna take me to lunch, Old Man? ’Cause I’m still waiting on you to pay up for them orthopedic-ass knees I schooled in that 1v1 game.”

Jey’s eyebrow arched in mock offense, the corners of his mouth twitching like he was trying not to laugh. “Orthopedic-ass knees? Carolina, you wildin’. But, yeah, I guess I owe you that. What’s the plan? You want me to take you somewhere fancy or keep it real with some wings and fries?”

Kaia smirked, folding her arms and swaying on her heels. “Keep it real. You know I’m all about that Popeyes life—extra crispy, spicy buffalo, no flats. And you better have some good dipping sauce ’cause I’m gonna judge every bite.”

He laughed, low and easy, the sound vibrating right through her. “Bet. I’ll bring the heat and the ranch. Can’t have you out here disappointed.”

She nudged him playfully with her elbow. “Look, I ain’t just talkin’ ’bout food. We got that tag team match in a few days, right? I figure we should build some team morale—or at least let me see if you can keep up off the court and out the ring.”

Jey straightened up, cracking his knuckles like a pro getting ready to rumble. “You wanna see if the Old Man’s got stamina? You might regret that challenge, Kaia.”

She laughed, the sound bright and infectious, eyes gleaming with that chaotic energy she carried like a badge. “Boy, please. You just mad you can’t keep up with the Snack Pack.”

He caught the nickname like a throwdown, a spark lighting behind his eyes. “Snack Pack, huh? That one’s gonna stick.”

She shook her head, turning just slightly, then threw him a grin over her shoulder. “I’ll hit you up later with the details. Don’t ghost now.”

Jey’s smile deepened as he watched her walk away, hips swaying to her own rhythm, that wild, unapologetic energy filling the space. The scent of her lingered, and with it, a new kind of buzz—a promise that this was only the beginning.

Page Seventy- One

He barely got the second knock out before the hotel door creaked open with a squeak and a low click. Jey blinked once, then twice—because Kaia Fields wasn’t walking out that room, she was strutting into the hallway like she had every intention of ending lives tonight.

Low-rise jeans. So low he was almost mad at the denim industry for allowing them to exist again. A deep black halter top that tied behind her neck and left her stomach on full display, her smooth skin catching the hallway’s golden light. Her heels? Tall. Her lip gloss? Shining. That same pinky-nude she’d been partial to since their Vogue segment, with just enough glitter to make a man question everything. But it was the scent—sweet, fruity, warm like summer peach cobbler cooling on a porch—that hit him right in the chest and had him momentarily forgetting how to speak.

She leaned in the doorway, weight on one hip, arms crossed with a smirk painted across her face like she knew she was fine. Because she did. “C’mon, Big Samoa,” she said with a playful little head tilt, accent thick as molasses and twice as sweet. “We got chicken to go eat. Hope you ain’t tryna take me somewhere funky, neither.”

Jey didn’t answer right away. He was staring—respectfully but visibly. His tongue slid across the inside of his cheek as he took a deep breath and finally blinked himself back to Earth. “You tryna get somebody hurt walking around like that, huh?” he asked, grinning slow and teethy, his grills catching the light.

Kaia rolled her eyes and turned, already walking down the hall, hips swaying without apology. “Boy, shut up. You better be lucky I ain’t wear the see-through mesh one. You don’t deserve that kind of blessing yet.”

Jey followed, steps syncing with hers as he slipped his phone in his back pocket and caught up. “Yet? So you admittingthere’s gonna be a time I do?”

Kaia looked over her shoulder with a snort. “I ain’t say all that, don’t get delusional now. I’m just sayin’… a reward system never hurt nobody.”

They stepped into the elevator together, the silver doors sliding closed behind them, trapping all that flirty tension in with the low hum of pop music overhead. Jey kept stealing glances while pretending to check his watch. She caught him once, just once, and made a face like 😒. “That’s strike one, Samoa. You lookin’ like you tryna risk it all and we ain’t even left the damn building yet.”

“I’m just tryna figure out what scent that is,” he lied, leaning slightly closer. “You smell like the candy aisle at heaven’s corner store.”

Kaia turned her head, laughing low and warm. “It’s called Minding Your Business, by Carolina Secrets. Sold out everywhere, real exclusive.”

Jey held his hands up in surrender. “Aight, aight. I’ll chill. For now.”

She tapped his chest twice with her fingers as the elevator dinged at the lobby. “Good. Keep them hormones in check. You can drool after we eat.”

Jey chuckled, stepping aside to let her exit first. “I ain’t never starved, Kaia. But you? You lookin’ like a full combo meal with the fries cooked just right.”

She looked over her shoulder again, fake scandal on her face. “Sir. I will turn these heels around. Keep it cute before I call Trinity and tell her you bein’ fresh.”

He laughed harder this time, following her into the night like a man halfway in love and fully in denial about it. And somewhere in the back of his mind, he already knew—

This wasn’t just lunch.

This was game time. And the stakes? High as hell.

Page Seventy-Two

The chicken spot wasn’t anything bougie—Kaia had made that clear from the jump. No candlelight, no overpriced appetizers shaped like abstract art. She wanted real food. Grease-pop-and-soul-music-playing-through-foggy-speakers food.

So he brought her to a lowkey place tucked behind a strip plaza in a part of town only locals knew about. A family-owned spot called Hen House Heaven, and it smelled like someone’s auntie had baptized the fryer in prayer and paprika.

Kaia walked in first, her long legs moving like she had a beat playing in her bones. Her low-rise jeans sat dangerouslylow on her hips, slung like they needed supervision, with that halter top tied snug around her neck and back. Her little gold hoops bounced with every step, and Jey had the audacity to try and act casual—hood up, hands in his pockets like he wasn’t absolutely losing his mind behind her.

But then she turned a bit, pointing toward an empty booth near the window. “We can sit over there, Big Samoa.”

And that’s when it happened.

The walk. The sway. The slight lean forward as she stepped toward the booth.

And there it was—peeking just above the waistband of those reckless-ass jeans: a butterfly. Small, sharp, feminine, right at the small of her back. Delicate wings outstretched like it had just landed there, real pretty and confident, like it owned the damn place.

Jey stopped walking for a full second.

“...Huh.”

His mouth was suddenly dry. His knees? Questionable. His thoughts? Unholy.

“Uce, get your act together,” he whispered to himself, dragging a hand down his face and resuming his pace.

Kaia was already sliding into the booth, totally unaware she just gave this man a glimpse of something that would now live rent-free in his brain forever.

“You good?” she asked, smirking as she grabbed the menu. “You movin’ like your joints locked up.”

“I’m fine,” he said a little too quickly, sliding into the opposite seat and avoiding her eyes for a beat. “Just—ya know. This place hittin' already and we ain't even ordered yet.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Mhm. You look like you saw Jesus and he was dressed like a bottle girl.”

“I’m tryna be respectful,” he muttered, lips twitching like he was fighting a grin. “You walkin’ around here like thattalkin’ bout some chicken wings.”

Kaia laughed, tossing her menu down. “Boy, you ain’t seen nothin’ yet. I only got two speeds—comfy and problematic.”

He leaned forward, resting his arms on the table, grill flashing as he smiled real slow. “I like both.”

They sat like that while the server came over—some teen boy who did a double take when he clocked Kaia. “Yo wait—ain’t you the girl from the WNBA?”

Kaia smiled. “That’s me, baby. Now get me six wings spicy, extra wet, fries crispy, and a big lemonade with hella sugar. I know y’all don’t do measurements but I want the ancestors to feel it in they teeth.”

The server choked on a laugh, nodding. “Say less.”

Jey added his own order with a grin and shook his head once the kid walked off. “You even order food like you funny as hell.”

Kaia winked. “It’s a gift. You lucky I’m feeding you with my presence.”

“I’m tryna tip 80% off your existence alone.”

They burst out laughing at the same time, heads thrown back, easy and full of heat. The booth they were sitting in suddenly felt too small, the air between them thick with the kind of chemistry that made waitresses whisper and strangers double-tap photos on the low.

And Jey?

Still thinking about that damn butterfly.

PAGE SEVENTY-THREE Setting: That same booth at Hen House Heaven, post-butterfly-tat revelation. Food’s arrived. Vibes? Immaculate. Tension? Still teasing. Chemistry? Ridiculous.

Their food hit the table like a reward from the universe.

Two greasy trays stacked with golden-brown wings, fries swimming in seasoned salt, and two Styrofoam cups so full of lemonade the lids were lowkey straining. The smell? Sinful. The vibe? Real “we laugh loud and dip our fries in each other’s sauce” energy.

Kaia clapped her hands once, ready. “Lord, we thank you for these wings and this man, who gon’ try and act like he not lowkey obsessed with me while he eats my food.” Jey blinked. “Amen?”

They dug in.

Kaia picked up a wing, twirled it once between her fingers like she was about to go full Food Network, then sunk her teeth in. Loud crunch. Eyes fluttered. She tapped the table with the flat of her hand.

“Yooooo,” she moaned, dramatic as hell. “They put the Holy Ghost in this lemon pepper. I think I seen the light for a second.” Jey laughed, licking sauce from his thumb. “You talk like a sermon. You always eat like this?”

“Like what?”

“Like the food owe you child support,” he teased, watching her with that lazy, charmed smirk.

She gasped, hand to chest. “Boy shut up! Don’t get roasted while you double-fistin’ mild wings.”

He reached over and snatched one of her drumsticks without breaking eye contact. She blinked, jaw dropping.

“I know you did not—”

“Cushion,” he said, biting into it with a slow-ass grin. “For the ego bruising. From the 1v1.”

Kaia leaned forward, narrowing her eyes. “You lucky I let you have it. You know damn well I worked you like some Walmart khakis. Don’t make me replay the clip on my phone.”

Jey wiped his fingers on a napkin, not even pretending to argue. “You got handles. I ain’t mad.”

She raised a brow. “So you admit I’m better?”

He leaned in, voice dropping low. “I admit… I ain’t never been this into losin’.”

Kaia sucked her teeth, trying not to blush but failing anyway. “You tryna spit game while chewing my chicken?”

“You inspired me.”

They stared for a beat too long. Long enough for their fingers to brush when they both reached for fries. She flicked his hand and dipped her fry in his sauce like it was hers.

“You really different,” she murmured.

Jey tilted his head. “Good different?”

Kaia just smirked, licking lemon pepper from her thumb. “Different enough I might let you finish that wing.”

And in that booth, under flickering lights and surrounded by the smell of garlic parmesan and bad decisions, something shifted.

Something bold. Bright. Flirty as hell.

And Jey?

He wasn’t just feeding her anymore.

He was catching feelings.

PAGE SEVENTY-FOUR Setting: Outside Hen House Heaven, golden hour creeping low. The lemon pepper high still lingering. The lot is mostly empty except for a few folks heading in, unaware that a whole rom-com moment is brewing off to the left.

Kaia stretched her arms overhead, the hem of that cropped halter top lifting just enough for Jey to catch another sliver of that butterfly tattoo.

He had to physically remind himself to look away.

Did he? No. Absolutely did not.

“You full?” she asked, twisting side to side like she had just walked out of practice and not eaten a full tray of chicken and fries.

“I’m satisfied,” he said, hand sliding into his pocket as they strolled through the parking lot. “Still can’t believe you let me eat that drumstick.”

“You lucky I was feelin’ generous,” she said over her shoulder. “Coulda been war.”

“I ain’t scared of you,” he called out, half a laugh in his throat.

Kaia turned on her heel, walking backward now, grinning like she’d just heard the best joke of her life. “Ohhh, that’s where you got me messed up. You think cause I smiled at you and let you steal a wing I’m not a menace.”

“I know you’re a menace,” Jey muttered.

“I ain’t heard a ‘thank you’ either,” she teased, pointing at him dramatically. “Somebody should be kissing my feet for that lemon pepper sacrifice.”

Jey’s tongue clicked, and he stepped closer, cocking his head. “You want me to show gratitude, Carolina?”

“Uh huh,” she said, playful as hell. “Get to steppin’, Big Samoa.”

“Alright bet.”

He stepped in real close. She didn’t back up.

“Bet?” she echoed, one brow lifted.

Jey just smirked, reaching for her wrist. “C’mere.”

“Hold up now,” she said, but she let him take her hand anyway. “Where we goin’?”

“Not far,” he said, glancing around the parking lot like he was scoping it for threats. “Lemme teach you something.”

“Boy if you try and make me do a cartwheel, I will actually scream.”

“No cartwheels,” he said, spinning her around gently till her back was facing his chest. “Just somethin’ simple.”

She rolled her eyes but was still grinning, letting him adjust her stance, his hand on her hip, the other guiding her arm up.

“Now this is the position for a standard side lock-up,” he explained, his voice suddenly a little lower, his palm warm against her side. “You feel that tension?”

“I feel you tryna get handsy,” she joked, glancing over her shoulder with a smirk.

“Nah, I’m being professional,” he said with a mock-serious tone. “It’s for athletic development and trust-building. Teamwork. All that.”

“Right,” she drawled. “Definitely not because you like havin’ your arms wrapped ‘round me.”

He didn’t answer that—just smirked again, mouth close to her ear. “Now, if you was in the ring, you’d use this to either whip ‘em into the ropes… or spin out and flip ‘em.”

“You tryna get flipped, Joshua?”

“You think you can?” he challenged.

Kaia’s grin was blinding. “I’m a 5’10 hooper from Carolina. You think I don’t got bounce?”

Before he could say anything else, she shifted her weight, ducked low, and almost got his big Samoan ass halfway off the ground. The attempt alone had them both hollering with laughter.

“YOOO!” Kaia was doubled over, hands on her knees. “I almost had you!”

Jey was cackling, clutching his ribs. “Girl you damn near pulled your back out!”

She straightened, pointing at him. “Don’t act like I didn’t shake the ground under you. I seen you get nervous.”

He stepped forward again, hands sliding gently to her waist as he leaned down a little to meet her eye. “Nervous? Nah. Impressed? Hell yeah.”

Her breath caught—not dramatically, just a little. Enough to make her lips part.

“You got hands,” he said softly. “Strong ones.”

“And you got a big ass head,” she replied, voice equally low but teasing. “Balance it out.”

He laughed again, but softer this time.

“C’mon,” she said eventually, turning back toward his car. “Take me back, Old Man. I gotta ice my knees before I actually need to file for AARP.”

Jey followed, hand brushing hers until she looped their pinkies together without saying anything.

Just enough to say you cool, but not too much to say you mine yet.

Not yet.

But she would be.

He could feel it in his chest already.

And this? This was the soft start.

PAGE SEVENTY-FIVE Setting: Later that night, lights dimmed in Kaia’s hotel room. The AC hums low, soft R&B playing from her phone speaker. The kind of vibe that makes you stretch out and smile at the ceiling for no reason but knowing you had a good day.

Kaia lay sprawled across the hotel bed, one leg stretched out and the other bent, a bag of frozen peas balanced across her knee like a crown jewel. She had a Popeyes biscuit in one hand, and her phone in the other—her nails long, a bold coral orange, glinting under the bedside lamp.

She was grinning to herself, scrolling back to read the last text she sent:

KAIA FIELDS: Big body builder bear 🐻u tryna run that chicken wrestling bootcamp back sometime this week or u booked and busy training them retirement knees?

She didn’t even wait for a reply before sending another.

KAIA FIELDS: And don't act like I ain't peep the way you touched my waist like we was in a romcom, “oh let me just guide you into position” head ass 💅🏾 you lucky I liked it.

The message was barely delivered before her screen lit up with a FaceTime request. Jey Uso 🖤💪🏽 is calling…

Kaia blinked. “Oh he real bold now, huh?”

She clicked accept, her phone angled high so the top of her bonnet peeked into frame.

“Hi,” she said sweetly, chewing the last bite of her biscuit.

On the other end, Jey sat back in his own hotel room chair, tank top on, tattoos gleaming under warm light, a silver chain glinting as he tilted his head and smirked.

“You call me a body builder bear and then act innocent?” he asked, his voice low and amused, his smile cocky now—like she’d just confirmed something he already knew.

Kaia grinned wide, dimples deep. “You built like a protein shake that learned how to talk. What you want me to do?”

“Keep flirting,” he said easily. “I’m likin’ this version of you.”

She held her chest in mock offense. “This version? Sir, I been a menace since I came out the womb.”

He chuckled, tongue sliding over his bottom lip. “That so?”

“Mhmm,” she said, biting her lip and raising one brow. “Ask my mama.”

“I might,” he replied, leaning closer into his camera. “If she raised you, she got good taste.”

Kaia snorted, tipping her head back with a loud laugh. “Boy you cheesy!”

“But you like it.”

“I ain’t say I didn’t,” she replied, soft now, fingers fiddling with her Gatorade bottle cap. “It’s just… I’m not used to someone bold and sweet with it. You come with pressure and manners.”

Jey’s smile softened, something in his expression changing—eyes gentler, voice warm.

“You make it easy to be both,” he said.

Kaia went quiet for a second, staring at him through the screen. Her fingers drummed lightly on her thigh.

“Well damn, now you flirting like we in a slow jam,” she murmured.

“Maybe we are.”

“You always like this, or just with me?”

“Just you,” he said honestly, voice low and smooth. “I been feelin’ you since I heard you say you was from the North one.”

She laughed so hard the frozen peas slipped off her knee and onto the floor.

“You so lucky you fine,” she wheezed.

He just smiled, all teeth and grill glint, and said, “I could say the same, Snack Pack.”

[mjonthetrack]

folded

PAGE FIFTY-THREE — “Bonnet Chronicles, Pt. 1”

The WWE bus was cold and luxurious—like the tour version of a music video trailer. Lights low, flatscreens glowing, somebody’s aux already bumpin’ SZA low in the background, and Kaia?

Kaia was chillin’. Bonnet on. T-shirt baggy. Shorts tiny. Toes blue.

She was curled sideways on the velvet bus bench, legs stretched out, bare feet propped on a plush ottoman like she paid rent. Her pink silk bonnet had her finger waves tucked away like they’d been to war, which, technically… they had.

Her phone was in her hand, eyes lazily flicking through her TikTok feed as she laughed at dumb trends and comment sections. The Jey Uso t-shirt she was still wearing—cropped slightly from earlier—draped off her shoulder, exposing a lil collarbone and her chain. The shorts? Soft cotton and dangerous. Barely covered much, but covered enough.

One knee up, one leg down, she looked like someone’s fine cousin who only came to the cookout for the plates and the gossip.

Suddenly her FYP shifted.

The sound of her own voice played, crackly like it had been recorded from a crowd.

“Yeet, bitch!”

She blinked. “Wait—”

The camera angle was very much not official. Someone had caught her entire frog splash moment at the match from the stands. The caption read:

“When the WNBA’s Kaia Fields hit the Uso splash like she born into the Bloodline 💀 #SnackPackSupreme #UsoApproved”

She snorted mid-scroll, accidentally liking it.

But then she saw the next video.

It was a clip of Sefa’s TikTok.

“Day whatever. He’s down bad. Ain’t blinked in 45 seconds. I don’t know that man. I was adopted. Hashtag SnackPackStruck.”

Kaia threw her head back laughing, full-on ka-cackling, the sound echoing off the bus walls.

“Yo! Y’ALL PLAY TOO DAMN MUCH—” she wheezed, tossing her phone in the air and catching it.

She rewatched it twice.

Then whispered to herself, still giggling:

“Awww… unc really is gone off the Snack Pack…”

She laid back, bonnet against the cushions, one hand on her stomach from laughing too hard, the other holding her Popeyes cup.

“He better not faint at the next match. I’ll deadass throw water on him like a auntie at church.”

PAGE FIFTY-FOUR — “Mr. Levesque Ain’t Here, Boo.”

Sefa had said it smooth as hell, too.

“Yo, Paul said he need to holler at you real quick. Said meet him on the guest tour bus. The one by catering.”

And Jey—still high off the match win and very much not grounded in reality—nodded, adjusted his chain, and made his way across the parking area.

Was his shirt still unbuttoned? Yes. Was he still gripping Kaia’s signed warmup jacket like it was woven from her actual DNA? Also yes.

He knocked once, then stepped inside.

The door hissed shut behind him.

And what he saw?

He did not see Paul Levesque.

He saw her.

Kaia Fields.

On her stomach across the bus couch, stomach, bestie—watching Norbit and howling laughing with one Popeyes biscuit in hand and her Popeyes cup balanced on her lower back like a tray. Bonnet on. Shorts riding. Blue toes waving absently in the air. Her cheeks were up a little from the angle, let’s be real, she was lookin' cozy and edible.

She ain’t even hear him at first.

Eddie Murphy on screen doing Rasputia’s voice had her whole soul in shambles.

“YOU AIN’T GOT NO DAMN ICE CREAM!” Norbit yelled. “YEEEESSS I DOOO!” she echoed Rasputia back, weak from laughter, smacking the pillow beside her.

It wasn’t until Jey choked on his own spit that she turned.

She blinked.

He blinked.

She looked down at her Popeyes cup still chillin’ on her ass and back up at him.

Then grinned.

“Damn, you Paul Levesque now?” she asked, teasing, flipping to her side slowly and removing the cup like it ain’t just had VIP seats. “Cause if so I got some notes on y’all pre-show playlists.”

Jey opened his mouth.

Closed it.

Opened it again.

But all that came out?

“...h-hey Snack Pack.”

His voice cracked so bad it echoed.

She squinted and burst out laughing, sitting up now cross-legged on the couch, the t-shirt sliding off her shoulder again.

“Yooo who let you in here? Did Sefa lie again?” she asked, eyes twinkling, biting into her biscuit like it was a honey glazed sin.

He blinked again. “…you eat biscuits this late?”

“And early,” she winked. “Wanna sit down or you still buffering?”

Jey, still trying to figure out what the hell dimension he just got dropped into, slowly sat on the loveseat across from her—jacket still in hand like a teddy bear.

Outside the bus?

Sefa was running back to tell Trinity everything.

PAGE FIFTY-FIVE — “Buffering Mode: Activated”

Jey’s still tryna sit all proper, but Kaia’s laughing so hard she’s doubling over, clutching her sides like she’s done with his entire existence.

She pulls out her phone, grinning wide.

“Hold up, watch this,” she says, tapping into her messages.

The screen lights up with a text from Trinity: You’re alone with him? Bitch blink twice if you need an escape route 😭

Kaia bursts out laughing, eyes sparkling as she types back with the fastest thumbs in the South: Nah girl, he still buffering. No threats detected.

Jey watches her fingers fly, blinking like his brain’s stuck in dial-up.

“What’s that mean?” he asks, voice low and kinda embarrassed.

Kaia leans back, wiggling her eyebrows teasingly.

“Means you ain’t scaring me yet, big man. You’re like a laptop trying to load on 3G.”

He tries to smile but it’s shaky—like the first time you realize you don’t know how to adult.

She pats the spot next to her on the couch.

“Come on, Mr. Uso, sit down. Let’s talk—unless you gonna stand there like you saw a ghost.”

Jey finally moves, sitting down next to her, still clutching that warmup jacket like a lifeline.

She nudges him, laughing again.

“Relax, I’m not gonna bite… much.”

And in that moment? You can tell the buffering’s almost over.

PAGE FIFTY-SIX — “Popeyes Peace Offering: The Breakthrough”

Kaia, still chillin’ on the WWE tour bus, eyes Jey like she’s spotting a rare specimen — quiet, kinda stiff, but with that simmering energy under the surface.

She grabs a crispy drumstick from her Popeyes box, pops a bite off it, then holds it out like an olive branch.

“You ain’t really talkin’ much,” she says, voice soft but teasing. “You shy or somethin’? I promise I don’t bite.”

Jey blinks, caught off guard like he didn’t expect this direct vibe. He hesitates a second, then reaches for the drumstick — fingers brushing hers for a second, and Kaia smirks.

“Nah, I’m just… thinkin,” he finally admits, eyes flickering toward her but not quite meeting hers.

Kaia leans back, crossing her arms, grin growing.

“Thinkin’ ‘bout what? You been starin’ at me like I’m a whole snack pack for two weeks now, and you still ain’t said much.”

Jey chuckles nervously, scratching the back of his neck, finally feeling like he can relax a little.

“Guess I was waitin’ for the right moment. You kinda intimidating.”

Kaia laughs, loud and full, then nudges him with the elbow.

“Please, honey, I’m just a big ol’ goofball. Ain’t nothin’ to be scared of.”

She takes another bite, eyes twinkling.

“Besides, if you wanna impress me, you gotta bring more than just quiet vibes and a cool grill.”

Jey smirks for real now, the tension breaking.

“Guess I gotta step up then, huh?”

Kaia holds up the Popeyes box like a trophy.

“Step one: accept the snack peace treaty.”

Jey laughs, biting into the drumstick like it’s the start of something way better than just chicken.

PAGE FIFTY-SEVEN — “Snack Pack Goes Viral”

Sefa, never missing a moment, lowkey pulls out his phone and starts recording the scene: Kaia, all casual and effortless, handing Jey a crispy drumstick like it’s a peace treaty. He’s biting into it with that goofy, nervous grin, and she’s laughing like she just won the snack wars.

Five seconds later, Sefa’s dropped the clip straight into the family group chat with the caption: “Y’all see this? Big bro finally feeding his girl… or is he just hungry?”

Meanwhile, on Kaia’s Insta story, the clip is already popping—hashtagged #SnackPackApproved with a little heart emoji and a chicken drumstick icon. Fans are eating it UP, flooding the comments with fire emojis, “couple goals,” and “Jey finally talkin’!”

Back in the group chat, Trinity fires back with a laughing emoji and texts: “I’m telling y’all, this man got a whole menu planned out for her. Someone save him.”

Jimmy jumps in: “Bro really acting like Popeyes is the way to her heart 😂”

Sefa’s last message before closing the chat: “Fam, if this ends in a chicken coop wedding, I’m out. I was adopted.”

Jey stares at his phone, cheeks red, but that goofy grin won’t quit.

PAGE FIFTY-EIGHT — “Big Samoa Meets Carolina”

Jey glanced over at her, one arm draped across the back of the couch like he hadn’t just spent two weeks acting like a mute every time she breathed near him. His eyes traced her face a second too long before he cleared his throat, suddenly finding his confidence like it owed him money.

“I ain’t really introduce myself right,” he said, voice dipped low, smile just a little dangerous. “I’m Joshua. Joshua Fatu — everyone calls me Jey, but honestly?” He leaned in a fraction, head tilted. “You can call me whatever, ma... long as you calling.”

Kaia froze, her mouth parting in surprise, before she burst out laughing and smacked his chest with the back of her hand. “Uh oh! Let me find out you smooth under all that awkward!”

He grinned, chest shaking with a laugh as he leaned back comfortably like the charm switch had just flipped on. “I’m thirty-two. Jimmy’s my twin, Sefa’s our younger brother, we Samoan—tight family.” His gold chain caught the overhead light when he moved, just enough to flex a little unintentionally.

Kaia leaned in a bit, eyes glinting. “C’mon Grandpa Islander.”

He groaned, rolling his eyes. “I’m not that old, Carolina. How old are you anyway?”

“Twenty-six,” she said, smirking like she already had a one-liner cocked and loaded. “So basically you retirement age to me.”

He laughed, full and from the chest, folding his arms across his broad chest. “It’s legit six years, ma. Six years.”

She cut him off mid-defensive rant, grinning wicked. “Six years you ain’t got, Big Samoa.”

Jey froze, biting back a smirk, the side of his mouth twitching like he was fighting the urge to blush and flirt back. That smart ass mouth? That country twang laced with humor and heat? Yeah, he was cooked. Fully deep-fried.

He bit his bottom lip and tried to act cool, even as his leg bounced like a teenager under the table. “Aight,” he said, voice low again. “You stay by yourself?”

Kaia sipped her drink slow, raising a brow. “Why? You tryna rob me when I’m not home?”

Jey threw his head back laughing, hand on his chest. “Damn! I was just tryna be friendly!”

She grinned and shrugged, leaning back and relaxing. “It’s just me and my dog Shortie. She a XL brindle bully with more attitude than I got. No man, no woman, no whatever else. Just peace, Popeyes, and high-speed WiFi.”

Jey nodded slowly like he was filing that away in permanent memory. “No man, huh?”

Kaia raised an eyebrow. “Nope. Not unless you count that spicy three piece I had earlier.”

He smirked. “Well... sounds like you might have room for one more loyal dog.”

Kaia squinted, lips twitching. “Did you just call yourself a dog, Fatu?”

He shrugged, eyes still on her. “Only if it means I’m tryin’ to be real loyal to you, Carolina.”

And Kaia? She just blinked, then laughed loud and free, wiping a tear. “Oh you down bad, huh?”

Jey just smiled, looking real content with his downfall. “So what if I am?”

PAGE FIFTY-NINE — “Simp? Nah, This Loyalty.”

Kaia tilted her head, giving him a slow once-over like she was tryna figure out just how deep in the sauce he really was. Her brows rose as she squinted at him, lips curled into the beginning of a grin.

“You don’t give simp energy,” she started, tone suspicious but playful. “So what’s the deal? You got a thing for women athletes or hoopers or sum, huh? You one of them dudes with a little ‘Love & Basketball’ fantasy? Lemme guess—you tryna play me for my heart on a cracked driveway court somewhere?”

Jey chuckled, eyes never leaving hers. “Ain’t nothin’ little about it.”

Kaia cackled immediately, covering her face with her hand. “OHHH not you admitting it!”

“I’m just sayin’,” Jey said, lifting his hands in surrender. “I like what I like. You tall, fine, funny, and you dunk like you tryna send someone to the Lord early. That’s—hell, that’s poetry to me, ma.”

Kaia blinked, flattered but flustered, chewing at her straw like she was tryna hide the way her face warmed up. “Mm. So you like your women able to bench press you and take your ankles on the court?”

“Yup,” he nodded easily. “You got a lil bounce to you, energy like a Red Bull with a southern accent. I respect that. Plus, ain’t nothin’ sexier than a woman who can handle her own and clown a moth mid-game.”

Kaia busted out laughing, damn near choking on her drink. “Not the moth! Man, I really was out there tryna fight for my life and y’all think that’s a love language?!”

“You damn right,” Jey said, leaning forward. “That was the exact moment I knew you was wife material.”

She stared at him, shaking her head. “You delusional.”

“And consistent,” he shot back smoothly, eyes twinkling.

She smiled, shaking her head again but softer this time. “Mmm. Yeah. I can see that.”

He leaned a little closer, voice dropping. “So now that we got my hoop dreams out the way, you gonna tell me if I got a shot… or you just gon’ keep makin’ me work overtime?”

Kaia looked at him real slow, biting her lip before replying. “I’on know yet. I like watching you work though.”

That had him slumped back in the couch like he’d been hit with a damn clothesline. He exhaled, grinning wide and helpless.

“Sefa was right,” he mumbled. “I’m so cooked.”

PAGE SIXTY — “Special K & Main Event Vibes Only”

The next day came fast and loud—just like Kaia usually did—and before noon she was already at WWE HQ, posted up next to Jey Uso under the ring lights with a glam squad touching up her baby hairs and a wardrobe assistant adjusting the waist of her cargo pants.

“You sure y’all want me in this?” she asked, arms outstretched as she eyed herself in the mirror. “I feel like I’m about to break into Area 51 or sell dimebags behind a Popeyes.”

“You look good, though,” Jey muttered, leaned up in a chair while someone shined his grill with a Q-tip. “Like if G.I. Jane had jokes and a jumper.”

Kaia smirked, tugging her cargo waistband up a little more. “Don’t gas me, Uce. I already know I look like tactical baddie deluxe.”

The director called for them to move to the promo set—a smoke-filled platform with dramatic red and blue lighting, ropes hanging from the sides and a huge LED board looping footage of them both: her dunking mid-air, him hitting a superkick with the camera shaking.

"Alright, let’s start with a serious one," the photographer said. “Jey, stand behind Kaia, arms crossed. Kaia, mean mug. You’re the enforcers.”

Kaia tried. She really did. But two seconds into the pose, she caught sight of herself on the monitor and immediately burst into laughter. “Why I look like I’m ‘bout to repo somebody grandma Buick?”

Jey grinned behind her. “Aye chill, I’m tryna be serious—”

“No you not!” she yelled, turning to lightly shove him in the chest. “You just blinkin’ slow like a damn cat tryna seduce the camera. If you don’t stop giving the lens foreplay…”

The whole set cracked up.

Wardrobe came in again, brushing off her cargo leg while another crew member came up with a rack of possible merch fits. One was a black tee with “Snack Pack Society” in bold red letters. Kaia held it up, grinning. “Oop. My president in the building. You approve?”

Jey didn’t even blink. “Need one in every color.”

Photographer came back clapping. “Okay, okay, okay—we’re doing a joint promo now. Jey, stand beside Kaia, both of y’all looking like y’all just knocked somebody into 2054. Arms up. Power pose.”

Kaia raised her arms, flexed a little, tongue poked out playfully. “Y’all sure about this? Y’all really gon’ give the audience hips and hands?”

“You know they ain’t ready,” Jey added with a cocky smirk, adjusting his yeet shades down from his forehead.

Click. Flash. Click.

Social media was already on fire before the final shot uploaded. Fans were blowing up every tag under the WWE’s official tweet:

@ WWE: The Uso Legacy continues—with a crossover nobody saw coming. Introducing the DREAM TEAM. #KaiaFields #MainEventJey #SpecialKAndJey #SnackPackSociety

And in the group chat?

Sefa: “yo idk who let main event cook like this but somebody take the apron from him.”

Trinity: “kaia if he start writing poetry just blink twice boo 😭”

Jimmy: “I’m giving them 2 months tops before they soft launch a wedding on Insta.”

Kaia sent a selfie of her and Jey behind the scenes, both in their ring gear, throwing peace signs.

Kaia: “Guess who gettin’ free WWE catering for life? 🧍🏽‍♀️🍗💅🏾 #SpecialKApproved”

PAGE SIXTY-ONE — "Grid Locked and Grill Poppin’"

Kaia sat curled up in the passenger seat of the blacked-out SUV WWE had sent for her, purple bonnet secured over her finger waves, phone in hand while “Can’t Believe It” by T-Pain played low through the speakers. She scrolled back and forth through the photos from the promo shoot, biting her lip trying to choose which one screamed “chaotic soulmates” the loudest.

Her notifications were already flooded—texts from teammates, comments from fans, and at least three missed calls from Kayla with the “👀👀👀” emoji.

She smirked as her thumb hovered over her favorite: The one where she’s sat on Jey’s shoulders, full weight balanced like a hooper perched on a throne. He stood there cool as hell, both of them mid-Yeet, arms up. Kaia was laughing hard, head slightly thrown back, teeth out and happy. Jey? He had the grill glint, the shades tilted low, and the cocky smirk of a man who just made eye contact with destiny and winked.

She hit post. The caption?

dream team w/ wrestleboy ☺️🍬 #SpecialKAndJey #SnackPackSociety #wrestlinandvibin #grillzandgiggles

And babyyyyy it detonated across social media in 12 minutes flat.

X / Twitter

@ ballrnews:

ATL Dream's Kaia Fields got WWE’s Jey Uso on her shoulders like he the trophy 🏆😭 #SnackPackSociety

@ wrasslintea:

She called him “wrestleboy.” Oh she got him in a chokehold fr 😭🔥

@ poppinjawnz:

Not the strongest duo since The Rock and Kevin Hart lmaooo

@ KaiaStan99:

Her aura so loud and his grills so bright this is the crossover I didn’t know I needed

In the WWE x ATL Group Chat

Sefa:

Nahhhh not “wrestleboy” I’m actually cryin 💀

Trinity:

Jey you okay bestie? Blink if she sitting on your soul too.

Jimmy:

She got you smiling like a Friday night text from your crush 😂

Jey:

mind y’all business. and also send that one pic where she grinnin—nah the other one. the real cute one.

Back in the SUV, Kaia dropped her phone to her lap and took a sip of her McDonald’s Sprite, immediately coughing.

“Lord,” she wheezed, blinking. “That’s liquor.”

Driver glanced up through the rearview. “Everything good, Miss Fields?”

Kaia giggled. “Mmmhmm. Wrestleboy probably somewhere smilin’ at the air.”

And just like that, her phone vibrated again— Jey 🧃:

“you know i’ma make that my lockscreen right? ma got me lookin like a whole prize 🏆”

She texted back:

“u are a prize unc 🤭 but don’t get too comfortable i’m tryna win MVP this season 💅🏾”

PAGE SIXTY-TWO — “From the Ring to the Hardwood”

The Gateway Center Arena was buzzing. Not just because the Atlanta Dream were facing off against the Las Vegas Aces in one of the most anticipated games of the month—but because someone had been spotted in the building. And not just anywhere.

The camera panned once.

Then again.

And then locked in like a sniper on one Jey Uso, seated comfortably in the Friends & Family Section, black hoodie pulled low but not enough to hide the glint of his chains or the unmistakable grills when he grinned up at the jumbotron flashing Kaia’s face.

Crowd? SCREAMING. Twitter? Already in flames.

@ courtvisionupdates:

Not Jey Uso posted up in Atlanta like he ain't got a match next week 😭 #SupportiveWrestleboy

@ KaiaAndJeyUpdates:

Friends & family section tho… not regular seats… not VIP… FRIENDS. AND. FAMILY.

@ DreamGirlzStan:

Kaia made him put that ring down and pick up a season ticket

Kaia didn’t even know he was there. At first.

She was vibin' as always—warm-up hoodie half-zipped, sour patch sticking out of her pocket, headset in one ear as she mouthed lyrics to whatever was blasting through her warmup playlist.

The crowd started reacting louder than usual as her name got called.

“Number TWO, Atlanta’s own shooting guard… KAIA ‘SPECIAL K’ FIIEEEELDS!”

She came jogging out as usual, with a playful pout and dramatic slouch like she was clocking in at a shift she didn’t sign up for. She blew a kiss to the crowd and lazily tossed her hoodie to someone in the front.

And then she froze. Eyes narrowing mid-jog as she scanned the Friends & Family section—squinting.

“Hold up…” she mumbled to her teammate Kayla beside her. “That look like… Unc?”

Kayla turned mid-stretch, saw the gleam of the grill, and cracked up instantly. “Oh nah, he really flew in for this. I know that walk anywhere.”

Kaia laughed as she jogged to the sideline. “He sat in the FAMILY section? He tryna be my cousin now?!”

From the seats, Jey grinned wide as hell when she looked in his direction—even though she barely gave him a head nod. He nudged Jimmy beside him.

“She saw me. I know she saw me. You seen that lil lip twitch? That was for me.”

Jimmy snorted, not even looking away from the court. “Boy she acknowledged you like a cafeteria worker handing out lunchables. Calm down.”

Trinity was already texting Kaia on the low:

“yo. your lil wrasslin boyfriend is in row two lookin like he tryna win best man at y’all wedding 💀”

Kaia, mid game, peeked at the text during a timeout and snorted so loud her mic picked it up. She yelled out as she sipped Gatorade: “Somebody tell wrestleboy I got a game to play first!”

PAGE SIXTY-THREE — “1v1: Big Samoa vs. Special K”

The lights dimmed. The half-time buzzer blared. And the moment the announcer’s voice boomed through the Gateway Center Arena, everyone knew some chaos was about to unfold.

“Y’all make some noise for the surprise crossover of the night! Steppin’ onto the hardwood, straight from WWE… it’s JEY USO!”

Crowd? EXPLODING.

Kaia? Mid-sip of Gatorade. Choked.

She turned to her teammate Kayla, coughing and laughing, “Ain’t no way. Ain’t nooo way this man really got introduced like he on 2K.”

The jumbo screen cut to Jey in the tunnel—grinning hard, designer joggers low on his hips, a #2 Dream jersey with his own last name on the back. Man looked like he was walking into WrestleMania, not a half-time shootout.

He jogged out, hands waving to the crowd as he slapped up a few fans and hit his signature “Yeet” motion. His chain swung with every step. Grills glinting. That boy was feeling himself.

The announcer hyped it up like it was a title fight.

“And facing him? The Queen of Chaos herself, Atlanta Dream’s very own… KAIA ‘SPECIAL K’ FIELDS!”

Kaia stood up slow like she’d just clocked back in. Her Gatorade in one hand, her Popeyes biscuit in the other.

The crowd was chanting already.

“ONE V ONE! ONE V ONE!”

She jogged onto the court, looked Jey up and down, and tilted her head with a sly grin.

“Yooo,” she cackled loud enough for the front rows to hear. “I ain’t tryna make you cash in on them retirement knees early, Big Samoa.”

Jey clutched his chest like he was shot. “Damn ma, you woundin’ me in front of all these people?”

“Shit, you wounded yourself when you stepped on this court with me.”

The crowd lost it.

@ WNBAonX:

Kaia really told Jey Uso “retirement knees” and I haven’t stopped wheezing since 😭😭😭

@ wrestlehoops:

nah cause the tension is WILD. she talkin smack and he look like he bout to propose mid free throw #SnackPackVsUso

Trinity watching courtside whispered to Jimmy, “That boy done fell in love mid crossover.”

Jimmy shook his head. “He been down bad. Now he just getting cooked on ESPN for it.”

Jey motioned to the ball boy. “Run it then.”

Kaia smirked, pulling her twist-back pony tighter as she caught the ball on the check. “You sure, grandpa?”

“You gon’ call me Big Samoa the whole time?”

She passed it into his chest. “Yup.”

He dribbled twice.

“Alright then, Snack Pack. Let’s dance.”

PAGE SIXTY-FOUR — “Chemistry You Can’t Coach”

It started off as a joke. A goofy lil’ half-time crossover. Just vibes and viral moments.

But the second Jey took the ball and Kaia squared up, knees bent and that smirk pulling at her lips? Everybody — from the fans to the players to the damn internet — clocked it.

They looked good together.

Not just attractive — though that part was undeniable — but that energy, that banter, the way their movements synced up without trying? It felt less like a one-off and more like the start of something dangerous and hilarious.

Kaia slid left, her sneakers squeaking as she tracked him. Jey did a slow cross-dribble, real lazy with it.

“C’mon now, this your little crossover?” she teased, voice dipped in that syrupy Carolina twang.

He shrugged, grill catching the light. “I’m pacin’ myself, ma. These retirement knees, remember?”

The crowd howled.

On the sideline, her team was already folded over the bench, phones out.

And when he made a break for the bucket, Kaia didn’t move—just leaned back, squinted at his form and called out real loud:

“OOOH wee—y’all see that limp? Somebody get my man an Icy Hot patch and a pack of Flintstones vitamins.”

The entire arena erupted.

Even the ref had to bite his lip not to laugh.

But then? She snatched the rebound after he clanked the shot and broke for the other side. Jey chased her, mock-dramatic.

She spun at the top of the key, fake passed behind her back, then dribbled around him with a wide grin and said through her teeth, “Catch up Big Samoa, ya slow ass still downloading.”

Swish. Straight three.

Jey staggered like he’d been shot. Fell to his knees. Prayed to the basketball gods above.

And Kaia? She just bowed like she was on Broadway.

@ BleacherReport:

YOO Kaia Fields just said “Catch up Big Samoa” and broke this man’s ankles 😭 #WNBAxWWE

@ USOFANGIRL4LIFE:

not jey uso getting cooked mid flirt session AND blushing… like??? the tension is nuts????

@ SnackPackUpdate:

if they don’t date in real life I’m suing the universe idc idc

Back on the court, Jey stood, brushing himself off with a grin that reached ear to ear. He pointed across the key.

“You got jokes, Carolina. But I’m still up.”

Kaia bent at the knees, tongue poked out slightly as she braced for another play.

“Nah,” she called out, twirling her finger in the air. “You just up in my business, old man.”

The crowd was losing their collective minds.

Trinity leaned toward Jimmy in the crowd, whispering through her laugh, “Oh yeah. They gone.”

Jimmy nodded, deadpan. “That man is cooked medium rare.”

PAGE SIXTY-FIVE — “Love & Basketball… With Grillz and Gatorade”

It was supposed to be a quick crowd-pleaser. Something for the fans. Something light.

Instead?

It was watching two unfairly fine people flirt like middle schoolers and go at it like rivals on draft night.

Like if Love & Basketball had a southern-ass reimagining, starring a country Black girl with sour patch in her pocket and a Samoan man with a grill and her jersey on.

Kaia’s #2 jersey hung off his frame like it belonged there—custom fitted, sleeves cuffed, name stitched bold across the back like he paid for it with emotion.

“Y’all peep the jersey?” Kaia called mid-dribble, pointing at his chest. “That’s mine. He in his lil boyfriend era.”

Jey, chasing her down the court, didn’t miss a beat. “You lucky I don’t show up in your team warm-ups next.”

“Ohh so you tryna be a Dream girl?” she grinned, spinning off a fake and juking right. “We got open tryouts, grandpa.”

He actually laughed, right in the middle of the play. Head tilted back, grin wide. But he still managed to block her shot.

The crowd gasped.

Kaia stared at him, mouth open in mock betrayal. “You blocked me?!”

“Equal opportunity defense,” Jey shrugged, jogging backward. “Don’t dish it if you can’t take it, ma.”

That was it. That was the vibe.

Chaotic flirty competitiveness. Energy that had the whole arena watching like, “Do they know they’re in love yet? Or we gotta wait another six business days?”

The WNBA live broadcast camera caught them both mid-laugh at one point — her with her hands on her knees wheezing, him bent over, fists on his thighs grinning like an idiot. Sweat glinting off his grill. Her lashes fluttering in the air conditioning.

It felt effortless. Like they’d known each other for years instead of a few weeks and two chaotic crossovers.

The announcers were barely keeping it together:

“I mean, this is—this is elite chemistry, Bob.” “They play like they argue about who’s funnier in the group chat.”

@ BlackLoveChronicles:

They need a romcom RIGHT now. Not tomorrow. Not next week. TODAY.

@ WNBA2WWE:

Kaia really got Jey out here defending her like she the final boss of his heart. And she just smirkin’ like she don’t know he folding.

@ SnackPackUpdates:

The Dream jersey. The flirting. The banter. She call him grandpa, he call her ma. And now I’m crying in the club.

And when Kaia sank her last bucket and let out a smug, “That’s game, island boy,” Jey just stood there, hands on his hips, shaking his head with a smirk.

“You gon’ call me that even when you take my last name?”

She blinked.

Then grinned.

“Depends. You got a lifetime supply of Popeyes and bad decisions?”

[mjonthetrack]

folded

PAGE FORTY-TWO — “YEEETT!”

It’d been a week since the viral “Unc” incident. Since the live. Since the Snack-Pack Society opened its imaginary membership drive.

And yet somehow…

The moment had only snowballed.

Because WWE didn’t just tag Kaia once and call it a day—they sent her a whole ass invite.

Not just backstage passes.

Not just ringside seats.

But a full crossover guest appearance segment at an upcoming WWE RAW taping at Madison Square Garden. NYC. Center stage. Lights, cameras, wrasslin’.

The Dream's team media manager had looked at Kaia over lunch like:

“So… you tryna go viral again, or we bein’ shy?”

Kaia? Never shy.

She posted the flyer to her Insta story with a messy, chaotic caption:

“Welp. Guess I’m going to play wit the wrasslin’ folks 😭 pray for my kneecaps 🙏🏾”

But that wasn’t even the peak.

The peak came 24 hours later when she posted another story.

It was a video.

Shaky. Sweaty. Lit by overhead gym lights.

Kaia, standing in front of the camera in a black Nike sports bra and compression shorts, her curls slicked into a puff under a du-rag, pointing directly at the lens, eyes wide.

“This for the Wrasslin’ people,” she said, outta breath already. “I’ll see y’all soon!”

Then the camera jerked upward to follow her as she clumsily climbed all 5’10” of herself onto the top ropes of the gym wrestling ring.

Her trainer stood nearby, blinking like he was debating filing for unemployment.

“You SURE about this?” he muttered off-camera.

“Mind ya business!” Kaia grinned.

She wobbled. Arms pinwheeling. Her legs spread like a baby deer on ice.

Then—like a drunk giraffe possessed by the spirit of chaos—she launched herself in the air, all limbs and loudness.

“YEEEEEEEETT!!”

The world’s jankiest frog splash landed right on a giant padded mat with a loud, THUD.

Camera cut to her laying flat on her back, arms flopped out, dazed.

“...why my lungs hot?” she asked no one.

“I felt my spleen dislocate.”

The internet? DONE.

@ BlackGirlWrestling:

NO BECAUSE SHE’S REALLY COMING TO WWE 😭😭😭

@ Snacks4Kaia:

I’m crying. Not her yelling “YEET” mid-air. She’s ready for The Bloodline fr.

@ WWEFanCamz:

Top Rope Kaia era loading. Imagine her tagging in and immediately forgetting which direction to run 💀

@ Trinity_Fatu:

Not my sis out here stress testing her lungs 💅🏾 I STAN.

@ JeyUsoFanClub:

Jey somewhere pacing like a church usher during Easter service.

PAGE FORTY-THREE — “She Said ‘Yeet,’ Bro.”

Jey was mid-bite of a chicken wing when his phone pinged.

He looked down, and instantly choked.

@kaiafields posted a new story.

He didn’t even finish chewing.

He tapped the screen, sauce-covered fingers and all, and the second the video loaded — there she was. Sports bra. Compression shorts. A camera in her face, lips shiny, edges laid, breath short.

“This for the Wrasslin’ people. I’ll see y’all soon!”

Then the camera panned and all logic left his body.

Jey sat straight up on the hotel couch so fast his plate slid to the carpet. Jimmy, seated beside him, blinked slow.

“Don’t tell me she—”

“She’s climbin’ the damn top rope,” Jey whispered, stunned.

And then she did it.

The jump. The launch. The YEET.

“YEEEEEEEETT!!”

Jey dropped the phone.

Literally. Phone hit the floor, bounced, landed face-up with her frog-splash-flop still playing.

He covered his mouth. Then stood up. Then sat back down. Then stood again.

“She said Yeet, bro,” he said, voice trembling.

“Like my Yeet.”

“That was for me.”

Jimmy slowly reached across the couch, took the forgotten wing from Jey’s hand, and sighed.

“It was for wrestling, uce.”

“Wrasslin’,” Jey corrected, serious as a heart attack. “She said wrasslin’. That’s ours.”

Just then, Sefa walked in, took one look at the video paused on Jey’s screen, and tossed his gym bag down with a loud thud.

“Y’all ain’t dressed yet? The match call time’s in forty minutes.”

“She jumped,” Jey said, staring into the void. “She left the mat, Sef. She called out yeet.”

Sefa squinted at him.

“You bout to cry?”

Jey sniffed.

“Little bit.”

Sefa looked at Jimmy. Jimmy looked back. They both looked at Jey — now standing with his hand over his chest like the Pledge of Allegiance.

“I gotta get her a real ring,” Jey muttered. “She out here risking her spleen for me.”

“We not even together yet.”

PAGE FORTY-FOUR — “Snack Pack Drip Alert”

Kaia flopped onto her couch, still buzzing from the team’s prank earlier. They had officially dressed her head-to-toe in Jey Uso gear. She couldn’t stop laughing at herself in the mirror—gold grills flashing when she smiled, the signature “YEET” shades tilted just right, and the vintage Uso #2 jersey hanging loose but iconic on her frame.

She pulled out her phone, snapped a selfie—eyes bright and mischievous, tongue poking out a little—and started typing her message to Trinity:

“When your team knows you got a secret fan club president…”

Hit send, then immediately set the phone down with a grin that stretched ear to ear.

A moment later, the screen buzzed with Trinity’s reply:

“Sis, this got me WEAK 😭💀 You out here stuntin’ harder than Jey in that custom jersey. They bout to lose they minds when they see you like this.”

Kaia’s laughter bubbled up again, imagining the chaos this would stir in the Uso household.

Meanwhile, backstage at WWE, Trinity was already on the phone, smirking.

“Y’all better brace for the aftermath,” she told whoever was on the line. “Jey’s about to have a full-on meltdown when he sees Kaia stuntin’ like this.”

She leaned back, thinking about the plan for the next show.

Jimmy was supposed to roll out “injured” during the tag team match against Sefa and Jacob.

And then Kaia was gonna make her official debut—surprising Jey right there in the ring.

The timing? Impeccable.

Trinity knew how delusional Jey already was about Kaia—how he was basically her #1 hype man before they even talked.

Now? With Kaia sending him pictures looking like his biggest fan?

“Bro finna lose his damn mind,” Trinity whispered to herself, shaking her head but smiling wide.

“This is about to be the best damn storyline WWE’s seen in years.”

Back on Kaia’s couch, she checked her messages again, still grinning like she’d just pulled the prank of the century.

“Bet this gonna be the start of some wild crossovers,” she murmured, unaware of the perfect storm she was about to unleash.

PAGE FORTY-FIVE — “Day One: It’s Just Me, Uce”

The lights were hot. The crowd was on ten. The tag team match had just kicked off—Jey and Jimmy in the ring, facing off against a cocky, slow-walking Sefa and Jacob Fatu, both fully leaned into their heel personas. Booing rained down from the stands like confetti.

Jey cracked his neck, bouncing on the balls of his feet, scanning the crowd like usual, waiting for the usual heat-up…

Then everything tilted.

Jacob swung a steel chair—hard.

Jimmy didn’t dodge.

Jey blinked in real-time as his brother dramatically staggered back, gripping his stomach before stumbling to the ropes and rolling out the ring.

"The fuck...?"

Jey didn’t say it out loud—but his eyebrows twitched. That wasn’t part of the run-through. There hadn’t been any talk of chairs or a fake injury exit.

But they were live. So he played it cool. Switched stances. Kept going. Because that’s what a pro does.

And then?

Everything went left.

The arena lights cut out.

The titantron glitched. Then glowed red.

“UUSSSSOOOOOOOOOOO!”

The speakers boomed. The crowd stood. Confused. Electrified.

And then—up in the audience stands—a spotlight hit.

“It’s just me, Uce!”

The words flashed across the screen, bouncing to the beat of the crowd’s collective scream.

“DAY ONE—IT’S JUST ME, UCE!”

The arena exploded.

People turned. Pointed. Phones went up in the air like seafoam as a figure stood, backlit and glowing, doing the “yeet” motion—arms pumping, body rocking to the rhythm. The crowd slowly caught on and began to mimic her, thousands of arms moving up and down in sync.

Then the big screen zoomed in.

The sunglasses.

The grill catching the light.

The slim-thick silhouette in Nike dunks, short shorts, and a cropped Jey Uso tee with the sleeves rolled tight.

The camera panned in just as she stuck her tongue out between her teeth, flashing a wink and mouthing “LET’S YEET THIS BITCH.”

“HOLY SHIT, MICHAEL COLE—THAT’S WNBA DREAM’S KAIA FIELDS—” Pat McAfee practically leapt out the commentary booth.

“No way! She’s—SHE’S SUBBING IN FOR JIMMY USO?!”

The crowd lost their goddamn minds.

Kaia took off down the stadium steps with the smooth jog of a hooper used to dodging defense, sliding clean under the ropes and hopping up to the turnbuckle.

She stood tall—one hand raised, then the other—yeet movement full throttle.

The whole crowd followed, arms bouncing in the rhythm of the chaos.

And Jey? That man was staring like the sun had just risen inside the ring. Mouth fully open. Knees buckling under the weight of his own unhinged-ass prayers being answered.

Kaia finally turned, jumping down from the rope and squaring her shoulders at center ring.

“I’m subbin’ in, sugar,” she said, grill glintin’.

“Let’s go wrassle.”

PAGE FORTY-SIX — “Get In the Ring, Snack Pack”

The match should’ve paused. The ring should’ve reset.

But Kaia Fields did not care about WWE rules, pacing, or coordination. She was already moving.

“Come on then! Don’t be shy!” she called out, slapping her hands together as Sefa hesitated, sizing her up like she didn’t just dunk on half the Liberty last week.

Jey? Still standing outside the ropes like someone hit him with a 404 error. This man was glitching, full chest heaving, hands on his hips like he’d forgotten how to breathe.

Kaia patted his shoulder on her way past him.

“You good, sugar? Breathe wit’ yo mouth closed, you sucking up all the AC.”

Then she winked.

And turned right back around.

Crowd: UNHINGED.

Social media was foaming at the mouth:

@wrestlingwifey: “IS SHE ACTUALLY IN THE MATCH? I THOUGHT THIS WAS A SKIT?!?”

@courtsidechaos: “Nawww cause not Kaia doing Jey’s superkick and then stealing Cena’s move like it’s a buffet 😭”

@blackgirlsinwrestling: “Our queen said YEET BITCH on live TV and then folded Sefa Fatu like laundry. I fear she’s the future of tag teams now.”

@officialWWE: 📸 Breaking: WNBA superstar Kaia Fields tags in as Jimmy Uso’s surprise sub. #YEETGIRLSUMMER 🔥🔥🔥

Jey blinked, head snapping up as Kaia dropped into a low stance, waving Sefa in with both hands.

“You scared of a girl, Uce?” she taunted. “Come on! I got post game Popeyes waiting!”

Sefa rushed—and Kaia pivoted clean.

The crowd ROARED.

“YEEET, BITCH!!”

She hit a spinning back elbow, then dropped, bounced, and delivered a five knuckle shuffle straight outta Cena’s vault.

BOOM.

The crowd: “OOOOOOOOOOOOHHHHHH!”

Then—click—like something in her brain said “WWJD” (What Would Jey Do), she spun, planted, and hit the nastiestSamoan superkick right to Sefa’s chest.

“OOOOH!!!”

“OH MY GOD SHE DID THE SUPERKICK—SHE DID THE SUPERKICK!” Michael Cole was clutching the desk like it was gonna fly away.

“SHE OUT HERE MOVIN’ LIKE SHE BEEN TAG TEAMIN’ WITH USOS SINCE ‘99!” Pat screamed, voice cracking.

Jey finally staggered into the ring, looking like a malfunctioning fanboy, and just stood there—hands on his knees, sweat on his brow, watching her like she hung the damn moon.

She turned, smirked at him again.

“You just gon’ stand there? Tag in, partner.”

He didn’t move. Not fast enough anyway.

So she smacked his hand.

“TAG!”

The ref looked confused.

The crowd was losing it.

And Jey?

He looked at her like she just dropped the wedding ring he didn’t know she’d accepted.

PAGE FORTY-SEVEN — “Tag Team Tradition (Unofficially)”

It took Jey a second—maybe five—to process what just happened. His Snack Pack had slapped his hand, tagged him in, and flattened his baby brother like she was born with a folding chair in her crib.

Sefa was down. Arms stretched. Counting sheep.

The ref hit the mat— “ONE!” “TWO!” “THREE!”

DING DING DING.

The bell rang loud. The crowd exploded louder.

Jey blinked. His hands still hovering mid-air like his game controller disconnected.

She slid back in the ring smooth, strutting like she didn’t just do an unofficial tag team debut on a whim.

“You was movin’ slow, sugar,” Kaia grinned, reaching for him. “But I’m proud of you. You caught up eventually.”

She grabbed his wrists with both hands before he could even speak— Lifted his arms high in the air and turned to the crowd.

“YALL GIVE IT UP FOR UNCLE CUSTOM JERSEY RIGHT HERE!”

The crowd howled with laughter. Jey tried to protest—mouth opening to say something manly, wrestler-y, cool maybe—

But Kaia already had him doing the Yeet Choreography.

“Go on now—up, down, up, down. Arms in the air like the Spirit moved through ya!”

And God help him, he let her guide his arms like a puppet. The crowd mimicked them. Whole arena doin’ the Yeet.

Even Sefa, still folded on the mat, peeked up with a squint. “Ain’t no way y’all got him doin’ the fuckin’ wave.”

Kaia grinned, waved her hand like she was leading church praise, then spun to Jey.

“You looked stressed, partner. All tight in the shoulders. You gotta let loose, Mister Wrasslin.”

Jey laughed finally—real, gut-punch laugh. The kind that came from being dizzy, overwhelmed, and absolutely, catastrophically smitten.

“I swear to God I love you,” he muttered.

Kaia blinked.

“Huh?”

“NOTHIN’.”

PAGE FORTY-EIGHT — “Nice to Meet You, Folded You Like a Lawn Chair”

Sefa was still laying there, one knee up, dramatic as hell with his elbow covering his face like he just got hit with a Jersey Shore heartbreak.

Kaia? Already skipping over like she didn’t just fold him in front of a sold-out crowd.

She knelt beside him, smile big, hand out.

“Hey! I’m Kaia—thank you so much for lettin’ me have fun tonight! You must be Sefa, right?”

He blinked, chest still rising like he needed a minute.

“...You just superkicked me.”

She nodded cheerfully. “I did! I sure did! But I also let you lay there for a whole three-count like a gentleman. That’s grace, sugar.”

“That’s psychotic,” he muttered, grabbing her hand as she helped pull him up.

She hugged him like she ain’t just stole his dignity off live television.

“Trinity told me y’all had a younger brother. She said y’all were handsome too, but I ain’t believe her ‘til I saw it in person.”

Sefa side-eyed her.

“...You flirting with me after whooping me on national TV?”

“Nah, I’m just southern,” Kaia grinned, brushing imaginary dust off his shoulder. “This how we do.”

Meanwhile backstage:

Jimmy was limping dramatically (as scripted), clutching his side.

Trinity had her phone out, laughing too hard as she filmed the chaos wrapping up in the ring.

Jey?

Jey was standing outside the ropes like someone stole his soul. His eyes fixed on Kaia like a kid who just watched his crush win prom queen and knock out the quarterback on the same night.

He muttered, “She hugged him…”

Jimmy snorted.

“Relax, bruh. She hugged me too.”

“YEAH, BUT NOT AFTER BODYING YOU IN FRONT OF THE WHOLE CROWD.”

Back in the ring, the crowd still losing it, chanting:

“KAIA! KAIA! KAIA!”

She gave one last wave, doing a goofy lil curtsy before jogging to the ropes.

WWE’s Twitter? Melting. ESPN? Posting the frog splash from a different angle every 10 minutes. Black Twitter? Debating whether her Yeet form was “technically sound” or “raw power, no technique.” Jey’s Fan Account? Changed its name to SnackPack Stan Club.

And Kaia?

She was walking backstage like she hadn’t just changed the trajectory of WWE forever—towel on her shoulders, Popeyes waiting, and not a care in the world.

PAGE FORTY-NINE — “A Superstar Walks Into Catering…”

Backstage was buzzing. WWE crew sprinting, camera ops catching shots, and catering already whispering like high schoolers.

Kaia was walking down the hall with her gym bag slung over her shoulder, towel tucked in her waistband, still sweaty from the match but glowing like a damn stage light.

She spotted Trinity first—leaned against the wall, laughing on FaceTime with Bianca and Zelina.

Kaia’s face LIT UP.

“Biiiiihhhhhh! You saw me?! You saw me hit that YEET?” she yelled, running over.

Trinity looked up and immediately opened her arms.

“Giiiirrrrlll I saw you bodyslam Sefa like he stole ya grandma's rent check!”

The hug was all full-body joy and black girl magic.

“You was killin' it! You had the crowd screamin' like Beyoncè walked out with a folding chair.”

“I blacked out!” Kaia gasped. “I think I forgot the rules halfway through, I just started movin’ like I was playin’ 2K.”

Trinity wheezed laughing, “You landed that Yeet like it was choreographed, tho.”

“Period. And you know what helped?” Kaia pulled a crushed Sour Patch from her bra and held it up like a trophy. “Fuel.”

They were still cackling when a shadow passed them and Kaia turned—

And gasped.

Like, audibly.

“YOU—!”

She pointed wide-eyed, dropping her Popeyes biscuit in slow motion.

“YOU’RE—YOU’RE NYA JAX!!”

Nya turned, one perfectly sculpted brow raising. “That’s me.”

Kaia’s jaw damn near hit the floor. “I saw you when I was researching wrasslin’! You the one that picked up that one girl like she was a purse! YOU’RE TALLER IN PERSON!”

“You’re Kaia Fields,” Nya grinned. “We been watchin' you backstage like a TikTok saga. You funny as hell.”

Kaia fanned herself dramatically.

“When I grow up, I wanna be YOU. Big. Bad. Beautiful. Pickin’ people up like laundry baskets.”

Nya laughed, “Girl you 5’10, what you mean grow up?”

“I’m built like an untrained stallion. You built like a threat level midnight.”

Trinity deadass howled.

Off to the side, Jey was just now arriving, still in ring gear, towel slung over his shoulder, eyes locked on Kaia like she just descended from heaven on a sour-patch-scented cloud.

Jimmy whispered, “You gon’ go say hi or you need a juice box?”

Jey: “Shut up, she talkin’ to Nya.”

Sefa limping over with an ice pack: “She’s more of a wrestler than half y’all now. I want a rematch.”

Jimmy: “Boy, she Yeeted your ass back to developmental—”

Jey: “YALL SHUT UP SHE SMILING.”

PAGE FIFTY — “Sky High Chaos & WWE Contracts”

“YOOOOOO I CAN SEE MY MAMA HOUSE IN WINSTON FROM UP HERE—!”

Kaia’s voice echoed clear across the arena.

Nya had her hoisted clean off the ground, arms flailing like a malfunctioning inflatable outside a car dealership. Her legs kicked in the air while her signature finger waves stayed perfectly slicked down (miraculously).

“PUT ME DOWN BEFORE I GET A NOSEBLEED—LORD, I GOT VERTIGO!”

“SHUT UP!” Nya was wheezing, holding her up like a trophy. “You built like a damn WNBA action figure and you scared of air!?”

“YES MA’AM!” Kaia cried, gripping Nya’s shoulder for dear life. “I like gravity! I ain’t never asked to ascend!”

Trinity and Bianca were folded on the ground laughing, filming everything for Instagram. Jimmy in the back recording too, whispering to the camera, “y’all... she not okay 😭.”

Jey was off to the side, jaw dropped, hoodie in a chokehold, looking like he just witnessed a sunrise for the first time in his life.

“That’s... my wife,” he whispered to no one in particular, just vibes.

Sefa: “She don’t know you.”

Jey, louder: “MY WIFE!”

As Nya gently brought Kaia back down like Simba on Pride Rock, someone in a headset appeared behind her—WWE event staff, clipboard in hand.

“Ms. Fields?”

Kaia turned around mid-laugh, breathing hard. “Yessuh?”

“The team just wanted to say... you lit that ring up. It’s chaos—but good chaos. We’d love to offer you a comped guest wrestler package, backstage access, and a development session if you’re ever interested in running it back.”

Kaia blinked. “Wait... for real?”

Trinity beaming beside her, already nodding. “Told you they’d love you.”

Nya added, “You got the sauce, sis. That wasn’t a guest appearance, that was a main event audition.”

Kaia wiped her forehead with her Popeyes napkin and grinned.

“Lemme tell my coach he gon’ need a sub for next week. I got bodies to slam and my edges is already laid.”

PAGE FIFTY-ONE — “Mama Said I Can!”

Kaia still slightly sweaty, her lil Nike shorts dusted in ring glitter, turned to the WWE event crew, pointer finger up like a good Southern child about to ask to go to the skating rink.

“I’mma be so fr with you—I gotta ask my mama and Coach ‘nem first.”

The event staffer blinked. “Oh—uh, sure! Of course.”

She was already jogging off barefoot like a little cousin at a family reunion, still clutching her Popeyes bag and phone as she speed dialed her mama with one hand and waved over her coach with the other. She paced like she was negotiating international trade agreements.

“No Mama, I ain’t finna throw my back out. I stretched. YES I stretched, good LAWD—”

“Coach, Coach, lemme wrassle one time, you can’t even be mad—I dunked three times tonight and passed the ball twice! Twice! That’s growth!”

Ten minutes and a FaceTime call later, she jogged back with the biggest thumbs up and smile imaginable.

“We all locked in. Coach said long as I don’t bust no knee and Mama said I need a medic on standby and a satin bonnet. I’m good to go!”

The event staff chuckled and checked her name off like they were checking in a VIP. “Welcome to the family, Kaia.”

“I’m finna YEET my whole soul, I’m so hype!”

Meanwhile...

Jey Uso was standing about four feet away. Man had been frozen the entire post-match wrap-up like he accidentally got put on pause.

She turned to him, catching him mid-long-stare. He tried to snap out of it, cleared his throat, and mumbled loud enough for God and the ancestors to hear:

“So uh... I was thinking, maybe you wanna... tag team... I mean wrestle—WAIT, NO I MEANT like dinner? Not... not the wrasslin kinda tag team, unless you into—”

Kaia blinked.

Then she hollered laughing, doubled over, smacking her thigh.

“I can do all three, partna’,” she grinned, the Southern strong in her vowels. “But I just ate Popeyes... soo later?”

She patted his chest twice like she was calming down a pit bull and slid off with Trinity, still cackling as the YEET Nation screamed behind her.

PAGE FIFTY-TWO — “Somebody Catch Ya Boy”

Jey was still standing there.

Absolutely folded.

The Popeyes perfume? Her calling him partna’? The sooo later? with a wink and a Gatorade-sticky thumb tap to his chest?

Yeah.

It was over.

The lights were on, but nobody was home. He looked like he just saw the Lord himself in a durag and yeet shades.

“Yo,” Jimmy whispered to Trinity, watching him sway like a newborn horse. “Somebody catch ya boy. He lookin’ real wobbly.”

Trinity, already doubled over laughing, slapped Jimmy’s chest. “Go help him, baby, before he fall and scare the white people.”

Behind them, Sefa was recording again, this time whispering directly into the mic of his phone.

“Day... whatever. He’s down bad. He ain't blinked in 45 seconds. I don't know that man. I was adopted. I’m legally changing my last name. #SnackPackStruck.”

The clip was on TikTok within fifteen minutes.

Meanwhile Jey was muttering under his breath, staring into the middle distance like he just got hit by spiritual lightning.

“She said... all three. Dinner... tag team... Popeyes… lawd.”

His hand still clutched the now-signed warm-up jacket like it was her. Like it might giggle or smell sweet again if he hugged it tight enough.

He finally turned to Jimmy, dazed.

“Uce. I think I need to sit down.”

Jimmy: “We been sitting.”

Jey: “I need to sit again.”

[mjonthetrack]

folded

PAGE TWENTY-EIGHT — “MEET & GREET MADNESS + SOUR PATCH HEIST”

The buzzer sounded for the start of the fourth quarter.

The crowd was still electric from Kaia’s back-to-back dunks, but the announcer’s voice boomed over the arena speakers, cutting through the noise like the words were dipped in prophecy:

“Just a reminder — the ladies of the Atlanta Dream will be at the Apollo Theater tonight for an exclusive pop-up meet and greet! Limited tickets are now available online!”

Jey snapped his head around so fast Jimmy flinched.

“Wait wait wait—THE APOLLO?? Tonight???”

Trinity was already typing.

“Oh lord.”

“Y’all better get on Ticketmaster ‘cause I’m not playing—” Jey pulled his phone out with the speed of a man trying to order Beyoncé tickets. “MOVE, Jimmy, I need Wi-Fi!”

Jimmy side-eyed him.

“You got unlimited data, bro.”

“NOT FOR DESTINY I DON’T!”

Cut to Kaia? Sis was chillin’.

Leg stretched out on the bench, ice pack on one knee, hoodie halfway over her head, fully vibing. She had somehow — somehow — retrieved the sour patch stash she’d had snatched earlier.

She was mid-chew, smirking at her teammate across the bench.

“Told y’all he wasn’t slick. Man thought I wouldn’t notice him getting up just so he could sit on my candy.”

“Kaia, I saw you crawl under the bench when Coach turned around.”

“Ssshhhhh,” she hissed dramatically, tossing a red sour patch in her mouth. “Snitches get cardio.”

The Dream’s rookie shooting guard was on the court getting some minutes in, but every now and then she’d glance over like, that’s the energy I need to absorb.

Kaia leaned back, hoodie falling to her shoulders.

“If they let me bring snacks to this meet n’ greet, I’m not sharing. Let them fans know early. I’m not getting jumped over no lemon-flavored candy.”

Meanwhile, over in Jey’s corner of chaos…

“Got it!” he hissed triumphantly, holding up the Apollo ticket confirmation on his phone like it was the golden ticket to Willy Wonka’s Chocolate Factory.

Trinity groaned.

“We’re in New York now. If you end up backstage handin’ her a Popeyes combo and a promise ring, I’m walking out.”

Jey, unbothered, still holding her jacket like a newborn baby.

“That’s my future, Trin. I need her to know that.”

Jimmy just shook his head, muttering:

“This man gonna propose before she learns his last name.”

PAGE TWENTY-NINE — “SNACK PACK GOES VIRAL”

Final score: Dream — 97 Liberty — 68 (A 29-point soul-snatching slaughter.)

The locker room was pure post-game energy: sneakers squeaking, girls yelling across benches, towels flying, and music bumping from a speaker that nobody claimed responsibility for.

Kaia was leaned back in her chair, legs stretched out, sipping on a water bottle like she didn’t just dunk a Liberty player into retirement. Her curls were frizzed, lashes barely hanging on, but her grin?

Unbothered and undefeated.

One of her teammates, Kayla, came jogging over, waving her phone.

“K! K, you are trending, bro. Like... scary trending.”

Kaia cracked one eye open, still chewing on the last of a red sour patch.

“What I do? My wig came off again?”

Kayla snorted and turned the screen toward her.

Twitter. Or X. Or whatever Elon was trying to rebrand it as this week. Either way—it was chaos.

A clip of Jey, fully suited in his custom #2 jersey, screaming from the sideline like a full-blown sports dad, was everywhere. In slow motion. In 4K. With edits. With Beyoncé music.

@ WNBAfinessa: “Who is this man yelling ‘that’s wifey #2!!’ with a straight face while gripping her warmup like a lifeline 😭”

@ snackpackwatch: “Jey Fatu courtside in a CUSTOM Kaia Fields jersey?? Somebody check on that man. He been screaming like his taxes depend on her field goal percentage.”

And then there it was.

#SnackPack Trending worldwide. Accompanied by clips of Kaia’s dunks, her wig flying, and Jey screaming like a mother at a dance recital.

Kaia squinted, pulled her phone from her locker, and looked at the feed herself.

Clip after clip. Her bust down in the air. Her yelling from the rim. Him gripping her jacket with tears in his eyes like it was his firstborn child.

“Yoooo,” she laughed loudly, snorted actually. “Whose father is that?!”

Kayla doubled over laughing.

“Girl you don’t know him?! That’s Jey Fatu from WWE. That’s one of the twins!”

Kaia blinked, watching the clip again of him screaming, “THAT’S MY SNACK PACK!! GO ‘HEAD BABY, DUNK SOMEBODY INTO THE PARKING LOT!!”

“...I don’t even have fan merch that elaborate,” she muttered.

Another teammate walked by, saw the video and smirked.

“He gon’ be at the meet and greet, you know that right? You better put some extra glue on your lashes ‘cause bro look like he’s gonna ask for a joint mortgage.”

Kaia rolled her eyes, but couldn’t stop the smirk tugging at her lips.

“Let me find out I got a WWE husband and didn’t even know it.”

Another notification popped up:

@ TrinCapturedThat reposted: 📹 Video of Jey whispering into the jacket like it talks back Caption: “My brother-in-law is sick in the head but at least he got taste 💅🏽 #snackpacknation”

Kaia wheezed.

“Y’all. I gotta see this man in person. He either a menace or he really my biggest fan.”

PAGE THIRTY-ONE (CORRECTED VIBE) — “IF YOU GOT A $20 BILL PUT YA HANDS UP!”

The Apollo was STOMPING with energy.

Fans were yelling, the lights were swirling, and then that iconic DJ screech dropped through the sound system—

“FATMAN SCOOP! CROOKLYN CLAN!”

And just like that?

CHAOS.

Kaia was mid-convo with a young fan when she paused. Her whole face shifted like her inner auntie took the wheel.

The music cranked and that beat hit like a bus.

“WHO FKIN’ TONIGHT?! WHO FKIN’ TONIGHT?!”

“OH SHHHH—Y’ALL!!!” Kaia yelled, eyes wide, pointing to the ceiling like the DJ himself was descending from heaven.

Her teammates SCREAMED, fans losing their minds as Kaia shot up from behind the table.

Kayla was already across the room, doing a half-twerk/shoulder-shimmy combo with a couple fans who were doubling over in laughter.

Kaia stomped once in her stiletto and hollered:

“IF YOU GOT A $20 BILL—PUT YA HANDS UP!!!”

“PUT YA HANDS UP!!”

Kaia and two fans who had slipped around the rope line were now full-on dancing—heels, lashes, and hoop earrings in motion. She was holding her water bottle like a mic, screaming the lyrics at the top of her lungs.

“SINGLE LADIES—I CAN’T HEAR Y’ALL!”

The beat dropped again and Kaia turned sideways, hit the old “Rock Away” dance, then dipped down like she was back home at a family cookout on a holiday weekend.

Phones were everywhere. The fans weren’t even in line anymore—half of them were dancing, the other half just hollering.

@ KaiaFieldsStanAcct: 📹 Kaia turning a meet-and-greet into a whole club in 0.3 seconds. Not her outdancing the fans and her own team 😭😭

@ DreamMediaWatch: 📹 Kaia Fields yelling ‘IF YOU GOT A $20 BILL PUT YA HANDS UP’ like she wasn’t on ESPN 2 hours ago. Caption: This woman is the moment.

And backstage?

You already KNOW Jey saw the moment the crowd split like Moses parting the Red Sea to make way for Kaia’s $20-bill-having, finger-wave-wearing self.

He GRIPPED that game jacket like it was sacred cloth.

“Oh my God,” he whispered again, dazed.

Trinity smacked him on the arm.

“Go say hi, idiot.”

Sefa again, in the family group chat:

Sefa 👑: If he starts cry-dancing I’m leaving. He already been whispering to her jacket like it got a heartbeat.

PAGE THIRTY-TWO — “IS THAT WHO I THINK IT IS?”

The beat flipped—

Timbaland & Magoo — “Drop” came sliding through the speakers like the DJ knew what he was doing.

That brass-heavy bounce and old-school clap rhythm had the whole floor swaying.

Kaia and Kayla were mid-two-step, shoulder bouncing and knees bending like they were at a grown folks barbecue. Both were grinning wide, sweating just a little, high off the win and the vibes. Fans were singing with them, some trying (and failing) to keep up with their footwork.

Kaia hit her signature move—a lil stanky leg then pop-and-lock combo—right before cracking up.

They turned when a wave of shouts came from the other side of the barricade. A group of fans was gathered near a familiar face—Trinity Fatu, standing tall and fine with her locs pinned and a soft smirk on her face, watching the chaos unfold like a proud auntie at the homecoming tailgate.

Kayla’s eyes lit up first. She slapped Kaia’s arm with the back of her hand.

“Ayyyyyeeee! Ain’t that the wrestling chick?!”

She waved exaggeratedly, stepping toward the barricade with zero shame:

“Girl! You be KILLIN’ them lil outfits—who you be fighting? Beyoncé? ‘Cause you be STOMPIN’.”

Trinity let out a laugh, her gold hoops catching the light as she waved back.

“You wild,” she called through the noise.

Kaia was still finishing signing a jersey when she looked up and caught the moment. She blinked twice. Head tilted. Then—that Kaia laugh bubbled up and exploded.

“Aww shoot, hey y’all!” she beamed, sliding up beside Kayla with her sharp country twang cutting through the music like honey over cornbread. “Y’all havin’ fun? Did you enjoy the game?”

A few heads turned when she said it—like just her accent was a main character moment.

She offered her hand over the barricade to shake, smile bright, sweat glistening along her cheekbones. Someone reached out to grab it—someone tall, shaded by a hoodie and standing just behind Trinity.

She didn’t clock him at first.

Just grinned and looked around at the crowd, chatting casually like she hadn’t been dunking on people and hanging from the rim like a gremlin with a vengeance twenty minutes ago.

But Jey?

Jey was silent. Still. Breathing just a little bit harder. Because there she was. Right there.

Sweat still drying on her temples.

Lashes curled to the heavens.

Finger waves sitting.

Perfume still clinging to that damn game jacket he was carrying like a newborn baby.

He moved forward just an inch.

Trinity turned to side-eye him with a knowing smirk, mouthing without saying a word: “Don’t fold.”

Kayla looked between them and raised an eyebrow.

“Who dat?” she asked Kaia, jerking a thumb toward the tall dude behind the barricade.

Kaia turned—curious, not thinking anything of it—eyes skimming over his frame casually.

Still no idea who he was.

But when he finally spoke?

Voice smooth, deep, and touched by just the faintest tremble of nerves—

“Hey, uh… you need more sour patch for the road, Snack Pack?”

Kaia blinked.

Then slowly cocked her head.

“...who?”

Kayla’s eyes went wide.

Trinity started wheezing.

And Sefa, somewhere out of sight in the venue, had already pulled his phone out and was texting:

Sefa 👑: Y’all. This dumbass said “snack pack.” We 60 seconds from security being called.

PAGE THIRTY-THREE — “UNC WITH THE CUSTOM JERSEY?!”

Kaia blinked again, lips parted slightly, head tilting like she was trying to get the WiFi signal to hit her brain just right.

Her eyes dragged slowly from the man’s face, down his hoodie, over the visible gold chain, and then she saw it.

The jacket.

Her warmup jacket.

Still in his big-ass arms like it came with a birth certificate.

And then—like a lightbulb flicked on and short-circuited—her brain did the math.

Add up the X clip.

Plus the “snack pack” comments.

Plus the muscle-bound chaos man in the Dream #2 custom jersey courtside, yelling like he had a mortgage on her jump shot.

It clicked.

Hard.

“YOOOOOOOOOO!!!” she hollered, stumbling back a step as her whole body folded laughing. “It’s YOUUU! UNC WITH THE CUSTOM JERSEYYYYY!!”

Kayla looked between them like 😭😭😭

Trinity? GONE. Bent over at the waist, gripping Jimmy’s hoodie like she was trying not to fall over.

Jey? Standing there holding that jacket like someone just proposed to him.

Kaia smacked Kayla’s arm twice, still giggling through her words:

“Girl this the president of the Kaia Snack Pack Coalition—live and in 4K!”

She turned to the nearest security staff, eyes watery from laughing, voice hoarse but still full of southern warmth and chaos:

“Yo—yo, let them through. That’s the president of my fan club, he VIP today!”

The fans behind her lost it. Screaming, cheering, a couple trying to record like they were documenting history.

One girl in the back of the crowd yelled:

“WE BEEN KNEW UNC WAS DOWN BAD!!!”

Kayla clutched her own chest, gasping between laughs, “I can’t breathe, Kaia be serious—he still got your jacket!”

Kaia pointed again, nearly doubling over.

“He carried that thang like an emotional support ferret all game—I know he still got my perfume on it!”

Jey finally stepped closer, hoodie sliding down off his head, grill glinting as he tried to keep his cool—and failed.

“Y’all laughin’ but I’m deadass,” he said, smirking. “I ain’t never cheered so hard for nobody in my life. I was ready to fight the mascot.”

Kaia looked him up and down, then put her hand on her hip and teased,

“Unc… you don’t even know me!”

“That’s what make it special,” he grinned.

Trinity in the back:

“Lord, they gonna be married by Friday.”

Sefa, already texting the group chat again:

Sefa 👑: President of the snack pack fan club. Let me see if I can get a job at TSA. I’m never gonna recover from this.

PAGE THIRTY-FOUR — “AIN’T THAT THE WRASSLIN’ DUDE?!”

Kaia was still catching her breath, cheeks pink from laughter, when she squinted at Jey a little harder.

The dim club-style lighting of the Apollo made it hard to focus, but now that he was a little closer? Her eyes scanned over the jawline, the height, the chain, the way the hoodie hung off his frame like it was mad at him for being that fine.

Then it hit her.

She snapped her fingers, pointing like she had just solved a true crime.

“Hold up— ain’t that the wrasslin’ dude you said be on that TV program?!”

The drawl on “wrasslin” was so thick it curled around the syllables like molasses.

Kayla, standing beside her mid-sip of water, choked so hard she had to hit her own chest.

She side-eyed Kaia with the deadest face imaginable.

“Girl… they’re literally all the Black and Brown LeBron James of WWE,” she said flatly. “Don’t do that. They more famous than us.”

Kaia snorted.

“Well damn, excuse me, I don’t be watchin’ it like that! I just be seein’ folks get slammed and them little shiny shorts flippin’!”

Jey just stood there with the biggest smile on his face like a kid watching a golden retriever talk for the first time.

“She said ‘wrasslin,’” he whispered, like he was gonna fold right there in the Apollo lobby.

Trinity leaned over to Jimmy, who was standing nearby eating a protein bar and absolutely vibing:

“I love her. You heard how she said it? ‘Wrasslin.’ We need to keep her.”

Jimmy just nodded like, “Yeah. That’s it. She’s family now.”

Fans were already recording, captions flooding X:

@ WWExDreamZone: 📹 Kaia just called Jey Fatu the ‘wrasslin’ dude on TV… I fear this is peak comedy. She don’t even know what the Bloodline is 😭😭

@ KaiaCoreUpdates: 📸 “Ain’t that the wrasslin dude—?” this why we love her. She don’t even care if you famous. She just tryna keep her wig on and drink Gatorade 💀

Back in the family group chat:

Sefa 👑: She called this grown man a wrassler. I’m embarrassed and in love.

Kaia finally turned back to Jey with a tilted smirk and nodded like she just confirmed he was, in fact, “that wrasslin dude.”

“Well… appreciate the support, Mr. WWE. You out here makin’ sure I got electrolytes and energy from courtside, huh?”

“You got my entire tax refund worth of energy,” Jey shot back without hesitation.

Kayla let out the loudest wheeze.

Kaia blinked, face slowly morphing into one of those “boy what?” expressions.

“See now I’ma have to get security again.”

PAGE THIRTY-FIVE — “DON’T BE PASSING OUT, UNC.”

Kaia studied him.

Like actually studied him. Head tilted just slightly, lashes fluttering, that little half smirk creeping up like she was trying to figure out if he was real or just a TikTok fever dream.

This big-ass man, standing there with her warmup jacket still hugged to his chest like a Build-a-Bear, grill shining, hoodie slightly askew from all the earlier yelling.

His eyes were still on her like she was the moon and he forgot the Earth existed.

And she?

She was squinting like she’d just spotted a rare species.

“Mhm,” she muttered to herself, hand on her hip. “Funniest damn strange Unc I ever met.”

Then, like it was nothing—like it was casual to offer something so sacred—Kaia pulled out her half-finished purple Gatorade and handed it to him across the barricade.

Deadass.

Right into his big ol’ paw.

“Here. You look parched, sir. Don’t be passin’ out now—”

She paused, eyes dragging over his very not-small frame, head to toe, before letting her voice drop into a wheeze-laugh:

“You too damn big for me to try and help. My knees sensitive.”

Jey stared at the bottle.

Then at her.

Then back at the bottle like it was a marriage license in liquid form.

“...You tryna kill me?” he asked, blinking slowly.

“You the one actin’ like it’s your wedding day,” Kaia fired back, sipping from a different bottle she pulled from her bag like she kept backups.

The fans were screaming.

Trinity had to walk away before she full-on started crying.

Jimmy? Sitting on a chair nearby, just quietly filming everything.

Kayla whispered to one of the girls from the team:

“Y’all. I think she just gave him the purple Gatorade. That’s, like, her Gatorade.”

“That’s her love language,” someone else whispered.

Socials were in shambles.

@ FanClubSnackPack: 📸 SHE GAVE HIM THE GATORADE. 📝 Chapter One: How Kaia accidentally adopted a Samoan husband by giving him electrolytes.

@ WWENation: Quote tweeting a slow-mo video of Jey accepting the bottle: 🫱🏽‍♂️💜 “The handoff that changed history.”

Meanwhile in the group chat:

Sefa 👑: Why he looking at that bottle like she handed him a sonogram and asked him to be a father

Kaia just laughed, eyes gleaming as she nudged the bottle closer to Jey’s hand.

“You good, sir? Or you need a snack too? I got a bag of sour patch in my purse but you gotta say please.”

PAGE THIRTY-SIX — “IS HE MUTE OR SOMETHIN’?!”

Jey hadn’t moved.

Not really.

He was holding the Gatorade like it came with a set of wedding vows, his lips parted ever so slightly, blinking real slow like he just got hit with a love potion and a frying pan at the same time.

Kaia tilted her head, then leaned over slightly to peep at him better.

He still wasn’t talking.

Just breathing heavy.

Staring.

Blinking.

Breathing.

Blinking.

“Yooo,” Kaia wheezed, turning to Kayla as if she needed confirmation. “Why he breathin’ like a pug?! Is he good???”

The crowd behind her lost it.

Jimmy ducked his head, trying not to laugh too loud.

Trinity, standing nearby, was already giggling into her hand when Kaia turned fully toward her now, brows raised, voice all confused and country:

“Hey, uh—you his people, right? What’s his name? Is he like… mute or somethin’? He got asthma? I can’t tell if he in love or in cardiac arrest.”

Trinity snorted.

“Oh nah, he can talk. Trust me,” she said, still wheezing, “he been screamin’ about you since halftime like his life depended on it.”

Kaia blinked slow this time, processing. The crowd “OOP”ed.

“...You lyin’.”

“She not,” Jimmy called from his chair, still casually recording. “He been out here talkin’ ‘bout ‘snack pack’ this, ‘she my wife’ that, all game.”

Jey finally blinked hard and turned to Trinity like she just exposed state secrets.

“Why would you say that out loud?” he whispered, genuinely distressed.

Kaia stared at him like she couldn’t believe he was real.

Then laughed again, hand on her knee.

“Boy, you need a hug or an inhaler?”

Fans behind the barricade were crying, one girl holding up her phone yelling,

“IS HE MUTE?! is now a top-tier Kaia quote 🔥”

@ SnackPackChronicles: 📝 Chapter 2: She thought he was mute. He thought she was the second coming of joy. Who will fold first? 📸 attached: Jey still blinking and clutching a half-empty Gatorade.

Sefa texted the group chat again:

Sefa 👑: Yo… why y’all let her talk to him like that 😭😭😭 She treating my big brother like he a church visitor without a name tag

Trinity:

Cause he like it. 👁️👁️

PAGE THIRTY-SEVEN — “YOU LOOK MORE LIKE A JEY TO ME.”

Jey still hadn’t said anything coherent.

He hadn’t moved either.

Just kept clutching the purple-scented hoodie like it was a prayer shawl and not a piece of sweaty cotton fabric she’d accidentally flung at his pecs mid-dunk.

Kaia reached for it gently, her nails brushing his hand like she was trying to pet a wild animal, and he visibly flinched like she’d hit him with Cupid’s elbow.

“Don’t be nervous,” she grinned, her accent curling thick like butter in a hot pan. “I don’t bite… unless you touch my fries.”

She uncapped a black Sharpie with her teeth and leaned in a little, her warmup hoodie stretched out over his chest like it belonged there. She signed it slow, extra loopy, the fruity-sweet scent of her perfume sliding through the air like a southern charm spell.

“There ya go,” she murmured. “Now you got somethin’ to cry into tonight.”

Her eyes flicked up, catching his stunned, locked-in stare, and she laughed softly, waving a hand in front of his face.

“Bless your heart,” she drawled, shaking her head. “You really stuck, ain’t you?”

Jey didn’t respond. Just took a slow inhale.

Bad choice.

Her perfume smacked him straight in the memory banks.

He blinked hard, like he just got hit with a vision from the ancestors.

Kaia tilted her head with a little smile.

“They said your name’s Joshua?” she asked lightly, as if she wasn’t toying with the last fiber of his emotional regulation. “Mm… you look more like a Jey to me.”

That was it.

He was done.

Emotionally, spiritually, mentally… finished. Cooked. Folded like a laundry basket on Easter Sunday.

Kayla, standing a few feet away watching this entire tragic meltdown in real-time, let out the deepest disappointed sigh known to mankind.

Hands on hips, she deadpanned, looking directly at Jimmy and Trinity like this was a parent-teacher conference.

“Excuse my teammate,” she said, voice dry as toast. “She’s wrestling illiterate and clearly sharing the same half a brain cell as Main Event over here.”

Jimmy wheezed, nearly choking on his gum.

Trinity had to physically walk away, giggling as she grabbed Jey’s shoulder and gave him a shake.

“Say something, damn! Don’t just stand there breathin’ in her neck like it’s aromatherapy!”

“That ain’t aromatherapy,” Jey mumbled, eyes still locked on Kaia. “That’s a religious experience.”

The fans screamed.

@ WWExDreamZone: 📸 Kaia: “You look more like a Jey to me…” Jey: mentally planning their wedding, honeymoon, and joint taxes

@ SnackPackUpdates: Kaia signing that hoodie like she baptizing him and Kayla over it already 😭😭

Back in the group chat:

Sefa 👑: I take it back. Not only was I adopted, but my real parents were white and Canadian. I’ve never met these people in my life.

PAGE THIRTY-NINE — “SPECIAL K APPROVED”

“So what you use on your skin again?” Trinity asked, holding Kaia’s arm up like she was inspecting a rare artifact.

“It’s just cocoa butter an’ prayer, baby. I be glistenin’ through adversity,” Kaia replied with a wink, letting her Southern lilt hit heavy on every vowel.

They’d been vibin’ since the Gatorade incident.

Jey was still somewhere in the background, spiritually curled in the fetal position, but Kaia and Trinity? Already talking like cousins at the cookout.

Phones were out. Numbers were exchanged. IG follows accepted with matching “you cuteeee 😭😭😭” DMs. Within five minutes, they had a handshake in the works and were already planning a day out if WWE and WNBA schedules ever lined up.

“Ain’t no way she just made a new best friend while I’m still rebooting like an Xbox…” Jey mumbled to himself, clutching his custom #2 jersey like a stress blanket.

Jimmy just looked at him like, “You deserve this.”

Kaia pulled both Jimmy and Trinity into a quick flick near the barricade, grinning wide with her arms around them like they were old friends from way back.

Camera click. Flash.

She opened her Instagram, uploaded the photo raw—no filter, just good lighting and a baddie in her natural environment.

Caption:

met some of them wrasslin’ folks 🤼🏾‍♀️ they cool w/me — Special K approved 🧍🏽‍♀️🍬 tagged: @ Trinity_Fatu @ WWE @ UceTwinNo1

The comments BLEW. UP.

@ HoopsAndHeels:

Not her calling them “wrasslin’ folks” 😭😭😭 she got the whole WWE dynasty in a chokehold already

@ Trinity_Fatu:

love you already sis 💅🏾💫 we doing face masks & calling out men next time 🔥🔥

@ SnackPackFanUpdates:

She posted him y’all. Not him him. But she posted the moment. This our era.

@ WrestlingInTheSouth:

Special K Approved got a chokehold on me ngl 😩

Sefa hit the group chat, again:

Sefa 👑: Y’all see how quick Trinity replaced us with a WNBA legend? I don’t blame her but I fear for my brother’s emotional stability.

Back in reality, Jey just stared at the post on his own screen like he was reading scripture.

“She posted us… I mean, them… but us in spirit…”

Jimmy snorted so hard he coughed.

PAGE FORTY — “PRESIDENT OF THE SNACK-PACK SOCIETY”

The meet-and-greet was winding down, music still pulsing low from inside the Apollo, fans slowly trickling out into the summer night. The lights had dimmed just enough to let the neon signage outside glow—casting Kaia’s edges and smilein divine light.

She gave Trinity one last tight hug, both of them cackling at something inside-joke level about wig glue and top rope trauma.

“Aight girl, imma DM you that edge control link,” Kaia promised, pulling back with a grin.

Jimmy leaned in for a quick side-hug too—friendly, respectful, big-brother coded.

“Y’all playin’ again out here, I better see y’all courtside with signs!” she teased, pointing between them.

“Say less,” Trinity laughed, “I’m already designing a poster.”

Then she turned.

And there he was.

Jey.

Still holding that hoodie like a newborn, standing a little too still, like if he moved too fast he’d wake up from this entire interaction.

Kaia stepped up beside him, hip cocked, one hand tossing up a peace sign. Her smile? Bright, easy, contagious.

Jey barely managed to keep from cheesin’ like a fool.

Phones flashed. The moment immortalized.

Kaia clicked her tongue as she opened her Instagram story, tapping quickly through her camera roll. She uploaded the picture with a caption so unserious it might’ve killed him twice:

‘Met Unc today! President of the Snack-Pack Society 💜💅🏾’ tagged: @ UceTwinNo2 🧍🏽‍♀️🍬

She didn’t even linger.

Just passed her phone off to Kayla mid-scroll and gave Jey a quick, polite side-hug like he was an old friend from church she only halfway remembered.

“Stay hydrated now, Mr. President,” she said lightly.

And then she walked away, strutting toward the rest of the Dream girls with her purse swinging and wrap heels clicking like she hadn’t just emotionally decimated a grown man in real time.

Jey stood there blinking.

Again.

Jimmy muttered, “You gonna breathe or nah?”

Jey looked down at the hoodie in his arms. Then at the IG story. Then back at the spot where she’d stood like she was still there.

“President of the Snack-Pack Society…” he whispered reverently. “That’s canon now.”

Sefa in the group chat:

Sefa 👑: Unc?! UNC?!? He bout to print business cards I just KNOW it.

[mjonthetrack]

folded

PAGE NINE — “SENSITIVE KNEE, DON’T @ ME”

The arena was buzzing.

Kaia sat courtside, hoodie slung off one shoulder, sour patch pack hanging halfway out of the pocket like a badge of honor. Her phone was live on Instagram, caption flashing: “Warm-up chaos & knee negotiations 🩹🔥”.

She squinted into the camera, cheeks flushed from warming up, lips smacking in that way that meant she was definitely thinking about Popeyes and not cardio.

“Y’all see this?” she said, voice dripping with lazy charm. “Coach out here yellin’ like it’s the Olympics or somethin’. ‘Hit them stadiums! Hit them stadiums!’”

She rolled her eyes, already jogging a slow, lazy circle around the court like Red from Friday on his way to the car.

“Bruh, my knees sensitive, okay? I ain’t tryna pull nothing today. I’m talkin’ about stadiums, not stadium runs. Can’t y’all get that right?”

The teammates nearby were cracking up, one waving at the camera. “She really on that ‘I got a bad knee but still gotta show up’ vibe.”

Kaia gave a tired smile, smacking her lips. “Listen. I love y’all. But when coach say ‘stadiums,’ I’m thinkin’ hurts.”

She paused for dramatic effect and whispered to the camera, “If I pull my hammy on camera, I’m suing.”

As the live viewers climbed, the comments blew up:

“Special K mood.” “Knees over stadiums 100%.” “She just out here living.” “Someone get her some ranch and rest please.”

Meanwhile, the social media flood was real.

Tweets, TikToks, fan edits pairing her with WWE wrestlers, mentions of “Unc @ uceyboy34’s” desperate love letters — but Kaia? She wasn’t watching. Didn’t care.

She was too busy pacing the court in that slow, lazy jog, groaning and whining like a queen who knew her worth but alsoknew her knees were a whole damn problem.

“Y’all ever see somebody so pretty and chaotic they can’t even take their own warm-up serious?” one fan wrote.

Kaia laughed softly on camera and shrugged.

“Yeah. That’s me.”

PAGE TEN — “UNC TRYNNA SHOT HIS SHOT BUT KAIA CAN’T EVEN”

Kaia’s Insta Live was poppin’. Lazy jog, sour patch candy chillin’ in her hoodie, lips smackin’ like she was serving all the southern flavor.

The chat? Wild.

Uncle Jey was in full throttle, dropping comments like a dude with no filter and too much confidence:

@ uceyboy34:

“Snackpack, lemme bring you some wings so you can stop whining ‘bout that sensitive knee 🐝🔥” “If coach don’t care bout you, I got you 24/7. Ice packs, towels, and the whole damn 401k.” “You bout to sweat your wig glue off? Girl, that’s dedication. I’m here for you, what you need got2b I got it.”

But Kaia? She wasn’t even looking at the comments. She flipped the camera back to her face, cheeks flushed and breath a little heavy from that slow jog.

“Huffing and puffing,” she said with that signature laugh, “Y’all, they tryna take a player out today. Coach really don’t care bout me. I’m bout to sweat my damn wig glue OFF.”

She pulled her hoodie over her head for a second, then popped back on camera smacking her lips, sour patch in hand.

The comments kept flooding, but Kaia just kept going — oblivious to the chaos, the fans losing it over Unc’s thirsty ass sliding in, or the internet shipping them hard.

Backstage, Trinity was cackling on the sidelines, whispering to Bianca, “Y’all, he’s in her live again… She has NO idea.”

PAGE ELEVEN — “COME THROUGH OR STAY OUT THE WAY” + UNC READY TO RIDE

Kaia flipped the camera back, flashing that grin that was half “I’m about to do big things” and half “Y’all better recognize.”

“Y’all don’t be funky now,” she said, voice low but playful, like she was sharing a secret only the real ones were gonna catch.

“If you really rockin’ for me, come to the game tomorrow.”

Her eyes sparkled, full of that fiery, unapologetic confidence only a queen from Winston-Salem could have.

“We playin’ the Liberty up in New York, and y’all already know it’s gon’ be up like stuck.”

Her laugh came out easy, pure and contagious — the kind that made you wanna show up just to see what chaos she was about to bring.

She pulled her hoodie tighter, fingers grazing the sour patch dangling from her pocket, already tasting victory and spicy buffalo wings.

Meanwhile, somewhere backstage at WWE…

Jey “Unc” Fatu had been waiting for this moment.

He sat scrolling through Kaia’s live on his phone, eyes locked on her grin, hearing that laugh that had been stuck in his head all day.

His fingers tapped the screen like he was already drafting his entire courtside game plan.

Liberty in New York? He murmured, voice low and excited.

“I’m finna show up with the whole wifey essentials vibe,” he said to Trinity, who was smirking nearby. “Wings, towels, and maybe even some fireworks.”

She rolled her eyes but grinned. “You really gonna turn that game into a damn WWE event, huh?”

He laughed. “She ain’t ready. I’m comin’ for her — courtside, front row, loudest damn fan she ever seen.”

His phone buzzed — a flurry of fan tweets tagging him, already hyped about his “Unc” courtside debut.

He smirked. “Let ‘em talk. I’m here to claim my Snackpack.”

PAGE TWELVE — “THE DELUSIONAL DIARIES: UNC VS REALITY”

Jey sat sprawled across the hotel bed in his socks, legs crossed at the ankle, phone glowing in his hand as he tapped out a color-coded itinerary titled:

"NYC: Operation Snackpack 💅🏽✨🧃"

9:00 AM — Land in New York

9:30 AM — Pick up wings (all drums, spicy buffalo, extra crispy)

10:15 AM — Quick trip to Target for travel-size wig glue and a backup towel

11:00 AM — Courtside fit check

12:00 PM — Breathe her air, praise the Lord

Sefa leaned against the doorway, arms crossed like a tired older cousin at the family cookout.

“You not really makin’ an itinerary for snacks,” he said, flat as a broken TV. “You not really flying cross-country for a woman who replied once. Uce. Be so fuckin’ for real.”

Jey glanced up, not even phased. “It wasn’t just a reply. She said, ‘somebody come get unc.’ That’s a personal connection.”

Sefa blinked slowly, unamused. “She said it like you were a feral uncle at a barbecue.”

“I am a feral uncle at a barbecue,” Jey said, shrugging.

That’s when Trinity peeked in from the hallway, saw the notes app open, and immediately doubled over laughing, gripping Jimmy’s arm like she just saw something traumatic.

“Uh uh baby,” she wheezed, “go get ya twin before he ends up on TMZ Sports and a restraining order in the same day.”

Jimmy didn’t even flinch. “I told y’all he was gone. He been gone.”

Jey just grinned, flipping his phone around to show them a Canva collage of Kaia mid-laugh on the court with glitter text that read: “MY SNACKPACK, MY JOY, MY REASON.”

Sefa walked away rubbing his temple. “He need help. Real, professional, licensed help.”

PAGE THIRTEEN — “TRAIL RIDES & TOURNAMENTS: KAIA JUST VIBIN’”

The gym was buzzing, energy high before warmups, but Kaia?

Kaia was out here in full chaos mode.

Somebody had hooked the aux to a trail ride remix — bass thumpin’, Southern as hell — and next thing you know, the whole team was lined up on the sideline tryna learn the steps.

Kaia was in the middle, long limbs everywhere, cowboy hat she borrowed from the equipment manager tilted crooked on her head, yellin’ over the beat,

“Y’ALL GONE LEAVE ME BEHIND, I’M STILL ON STEP THREE!”

One of the rookies tryna hold it together was like, “Girl how you 5’10 and still the clumsiest one in the whole drill?”

Kaia slapped her own thigh mid-step, cackling. “God ain’t build me for choreography, I’m a shooter not a shaker!”

Somebody caught it all on TikTok — her arms flailing, hat sliding down her face, yelling “YEEEEAWH!” like she was in an actual rodeo. It was already hitting 25k likes before she even made it to warmups.

Her coach came out, arms crossed.

“Kaia,” he said, deadpan.

She froze mid two-step and held up a peace sign. “I’m stretchin’ coach. Mentally.”

Laughter echoed down the court. Her teammates were wheezing. Somebody tossed her a sweat towel like, “Girl go hydrate.”

Kaia plopped down on the bench, hoodie still on, sour patch bag crinkling as she dug into it.

“Game time,” she grinned through a mouthful of candy. “We ‘bout to show out.”

PAGE FOURTEEN — “WHERE THEM FANS AT???”

The speaker bumped “Where Them Fans At” and the whole squad LOST IT. The mascot hit a spin. The rookies started hollering. And Kaia?

Kaia was still tryna master steps one through three.

“WAIT Y’ALL SLOW DOWN—IS IT LEFT RIGHT KICK THEN HOP OR—DAMN I MISSED IT AGAIN!”

She threw her hands up, stomping in a circle like a horse that just gave up. Her teammates were crying, some doubled over by the Gatorade cooler, one yelling, “WHY SHE MOONWALKIN’ THROUGH THE TWO-STEP?”

“I’M TRYNA CATCH THE BEAT,” Kaia shouted, fully out of breath and laughing like she just ran suicides. “WHERE THEM FANS AT? RIGHT HERE, STRUGGLIN’!”

She yanked her hoodie off halfway, wig cap peeking, candy still stuffed in the front pocket like it was holding her together.

The camera crew filming for league socials was already trailing behind her, wheezing.

One teammate called out, “Girl if you miss this step one more time I’m filing a report.”

Kaia pointed across the court like she had beef. “REPORT THESE KNEES! THEY STIFF!”

And yet… she stayed in line. Laughing. Sweating. Trying. Still behind on the steps, but with so much energy it didn’t even matter.

The crowd had barely started trickling in, but the moment was pure Kaia chaos™️.

PAGE FIFTEEN — “YOU THOUGHT SHE WAS FOCUSED? SHE WAS HUNGRY.”

The locker room was jumpin’.

Lil Uzi’s “Just Wanna Rock” blasted through the speakers — girls jumpin’ in sync, somebody clappin’ on beat with a towel, a rookie in the back trying to backflip on camera. It was full hype energy, team on ten, ready to go bust through that tunnel like a stampede.

But Kaia?

Kaia was in the corner. Hoodie half off. Eyelashes barely hanging on. Popeyes box balanced on her knee like a throne.

She had one drumstick in one hand, red sports drink in the other, chewing like she had all the time in the world.

“Ain’t no way you eatin’ spicy before a game,” her teammate said, eyes wide.

Kaia shrugged, mouth full. “I play better with flavor in my bloodstream.”

The announcer’s voice echoed down the tunnel:

“AND NOW… STARTING FOR YOUR ATLANTA DREAM…”

Everybody started lining up.

Kaia did not.

“Girl—” someone hissed. “Put the damn biscuit down!”

“I got one more bite left, let me live!” she whisper-screamed, slamming the biscuit into her mouth with the urgency of someone about to do 40 minutes of cardio.

The mascot ran past doing the Uzi shoulder bop. Her teammates were bouncing in place, jerseys swaying, adrenaline flying.

Kaia finally wiped her mouth with her warmup towel and jogged over, still chewing.

“You gonna throw up on the court,” someone muttered.

“Then it’s gon’ be spicy,” she mumbled through a mouthful.

Coach gave her the side eye. She just grinned.

PAGE SIXTEEN — “#2, P.I.M.P. & A PACK OF SOUR PATCH”

The lights dimmed. Bass dropped. 50 Cent’s “P.I.M.P.” hit the speakers like a warning shot.

The crowd went UP.

Jey was already posted courtside, leaning back like he owned the arena. Grills in. Jewelry on. Rockin’ a clean, custom Atlanta Dream jersey with a big bold #2 across his chest, “FATU” stitched on the back like it was official merchandise.

He was cheesin’ so hard, Trinity had to hit him with the elbow.

“You better stop smiling like that before your teeth sweat,” she muttered.

“Shhh,” he whispered, grinning harder. “Wifey comin’.”

“And nowwwww… starting at shooting guard, number two… KAIA FIELDS!”

The camera panned dramatically to the tunnel.

The crowd was hype. The beat was thumpin’.

Players before her had sprinted out with energy, high-fived fans, chest bumped, hyped up the team.

But Kaia?

Kaia came out jogging lazy as hell, head tilted like she was annoyed to be summoned, a piece of Sour Patch hanging from her mouth like a cigarette.

“Y’all coulda called me last,” she muttered as she jogged out, hoodie bouncing, that Popeyes biscuit still living in her bloodstream.

Right as she crossed the line, the entire pack of Sour Patch fell out her hoodie pocket and hit the hardwood like confetti.

“Aw, HELL NAH,” she snapped, turning to scoop them mid-run. Coach snatched the bag from the sideline faster than the speed of God.

“You not finna eat on my court!”

“I WASN’T GONNA—DAMN,” she shouted back, still jogging like Red from Friday when Deebo came for his chain.

The whole arena was LAUGHING. Jey? That man had both hands clutched over his heart like a single auntie watching the bride walk down the aisle.

“That’s my Snackpack,” he whispered.

PAGE SEVENTEEN — “HA. MOTHERFUCKIN. HA.”

Kaia finally hit the bench, hoodie halfway off, wig still secured by God and a few stray prayers. The crowd was still chuckling. Her own teammates were keeled over laughing.

“You really dropped the Sour Patch like a dramatic plot twist,” one of the guards wheezed.

“Yo coach snatched that bag like it owed him money!” another chimed in.

Kaia rolled her eyes and took the deepest sip of her purple Gatorade — the kind that hits the back of your throat like electrolytes and regret.

She smacked her lips once. Loud.

“Y’all done?” she asked, deadpan. “Ha. Mother. Fuckin’. Ha.”

The locker room bench was silent for 0.2 seconds.

Then she sat back, legs stretched out, towel around her shoulders like a cape.

“Bitches think it’s funny,” she said with one brow cocked. “Just wait ’til this Popeyes hit mid-game. Ain’t nobody gon’ laugh then. Watch me go full grease-mode in the second quarter.”

One of the rookies snorted. “What is grease-mode?”

Kaia didn’t blink. “It’s like beast-mode, but I smell like Cajun sparkle and vengeance.”

From the sideline, the camera caught it all. Twitter was already on fire with the caption:

“Kaia Fields threatens full Grease Mode™️ after Sour Patch Incident at tip-off 💀💀💀”

And courtside? Jey leaned in closer, whispering to Trinity like it was sacred.

“She mad. She mad as hell. I love when she mad. Watch her drop 30 on pure spite.”

PAGE EIGHTEEN — “TIP-OFF TRAGEDY (AND LOW EFFORT DOMINANCE)”

“Kaia, you up.”

Coach didn’t even look her direction when he said it.

Kaia blinked, dead in the middle of sipping the last of her purple Gatorade and cracking her knuckles like someone who just woke up from a nap.

“Damn,” she muttered, setting the bottle down. “Can I stretch first?”

She stood up, cracking her neck, pulling off her hoodie in dramatic, unbothered slow motion. She had her shorts on underneath the slipover joggers, of course — it was game day, not amateur hour — but she still took her time rolling them down like she was about to sunbathe.

The team on the court was already clapping, hype. Fans on their feet. Her teammates yelling, “Let’s get it, K!”

Kaia just sighed, lazy jogging to midcourt like she was on break at her 9-5.

The ref started his little monologue — something about watching hands, playing clean.

She stood there. Hands on hips. Face straight.

🙄 “Y’all talk too much,” she whispered under her breath.

Then the whistle blew.

Kaia blinked, finally lifted herself up, and jumped.

One clean, casual, unbothered swat.

Ball tipped right into her team’s hands.

“AYEEEEE!” her bench exploded.

Kaia landed with a blank face, turned on her heel, and trotted back like nothing happened.

“Stretch for what?” she mumbled to herself. “Popeyes got my joints loose.”

On the sideline, Jey damn near stood up like it was a WWE main event.

“That’s my shooter!” he barked, clapping with both hands and no rhythm. “Lemme see you swat somethin’, Snackpack!”

Security already side-eyein’ him like 🧍🏽‍♂️🧍🏽‍♂️

PAGE NINETEEN — “MOVE, YOU MAKIN’ MY TITTIES HURT”

Kaia hit a few toe touches at the top of the key, finally remembering she probably should’ve stretched before getting airborne. She was giggling with one of the forwards, both of them doubled over while the crowd hyped around them.

But then she heard the coach yell, “OFFENSE!”

Kaia clicked her tongue and sighed like someone being asked to clock in early.

“Aight,” she muttered, pulling her ponytail tighter. “Lemme gone head get these lil points so I can sit down and watch my TikToks again.”

She jogged over to her position with the exact energy of someone headed to the DMV.

Play started fast — too fast — the Liberty’s defense came out swingin’. They were high-energy, in her face, already swarming like a summer cookout with no Off! spray.

Kaia took one look at the guard dogging her movements, full speed, sweat flying already, and groaned out loud.

“Damn hoe, is you not tired?” she said mid-dribble, eyes wide. “We ain’t even near halftime yet!”

The defender blinked, confused.

Kaia kept jogging sideways, trying to cross over, still talking.

“Move, you makin’ my titties hurt.”

The sideline screeched. A ref choked on his whistle. The mic picked it up. Twitter? In shambles.

Her teammate passed her the ball, and Kaia? Caught it one-handed, took two steps, snatched back, and popped the cleanest mid-range jumper with one knee still complaining.

Swish.

The crowd erupted.

Kaia turned around and whispered, “Told you. Lil points. Gimme my phone.”

PAGE TWENTY — “DAMN PAUL WALL, I SEE YOU”

Kaia had already dropped two clean threes like it was nothing. Didn’t even set her feet. One was off a no-look pass, the other while smacking her own teammate on the butt yelling, “screen me, baby!” She was hot—Cajun hot. Grease-mode officially engaged.

The Liberty tried to double her. Didn’t matter.

She stiff-armed the first guard out the way on a cut like she was big cousin at the cookout playing tag with toddlers. “Move, baby. You in the way.”

The second one? Poor thing tried to square up at the arc. Bad decision. Kaia crossed over, hit a clean pump fake, and switched hands mid-air before tossing a clean jumper straight through the net. She didn’t even watch it land.

But the third defender?

The third one got bold.

As Kaia turned to jog back on defense, this aggressive-ass forward from Liberty tried to body her up on the run like it was Wrestlemania. Elbow to the side. Hips first. Full shoulder check like she was trying to knock Kaia into a flashback.

Kaia stumbled for one full dramatic second—then caught her balance, stopped mid-court, and turned with her hands on her hips, breathing heavy.

Her wig cap was trying to break its lease. Her lashes clung for dear life. But her attitude? Fully loaded.

She stared at the girl like she was deciding whether to file taxes or throw hands.

“DAMN, PAUL WALL—I see you!”

The forward blinked like she didn’t compute it.

Kaia waved her arms, loud now.

“What you tryna do, drop a verse or drop me?? Back up with all that Houston aggression!”

Somewhere on the mic’d up sideline, a snort-laugh echoed. A ref’s whistle fumbled in his hand.

The audience?? SCREAMING.

Jumbotron caught her mouthing “Paul Wall built body havin’ ass…” as she readjusted her shorts.

The ESPN commentary booth was already off script.

“I—did she just name drop Paul Wall??”

“Did he sign with the Liberty??”

On the sideline, Jey stood up so fast his chain slapped the man in front of him.

Custom #2 jersey gleaming under the lights. Grill catching every camera flash. He pointed toward the court like a proud uncle at a graduation.

“THAT’S MY SNACKPACK! YOU DON’T ELBOW HER! YOU ELBOW ME, MF!”

Trinity next to him, wheezing into her popcorn.

Jimmy filming.

Sefa watching from Vegas like:

“Bro. Did he just throw a threat over women’s basketball fouls??”

Back on the court, Kaia jogged backwards into defense, still talking, still annoyed, voice carrying just enough for everyone courtside to hear:

“Tryna elbow me like I’m not somebody auntie out here. Girl you built like a traffic cone, go on.”

And then?

She stole the inbound pass and hit a layup.

Grease-mode. Activated.

PAGE TWENTY-ONE — “THE DUNK, THE DRAMA, THE DOVE”

The gym was buzzing like a swarm of caffeine-fueled bees — fans jumping, screaming, and spilling snacks all over their seats. The energy was so thick you could cut it with a butter knife. Both teams playing like their lives depended on it — but really, this was Kaia’s moment.

Kaia caught the ball at the far baseline, shoulders relaxed, eyes twinkling like she was already planning the postgame snack haul. She bounced the ball once, smirked, then suddenly took off like she was late to brunch.

The Liberty guard chasing her was yelling, “You tired yet, girl?!” but Kaia just laughed, tossing a look over her shoulder.

“I’m jus’ gettin’ warmed up, boo. Y’all still lookin’ like you need a nap.”

She crossed half-court with effortless speed, the crowd on their feet, screams filling the rafters.

Then, from the three-point line, she launched herself upward, straight-up skywalkin’ like she was auditioning for Spider-Man 4.

Her dunk was a full-body throwdown — knees tucked, arms slamming the rim, the kind of power move that made you want to jump up and scream.

The crowd erupted — some standing, some losing their drinks, all yelling.

The announcer’s voice cracked with excitement:

“HOLY SHIT! KAIA FIELDS WITH THE ONE-HANDED DUNK! THE DREAM JUST TURNED THE COURT INTO HER PERSONAL STAGE!”

But then, the cheers slowly turned into confused laughter.

Why?

‘Cause Kaia was still hanging.

Like literally hanging from the rim, legs swinging like a kid on a playground swing.

Then all hell broke loose.

Someone near the mic caught her voice as she hollered:

“Y’all feel that breeze?? Damn, this shit high as hell!”

Her wig — that immaculate, 30-inch middle part bust-down — caught a gust of air and flew off like a dove at a funeral.

It sailed over the court, flipping in slow motion, landing right in some poor fan’s lap.

Kaia kept hanging, voice dripping with sass and mild panic:

“Yooo! Somebody come get my ankles, I ain’t tryna break shit up here!”

“Mama, where you at??”

The crowd was losing it. Fans were recording on every phone like it was the Super Bowl halftime show.

Jey courtside was on his feet, yelling with both fists in the air:

“THAT’S MY SNACKPACK! HOLD IT DOWN, BABY! WHO NEEDS GRAVITY WHEN YOU GOT ME?!”

Trinity was clutching her stomach, tears streaming from laughing so hard.

Jimmy was trying not to laugh too loud but failing, phone out to capture the moment forever.

Over on the Liberty bench, one player whispered:

“I can’t guard a woman who’s literally suspended in midair.”

Another deadass said:

“This ain’t basketball anymore, it’s witchcraft.”

Kaia finally dropped down, landing with a thud and doing a little shimmy like she just won a dance battle.

She winked at the camera and said:

“Next time, y’all better bring a ladder... or a snack.”

The crowd lost it again, chanting her name like she was already a legend.

PAGE TWENTY-TWO — “JUMBOTRON REPLAY & WIG FREEDOM”

The arena lights dimmed for a sec, then the Jumbotron lit up—blasting Kaia’s legendary dunk moment in all its glory.

First, the regular speed: Kaia launching, dunking, rim shaking, crowd losing it.

Then, slow motion — every muscle, every strand of that 30-inch bust-down floating midair like it had a life of its own.

Then... slower motion. The wig part fluttering dramatically, catching the breeze like a butterfly on its first flight.

Then... wait for it... reverse slow-mo. Her wig rising back to her head like a scene from a supernatural rom-com, before the final snap of reality hitting.

Back on the sidelines, Kaia was losing it—leaning on her teammate, doubling over, holding her stomach while her laugh echoed through the arena.

“Baby, this wig gotta breathe sometimes, you feel me?” she cackled, pulling at the edges of her wig cap like freeing a bird from a cage.

Her teammate, grinning wide, tossed her an ice pack and said:

“Sis, you just made the whole league’s highlight reel AND the blooper reel in one dunk. That’s legendary.”

Kaia wiped tears from her eyes, still giggling:

“Tell ‘em to get ready for the wig cap freestyle next game. I ain’t done with y’all yet.”

The crowd’s roar was a constant hum in the background — like a wild party soundtrack for the queen of chaos herself.

PAGE TWENTY-THREE — “HALF-TIME DANCE BATTLE: ELLIE THE ELEPHANT SERVES”

Buzzer hits for half-time and Kaia’s already hyped — she ain’t about that chill halftime vibe.

She’s circling up with a few teammates, and in the middle? Ellie the elephant, Liberty’s mascot, who’s lowkey been stealing the spotlight all season with her crazy moves.

The first notes of Get Ur Freak On drop, booming through the arena.

Ellie wastes no time—throws down a smooth wave, then hits the floor with a fierce split that has the crowd yelling.

Kaia’s jaw drops for a second, wide-eyed:

“Ooooh, Ellie got legs for days! Sis came to work!”

Ellie pops back up, doing a choreographed trunk wave and some next-level twerking that somehow fits her elephant vibes perfectly.

Kaia laughs, ready to clap back.

She throws out her signature goofy shuffle-step, arms flailing but with undeniable rhythm, breaking into a wild shoulder shimmy.

“Girl, I’m tryna be Beyoncé but this knee talkin’ ‘pimp down’ on me, ya feel?”

Ellie swings her trunk like a microphone, pretending to sing the hook, then breaks into a goofy moonwalk that sends the crowd wild.

The Liberty fans are screaming, the Dream fans are cracking up, and even the players on both sides can’t help but smile.

Ellie and Kaia go back and forth, like some kind of halftime dance battle royale — Ellie pulling out some ridiculous moves only a giant elephant in a suit could manage, Kaia bringing her chaotic good energy and infectious laugh.

The crowd’s chanting:

“Kaia! Ellie! Kaia! Ellie!”

Jey courtside is cheesing so hard he’s about to fall out his chair, while Trinity films every second for the ‘Gram.

Kaia throws up a peace sign, breathing hard but glowing.

“Half-time ain’t a break when you got a party this lit, baby.”

PAGE TWENTY-FOUR — “COOL AF ON THE BENCH VS. DELUSIONAL COURTSIDE”

Kaia leaned back on the bench, one sneaker casually kicked up, water bottle pressed cool against her lips. Her phone buzzed nonstop — teammates clustered around, showing her clips from the game, mostly the Wig Retreat of 2025 going viral for the hundredth time.

She snorted, not even trying to act bothered.

“Y’all wild for that wig, but I’m here for the buckets, not the hair theatrics.”

Her laugh was loud and genuine, catching a few curious glances from nearby fans.

Meanwhile, a few feet away courtside...

Jey sat stiff as a board, eyes locked on Kaia like she was the only thing in the arena. He was that dude who forgot how to exist normally around his crush — fidgeting, whispering jokes to Jimmy, who was lowkey shaking his head, and Trinity, who was sipping her drink, clearly trying not to burst out laughing.

Jimmy elbowed Jey and whispered:

“Bro, maybe stop staring like a lost puppy? She’s gonna notice one day.”

Jey just grinned, teeth gleaming from those grills.

“Nah, that’s my girl, man. They just don’t see it yet.”

Trinity rolled her eyes but smiled anyway.

Back on the bench, Kaia was scrolling through the comments, oblivious to the entire courtside meltdown happening right behind her.

She took another sip, flicked her hair (wig firmly back in place now), and joked to her teammates:

“Next time, I’m dunkin’ with a helmet. This wig ain’t about to be on no flight risk again.”

Her chaotic good energy was contagious — the team laughed, ready to take the second half by storm.

PAGE TWENTY-FIVE — “HE’S A MENACE: JEY VS. THE SIDELINES”

Jey Fatu was supposed to be chill.

He was supposed to just sit courtside, enjoy the game, maybe sneak a few pics for the gram and keep it lowkey. That was the plan.

But the second Kaia Fields jogged out of that tunnel—with sour patch falling out her hoodie and that signature cackle bouncing off the walls—Jey forgot how to function as a human being.

He was already standing up before tip-off, clapping like a man who just watched his soulmate descend from heaven.

Wearing a custom #2 Dream jersey (that looked suspiciously like a player’s cut, not fan merch), black designer jeans, chains, and a mean grill, this man looked like a boyfriend. No context. Just energy.

And the second Kaia got the ball?

“THAT’S YOU, SNACKPACK! GO AHEAD AND COOK SOMEBODY REAL QUICK!”

He was yelling louder than the actual announcers. Security didn’t know whether to throw him out or pass him the mic.

When Kaia nailed a step-back three from the arc?

“BUCKET! That’s what the hell I’m talkin’ about, baby! That’s WIFE range! Y’all see that?!”

The camera panned to him immediately, because how could it not? Dude was standing up like it was church and the Holy Ghost was in the room.

Twitter? In flames.

@ballertokupdates: “Jey Fatu courtside at the Dream game acting like Kaia already got his last name 😭😭😭”

@WNBAclipsdaily: “He said ‘that’s my wife’ so many times I started believing him too.”

@spicytakesonly: “Jey in the #2 jersey, calling her snackpack, and trash talking the Liberty bench?? We need this crossover fr.”

@kaiafanclub33: “He got the grill in, shouting compliments, and coordinating claps—he’s a full cheer squad by himself.”

Even TikTok was already on it: A clip of Kaia’s dunk + Jey yelling “COME GET THIS RIM, BABY!” with the caption:

“POV: your man treats your WNBA game like WrestleMania 💅🏾”

Backstage, Trinity was crying laughing, phone out, recording her husband Jimmy trying to calm Jey down like a toddler on juice.

“Bro,” Jimmy muttered, “if you yell ‘my snackpack’ one more time I’m switching seats.”

Jey grinned like he just won a championship.

“That’s wifey. What y’all want me to do? Lie?”

Meanwhile, Jimmy’s phone buzzed.

FATU FAMILY GROUP CHAT Sefa 👑:

yo I so don’t know that man if anyone asks I was adopted as a child 😐 Bianca 💅🏽: LMFAOOOOOOOO Trin 💋: not Snack Pack trending on Twitter omg I hate you Jey Solo🖤: ain’t no way bruh. get help. Jey 🐺: they hating. but y’all gon be at the wedding so idc.

Kaia? Still didn’t even notice. Sis was too busy casually carrying the team and vibin’ with her Gatorade on the bench.

PAGE TWENTY-SIX — “THE JACKET. THE SCENT. THE SPIRITUALLY UNHINGED.”

Third quarter was in full swing, and Kaia was in the zone.

The Dream was up, her team buzzing, and the fans were living for every bit of it. As always, Kaia did what she always did before subbing back in—tugged off her oversized warmup jacket and casually tossed it to the crowd behind the bench.

Didn’t look. Didn’t think. Just flung it like it was second nature.

It hit Jey square in the chest.

Soft. Warm. Still carrying her body heat. A whiff of her fruity-sweet perfume wrapped around him like a silk robe woven by angels and Popeyes fry grease.

He caught it with both hands—stunned—his mouth slightly open like he had just been baptized in strawberry mango body spray and victory.

Jimmy blinked.

Trinity gasped-laughed.

“Uh uh,” she whispered, “not God answering his prayers mid-game.”

Jey didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Just slowly clutched the jacket closer to his chest like it was sacred cloth.

“You smell that?” he asked the air.

Jimmy blinked again, slowly.

“Smell what, bruh?”

Jey inhaled deep.

“Hope. Fertility. Peach-scented greatness.”

Trinity was bent over, cracking up.

A kid behind them yelled, “Yo she tossed it to HIM?! Noooo bro that’s fate!”

Twitter? Oh, baby.

@ dreamcourtupdates: “Kaia tossed her warmup jacket without even looking and it landed dead on Jey Fatu’s chest. This man about to pass out from the scent 💀”

@ snackpackchronicles: “He sniffed it. I swear to God he sniffed it. He folded audibly.”

@ UceVision_444: “If Jey proposes at halftime I wouldn’t even be mad. That jacket hit like Cupid’s arrow.”

Back on the court, Kaia didn’t even know she had just accidentally delivered a religious experience.

She was already on defense, yelling, “Guard that tall hoe before she hit another corner three! My knees ain’t built for this back and forth!”

Meanwhile, Jey was still holding that damn jacket to his chest like it was the lost Ark of the Covenant.

Sefa texted the family group chat again:

Sefa 👑: yo this man about to write vows tonight. I don’t even got the strength to roast him no more.

PAGE TWENTY-SEVEN — “EMOTIONAL SUPPORT WARM-UP”

Jey hadn’t blinked since the jacket landed on his chest.

It wasn’t just a warmup anymore—it was a blessing, an emotional support hoodie, a fruity-scented symbol of his imagined domestic partnership.

He clutched it with both hands, the fabric bunched up under his chin like a child with a blankie.

Every now and then he’d inhale.

Deep.

Reverent.

Eyes locked on Kaia like she was the main event at WrestleMania, a halftime show, and the second coming all wrapped in one.

On the court?

Kaia went airborne.

First time: a slick, clean, full-body dunk with enough momentum to make the Liberty center stumble and cuss. The arena ERUPTED.

Second time: fast break, three defenders, still took flight and threw it down with two hands. Crowd losing their entireminds.

Jey was having a visceral reaction.

“OH MY GOD. THAT’S MY BABY. AGAIN?! LOOK AT HER—Y’ALL SEE HER?!”

The man was literally on his feet, jacket pressed to his chest like it was reacting with him.

Trinity: holding her phone up, filming everything.

Jimmy: deadpanned.

“She don’t even know you, bruh.”

“She gon’ know me,” Jey mumbled, his voice full of faith and audacity. “She gon’ know me.”

The arena cameras kept cutting to him. Fans started chanting:

“Snack-pack! Snack-pack! Snack-pack!”

Socials were EXPLODING.

@ dreamgirlkaia: “Jey been gripping that jacket like it’s her wedding veil 😭😭😭”

@ uncutwnba: “Why is he rocking with it like she just ran off to war and left it to remember her by”

@ TrinCapturedThat: Trinity’s IG story had the caption: “Me watching Jey fall deeper in love with a woman who’s never said more than 7 words to him 😩💀” 📹 [video of Jey whisper-yelling into the jacket like it talks back]

Even the announcers caught on:

“That’s... WWE’s Jey Fatu courtside again, folks. He appears to be holding Kaia Fields’ warmup jacket... very tightly.”

And meanwhile?

Kaia? STILL UNBOTHERED.

Back on the bench sipping her Gatorade again, untwisting her braids like the chaos wasn’t even touching her airspace.

“I know y’all seen them dunks,” she laughed to her teammate. “I ain’t even stretch all the way. Coach gon’ be mad ‘cause I got Popeyes in my locker still.”

[mjonthetrack]

folded

PROLOGUE OPTION 46 — WIFEY #2 IN 4K

The first time Joshua Fatu saw her, she was halfway through crossing some poor girl into another dimension — ball snapped back, defender stumbling, Kaia Fields grinning so wide you could hear her laugh over the commentators. It wasn’t graceful. It was disrespectful. Violent, even. And he? He was in love.

She didn’t know he was courtside. Not that it mattered — he was fully committed to the fantasy already. His grill sparkled under the arena lights, lips curled into the kind of smile that had zero business being that proud. He nudged the guy next to him, pointing like he personally trained her.

“Y’all see that? Yeah, that’s my wife.”

The man blinked. “That… that basketball player?”

“Mmhmm. Wifey #2,” Jey nodded, tapping his chest like her name was stitched across it. “Don’t worry about Wifey #1 — she retired. This one’s the final boss.”

Meanwhile, Kaia was skipping backward down the court, slapping her teammate’s chest, still wheezing mid-laugh. She wasn’t elegant. She was electric. Loud, country, chaotic good. And she had no idea that some big Samoan man was sitting just twenty feet away, spiraling into romantic delusion like it was a full-time job.

She didn’t know him. But Jey already knew everything he needed to.

She was #2 on the court, #1 in his heart, and he was gonna manifest that sh*t until the day he died.

FIRST PAGE — “INTRODUCING KAIA FIELDS”

The stadium lights were hot, the bass was thumping, and Kaia Fields was not ready.

Not in the “she wasn’t prepared” kind of way. More like: she was halfway through a sour patch bag she swore she wasn’tgonna open before warmups, her left sock was twisted inside her shoe, and her wig cap was kinda fighting for its life.

And still?

She was grinning like a fool in the tunnel, bouncing on her heels, hoodie half-zipped, half a sour patch kid peeking out the front pocket like it was her emotional support snack.

“Special K, you up!” someone yelled down the tunnel.

Kaia groaned dramatically. “Lord, it’s too early for cardio,” she mumbled through a mouthful of red gummy, wiping her hands on her shorts like a menace. She slapped her thighs twice, jogged maybe three real steps, then coasted out the tunnel in a lazy, half-bounce like a middle schooler forced to run laps.

The crowd roared. She grinned wider.

Someone in the front row pointed at her pocket. She winked and yelled, “Don’t judge me, these is my pre-game electrolytes!”

Up in the rafters, her laugh echoed—loud, contagious, warm like summer.

That was Kaia.

Sour patch in her hoodie. Edges laid but stress-tested. Knees taped up from five seasons of abuse and bad landings. Stomach full of Popeyes. Heart full of chaos.

She waved to the mascot, who handed her a mic for a quick game intro. Kaia leaned into it, voice syrup-thick with her Carolina accent. “Now y’all be loud in here today, I need all that energy! I ain’t come all the way from the tre4 for y’all to sit on your hands, let’s GO!”

The crowd went stupid. She blew a kiss, then proceeded to dance with the mascot mid-court to a Nicki track blaring overhead — throwing it back like she was at a cookout, not clocking in for work.

Coach tried not to watch. Tried.

Her teammates? Used to it. They laughed and egged her on, one of them filming for the team socials while Kaia twerked, then fake-fell dramatically like she’d thrown her back out. “Ahhh, call the Lord, I need assistance!”

She always did this.

Every season. Every game.

Laughed too loud. Talked too much. Warmed up like it was a joke. Got serious only when the ball was in her hands.

But when it was? Kaia stopped being funny. Kaia got dangerous.

And tonight?

Season opener. National broadcast. Packed arena. New Nike deal. Cameras watching.

Kaia smiled, snatched her wig into place with both hands, and slapped the floor as she walked toward the bench.

Game time.

PAGE TWO — “THE LAUGH HEARD ROUND THE WWE”

The game hadn’t even started and Kaia was already trending.

Why? Because a moth flew across the court during anthem lineups, and homegirl sprinted across the hardwood mid-camera pan, screaming bloody murder and ducking behind a ref.

“Y’all see that?! That bug got EYES. Why it looking at me??” And then — with her full chest — “IS THAT A BUTTERFLY OR A DEMON??”

They hadn’t even tipped the damn ball and ESPN’s TikTok was already cutting the clip with captions like:

“Kaia ‘Special K’ Fields: MVP of Chaos.”

By the time Kaia was back on the bench wiping her tears from laughing, her wig was slightly crooked, her teammates were doubled over, and the arena DJ was playing “I Believe I Can Fly” on the loudspeaker just to be petty.

Meanwhile — across the country — WWE was in the middle of pre-taping.

Trinity was posted up in catering, bun tied up, fork mid-air, showing Bianca her phone screen with one of Kaia’s viral clips. The one where Kaia had just dunked in warmups and forgot to let go of the rim, swinging helplessly while yelling, “Damn this shit HIGH—somebody tell me if my cheeks is out!”

Bianca had tears in her eyes. “Naahhhh she’s FUNNY funny!”

“That’s the one I told you about,” Trinity grinned. “Winston-Salem. Plays for the Dream. Got the laugh that sound like it could snatch your soul out your body if you not ready.”

Then—

“BAE,” Jimmy’s voice boomed from the hallway. “Y’all still in here? They want us at rehearsal—”

That’s when Jey walked in, mid-convo, fully ready to grab some catering and keep it pushing—

Until he heard it.

That laugh. Not through the screen. Not muffled. Just… there.

High-pitched, wheezy, unstoppable. And that voice—dripping Carolina, heavy on the “y’all,” light on the shame.

Jey paused. Turned real slow. Peered over Trinity’s shoulder like a child at Chuck E. Cheese.

“Who dat?” he asked, squinting.

Trin blinked. “Back up off my shoulder.”

“Who. Is. That,” he repeated, pointing to the screen like she wasn’t already viral.

“Kaia Fields,” Bianca said, still giggling. “WNBA. Atlanta Dream. Apparently allergic to moths, common sense, and humility.”

Jey stared, frozen. Then let out a breath that sounded way too emotional for a man in a black tee and chains.

“I’ma marry her.”

Trinity side-eyed him. “Boy, she don’t know you.”

He didn’t blink. “Don’t matter. I know me. And I know that’s my wife.”

And just like that, the delusion began.

PAGE THREE — “DEEP DIVE DELUSION”

Ten minutes.

That’s all it took.

Ten minutes ago, Jey had never heard the name Kaia Fields.

Now? He was hunched over his phone in catering like a man possessed, elbow on the table, grill catching the overhead lights as he scrolled through her Instagram like it was scripture.

“Special K. Okay, okay. Number 2, Atlanta Dream. Mmm. Mhm. Yup.” He tapped into her tagged photos with the swiftness of a man who’s done this before. She was taller than most of her teammates, louder than all of them, and her captions? All chaos.

🧍🏾‍♀️ “Coach said stop throwing it back during timeouts like the arena not watching me… damn my bad 😭”

🍗 “Pre-game meal? Popeyes. Don’t ask me how I’m still this fast. I’m God’s favorite.”

🎤 “Wig came off mid-dunk. I said put me on SportsCenter or Don’t Call My Name.”

Jey slapped the table and leaned back like he’d seen something profound. “Yo.”

Jimmy was across the room pretending not to hear him. Trinity wasn’t even pretending. “Don’t start,” she said without looking up from her phone.

“Nah nah nah, y’all don’t get it. This ain’t just no athlete. She got personality. She funny. She loud. She disrespectful. Look—LOOK.” He turned his phone toward Trinity with a video queued up: Kaia post-game interview, laughing so hard mid-question that she couldn’t even breathe, mic shaking, sideline reporter crying from laughing with her.

Jey wiped a fake tear. “That laugh gon’ get me sent to the ER, man.”

“She don’t even know you,” Jimmy reminded him, mouth full of food.

“Not yet.” Jey was already back on her page, double-tapping a pic of her doing a chicken wing mukbang in a game day hoodie. “Manifestation is real. Y’all just be hatin’.”

Bianca walked by, caught a glimpse of the screen, and groaned. “Oop, he down bad already? Damn.”

“DOWN HORRENDOUS,” Jey confirmed proudly. “I’m like three interviews away from planning the wedding.”

Back on his phone, Kaia’s voice played through an old ESPN segment.

“I don’t stretch before games. Jesus said ‘come as you are’ and I be listenin’.” cue laugh that could raise the dead

Jey closed his eyes and whispered, “She gon’ be the reason I go to church again.”

PAGE FOUR — “AND THAT’S WHY I DON’T STRETCH”

Kaia was supposed to be breaking down the fourth quarter.

Instead, she was crying.

Full tears. Mascara smudged. Shoulders shaking. Barely hanging on.

“—and then the ref talkin’ ‘bout ‘watch your hands,’ like sir, watch ya tone, I’m tryin’ to win a game, not go to jail—”

She choked mid-laugh, doubling over, one hand smacking the table in front of her. Her sour patch stash had spilled out her hoodie pocket halfway through the segment, and now there was a red one stuck to the mic like it paid rent.

Chuck Hanover, longtime ESPN interviewer, blinked slowly. “Right. Um. Anyway. Kaia, you had sixteen points, nine assists, three steals—”

“I did?!” she gasped, eyes wide, wiping tears from her face with the sleeve of her warm-up jacket. “OHHHHH OKAY, PERIODDDD! Look at the Lord.”

Chuck exhaled through his nose. “Yes. That’s actually your career-high in assists.”

Kaia looked dead at the camera. “Mama I made it,” then turned back to Chuck. “You want a sour patch? They help with cramps.”

Chuck was fighting for his life. “No thank you.”

“Okay,” she said, stuffing two in her mouth like popcorn. “But they also help with spiritual alignment. Just so you know.”

She turned to her right — her teammate off-camera said something dumb that cracked her all the way up again. Now she was fully wheezing, head down, arms flailing like she was trying to swim away from the mic.

Chuck finally cracked — a soft chuckle that turned into a full, red-faced laugh. “I—y’know what, I’ve been doing this seventeen years. Never had an interview like this.”

“Seventeen?! You look good, Chuck!” she yelled. “You moisturize?”

“We’re… off topic,” he snorted, wiping a tear from his own eye.

Kaia grinned through the chaos, cheeks shining with sweat and leftover laughter. “My bad, I get excited. It’s the Popeyes. That spicy two-piece be bringin’ out the joy in me.”

Camera flashes popped. Reporters in the back were giggling. One of them whispered “iconic” under their breath.

That clip? Already going viral.

By the time Kaia dabbed her eyes and stood to leave, the mic was slightly sticky, her hoodie pocket was empty, and ESPN’s main account had already tweeted:

“Kaia Fields: 16pts, 9 assists, 3 steals. Also Kaia Fields: convinced Chuck to try sour patch candy for ‘spiritual alignment’ 😭😂”

#WNBA #SpecialK #TheLaugh

PAGE FIVE — “SHE TOLD HIM TO MOISTURIZE AND HE FELL IN LOVE”

Jey was in his hotel room, supposed to be reviewing his match notes.

Instead, he was lying on the bed sideways, propped up on one elbow, phone four inches from his face, completely locked in on a screen recording that had already been sent to him five times — once by Solo, once by Trinity, and three times by himself from three different burner accounts.

Kaia Fields.

Post-game. Full chaos. Sour patch in her hoodie. Accent thiccc. Eyes glistening. She was laughing so hard she nearly took out the mic with her forehead. And him?

He was hanging onto every damn second like she was reading him bedtime stories.

“Bruh,” he whispered to no one. “She cryin’ from laughin’. That’s an angel.”

The screen crackled with her voice:

“Mama I made it! You want a sour patch? They help with cramps!”

He gasped. Sat up. Paused the clip like he needed to rewind and let it hit again. “They help with… CRAMPS? Naw. Naw that’s wisdom. That’s culture.”

She laughed again — loud, unfiltered, damn near shook the speaker — and Jey clutched his chest like she’d hit him with a defibrillator.

“It’s the Popeyes. That spicy two-piece be bringin’ out the joy in me.”

Jey pointed at the screen like she was preaching directly to him. “Testify then, QUEEN. Say THAT.”

He was so deep in it, he didn’t hear Jimmy come in until the door clicked.

Jimmy blinked. “Why are you crying?”

“I’m not,” Jey said instantly, wiping his face. “My eyes sweatin’.”

“Right,” Jimmy deadpanned, stepping in. “You still watching her post-game?”

“She said moisturize,” Jey whispered reverently.

Jimmy blinked again. “...And?”

“She told Chuck Hanover to moisturize. On live TV. That’s my woman.”

Jimmy held up both hands. “Okay. I’m out.”

Jey didn’t even flinch. He had already hit replay. Phone speaker blaring. That laugh again.

“You moisturize, Chuck?”

He put a hand to his forehead. Closed his eyes. Whispered, “I will now, baby. For you.”

PAGE SIX — “SHE SAID TELL MY MAMA I LOVE HER”

“Okay y’all, welcome back to another episode of ‘Kaia Tries ___’ where I do dumb sh*t for clout and regret it immediately!”

The camera shook slightly as she leaned forward, elbow on the table, spicy wing in hand, big grin across her face. Her hoodie was off, edges already sweating, Popeyes cup nearby like it could save her soul.

“Today I’m tryna do that stupid lil death wing challenge everybody keep tagging me in. Ten wings. Ten levels of heat. I don’t know what I did to deserve this but here we are. Wing number one—let’s go.”

She bit it. Easy.

“Mmm. Okay, lil spice. That’s a lil tickle. Cute.” She winked at the camera, talking sh*t.

Wing two? Still laughing. “Y’all gotta stop playing with me. I’m from Winston-Salem, baby. We don’t fold early.”

Wing three hit different. Her voice cracked just a lil.

“…okay now who seasoned this with anger?”

By wing four, she was blinking in Morse code. The smile was trying to stay strong, but her hand was visibly trembling. “It’s fine. I’m fine. This ain’t even hot. It’s just… spicy air. Just a lil devil dust. That’s all.”

Then came wing five.

She bit it. Chewed twice. Stopped moving completely.

“…oh.”

Suddenly she was full-body still. Like the pain was spiritual. Like she just got cursed in three languages.

“Ion even think my insurance cover this,” she whispered, one tear rolling down her cheek. “Aye—tell my mama I love her. Tell her I fought hard.”

The camera caught every second.

“Don’t put this on the Dream page,” she said, wheezing. “This ain’t a team moment, this a life or death moment.”

She reached off camera for her Popeyes cup—empty. Blinked. Looked at it like it betrayed her.

Her accent got even stronger.

“I feel like my ancestors mad at me. Why my chest hot? My nose hot. My eyelashes hot.”

She took a breath. Then another. Then screamed off screen: “WHERE THE RANCH AT?! DON’T NOBODY CARE ABOUT ME IN THIS DAMN STUDIO—”

And yet?

She still reached for wing six.

Because Kaia “Special K” Fields did not know the word quit.

PAGE SEVEN — “SOMEBODY COME GET UNC”

Kaia was still recovering from wing six.

Lip trembling. Soul ascending. Head in her teammate’s lap while someone fanned her with a Gatorade towel.

“Girl I told you not to do that damn challenge,” one of them said.

“I did it for the content,” she croaked. “For the culture.”

She was scrolling through the comments on her post, trying to distract herself from the burning in her nostrils.

Half the internet was clowning her. The other half was screaming about her laugh. And then—there was him.

@ uceyboy34: “my wife stronger than Beyoncé and Jesus combined. ❤️🔥 #number2forever”

Kaia squinted.

Read it again.

Read it three times.

Then looked up at her teammates. “Y’all know a @ uceyboy34?”

They all leaned in, peering over her shoulder. One gasped.

“Ain’t that the WWE dude?”

“Oh my god,” another whispered. “That’s Jey Uso.”

Kaia blinked. “That the one with the grill?”

“Mmhmm. That’s one of them twins. The delusional one. He been calling you wifey for like… a week now.”

Kaia stared at the comment.

@ uceyboy34: “She could dunk on me, step on my chest, throw my Popeyes out the window and I’d still say thank you.”

She blinked again. Whispered, “What is wrong with him.”

Then typed her response:

@ kaiafields2: “somebody come get unc pls. he talking in tongues again.”

The post had barely refreshed before the comments BLEW UP.

“UNC IS CRAZY LMFAOOOO” “Not Unc thirsting for Kaia 😭😭” “@ uceyboy34 you GOOD bro???” “why he quoting Corinthians and Kaia ain’t even follow him back 😭”

Meanwhile—

Jey, in his dressing room, watching her respond in real time:

“Oh she know I exist now,” he whispered. “She typed me back. That’s a bond. That’s a digital covenant. That’s a promise.”

Trinity walked by his door and heard him softly whispering “Unc… I’ll be Unc… I’ll be whatever she want me to be…”

PAGE EIGHT — “ATTENTION? FROM HER? OH, IT’S OVER NOW.”

Somewhere in the WWE locker room, Jey was sitting in full ring gear, fade tight, hoodie still on, scrolling like he was decoding ancient scripture.

He saw it.

The reply.

Right there under his comment like it was handwritten by God Herself.

@ kaiafields2: “somebody come get unc pls. he talking in tongues again.”

He froze. Blinked hard. Then whispered, “She typed me. She... acknowledged my presence.”

He slapped Solo’s shoulder like he just got drafted to the league. “Bro. BRO. She typed back. She seen me. She talked to me.”

Solo, who was very much trying to mind his business, didn’t even look up. “Congrats, bro.”

Jey wasn’t hearing none of it. He was on her page again, breathing heavy, heart full, thumbs flying across his screen.

@ uceyboy34:

“nah cause you said ‘unc’ but I’d buy you a car and hand wash your game socks for life so who really winning?” “btw that wing 6 took you out but I love a woman who fights thru the pain. u got that Mamba mentality and them thighs.” “lemme know if you need milk next time. I’ll door dash it to the court myself. ❤️💪🏾🔥”

He hit post with zero hesitation.

But he wasn’t done.

The spiral was spiraling.

He went on his Instagram story—full face, full grill smile, and said:

“Yo. Special K—Kaia. If you see this, I just want you to know that wing didn’t beat you. You beat it emotionally. You won the psychological battle. That’s what counts. That’s championship mindset right there.”

Then he pointed at the camera like he was delivering an award speech.

“And for the record? I’m available. Emotionally. Physically. Spiritually. Call me.”

Trinity saw it and threw her phone across the couch. “HE LOST HIS MIND.”

Bianca just sipped her smoothie. “Honestly I support him. They’d be loud together. Like annoyingly loud. But powerful.”

Back in Atlanta, Kaia was showing her teammates the flood of comments, one hand on her forehead, the other clutching her Popeyes.

“Ain’t no way,” she muttered. “Y’all look at this—he tryna sponsor my milk now.”

Her teammate leaned over. “Okay but Unc kinda poetic though?? Like he said you beat it emotionally.”

Kaia choked. “OH HELL NAH.”

But she was grinning.

Just a little.

[mjonthetrack]

fatu fics:

Jey:

folded

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15

[mjonthetrack]

Elysian

Elysian — Next Page (Honeymoon in Syria – slow burn, rich with romance, deep intimacy, and reverence)

Syria at night was a different kind of magic. The stars felt closer, like they were keeping watch. From the stone balcony of their honeymoon suite in the old city of Damascus, the call to prayer had just faded into the warm night air, its echoes still lingering like smoke. The scent of jasmine wove through the breeze, tangling with the distant aroma of roasted nuts and sweet qamardeen. The city pulsed with ancient beauty—lively, sacred, and alive.

Inside the room, everything felt bathed in gold. Warm-toned lanterns flickered against carved walls, their light dancing over thick rugs, arched windows, and the massive bed draped in gauzy white canopies. It looked like something out of an old fairytale. Like something she would’ve only dreamed of as a little girl.

Yasmina stood at the center of the room in a deep wine-colored silk robe, her curls still damp from her bath, skin glowing from the oils the older wives back home had gifted her for this night. Her fingers trembled a little as she adjusted the delicate lace edge on her sleeve. But it wasn’t fear—it was anticipation. Reverence. A kind of sweetness that comes from waiting.

Sami stepped in from the balcony, the linen shirt he’d worn earlier now undone, revealing soft chest hair and sun-kissed skin. He looked over at her like she was the first dawn he’d ever seen.

He moved gently, not rushing, not assuming. His voice was a low murmur, “You’re so beautiful… I don’t even think I have the right words for what you do to me.”

She smiled, cheeks pink. “You say that like I’m not already your wife.”

“You being my wife,” he said, reaching for her hand, “is the holiest thing I’ve ever been trusted with.”

Her breath hitched as he kissed her knuckles first, then her wrist. The robe’s sleeve slipped, revealing more of her shoulder, her collarbone. He didn’t pull the silk from her body like a man impatient. He took his time, as if each inch of her skin told a story he wanted to learn.

“Are you okay?” he whispered, always checking in.

Yasmina nodded, her voice like a sigh, “Yeah… I want this. I want you.”

They moved like water meeting shore—soft, steady, natural. Sami whispered prayers between kisses. He cupped her face like something sacred, his forehead pressed to hers as they undressed slowly, laughter breaking between kisses when she tripped over the hem of his pants and when he got tangled in her curls.

And when they finally came together, it wasn’t rushed or rough—it was soul-deep. A union long-awaited, filled with quiet gasps, warm skin, and hushed promises in Arabic and English alike. There were tears in her eyes and a kiss for every one. She held onto him like he was anchor and air. And he worshipped her with hands, with words, with reverence.

Later, wrapped in white sheets and in each other’s arms, her head tucked under his chin, he murmured in her hair, “No one’s ever gonna take better care of your heart than me.”

Yasmina smiled, already drifting into sleep, her fingers tangled with his. “I know, habibi... I know.”

Outside, the jasmine still bloomed. And Syria, old and eternal, cradled them in the quiet of the night, blessing the beginning of everything new.

Elysian — Next Page (Morning in Damascus + exploring the countryside + visiting Sami’s elder relatives)

Sunlight streamed through the latticed windows, warm and golden like honey poured slowly over the floor. A soft breeze moved the gauzy canopy above the bed, the scent of morning pastries from the street vendors downstairs curling its way into the room. Birds chirped lazily from the pomegranate tree that reached up just outside the balcony, and a prayer call, distant but sweet, sang through the air like a lullaby returning to kiss the city awake.

Yasmina stirred first, her eyes fluttering open slowly. She was sore, but in the most reverent, sacred kind of way. Her limbs felt like silk and sunlight, wrapped in sheets and Sami. He had one arm draped over her waist, and his curls were wild across the pillow. She could feel the soft exhale of his breath on her neck.

She turned carefully, facing him, just to look. To memorize. This man—her husband. Her soulmate. The one who had kissed every scar without fear, held her like a prayer, and spoken her name like something divine.

"You're staring," he mumbled without opening his eyes, voice husky and full of sleep.

"I'm allowed to," she whispered back, cheeks pink. "I’m your wife."

That made him smile. “Still hits different when you say it like that.”

She leaned in, brushing her nose against his. “Want breakfast in bed? Or should we go walk the souq?”

“Actually,” he said, stretching, “I was thinking we take a day trip. I want to show you the village where my grandfather grew up—it’s a little bit outside the city. My great-aunt still lives there. She makes the best knafeh in the whole country. Maybe even the world.”

Yasmina’s eyes sparkled. “A countryside adventure and legendary knafeh? You really know the way to a woman’s heart.”

They got dressed slowly, her slipping into a soft sage green abaya she’d packed for the trip, the fabric breathable and perfect for travel. She tied her hijab carefully, glancing over her shoulder. “Will your aunt like me?”

Sami kissed the top of her head. “She’s going to love you. She already does—she said if I didn’t marry you, she’d steal you for herself.”

The drive through the Syrian countryside was like traveling through a painting. Golden fields stretched on either side of the dusty road, dotted with olive trees and tall sunflowers. Shepherds passed with flocks of sheep, and fruit stands popped up here and there, selling figs, dates, and watermelon from rickety wooden carts.

Yasmina pressed her hand against the window, mesmerized by the scenery. “It’s so beautiful here... Like time decided to slow down.”

Sami glanced over, smiling. “Yeah. It’s where everything slows. Where you feel your heartbeat in the land.”

They arrived just before noon. The house was stone, old and warm with ivy growing along one side and colorful fabrics hanging to dry in the breeze. His great-aunt, a small but fierce woman with sharp eyes and the softest hands, came out the moment she heard the car, squealing as she pulled Sami into a hug.

“Habibi! You didn’t tell me your wife was this gorgeous, mashaAllah!”

Yasmina shyly greeted her in Arabic, stumbling a bit but trying with sincerity. The old woman beamed, holding Yasmina’s face between her palms.

“You have good eyes,” she said in Arabic. “Gentle. Honest. You’ll have beautiful children. Insha’Allah.”

They were led inside to a table already full of dishes—stuffed grape leaves, lamb with rice, freshly baked bread, mint tea, honey-soaked pastries. Yasmina’s eyes went wide.

“I thought you said she was making knafeh?” she whispered.

Sami grinned, “Oh she is. This is just the pregame.”

After lunch, they sat under the fig tree in the courtyard while his aunt pulled out an old family album. Black-and-white photos of young men in suits and women in long dresses filled the pages. There were photos of Sami’s baba when he was young, photos of weddings long passed, of places that no longer existed except in memory.

Yasmina leaned into Sami’s side, her hand laced with his, heart full.

“You see this?” he whispered near her ear, pointing to one of the photos of his great-grandparents on their wedding day.

She nodded.

“This is the kind of legacy I want to build with you. One day, someone will sit with our photos like this… and they’ll know we loved each other right.”

She turned her face, pressing a kiss to his jaw. “I’d like that very much, sunshine.”

Elysian — Next Page Honeymoon Bliss – Damascus After Dark

The night air in Damascus was heavy with jasmine. The blossoms bloomed thick along the edges of the balcony, vines curling around old iron railings and filling the air with the kind of scent that made everything feel like poetry.

Inside the softly lit apartment they were renting, golden lamps flickered low, casting warm shadows along the walls, and faint music drifted up from the street below—an oud and a woman’s voice singing something old, something sad, and impossibly beautiful.

Yasmina was glowing. There was no other word for it.

She had just finished brushing her curls out, the long, soft coils framing her face like a halo, her cheeks flushed, eyes dancing. She wore one of the silk sets she’d bought with the wives back in the States—a deep wine color with floral embroidery at the edges and a robe tied delicately around her waist. But it wasn’t just the clothes. It was the way her smile didn’t seem to stop, the way she laughed easier now, the way her shoulders didn’t hold tension like they used to.

Sami leaned against the doorframe, barefoot, towel still around his neck from his shower, curls dripping and chest bare as he watched her move about the room, barefoot, happy, home.

“I’m pretty sure this is what bliss looks like,” he said quietly.

Yasmina turned, beaming. “Are you saying that ‘cause I finally beat you at backgammon?”

He chuckled, stepping closer, grabbing her hand and gently tugging her until she spun into his arms. “No. I’m saying that because you’re here. Because every night I fall asleep beside you and wake up to you making coffee in your hijab and robe and humming love songs like we didn’t just stay up ‘til 3 AM being the softest married people alive.”

She laughed, arms looping around his neck. “You started it.”

“Don’t care,” he whispered, leaning in to kiss the side of her face. “I’ll start it again.”

They didn’t rush anything—because that was the magic of it now. They didn’t have to. Everything they shared was soaked in intention and tenderness, and being in love with your soulmate meant even the smallest things—like brushing teeth beside each other or folding laundry—felt like sacred rituals.

Yasmina pulled him down onto the couch, curling into his side, legs draped over his lap.

“Do you think,” she whispered, “we’ll ever stop being like this?”

“Like what?”

“So in love it’s stupid.”

Sami tilted his head, eyes never leaving her. “Nah. I think we’re cursed, habibti.”

“Cursed?”

“With the kind of love that makes poets cry.”

She blushed, hiding her face in his neck. “I kinda hope it never goes away.”

He pulled her even closer, breathing in the scent of her skin and the leftover honey soap from her bath. “It won’t. Not in this life, and not in the next.”

And outside the city pulsed with history and stars—but inside, the world was only them, wrapped in honeyed quiet, kissed by jasmine, and held in the hands of something holy.

Elysian — Next Page The Day She Said Shahada

It had been a month.

A month since Damascus. A month since the jasmine-sweet nights of honeymoon bliss. A month since they’d returned home and slipped right back into real life—but changed. Steady. Devoted. Married. Soul-bound in ways words never quite captured.

And today?

Today was the day Yasmina made it official.

The sun filtered into the masjid’s women’s prayer area in ribbons, catching on the light seafoam abaya Yasmina wore—simple, elegant, soft as her voice. Her cream hijab was pinned with a delicate gold pin that one of the mosque aunties had gifted her the day before. “For the bride,” she had said with a wink, “and for the woman you already are.”

Sami waited just outside the women’s entrance, nerves dancing in his chest like a young boy. He had wanted to be in there. He had wanted to hold her hand through it. But she’d insisted on doing this part on her own—for herself. That was the most Yasmina thing of all.

Inside, the imam sat beside her with warm eyes and kind hands as Yasmina repeated the words slowly, her voice trembling at first, but growing steadier with each syllable:

“Ashhadu an la ilaha illa Allah, wa ashhadu anna Muhammadan rasul Allah.” I bear witness that there is no god but Allah, and I bear witness that Muhammad is the messenger of Allah.

The tears started before she finished. But they weren’t sad tears. Not even overwhelmed ones. They were release. Relief. Reclamation. For the half of herself she’d never had a chance to know. For the home she’d found in a man, in a faith, in a community who had seen her and said, “Come as you are. Stay as you grow.”

The women around her embraced her in soft clusters—tears and warm cheeks, “mabrouk!” echoing in the room, kisses pressed to her forehead and cheeks. Someone handed her a box of dates and another auntie slid a delicate gold bangle onto her wrist, whispering, “Now you’re truly one of us, daughter.”

She stepped outside into the courtyard, blinking against the light—and then she saw him.

Sami stood up straight when he caught sight of her, like his whole heart lived behind his ribs and it suddenly remembered how to beat. She looked so peaceful. So radiant. So her.

She walked straight to him and didn’t say a word at first—just wrapped her arms around his waist and held on, face buried in his chest.

“You did it,” he whispered, kissing the crown of her head. “I’m so proud of you, habibti.”

She nodded into him, voice small but sure. “I’m proud of me too.”

He pulled back just enough to look down at her. “How do you feel?”

Yasmina smiled up at him, her eyes glassy but glowing. “Like I finally found my whole self.”

He kissed her then, reverently, her tears and joy caught between them. And when they pulled apart, still holding each other, she murmured, “So… does this mean I get bonus points as a wife?”

Sami laughed through his own misty eyes. “You’ve already got all the points, baby. All of them.”

And the masjid behind them buzzed with life, with love, with beginnings—but in that moment, in that courtyard, there was only them. The man who prayed for a soulmate. The woman who walked straight into his heart. And the life they were building—one soft, sacred step at a time.

Elysian — Next Page “My Wife Deserves a Feast”

Later that night, after the sun dipped into the velvet sky and the adhan had long echoed through the streets, Yasmina padded barefoot through their apartment, still in her soft abaya, still glowing. Her bangle chimed gently on her wrist every time she moved, like her joy had found its own soundtrack.

Sami had told her to relax, to “stay out of the kitchen or else,” and she hadn’t argued—for once. She was curled up on their big couch, one of the little dogs snoozing against her side while she absentmindedly played with the edge of her hijab, lost in the whirl of the day.

Until she smelled it.

Rich saffron. Toasted cumin. The sweetness of dates and orange blossom. Warm pita. Fresh cucumber-mint salad. Something baking with honey.

She sat up a little straighter, blinking. “Sami?”

“Don’t you dare come in here,” his voice called from the kitchen, laced with laughter. “I'm plating things, chef-style. You mess up the reveal, I’m divorcing you on sight.”

“Divorce??” she gasped, laughing as she stood up. “Is this how you treat your brand new born-again wife???”

“I am treating her like the queen she is,” he replied, stepping out with a tray that looked like it belonged in a five-star Damascus restaurant. He set it down carefully in front of her on their low dining table, already lit with little flickering candles. “Now sit down and let me feed you, woman of God.”

Yasmina lowered herself cross-legged onto the floor and stared in disbelief. Perfectly rolled grape leaves. Chicken shawarma that smelled like it had been kissed by angels. Pistachio-laced rice. The exact kind of dates she’d picked out from the masjid’s snack table that afternoon. And two glasses of the fizzy pomegranate drink he knew she loved.

“This is…” She blinked, then beamed. “You cooked for me.”

“I cooked for my wife who officially became the baddest convert on the block today.” He leaned in, kissed her temple. “You deserved a celebration, and I didn’t want to share you with anyone else for it.”

Yasmina’s heart flipped in her chest as she picked up a grape leaf and nibbled it. Her eyes widened instantly. “Oh my God. Is this how you trap women? Through their stomachs?”

Sami gave a smug little shrug. “It’s how I got you to fall in love with me.”

“You got me to fall in love with you by being soft and good and looking like a walking poem, but okay.”

They sat there together in the golden light of the candles and the city beyond their windows, sharing food, teasing, fingers brushing. And after dinner, he cleaned up while she played music on the little Bluetooth speaker, and they danced around the apartment in socks, giggling like kids.

And before bed, when she brushed her teeth beside him and looked over, still wrapped in her abaya with makeup long wiped off, she said softly, “Thank you, Sami. For letting me grow. For loving all of me.”

He smiled back in the mirror and kissed her cheek. “You’ve always been all of you, Mina. I’m just glad I got to witness it.”

And when they climbed into bed—full and soft and safe—she curled into his chest, the scent of jasmine and cumin still lingering on her, her fingers linked with his.

It had been a good day.

A holy day.

Their kind of day.

Elysian — Next Page “Eight Months of Magic��

Yasmina waddled. There was no other word for it, and she had made peace with that.

Eight months pregnant, her belly round and impossibly firm beneath the softest sage green maxi dress she could squeeze herself into, her hijab wrapped loosely today because it was just too hot to be bothered with structure. Still, she looked radiant—glowing, skin dewy, cheeks full of color, and that familiar spark in her eyes even as she grumbled at the world for making stairs, tight shoes, and gravity.

“Habibi,” she called from the living room, one hand on the small of her back, the other balancing a bowl of cut fruit on her belly like it was a shelf, “if you don’t bring me that giant body pillow in the next sixty seconds, I’m divorcing you and naming the baby ‘Carhartt.’”

Sami burst out laughing from the hallway, jogging in with the pillow clutched like a lifeline. “You’re not gonna name our child after my work uniform, wallah.”

She arched a brow as she slowly—so slowly—eased herself back onto the couch with a dramatic sigh. “Try me. I’m hormonal and everything hurts. Carhartt Zayn sounds revolutionary.”

He set the pillow behind her carefully and knelt down beside her, kissing her bare ankle. “What do you need, my whole world?”

“I need this baby out of my lungs, out of my ribs, and preferably not doing somersaults at midnight.” But she smiled as she said it, threading her fingers into his hair and playing with the curls at his temple. “And I need you to stop being so cute when I’m trying to be mad.”

Sami looked up at her, a mixture of complete awe and adoration in his gaze. His beard was fuller these days, and his arms were always warm from how often he was doing everything to keep their space calm and comfortable for her. “You’ve made carrying life look like magic,” he whispered. “You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

Her eyes watered instantly. “Sami…” she sniffled, fanning her face. “Don’t say stuff like that unless you’re ready for me to cry into this watermelon.”

He leaned in and kissed the curve of her belly, whispering something soft in Arabic, a dua. Yasmina went still, hands slipping into his curls again as she closed her eyes and let the moment melt into her skin.

They sat like that for a while—her fruit bowl perched on her belly, his arms wrapped around her knees, head resting against her stomach where their daughter was currently doing what felt like Olympic flips.

He spoke into her skin softly, “A few more weeks. Then we get to meet her.”

Yasmina smiled, wide and soft and sleepy. “Think she’ll have your curls?”

“She better,” he chuckled. “And your eyes. And your stubbornness.”

She yawned. “God help us all.”

Sami grinned and pulled the blanket over her legs, kissing her temple as she leaned against his shoulder. “You’re already the best mother. You’ve been doing this with so much love, Mina. She’s going to feel it.”

Her lashes fluttered. “That’s the goal,” she mumbled. “A home inside and out.”

Sami whispered, “You already gave me that.”

And in the golden light of the late afternoon, with the dogs curled at her feet, her husband humming something soft in Arabic, and their daughter dancing beneath her skin, Yasmina felt it—that holy ache of joy, love, and anticipation, stitched into the fabric of a life that was entirely their own.

Elysian — Next Page “And Then There Was Her”

The world had gone still.

Then loud. Then quiet again. A ripple. A rush. A storm. Then silence.

It was sometime just past midnight when the hospital room pulsed with the quiet hum of overhead lights and the soft, steady beeping of monitors. Yasmina had been in labor for hours. Endless hours. Sami hadn’t left her side for even a breath. Not when she screamed through contractions, not when she cried in pain, not even when she told him to go sit somewhere before she accidentally threw a Jell-O cup at his head.

Now, his hands shook where they held hers—his thumb sweeping gently over her knuckles, his forehead pressed to her temple.

Then…

A sound cracked through the air like the first light of dawn.

A cry. High. Powerful. So small. So impossibly big.

Yasmina sobbed in that moment—not in pain but in something deeper. Something sacred. And Sami—he was frozen in reverence, the way a man might stand when witnessing a miracle.

Because he was.

The nurse gently wrapped their daughter and handed her to Yasmina, who cradled her as if the earth itself rested in her arms.

“Subhan’Allah,” Sami whispered, eyes glazed with tears. “She’s… she’s perfect.”

Yasmina leaned her head into his shoulder, her voice raw, tired, tearful. “You want to do it now? What you said?”

He nodded, rising gently to his feet. One hand touched his daughter's soft chest, the other resting above her tiny crown. Sami’s lips moved with deep care, and then with a steady, clear voice he spoke:

“Allahu Akbar, Allahu AkbarAshhadu an la ilaha illallahAshhadu anna Muhammadan Rasool AllahHayya 'alas-SalahHayya 'alal-FalahAllahu Akbar, Allahu AkbarLa ilaha illallah.”

The adhan—the Islamic call to prayer. Whispered directly into his daughter's right ear.

Yasmina cried quietly through it, holding their daughter closer, brushing her thumb along the tiny curve of the baby’s jaw.

Then Sami leaned in, kissed both their foreheads, and spoke the name they had held close to their hearts for months—unspoken, cherished like a secret only the stars knew.

“Her name is Salma.” After Yasmina’s middle name. After his grandmother. After peace.

Salma Sami Zayn.

Peace, born of love.

—

The next day, the sun rose soft and golden over their little apartment. The aqiqah was modest—just as they wanted. A small meal was prepared. Yasmina, bundled in soft robes and a cozy hijab, watched from the bed as Sami, with reverence and care, trimmed their daughter’s hair, collecting each tiny curl into a silk pouch to be donated as was custom. He whispered verses over her, kissed her cheeks, and held her up like she was sunlight.

And when they donated in her name to feed those in need, Yasmina smiled with tears in her eyes. “She’s already changing the world.”

Later, as they sat together—her leaned into his chest, Salma asleep between them, the weight of her name sealed in prayer—Sami kissed the top of his wife’s head and whispered:

“You gave me a whole galaxy, habibti.”

And Yasmina, eyes closed and heart full, whispered back:

“We made a moon.”

Elysian — Next Page “The Moon Has Grown Legs”

Two years later.

And somehow, the world was both louder and sweeter.

The morning sun poured gently through the windows of their cozy home—curtains swaying like lullabies. Somewhere near the kitchen, the clink of a baby spoon echoed off tile. A soft shuffle. A toddler’s squeal of excitement.

Then came the thunder.

“Baba!!” A blur of red curls launched through the hallway.

Sami bent down right in time, catching his daughter mid-air as she barreled into his legs with reckless, sticky affection. “Whoa, habibti!” he laughed, swinging her up onto his hip. “You’ve got rocket boosters on today, huh?”

Salma giggled wildly, wrapping her arms around his neck. She had Yasmina’s honey-warm skin, a soft halo of curls that flamed in the sunlight like copper thread, and the most expressive eyebrows he swore she inherited from him. “Mama let me have pankaakes!”

“Pancakes?” Sami gasped dramatically. “Without me?!”

From the kitchen, Yasmina called out over sizzling butter, her voice amused. “You were still sleeping, Mr. Firefighter—she asked so sweetly. I was outnumbered.”

Sami walked Salma into the kitchen, kissing Yasmina’s temple as he passed behind her. She stood barefoot in one of his old band t-shirts again, her curls piled into a pineapple puff, a streak of flour on her cheek. “That woman is too soft for you,” he whispered playfully to their daughter. “You’ve got her wrapped.”

Salma blinked big brown eyes at her mother. “I wuv mama.”

“Oh, so now you’re cute?” Yasmina smiled over her shoulder, flipping a pancake. “This little rascal tried to flush my lip balm down the toilet twenty minutes ago.”

“Treasure,” Salma whispered to herself like she was in a documentary.

Yasmina groaned. “I’m raising a gremlin.”

Sami snorted, setting Salma in her booster seat as he grabbed plates. “A beautiful, genius gremlin.”

“You’re enabling her.”

“I’m emotionally compromised.”

They shared a look—one of those long, wordless ones. The kind where her dimples teased and his heart melted and the silence between them said, God, how did we get this lucky?

Salma smacked her palms on the table. “Where’s my syrup, please and thank you!”

“Yes, your majesty,” Yasmina bowed playfully, setting the syrup down.

Their daughter grabbed her fork and dug in with pure two-year-old chaos. “I a pancake boss.”

“Oh, she said that with her chest,” Sami said through a mouthful.

Yasmina leaned into him, her head against his shoulder as Salma hummed through her bites. “She’s so big already.”

“I know,” he said, arm curling around her waist. “But she’s still our moon.”

“And our rocket.”

“And our tiny, chaotic revolution.”

Yasmina kissed his cheek, her eyes soft. “I want ten more.”

Sami choked on his coffee.

Salma clapped. “TEN PANCAKES!”

“See?” Yasmina grinned. “She’s already on board.”

Elysian — Next Page “Another Little Crescent”

It was a late spring afternoon, golden and warm, and the kind that made everything feel a little softer around the edges. Sami had just finished watering the balcony plants—well, overwatering them if you asked Yasmina—and was now carrying Salma on his hip while she proudly held a half-eaten apple and a wooden spoon she refused to let go of.

He walked into the living room where Yasmina was folding laundry with one leg up on the couch like a true mom multitasker, her abaya draped casually over her lap, curls down for the first time in days. There was a playful glint in her eye… suspiciously so.

Salma smacked the spoon against his shoulder. “Faster, Baba! We ride!”

“I am not your noble steed, tiny overlord,” Sami chuckled, bouncing her a little.

Then came the chaos bomb.

“Hey, habibi?” Yasmina said it way too lightly. Sami glanced over. “Hmm?”

“You’re going to be a dad again.”

—Record scratch.

Sami froze mid-step.

Salma blinked. “Baba?”

He blinked. “I’m—wait. What?”

Yasmina grinned, folding a tiny onesie that was definitely not Salma’s size. “You heard me.”

Sami’s knees wobbled so hard he dropped to the couch like a sack of flour, still holding Salma who clung to him like she was riding a rollercoaster.

“Baba fall down,” she announced proudly.

Sami’s eyes were wide. “Wait. Wait. Again? Like. Again-again?”

Yasmina walked over, pressing a kiss to his forehead and then gently running her fingers through Salma’s hair. “Yes. Again-again. Surprise.”

“Habibti,” he whispered, completely shellshocked. “You’re serious?”

She pulled out a small paper from her hoodie pocket and handed it to him—an ultrasound picture.

Salma gasped loudly at the black-and-white photo like she had just witnessed magic. “Baba… is that a worm?!”

“It’s your sibling, ya silly,” Yasmina laughed.

Sami stared at the photo like it held all the secrets of the universe. Then at her. Then at the photo again.

And then suddenly his whole face melted into that big, boyish, overwhelmed, tear-glossed Sami Zayn smile.

“Wallah, you’re serious… another baby. We’re gonna have another baby.”

Yasmina nodded, eyes shining.

Sami kissed Salma’s curls first, then cradled Yasmina’s belly, even though it hadn’t started to show yet. “Thank you,” he said softly. “For giving me the best things I never knew how to ask for.”

Salma gasped again. “Another baby means… double pancakes!”

Yasmina cracked up. “That’s your takeaway?”

Sami laughed so hard he had to wipe a tear from his eye. “It’s gonna be chaos in here.”

“But,” Yasmina said, leaning down to kiss him sweetly, “the kind of chaos that feels like home.”

Elysian — Next Page “New Home, New Adventures”

The moving truck had just pulled away, leaving behind the quiet hum of a new beginning. Their little house sat cozy on the street—a soft tan color with a small porch, perfect for lazy mornings and iced coffees.

Salma, barely two, toddled around the empty living room, clutching her favorite stuffed giraffe. Her chubby cheeks were rosy from the excitement, and every few seconds she dropped to her knees to hug the soft toy tight.

“Look, Mama! Look, Baba!” she squealed, pointing at the big windows that let in the afternoon sun. Her little voice was full of wonder.

Yasmina smiled, watching her daughter’s wild curls bounce as she crawled over the smooth floor. “Yes, baby girl, this is your new home,” she said softly, kneeling down to press a gentle kiss on Salma’s forehead.

Sami came in carrying an unmarked box and set it down near the kitchen doorway. He wrapped an arm around Yasmina’s waist and looked at their daughter playing. “Feels good, doesn’t it?” he asked quietly.

Salma giggled and stood up wobbly, taking a few steps toward the sliding door that led to the backyard. She banged her tiny hands on the glass and grinned. “Outside! Swing? Garden?”

Yasmina laughed, brushing a curl from her own face. “Maybe one day, habibti.”

Sami smiled at Yasmina. “I think this place is perfect for us.”

Yasmina rested her head on his shoulder, her hand tracing small circles on his chest. “It already feels like home.”

Salma’s little voice cut through the quiet. “Room! Room! Pink!”

Sami chuckled, picking her up. “We’ll paint your room any color you want, but no neon pink this time, okay?”

Salma giggled and snuggled into his neck, happy and tired from all the moving.

As the sun dipped low, the three of them stood in the middle of their new living room, surrounded by empty boxes but filled with hope.

This was the start of their forever.

Elysian — Next Page

Two years had slipped by like soft whispers in the wind. The little house hummed with life and laughter, the kind that fills every corner with warmth. Salma, with her wild, fiery red curls bouncing every time she ran, chased her little brother Amir around the sunlit living room. Her brown eyes, shining like polished amber, sparkled with the kind of joy only a four-year-old could carry. Amir toddled after her, chubby hands reaching out, his dark curls a little unruly but impossibly cute, his wide eyes full of wonder and mischief at just two.

Yasmina sat cross-legged on the soft rug, her light brown skin glowing in the afternoon light streaming through the windows. She hummed softly, folding tiny clothes into a basket — the everyday magic of motherhood all around her. Sami leaned in the doorway, watching them with a smile so full it could melt steel. His heart swelled seeing their little world, so full of love and promise.

Salma suddenly skidded to a halt and threw her arms around her dad’s legs, her laughter bubbling up like warm honey. “Habibi! Come play with us!” she begged, her small voice wrapped in innocence and excitement.

Amir, caught in the moment, clapped his hands and babbled something unintelligible, but full of pure happiness.

Sami crouched down, gathering them both in a tight embrace. “Alright, my little stars, let’s make some magic happen,” he said, his voice thick with affection. Yasmina joined them, her smile radiant, the embodiment of peace and family.

They were a little kingdom of joy, a blend of cultures, love, and hope. And in that moment, nothing else existed but the sound of their laughter echoing softly through the walls, a perfect symphony for their forever home.

Elysian — Next Page

Years flowed like a gentle river, carrying Sami and Yasmina through the seasons of their lives — from the spark of their first meeting, through trials and triumphs, to this beautiful chapter of family and love. Their home, once a quiet sanctuary, now echoed with the laughter of Salma and Amir, the little heartbeat of their shared world.

Together, they built more than just a life — they crafted a legacy of resilience, kindness, and devotion. Yasmina’s bakery flourished, a beloved corner of the neighborhood where every loaf and pastry carried a sprinkle of her heart. Sami continued his work, his strength not just in his hands but in the unwavering love that anchored him.

Through it all, their bond deepened — not with grand gestures alone, but in the quiet moments: a touch, a smile, the soft words whispered in the dark. They were soulmates in the truest sense, their lives intertwined like the threads of a timeless tapestry.

And as the sun dipped low each evening, painting their world in hues of gold, Sami and Yasmina would sit side by side, hands entwined, hearts full, knowing they had found in each other the greatest gift of all: home.

Elysian — Epilogue

Years later, their home was alive with the joyful chaos of four beautiful children — Salma and Amir, the originals, now joined by little Laila and Yusuf, whose laughter filled every corner with warmth and light. Each kid carried pieces of both their parents: Salma’s wild curls and Yasmina’s gentle smile, Amir’s mischievous spark and Sami’s steady calm, while Laila’s curious eyes and Yusuf’s infectious giggle made the family complete.

Yasmina still ruled the bakery with her signature kindness, now baking with little helpers at her side, while Sami balanced fire calls with bedtime stories and bedtime prayers, never missing a chance to remind his family how deeply he loved them.

In the quiet moments between the noise, Sami and Yasmina would steal glances, fingers brushing, hearts full — a love story that started with a spark and grew into a lifelong flame, burning brighter every day.

And as the sun set over their little corner of the world, their family gathered close — a perfect, imperfect, beautiful chaos of love, laughter, and forever.

[mjonthetrack]

Elysian

Elysian — Next Page ☀️🍓💍

The morning light spilled into the room like warm honey, filtering through the gauzy curtains Sami had once tossed up half-heartedly but now looked magical as they swayed gently in the summer breeze. The whole apartment was quiet—no sizzling, no radio, no footsteps. Just the soft rhythm of breath and birdsong outside the cracked window.

Yasmina was awake first, curled under the covers in one of Sami’s oldest cotton shirts, her legs tangled with his. Her head rested near his collarbone, and her hand sat flat over the steady thump of his heart. His arm was wrapped around her protectively, the other resting lazily above his head, coppery curls wild against the pillow like a halo.

She didn’t move. Not for a while.

Instead, she just watched him.

Like actually watched him. Studying every feature like she hadn’t already memorized him with hungry, reverent eyes the night before. The way his lashes curled slightly at the ends. The faint sun mark on his nose. The soft freckles on his chest and the slight crease between his brows that never really smoothed out even when he slept. His lips, just barely parted, breath slow and warm and safe.

And her engagement ring—his ring for her—sparkled like a secret on her finger, catching the light with every breath she took.

Her chest swelled. There was no other word for it. She was full. With awe. With love. With the ache of everything she had thought she’d never get to have. Safety. Peace. A man who kissed her hand when she cried, who brushed her hair gently while humming under his breath, who looked at her like home.

She reached up with her free hand, fingers barely grazing through his curls, careful not to wake him too quickly. Her thumb brushed gently down the curve of his cheek.

“I really love you,” she whispered like a secret to the room, like it was something holy.

Sami stirred then, eyelids fluttering open slowly, lashes blinking against the sun. He smiled sleepily the moment he saw her. That kind of smile that was drowsy but warm, all love and contentment.

“Morning, angel,” he murmured, voice rough and low.

She smiled back, biting her lip.

“What?” he asked, hand reaching to tuck a wild curl behind her ear.

“I was just… thinking,” she said, still watching him. “I must’ve done something really good in a past life. Or saved a village or helped a baby turtle across the road or something.”

Sami laughed, that rich warm sound rumbling in his chest. “Why’s that?”

“Because I ended up with you,” she whispered, brushing her nose against his. “And I don’t think anything’s ever felt this good. This safe.”

He cupped her jaw gently and kissed her slow, like he had all the time in the world.

“Then I guess we’re both lucky, ya amar,” he murmured against her lips. “Because I still don’t believe you’re real.”

Elysian — Next Page 💍📋🕊️

The kitchen smelled like cardamom and cinnamon—Yasmina’s doing, of course. She’d made chai this morning, a habit she’d picked up after experimenting with different spices and blends she got from the aunties at the mosque. Sami leaned against the counter in a gray tee and sweats, watching her barefoot in his plaid pajama pants, rolled and tied within an inch of their life, her curls puffed up in a head wrap, and her engagement ring catching the light every time she lifted her mug to her lips.

She looked like forever.

He hadn’t even touched his chai yet. Too busy staring.

“What?” she asked with a smile, catching him in the act. Her voice was soft and honeyed, like the morning light on her skin. “You’re staring again.”

“You’re in my kitchen. Wearing my pants. Making the house smell like a dream. And you’re my fiancée,” he said like he still hadn’t wrapped his brain around it. “Of course I’m staring. You’re ridiculous. I’m in love.”

Yasmina grinned, padding over and slipping between his arms where he stood. “So what are we gonna do about it, fiancé of mine?”

Sami arched a brow. “Hmm?”

She poked his chest gently. “The wedding. We should start planning it, no? Or are we just gonna surprise people one day like, ‘Hi, we’re married. Here’s a muffin and a magnet’?”

He laughed, head tipping back slightly as he wrapped his arms around her waist. “The muffin is tempting. That would sobe your move.”

She gave him a mock scolding look. “I was thinking spring, or late winter if we’re feeling bold. Something soft and warm with colors that feel like home. Not too big, not too small. Maybe something outdoors, or something with lots of candlelight if it’s inside. I want it to feel like how I feel when you hold me. Like magic, like peace.”

He rested his forehead against hers. “Sounds perfect already. But you’re in charge of all the aesthetics, baby. I’ll just show up in whatever you pick and promise not to pass out.”

“Deal,” she whispered, biting her lip, “but only if you pick the food.”

“Oh, we’re absolutely having that saffron rice from your auntie’s recipe book. And your cardamom shortbread. And maybe kebabs. Oooh, and those pomegranate mocktails…”

“I love you,” she giggled, reaching up to cup his face. “I love that we’re gonna do this together.”

“We’re not just doing it,” he said, brushing her nose with his. “We’re building it. A life. A family. A home. Whatever you want it to look like, we’ll make it happen.”

She looked up at him like he hung the stars himself.

“You promise?”

“With everything I am, ya rouhi.”

Elysian — Next Page 👰🏽‍♀️💫🕊️

Yasmina stood in front of the tall mirror tucked in the corner of the modest little boutique one of the mosque aunties had recommended. The lighting was soft, the walls cream and rose-gold with soft prayer music humming somewhere in the background. She’d insisted on going alone—well, sort of. Trinity and Bianca had come with, but she’d sent them out to the lobby with pastries and chai because she needed a second.

She was wearing the dress. A dress.

Soft white, modest, with long sheer sleeves embroidered in tiny lace-like vines. The neckline curved just right—humble but elegant—and the flowing train at the back made her look like she’d walked straight out of a fairytale. Her curls were tucked into a loosely draped hijab that matched the gown, and her hands trembled gently at her sides as she took herself in.

Her chest was fluttering. This was real.

And of course—because the universe had impeccable comedic timing—there was a gentle knock and then the door opened.

“Sami, no! You’re not supposed to be in—!”

He stopped mid-step.

Everything in him halted.

He saw her.

The world slowed. No breath. No noise. Just her.

Yasmina turned to him with wide eyes, her hands flying to cover the soft fabric of the dress even though it covered everything already. “Sami, you weren’t supposed to see it. It’s bad luck—!”

“I don’t care.”

His voice was hoarse.

She blinked. “What?”

He stepped in gently, the door falling shut behind him as if the moment had decided to protect itself from interruption. His eyes roamed every detail—every lace seam, every delicate stitch, the slight way the dress cinched at her waist like it had been made for her.

Sami’s breath shuddered out of him.

“I’m marrying a miracle,” he said, almost stunned, almost reverent.

Yasmina’s throat caught. “Sami…”

“No, really,” he whispered, stepping closer. “You look like something out of a dream. And not the kind you forget when you wake up. The kind you carry with you forever.”

Her lips parted, eyes glossy. “I was gonna surprise you.”

“You did,” he said. “You do, every single day.”

She let out a little laugh, soft and shaky. “I guess this is the part where you cry dramatically.”

He nodded with a sniff, smiling through the tears prickling his eyes. “Already halfway there, love.”

“Don’t you dare ruin your good hoodie with tears,” she teased softly.

“Then you shouldn’t look like my every answered prayer.”

Elysian — Next Page 🧕🏽👰🏽‍♀️📿💍 Auntie Invasion Edition

The door creaked open.

And Yasmina didn’t even have time to react before a collective gasp ripped through the hallway.

Three aunties. Fully dressed in pastel abayas, purses swinging on their shoulders, each holding an iced chai. The kind of women who organized entire fundraisers, weddings, baby showers, and weekly iftars without breaking a sweat. The kind of women you do not hide things from.

One leaned forward, eyes narrowing.

“Is he… crying?”

Sami sniffed, tried to casually wipe his face, and blinked fast like that would undo the emotional breakdown he’d just had.

“No,” he lied like a child caught with chocolate on his face.

The second auntie stepped inside, clapping both hands together. “Ayy mashallah!! He’s already crying! This one is good. He’s soft like the inside of khubz!”

Yasmina, still very much frozen in the wedding gown, looked between them all. “Wait—how did y’all get back here?!”

“Bianca let us in,” the third auntie said, pointing a thumb behind her. “She said and I quote, ‘Y’all need to see this real quick.’”

“And she handed us pastries,” the first added. “What a good girl, that one.”

Within seconds, Yasmina was circled like a gemstone under appraisal. One auntie adjusted her sleeves gently, another fluffed her train, and the last patted her cheek.

“She’s glowing,” one said to Sami. “What did you do to her?”

“I—uh—I proposed?” Sami offered, blinking like he’d been dropped in a different universe.

“Mmm. And your parents? Have you told your mother?” another asked, arms already crossed.

“I did,” Sami replied, still caught somewhere between awe and mild terror.

“Good. Because now we have work to do. Food tasting. Henna booking. Cake. You will both sit down and answer every question. We will make Pinterest look like child’s play.”

Yasmina giggled as they pulled Sami toward the chairs in the lounge, one auntie already pulling out a binder labeled Zayn Wedding: Confidential and Divine.

“You okay, habibi?” she asked sweetly.

He looked back at her in the gown, his fiancée, his miracle—and smiled like a man drunk in love.

“I’ve never been better.”

Elysian — Next Page ✨ “Take it off for me, habibti.” ✨

Back at the apartment, the buzz of the day was finally giving way to quiet. Golden hour spilled through the windows like a soft syrup, painting everything in that dreamy shade of warmth. Yasmina’s heels clicked softly against the hardwood floor as she walked toward the bedroom, her fingers skimming over the edge of the fabric at her hips.

She was still in that dress. The one that made him cry. The one that made time stop.

Sami leaned in the doorway, his arms crossed gently, still wearing that awe-struck expression like his heart hadn’t quite caught up to the moment.

“You haven’t taken it off yet,” he murmured, his voice husky but tender.

Yasmina turned slowly to face him, the ivory skirt brushing the backs of her legs, her curls a little wild now from the long day, the shimmer of her engagement ring catching the dying sun like it was winking on purpose.

“I didn’t want to mess it up,” she whispered, eyes soft as honey, “It feels… like magic.”

He pushed off the doorframe, stepping forward until he was just in front of her. He reached for her hand first, bringing it to his lips in a reverent kiss. Then his fingers skimmed up the lace of her sleeve, slow, respectful, almost worshipful. “Let me take it off for you,” he whispered, his voice low like a prayer.

Her breath hitched.

He reached around her carefully, his fingers brushing the small zipper on her back. Her eyes fluttered closed at the warmth of his hands, the silence between them laced with something heady and unspoken. Not rushed. Not lustful. Just… thick with love.

“I know it’s not the wedding yet,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to her shoulder as he peeled the sleeve down carefully, “But when I see you like this… like you’re mine for real… it feels like I’m already home.”

Yasmina shivered, her lips parting as she whispered, “Sami…”

He kissed her again, just under her ear this time.

“I’m gonna take care of you. Always. In silk or pajamas. In this dress or the next one. On our loudest days and our quietest nights. Okay?”

She nodded, heart pounding against her ribs.

The zipper came down in one slow, careful pull, and the dress loosened around her like it was sighing off her body, the room holding its breath in gentle reverence.

He helped her step out of it, folding it delicately and setting it aside on the chair like it was made of stardust and vows.

Then he wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her close, forehead to forehead. “There you are,” he said softly.

Just like that, wrapped in each other and the fading sunlight, they stood still.

Two hearts. One breath.

Elysian — Next Page ✨ “Come here, chef’s assistant.” ✨

Later that evening, the kitchen was warm in a way that had nothing to do with the stove. Yasmina had traded her gown for a pair of oversized sleep shorts and one of Sami’s softest faded tees — the neckline a little too wide, the hem hitting her mid-thigh. Her curls were piled messily on top of her head with a pencil holding them in place, and her bare feet padded across the tiles as she moved around the kitchen like it was her stage.

Sami stood at the counter barefoot in sweats and a plain black tank, sleeves showing off the arms she liked to bite when he wasn’t paying attention. He was chopping tomatoes, brows furrowed in concentration like this was a Michelin-star kitchen and not just his cozy apartment where the only critic was a nosy terrier napping in the hallway.

Yasmina peeked over his shoulder, arms wrapping around his middle from behind.

“Mmm,” she hummed, pressing a kiss between his shoulder blades. “I like watching you cook. It’s like watching the sun do a hobby.”

Sami huffed a laugh, reaching down to squeeze her hand over his stomach. “You’re ridiculous.”

“You like it.”

“I do,” he said quietly, glancing over his shoulder to smile at her.

She padded over to the stove, stirring the seasoned rice she had started earlier, the smell of garlic, lemon, and cumin filling the room. “You didn’t tell me how much of a domestic king you were,” she teased. “You’ve been holding out.”

Sami grabbed a dish towel and flicked it toward her hip. “You didn’t ask. Besides, I was waiting to have someone worth cooking for.”

Yasmina flushed, eyes soft as she bumped his hip gently with hers. “So I’m worth all this?” she teased, motioning to the food, the kitchen, the softness between them.

“You’re worth a hundred dinners. A million breakfasts. Every grocery run for the rest of my life.” He said it casually, but the weight in his voice made her throat tighten.

She turned away shyly, trying to hide the tear that slid down her cheek.

But he saw.

He stepped up behind her, chin on her shoulder, arms around her waist. “You still cry when I talk like that,” he murmured.

“I do,” she whispered, “Because I didn’t know someone could mean it like you do.”

They stood there like that for a moment, the stove bubbling softly, his nose in her curls.

Then she turned, grinning again, flicking water from her fingertips at him. “Okay, chef, you’re on vegetable duty. I’ll handle the rest. And no, you can’t season the rice — I saw what you did to those scrambled eggs last week.”

“Those eggs were fire.”

“They were spicy, Sami. There’s a difference.”

He chuckled, stealing a kiss before grabbing the cutting board.

And just like that — laughter, teasing, love tucked into a tiny kitchen under warm lights — they built something beautiful out of ordinary.

Elysian — Next Page ✨ “So we’re doing this… let’s write it together.” ✨

Later, they’d settled on the couch — a worn but beloved piece that had cradled so many soft moments already. The dinner plates were abandoned on the coffee table, half-empty cups of mint tea forgotten. The TV played something in the background, but neither of them was really watching.

Yasmina had her legs tucked beneath her, resting sideways in Sami’s lap, one of his arms around her waist, the other absentmindedly tracing lazy circles on her thigh.

She was wearing another one of his shirts — one with an old band logo that had faded with time — and her curls were loose now, slightly damp from her bath. He smelled like cedarwood and warmth, his beard brushing against her temple when he leaned down to nuzzle her.

“Sami?” Her voice was quiet, thoughtful. She picked at a little thread on his sleeve before tilting her face toward him.

“Yeah, habibti?”

She hesitated, chewing on her bottom lip. Then—

“Do you think… I know this is usually a separate thing, but…” She looked up at him with those big brown eyes, vulnerability flickering like candlelight. “Can we write our vows together?”

Sami blinked, not because he didn’t like the idea — but because the idea knocked something loose in his chest.

Together.

Not “my vows and yours.” Not “I’ll meet you at the altar and we’ll say them.” No — together.

He tucked a curl behind her ear. “You wanna do that with me?”

“I do,” she nodded. “Because… this whole thing has been us. The mess, the quiet moments, the wild ones, the dogs on my lap and me crying in your arms and you holding me like the whole world was breaking but you were still sure of me. I don’t want my vows to be about who I am without you. I want them to be about who we are. Together.”

Sami swallowed thickly, his throat suddenly dry. “You’re gonna make me cry, ya amar…”

“I mean it.” Her fingers brushed over his beard, then his cheekbone. “I know you’ll probably write something beautiful and poetic, and I’ll cry ugly when I hear it even if I help you write it — but I want to look at you that day knowing we meant every word, side by side, when we made them.”

He leaned down and kissed her—soft and slow and full of reverence.

“Okay,” he whispered against her lips. “Let’s write them. Together. For us. For everything we’ve been and everything we’re building.”

Yasmina grinned and wiggled in his lap. “Should we get notebooks? Oh! Can I use the glittery pen?”

Sami laughed, forehead to hers. “Only if I get one too. But no pink sparkles. I’ve got a firefighter rep to maintain.”

She gasped dramatically, grabbing a pillow and smacking him with it.

“Notebooks first, glitter war second?” he grinned.

“Deal.”

And just like that, their vows began. Not as speeches. Not as performances.

But as promises.

Side by side.

Elysian — Next Page ✨ “Tell me what you want to promise me.” ✨

They sat at the tiny table by the kitchen window, the soft orange glow of late evening casting warm, drowsy light across the space. Two mugs of tea steamed beside their matching notebooks — his a deep green, hers a soft cream with little floral etchings on the cover.

Sami sat with his sleeves rolled up, curls still damp from a shower, pen in hand but unmoving. Across from him, Yasmina twirled the glittery pen between her fingers like it held a secret. Her abaya was swapped for comfy sweats and one of his old flannels, and she had her feet tucked under her in her chair.

There was a calm silence between them, broken only by the hum of the fridge and the occasional sound of her pen scratching down a line before she’d pause and tap it against her lip.

Sami glanced up, eyes locked on her face like it was the only thing worth looking at. “What’d you write?”

She blinked, cheeks warm as she peeked over the top of her notebook. “It’s cheesy.”

“I like cheesy.”

She smiled shyly. “Okay… I said, I promise to always be your soft place to land, your kitchen light when it’s dark, and the laughter after a bad day.” She shrugged bashfully. “I don’t know.”

Sami’s breath hitched a little. “That’s… baby, that’s perfect.”

Yasmina tilted her head, watching him with those kind eyes. “Your turn, habibi. What do you want to promise me?”

He exhaled slowly, tapping the pen against his open page. Then, in a low voice, thoughtful and thick with emotion, he started to read what he’d scribbled:

“I promise to carry your grief when it’s too heavy.I promise to remind you you’re not alone — not ever again.I promise to choose you every day, in the loud and in the quiet.I promise to protect the world we’re building, even when it feels small.I promise to let your softness make me braver.”

Yasmina blinked back tears, her hand reaching out instinctively across the table. He met her halfway, interlocking their fingers.

Then, her voice soft and steady: “I didn’t think anyone would ever love me like this.”

Sami reached out, brushing his thumb gently under her eye where a tear had fallen. “You deserved it your whole life, Yasmina. I’m just lucky enough to be the one who gets to show you.”

She stood slowly and moved into his lap, curling into his chest, arms wrapped around his neck. The notebooks sat open on the table — sacred little things now.

Neither of them moved to close them. They weren’t done writing yet.

And some promises... needed space to bloom.

Elysian — Next Page

The morning light filtered soft and golden through the curtains of Sami’s apartment, wrapping them both in a warm, sleepy glow. Yasmina sat cross-legged on the floor, a big sketchpad spread out before her, colors and swatches scattered like little dreams waiting to be born. Sami stood nearby, leaning casually against the doorway, watching her with that quiet, tender smile that made her heart trip.

“I was thinking,” Yasmina said, her voice soft but excited, “what if we blend everything we love? Like, a ceremony that’s part tradition, part us. We can have the henna night — those glowing lamps, jasmine in the air, laughter and music that feels like a hug.”

Sami’s eyes lit up, stepping over to sit beside her, fingers brushing lightly over the sketches. “And the mosque ceremony,” he said, voice low and reverent, “I want our families to see how much you mean to me, how you honor this with me. I want it to be a day where every piece of us feels at home.”

Yasmina smiled, her dimples shining, eyes bright as stars. “And the food,” she added with a laugh, “your family’s favorites mixed with my grandma’s recipes. We’ll feed everyone until they’re so full they can’t move.”

Sami chuckled, pulling her close until she was leaning into his chest. “You make everything better,” he murmured, kissing the top of her head. “This is gonna be the start of forever — messy, beautiful, and all ours.”

Her hand found his, squeezing gently. “I can’t wait to say yes again, every day.”

Outside, the city hummed with life, but here, in their quiet bubble, the wedding plans were already weaving their magic — a promise blooming like the first flower of spring.

Elysian — Next Page

The apartment had transformed into a kaleidoscope of color and warmth, every corner draped in deep reds, golds, and greens—soft lanterns casting dancing shadows across the walls. The air was thick with the scent of jasmine, rosewater, and freshly ground henna powder. Yasmina sat cross-legged on a plush velvet cushion, her hands resting on her lap, still damp from the delicate henna designs being painted on her palms and fingers.

Around her, the mosque aunties and wives chattered softly, laughter bubbling like a gentle stream as they fussed over her, adjusting her hijab here, brushing a stray curl there. One older auntie with silver-streaked hair smiled kindly and said, “Ya benti, you’re glowing like the moon tonight. Sami is a lucky man.”

Yasmina smiled shyly but brightly, warmth flooding her chest. “Thank you, Auntie Layla. I’ve never felt this loved.”

Suddenly, a slight commotion stirred near the doorway. Sami appeared, hopeful and a little sheepish, but before he could step forward, Auntie Miriam’s hand shot up like a royal decree.

“Habibi Sami, you must wait outside,” she said softly but firmly, her eyes kind but unwavering. “This night is for the bride and her sisters. No men allowed.”

Sami’s smile faltered, the disappointment clear, but he nodded, hands in his pockets, and with a rueful grin said, “I guess I’ll just have to wait patiently. I trust you all to take good care of my Yasmina.”

“Of course,” Auntie Miriam winked. “And we’ll make sure she’s ready to walk down the aisle as the most beautiful bride. You’ll get your chance soon enough, Sami.”

Yasmina’s cheeks flushed at the sight of him retreating, and she whispered, “I love you,” just loud enough for him to hear as he closed the door behind him.

The women resumed their laughter and stories, sharing advice about marriage, faith, and love. Auntie Fatima’s voice rose as she said, “Remember, benti, marriage isn’t just about the big day. It’s about building a life full of patience, respect, and endless kindness.”

“Like Sami,” Yasmina replied, eyes glistening.

The room hummed with warmth and tradition, each moment weaving the fabric of a new chapter, soft and sacred as the henna drying on her skin.

Elysian — Next Page

The soft morning light filtered through the gauzy curtains, painting Sami’s apartment in golden hues, but the air was thick with anticipation. Yasmina sat on the edge of the couch, the delicate white fabric of her nikah dress pooling softly around her. The embroidery—tiny golden threads weaving patterns of stars and vines—caught the light with every subtle movement she made. Her hands trembled slightly as they clutched the small prayer beads, the smooth pearls warm against her skin.

No family sat beside her, no mother to straighten her veil, no father to steady her nerves. Just the quiet hum of the room and the weight of what this moment meant. The absence of her own kin pressed against her chest like a cold shadow, but she breathed in slowly, grounding herself with the love that had grown between her and Sami—this new family she was about to join.

Sami stepped closer, his gaze soft and steady, radiating a warmth that made her heart flutter and calm all at once. His hand brushed hers gently, the rough calluses of a firefighter contrasting with her smooth skin.

“Habibti,” he murmured, voice low and reverent. “You look like an angel made real, standing here. I’m so honored, so lucky.”

Yasmina glanced up, eyes shimmering, and managed a small smile. “I’m scared,” she whispered, voice barely audible, “but happy. And I feel… like maybe I finally belong somewhere.”

He squeezed her hand. “You belong with me. With us. And I promise I’ll be your family, your safe place, forever.”

The imam’s voice filled the room, steady and calming, weaving prayers and blessings in Arabic, a sacred soundtrack to their moment. Sami took Yasmina’s hands in his, palms warm, fingers lacing together like they were always meant to.

The question came—the one they’d both been waiting for.

“Do you accept Yasmina Salma Nasir to be your wife, in faith and in life?”

Sami’s voice was strong but tender. “I do.”

“And do you accept Sami Zayn to be your husband, to cherish and honor?”

Yasmina’s breath hitched, but she met his gaze and whispered, “I do.”

Tears pooled at the corners of her eyes as the imam pronounced the nikah complete, their vows sealed in the sacred space.

Sami pulled her gently to stand, wrapping his arms around her waist as they shared a quiet moment amid the softly spoken prayers and the joyful murmur of family and friends. Yasmina leaned into him, the scent of his cologne wrapping around her like a protective blanket.

“You’re my home now, Yasmina. I swear it.”

Her smile was radiant, the tears now glistening like tiny stars on her cheeks. “And you’re mine.”

Outside the window, the city woke, but inside the room, time slowed, cradling them in a perfect bubble of love, faith, and the beginning of forever.

Elysian — Next Page

The garden was glowing under a velvet sky sprinkled with stars, strings of fairy lights draping like constellations above them. The soft hum of oud mingled with the clink of tea glasses and low laughter, warm and cozy like a secret whispered between old souls. Yasmina’s delicate perfume—rose and jasmine—floated on the breeze, wrapping around Sami as he took her hand, their fingers fitting like they were made to.

Tables overflowed with colors and textures: golden saffron rice flecked with pistachios, tender lamb so fragrant it made mouths water, her bakery’s buttery croissants piled high next to platters of flaky spinach pastries. Every bite was a love letter from Yasmina’s hands, and Sami caught himself watching her, eyes shining with pride and something deeper—pure reverence.

Bianca, perched on Montez’s lap, whispered to Trinity with a sly grin, “Yo, Sami’s got the whole glow-up. He’s got Yasmina, this feast, and that sherwani? Fire. Literally.”

Trinity laughed, tugging on Jimmy’s sleeve. “Imagine the kids someday—running around smelling like cinnamon and cardamom.”

Sami’s heart squeezed tight watching Yasmina laugh with the older women, their hijabs like bursts of color, the affectionate teasing and quiet blessings filling the air with sacred energy. His fire brothers clustered nearby, not saying much, just proud and protective, eyes flicking to Yasmina with approval.

At one point, Sami caught Yasmina looking at him—the way her eyes sparkled in the lantern light, the gentle curve of her smile—like a promise, a home. He leaned in, voice low and breath warm against her ear, “You make this whole world feel right. Like I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.”

She squeezed his hand, voice barely a whisper, “I never thought I’d belong anywhere again. But with you... I do.”

The night stretched on, slow and sweet, every moment a stitch in the tapestry they were weaving together. Sami pulled her close for a slow dance beneath the twinkling lights, the world narrowing until it was only the beat of their hearts and the softness of her breath on his skin.

“Forever,” he murmured into her hair, “starts right here.”

And Yasmina, with her soul wide open, whispered back, “Forever, with you.”

[mjonthetrack]

Elysian

Elysian — Next Page

The sun had only just begun its slow climb when Sami stepped into the firehouse, the scent of fresh-brewed coffee and diesel lingering in the air. The team was already buzzing with morning routines — boots hitting tile, radios crackling softly, and the soft laughter of men who’d fought fire side-by-side too many times to count. But Sami… he had a little extra light behind his eyes this morning. A little warmth in the curl of his lips as he moved through the station, already thinking about her — the way she’d kissed his cheek goodbye and handed him his lunch wrapped in parchment and care, complete with a sticky note that read: Don’t forget to eat! — Your Yasmina 💛

Across town, the Soul Crumb bakery was glowing from the inside out.

The air was warm with the scent of cardamom and cinnamon, soft jazz humming through the speakers as Yasmina moved about the space in a flurry of pastels and sunshine. She wore one of her soft abayas today — cream with soft lilac flowers, her engagement ring catching light with every pour of coffee and placement of a danish.

Her curls were tucked under a light chiffon hijab, pinned just right thanks to the help of Nadine that morning, and her apron was already dusted in flour. But her smile? Her smile was untouched, pure and bright like morning dew.

The bell above the door jingled again, and she turned just in time to see three familiar women from the mosque step inside, smiling wide like proud aunties. One of them gasped playfully, “Mashallah, this place smells like a dream!”

“Welcome!” Yasmina beamed, her dimples making their usual shy appearance. “You made it! Come in, please. We’ve got spiced tea steeping and I made extra date scones just in case you stopped by.”

The women grinned and stepped in further, looking around at the bakery’s soft, vintage charm — the handwritten chalkboard menu, the mismatched chairs, the big bay window that let sunlight spill across every corner.

“You really turned the whole menu halal?” one asked, settling her purse onto the chair.

Yasmina nodded, her hands clasped together proudly. “Yes. I wanted to make sure everyone could enjoy what we make here — and Sami, he’s part of the reason. It felt right. It is right.”

There was a shared look between the women, full of warmth and that knowing glimmer only older women carried.

“Sounds like someone’s already a good wife,” another teased with a wink.

Yasmina flushed, laughing softly as she poured the tea. “Still learning, but… I’m happy.”

And she was. Every ounce of her showed it — in the grace of her movement, the way she lit up at each customer, the joy that bloomed in her chest every time someone called her name, or shared a laugh, or asked about a new muffin flavor.

This bakery wasn’t just her business anymore. It was her offering. Her home. Her beginning. And now, people who shared her fiancé’s world — his faith, his culture — were becoming part of hers too.

Outside, a few kids pressed their noses to the glass before stepping in, already shouting excitedly about cupcakes.

Inside, Yasmina turned to greet them with open arms and that warm sparkle in her eyes that made everyone feel a little more at home.

And somewhere, in the station across the city, Sami smiled without even knowing why — just a feeling deep in his chest that everything was exactly where it was meant to be.

Elysian — Next Page

It was supposed to just be tea. Just a few sweet pastries and friendly conversation at the bakery. That’s what Yasmina thought when the wives waved her over after the morning rush died down.

But somehow that tea turned into a ride across town in Nadine’s SUV, a trunk already stuffed with shopping bags and a playlist full of old Arabic love songs and Afrobeats.

The backseat smelled like jasmine and honey, and Yasmina was tucked in the middle between Layla, a Lebanese mother of four who wore her hijab like a fashion crown, and Mariam, a Sudanese artist with gold bangles that clinked every time she gestured animatedly.

“Okay, first things first,” Layla said, flipping down the car mirror and touching up her lip gloss. “Spoiled Wife Rule #1 — never be afraid to be soft and a little extra. Your man is a firefighter, girl. He fights fires. He can carry your shopping bags.”

“I don’t even own enough shoes to be spoiled,” Yasmina laughed nervously.

“That’s what we’re fixing,” Mariam declared, tugging gently at Yasmina’s hand. “You’re marrying a good man, mashallah. A man who adores you. So now it’s our turn to teach you how to live in your softness, in your joy. No more struggling alone. Your era of ease starts now.”

They brought her to a small tucked-away shop owned by an auntie who greeted her with a kiss to both cheeks and a proud, “So you’re the one our Sami finally brought home.”

There were silks and crepe fabrics in every shade imaginable — ocean blues, honey golds, dusty rose and emerald greens. Hijabs with delicate embroidery. Sparkling khimar sets. They took turns wrapping and re-wrapping her hijab in different styles in front of the mirror until Yasmina couldn’t stop giggling.

“You look like you walked out of a Turkish drama,” Nadine whispered proudly, smoothing out the flowy sleeves on a cream jilbab. “Sami is going to lose his mind.”

By the time the late afternoon rolled around, Yasmina was standing in a perfume boutique, her wrist littered with scent samples — oud, musk, rose, sandalwood — her eyes wide and sparkly.

“Choose one,” Mariam said. “The one you’ll wear when you want him to know you're thinking about him.”

Yasmina blinked slowly, her heart blooming. “I don’t think I’ve ever… had anyone spoil me like this.”

Layla wrapped an arm around her shoulder gently. “You’re not alone anymore, habibti. This is what sisterhood looks like.”

They made sure she ate, took pictures of her trying on her new prayer outfits, and even grabbed an extra abaya “just because it screamed Sami’s fiancée energy.”

By the time they pulled up back in front of her bakery, arms full of bags, perfume bottles, wrapped boxes and new hijab pins, Yasmina looked dazed but delighted.

“This was... a masterclass,” she said with a dreamy grin, her dimples deep. “I feel like I need to journal or cry.”

Nadine kissed her cheek. “You’re one of us now, sweetheart. And spoiled wives take care of each other.”

Yasmina glanced down at her engagement ring sparkling in the golden hour sun, her heart so full it felt like it might tip over.

Spoiled wife era? Activated.

Elysian — Next Page

The apartment door creaked open just after sunset, the golden haze outside melting into the hallway light. Sami had just stepped out of the shower, towel still hanging around his shoulders as he walked barefoot down the hallway, rubbing at the curls at the back of his neck.

It was quiet at first. No text saying she was close, no call. And this was the first time she’d ever walked home without him.

He was halfway to calling when the front door eased open with a squeak… followed by a very soft thump.

A massive pile of shopping bags—gold-trimmed, tissue-stuffed, pastel-colored—wobbled into view first. A pair of legs beneath them. Then, a very familiar voice:

“Hiii habibi!” she chirped, balancing the mountain of fabric and boxes like she was in a luxury sitcom. “The wives recruited me into their spoiled wives group,” she huffed with a dramatic gasp. “They gave me a crash course and everything.”

Sami blinked.

“Crash course in what? Soft girl espionage?” he asked, one eyebrow arching as he reached to help her. The bags kept coming. One, two, three—he counted at least eight as he moved them onto the couch. “Ya Allah, min el jaish dah? You rob a modest fashion army?”

Yasmina giggled, spinning in a slow circle once she was freed from her burden. She wore a new abaya—this one buttery cream with delicate gold embroidery that glittered faintly under the light. Her hijab was a soft dusty rose, her eyes shining.

“They said I needed options!” she defended, dimples deep. “They taught me how to pin my hijab without stabbing myself, how to wrap it like an auntie at Eid, which perfume is halal and husband-approved. Layla said I needed one that would drive you crazy.”

Sami couldn’t even try to play cool. His eyes had already softened, his mouth twitching upward at the corners. He leaned against the wall, arms folded as he took her in—his fiancée, flushed with excitement, cheeks kissed by the wind, her joy radiant.

“You’re glowing,” he said softly, voice dipping as he pushed off the wall and stepped closer. “Like… glowing-glowing.”

She beamed and stretched on tiptoe to kiss his cheek, her hand brushing his jaw. “That’s because I’m in my spoiled wife era. I’ve been properly initiated. Mariam says if you come with me next time, they’ll teach you how to be a husband that buys flowers weekly.”

Sami grinned, wrapping an arm around her waist, nose brushing hers. “What if I already planned to bring you flowers tomorrow?”

Yasmina gasped dramatically. “You’re already halfway trained?!”

He kissed her forehead with a chuckle, pulling her against his chest. “Nah, love. I’m just helpless when it comes to you. Spoil you? I’ll write the damn manual.”

She melted, letting her arms slip around his waist, head tucked into his chest.

“Then get ready,” she whispered, “Because I’ve got, like, twelve more hijabs to model and I need your brutally honest reviews. Also... I may have picked us a scent. You’re gonna be obsessed.”

Sami kissed the top of her head, smiling into her curls.

He already was.

Elysian — Next Page

Yasmina disappeared in a flurry of fabric and sparkle, nearly tripping over one of the shopping bags as she shuffled to the kitchen with a determined little hum. Sami blinked after her, still reeling from the last five minutes of chaos and lace and “spoiled wife academy.” He had no idea what she was up to next, but the glint in her eye said he was about to be ambushed—again.

She returned like a woman on a mission, cradling a very aesthetically pleasing, very expensive-looking coffee cup in both hands like it was some magical artifact.

“Tadaaa!” she sang, carefully presenting it to him like it was holy. “I brought you a fancy coffee too!”

Sami blinked down at it. Caramel drizzle. Whipped cream. Cinnamon dusted like snow. It was iced, his favorite, with a hint of something nutty. His brows lifted. “Wait—how did you—when did you—?”

“Miriam told me,” Yasmina interrupted sweetly, eyes wide with faux innocence, “that it’s good to butter your husband up before you manipulate him like this.”

Sami froze with the cup halfway to his mouth.

“Before you what?”

She pouted, her bottom lip jutting out, eyelashes fluttering so dramatically it was almost cartoonish. “Habibiiii,” she drawled, voice syrupy sweet like honey on a warm day. Her fingers toyed with the sleeve of his shirt, and her eyes sparkled with mischief. “Miriam and Layla said it works on their husbands and that’s how they got the goods, okay? I’m just following protocol.”

Sami couldn’t even pretend to keep a straight face. He tried—he really did. But the second she batted her lashes again and did that ridiculous little wiggle-dance of hers when she was being playful, he cracked, laughing so hard he nearly dropped the coffee.

“Oh my God, you’re dangerous,” he wheezed between chuckles, setting the cup down just in case she pulled something else from her ever-growing bag of tricks.

Yasmina grinned triumphantly, crawling into his lap like she absolutely knew she’d won this round. “Sooo… that means yes?”

He narrowed his eyes playfully, wrapping his arms around her. “That depends. What exactly are you manipulating me into, ya thalima?”

She giggled against his chest. “I’m not evil! I just want matching pajamas. And maybe for you to build the floating shelves I bought for our bedroom. And maybe a little trip. Oh! And a second laundry basket.”

“A second laundry basket?” Sami repeated, deadpan. “Now you’re pushing it.”

She just kissed his cheek again, giggling harder. “Miriam said this part always works too.”

And, just like that, he was a goner—again.

Elysian — Next Page

Yasmina was still perched in his lap, arms loosely around his neck, when her eyes widened ever so slightly—like a kid realizing they just accidentally spilled a top-secret plan. She blinked at Sami, then gave a sheepish little smile, her hand coming up to rub the back of her neck in that guilty way she did whenever she knew she’d been caught red-handed.

“Ooops,” she mumbled, voice barely above a whisper, eyes flicking up at him through her lashes.

Sami raised an eyebrow, one corner of his mouth twitching upward in amusement. “Ooops?”

She scrunched her nose, cheeks going pink. “I, uh… I was specifically told not to tell you when I was using my feminine new magic against my husband,” she whispered dramatically, “but I forgot about that part in the spoiled wives lessons. My bad.”

There was a pause. Then—

Sami broke into the kind of laugh that came straight from the stomach, head tipping back slightly as he held her a little tighter. “Feminine new magic?! Ya Allah, what are these classes?? Is this witchcraft? Are you a little bakery sorceress now?”

Yasmina gasped, playfully offended, swatting at his chest. “Excuse you, sir! I am a student of the craft, a very elegant one! And they said it’s not manipulation—it’s strategic romance!”

Sami was crying at this point. “Strategic romance??” he wheezed. “You bribed me with caramel coffee and pajamas!”

She leaned in, nose brushing his, smile soft now as she whispered, “Because I love you, ya qalbi. And because your face is cute when I win.”

He groaned dramatically. “This is psychological warfare.”

Yasmina just kissed his cheek, smug and warm. “Don’t worry, habibi… I’ll teach our daughters someday.”

His heart did an actual flip.

She had no idea the kind of spells she was casting—because no magic in the world could ever match the softness in her eyes or the quiet power she wielded just by loving him out loud.

And heaven help him, he’d fall under it every single time.

Elysian — Next Page

Yasmina suddenly paused mid-snuggle, eyes darting toward the closed bedroom door like she remembered something important. “Wait. Wait-wait-wait—hold on.”

Sami blinked, startled. “Wait for what?”

“I also… might’ve messed up the spoiled wives lesson again,” she whispered dramatically, already wiggling her way out of his lap like a mission was in progress.

He tilted his head, amused. “What do you mean messed—"

She dashed off into the other room without explaining, only to return moments later carrying not one, but two luxury shopping bags. Big ones. Her curls bounced as she grinned brightly, absolutely unapologetic, as she carefully set them in front of him like offerings.

He looked from the Hermès bag to the other bag—overflowing with pajama pants, folded Carhartt shirts in earthy tones, and tucked between them, sleek black boxes of beard care kits, artisanal chocolates, and a few fancy colognes.

Yasmina clasped her hands behind her back, trying—and failing—to look innocent. “So, technically, I failed the ‘don’t spoil your husband’ part of the lesson. They caught me buying you things.”

Sami just stared at the bags, then slowly looked up at her.

“I thought you said they were teaching you to be spoiled?”

“They were!” she chirped. “But then I saw the beard oil you said was too expensive on sale, and the colognes smelled like you times ten, and then Layla said I could just be a generous spoiled wife instead, so it’s still on theme—right?”

His mouth fell open slightly as he pulled out the colognes—hand-blended Arabic scents in glass vials, rich and musky and warm. Then he found the Calvin Klein boxers and a full week's rotation of Carhartt workwear, the exact kind he wore until they were threadbare.

“And the chocolates?” he asked, holding up the little box.

Her cheeks pinked. “You looked at them once. At that corner shop. You didn’t buy them. I remembered.”

Sami stared at her, heart practically pounding through his ribs.

“You remembered… all this?”

She smiled, stepping back into his space. “Of course. I like learning what you like. Makes surprising you more fun.”

He was speechless. Like, mouth slightly open, soul leaving his body level of speechless.

Yasmina gently tugged on his hoodie, voice softening. “I know you’re used to giving all the time. I just want you to feel chosen too, ya habibi. Every day.”

Sami set the gifts aside, stood slowly, and cupped her face with a reverence so deep it nearly knocked the breath from her lungs.

“You have no idea what you’re doing to me,” he whispered.

She tilted her chin up, eyes sparkling. “I know. It’s called ‘strategic romance,’ remember?”

And that’s when he kissed her again—like she’d just handed him the whole world wrapped in caramel and soft cotton and whispered I love you with every stitch of fabric.

Elysian — Next Page

Yasmina was barefoot in his apartment, curls pulled into a messy, fluffy bun that bounced a little with every step. The abaya she wore today was soft cream with faint embroidery that shimmered under the light when she moved—modest and still effortlessly pretty, like it was made just for her. She was humming a little tune under her breath, a happy kind of domestic song with no real rhythm, as she fluffed the pillows on the couch like she was preparing for royalty. Her cheeks were pink, her eyes dancing with mischief as she looked over her shoulder at Sami sitting nearby, sipping the coffee she’d buttered him up with moments ago.

“Okayyy,” she chirped, practically twirling in place, “now you go try on your things—I wanna see!”

Sami arched a brow at her from the couch, the Hermes bag and Carhartt haul still sitting unopened on the ottoman. “My things?”

Yasmina nodded with the kind of enthusiasm that made her engagement ring glitter with each movement. “Mhm. I didn’t spoil you for you not to give me a lil fashion show, habibi. Go on!” she teased, tossing him a wink before spinning one of the pillows dramatically and tucking it just so.

Sami laughed, deep and warm, that rare soft sound he only ever seemed to let out around her. “You want a spin, too?”

“Obviously,” she grinned, like it should’ve been obvious. “And a pose at the end. Maybe one with a little smolder.”

He stood up slowly, already shaking his head but smiling like she hung the stars for him. “You’re dangerous.”

“You said ‘I do,’ baby,” she sang, walking past him to give his hip a playful bump with hers, “now you’re stuck with all this dangerous love.”

He scooped up the bags with a soft chuckle under his breath, pausing at the bedroom door to glance at her one last time—just taking her in. His fiancée. His future. She was glowing, and he couldn’t tell if it was the light or just the way he saw her now.

“Alright,” he said, voice low and teasing, “but if I come out here looking too good, don’t blame me when you fall deeper in love.”

Yasmina giggled from the couch, pulling a blanket over her lap and settling in like she was about to watch a whole runway show. “Too late for that, sunshine.”

And when the door closed behind him, she sat there, beaming into the cozy quiet of their home—her fingers idly tracing the steam from his coffee mug, heart already racing, wondering what he’d look like in that cologne, in those work pants, in that softness she’d picked out just for her man.

Elysian — Next Page 🌙✨

Yasmina was still on the couch, curled under the soft throw blanket she claimed earlier as her "official spoiled fiancée snuggle blanket." She was sipping the rest of Sami’s coffee—because of course she was—legs tucked under her, waiting with a grin that only got wider the longer he made her wait.

And then—

The bedroom door cracked open with a slow creak, and he stepped out like a whole new man. Not that it was that different from his usual look, but it hit harder now that she was sitting here knowing he was hers.

Sami had changed into the first of the outfits she picked: a deep charcoal Carhartt tee that clung just enough across his chest, tucked lazily into a pair of the work pants that sat a little low on his hips. His curls were slightly damp from the quick rinse he’d taken, his beard neatly brushed out. He looked like someone’s hardworking husband from a Pinterest dream board—hers, specifically.

He stood in the hallway a moment, pretending to be nonchalant. “This what you wanted?”

Yasmina’s jaw dropped, then immediately snapped shut again as she fanned herself with her hand. “Umm… excuse me, sir? Do you work with fire because you look like one.”

Sami chuckled, the corners of his mouth tugging into a smirk, and then—because she asked—he spun.

Full. Spin.

One smooth circle and then a playful, over-the-top pose at the end: one hand on his hip, the other dramatically resting under his chin like he was modeling for a firemen’s charity calendar. His expression? 100% exaggerated smolder.

Yasmina choked on her sip of coffee, nearly dropping the mug from laughing so hard. “Oh my God, you’re so unserious!”

He grinned wide now, walking over, the scent of that warm oud and spice cologne trailing after him. “I thought that was the assignment. Spin? Pose? Smolder?”

“You were too good at it. Now I need you to try on the pajama pants,” she grinned up at him. “And the boxers. Maybe shirtless. Maybe all of the above.”

Sami let out a mock scandalized gasp. “Ma’am, is this part of your feminine wifey manipulation magic?”

Yasmina placed a hand over her heart, face full of mock offense. “I’m hurt you would accuse me of such things. I’m just admiring my man.”

He laughed again, this time softer, more intimate as he leaned down to kiss her forehead. “You’re trouble.”

“And you’re lucky.”

He stood there for a moment longer, brushing her curls back gently from her face, his thumb trailing over her cheek with that reverence she’d grown used to—the kind that made her heart trip over itself.

“I’ll go try the next look,” he murmured, voice warm against her skin. “But I’m making you model next. Fair’s fair.”

Yasmina beamed, her eyes glowing as she grabbed the blanket and hugged it close. “Deal. I’ve got a whole modest fashion lookbook ready to go.”

And as he disappeared into the bedroom again, she sighed dramatically with a smile.

God, she loved this man.

And the fact that he was hers?

Yeah… that was the best damn thing she'd ever spoiled herself with.

Elysian — Next Page 🛁✨

The bathroom was already filled with the soft scent of lavender and eucalyptus from the candles Yasmina had lit, their flames flickering gently and casting playful shadows on the tiled walls. Steam curled up like a lazy ribbon, mixing with the warm glow of the amber light.

Yasmina hummed softly as she pulled the bubbles over the edge of the clawfoot tub, her bare back to Sami, who leaned against the doorway, watching her with quiet admiration. Her skin glowed, kissed by the candlelight, every curve and line soft and natural, untouched by the world’s harshness.

She glanced over her shoulder, cheeks flushing pink when she caught him staring. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, voice shy but teasing. “Didn’t mean to catch you like this.”

Sami shook his head, stepping inside the room and closing the door softly behind him. “No apologies. You’re... breathtaking.”

She smiled, turning back to the tub and lowering herself into the water, bubbles clinging to her skin like a delicate lace. The warm water embraced her, and she sighed with relief.

“Help me with my curls?” she asked, eyes sparkling with a mix of hope and nervousness.

He nodded, pulling up a stool beside the tub. As he gently worked through the soft coils with his fingers, Yasmina closed her eyes, leaning back against the tub’s edge. The quiet of the moment wrapped around them—soft laughter, the occasional drip of water, the warmth of shared space.

“Your curls are magic,” Sami murmured, careful and reverent with each touch.

Yasmina’s breath hitched, her smile tender. “Only because you make me feel safe enough to show them.”

And in that steamy, candlelit room, with nothing but trust and care between them, something deeper bloomed—slow, soft, and utterly real.

Elysian — Next Page 💧💖

Yasmina sank deeper into the water with a little satisfied sigh, her curls floating around her like a halo of soft coils. The tub was practically overflowing with bubbles, steam rising like fog around them. Sami sat close on the little stool beside her, sleeves rolled up, his hands still gently working through her curls with a wooden wide-tooth comb she had specifically for detangling.

“Mmm,” she murmured lazily, head tilted toward his touch. “Your hands are magical.”

Sami chuckled softly, eyes crinkling. “That’s a first. Usually my hands just fight fires and tangle wires.”

Yasmina cracked one eye open with a smirk. “Now they detangle curls and soothe overworked bakery girls.”

He grinned at that, and without thinking, leaned forward to press a kiss to her temple. She melted into it like warm sugar. For a moment, the silence was filled with nothing but the sound of water rippling and bubbles popping.

Then—

Splash.

Water hit his shirt. Yasmina blinked, her hand suspiciously retreating beneath the water like she hadn’t done a thing.

Sami raised a brow, mock stern. “Did you just—?”

She shrugged, playing innocent, eyes sparkling with mischief. “Must’ve been a rogue bubble.”

“Oh really?”

Splash.

This time it was his revenge—just enough to get her shoulder wet.

“Hey!” she giggled, sitting up in the tub, bubbles sloshing over the sides now. “You better not start something you can’t finish, firefighter.”

“Oh, I always finish,” Sami replied, eyes glinting, his tone smug and teasing as he leaned just a little closer.

Yasmina blushed, laughing harder now as she scooped a handful of bubbles and tossed them right at his beard. “Then finish cleaning this!”

He gasped, dramatically wiping suds off his face. “That’s it. You just declared war.”

She was shrieking with laughter now, slipping further into the bath to avoid his playful retaliation. Her curls were soaked, cheeks flushed, water droplets clinging to her lashes. Sami had never seen her more beautiful than right now—laughing, joyful, free.

Eventually, the chaos slowed. Yasmina settled back into the water, grinning breathlessly. “Truce?”

“Only if I get a bubble beard selfie first,” Sami grinned, already pulling his phone out of his pocket. “C’mon, habibti, for the memories.”

Yasmina sighed dramatically, then leaned forward and gave him her cutest smile, a mountain of bubbles balanced on her chin like a ridiculous foamy beard.

Click. He tucked the photo away in his hidden album marked “Mina 💛.”

“Best bath ever,” she declared, sinking under the bubbles again with only her curls and nose above water.

“Best girl ever,” Sami whispered, brushing her curls out of her eyes.

And in the quiet aftermath of their splash war, he sat there beside her, just watching her float—his fiancée, his soulmate, the soft light of his world.

Elysian — Next Page 🛁💞👑

Yasmina blinked slowly as the bath’s warmth finally started to lull her, bubbles fading, steam wrapping around her like a sleepy fog. Her arms floated lazily on the surface, her curls slicked back and resting like velvet against the rim of the tub. She hummed contentedly, eyes closing, a little smile playing at her lips.

Sami watched her with an expression he didn’t even try to hide—something reverent, something a little overwhelmed. Her skin glowed, her features softened in the glow of the dim bathroom light, her body relaxed in trust and ease. The woman he adored was literally floating in peace, and for some reason that made something in his chest ache in the best way.

“You falling asleep on me?” he asked softly, brushing a loose curl back from her cheek.

Yasmina opened one eye, lazily smiling. “Maybe… but if I sink, it’s your fault.”

“I’d just scoop you right back up, you know,” he murmured, gently trailing his fingers down her arm underwater.

“Oh, would you now?” she teased, voice light.

“Mmhmm,” he said, standing slowly and grabbing the fluffy towel he’d set on the counter. He held it open toward her, an invitation and a promise. “C’mon, habibti. Let me take care of you.”

She blinked, her heart skipping a beat at the tenderness in his voice. He wasn’t just offering to help her out of the tub—he was offering all of it. The softness, the protection, the care.

And so, with just a quiet nod, she rose carefully from the water, bubbles sliding off her curves as she stepped into the towel and into his arms. Sami wrapped it around her, then another, lifting her gently like she weighed nothing at all.

She giggled softly, curling into him, her cheek pressed to his damp shoulder. “You’re really carrying me to bed right now, huh?”

“Like the royalty you are,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to her temple. “You earned it after surviving a full spoiled wives crash course and a bubble war in the same day.”

He padded down the hallway, the soft flick of candlelight from the living room casting gold across his features. Yasmina nestled deeper into his chest, warm and sleepy, feeling more cherished than she ever had in her life.

When they reached the bed, he gently placed her down, tucking the covers over her like she was made of glass.

But as he turned to go grab her bonnet and maybe one of his old t-shirts she loved, her fingers caught his wrist.

“Stay here,” she mumbled, barely above a whisper.

He turned, already back beside her before she could ask again.

She shifted just enough to let him slide in, towel discarded, curls spilling like ink over the pillow as she pressed close. One of her legs snuck over his, arms finding his middle, the soft cotton of his tank top catching between them.

Sami chuckled against her forehead. “You always do this.”

“Do what?” she whispered, eyes closed, smile dancing at the corner of her mouth.

“Wrap around me like I’m a teddy bear.”

“Because you are,” she murmured, voice syrupy with sleep. “You’re my giant red-headed teddy bear who smells like oud and coffee and makes me feel safe…”

And just like that, she was out. Peaceful. Completely gone.

Sami stayed awake a while longer, just watching her, holding her close and letting the weight of his love settle over him like a second blanket.

“My wife,” he whispered into the dark, pressing a kiss to her crown. “My everything.”

[mjonthetrack]

Elysian

Elysian — Next Page

Yasmina nearly choked on her tea, her eyes going wide as she sputtered into the cup. “Excuse me?!” she squeaked, cheeks instantly blooming into that pretty rose-petal pink.

Sami, who had just sat down beside her on the rug by the coffee table, blinked like someone had just lobbed a brick through the window. “Wait—what did y’all just say?”

Bianca leaned back against Montez’s chest like she’d said nothing wild at all, sipping from her juice box like a menace. “I said what I said,” she grinned, eyes twinkling. “Y’all acting real married-married. Got us showing up to his place and boom—she in a hijab and a ring. So I’m just asking for clarity as your homegirl and future auntie.”

Trinity was no help. She had already broken into a full-on cackle, leaning back comfortably where she was snuggled between Jimmy’s legs. “The way you two be lookin’ at each other like y’all already been through five lifetimes together… girl, don’t play. You know you wanna see lil brown babies with red curls runnin’ around in some soft knit overalls.”

Yasmina buried her face in her hands. “Y’all are so unserious.”

Sami was trying—trying—to keep a straight face, but the light blush creeping up his neck was undeniable. He glanced at Yasmina beside him, soft smile playing at the corner of his lips as he reached to gently tug one of her hands down. “You alright?” he murmured low, just for her.

“I might actually combust,” she whispered back, her lashes fluttering as she peeked up at him.

Sami chuckled, eyes flicking toward the girls. “We’re still figuring out how to live in the same apartment without one of us stealing all the covers. Babies? That’s a next season conversation.”

“Ohhh, but not a never conversation?” Montez said, already fanning the flames.

Sami gave a noncommittal shrug, but the smile he aimed at Yasmina was dangerous—soft, full of something heavy and unspoken. “I’m not ruling anything out with her. Let’s just say that.”

Yasmina let out a dramatic little groan and lightly thumped her forehead against his shoulder, hiding her grin in his shirt. “You traitor. You’re enabling them.”

Trinity wiped a fake tear. “I just think y’all are beautiful and spiritual and wildly soft together. Can’t blame a girl for being invested.”

“And don’t get me started on the wedding,” Bianca added, leaning forward. “You know I’m tryna see colors, dancing, that good food, henna night, a big-ass dessert table—and I better be in the bridal party or I’m throwing a tantrum.”

Yasmina peeked up, playful glare on her face. “You were gonna be, but now I might reconsider after that chaos you just caused.”

Everyone laughed, the whole space echoing with warmth, teasing, and that specific brand of family energy that comes when people know each other—deeply, truly. And in the center of it, Sami and Yasmina were nestled in their soft little pocket of peace, stolen glances and shared blushes blooming between them like spring flowers.

They were teased, roasted, and dragged lovingly—but it only made the truth louder:

Everyone in that room knew this love was the forever kind.

Elysian — Next Page

The soft click of the bathroom door closing echoed behind her as Yasmina stepped out into the dim, golden-lit bedroom. The hem of Sami’s black station t-shirt brushed against the tops of her thighs, sleeves falling far past her elbows. Her bare feet padded gently across the hardwood as she peeked up at him, still toweling off her hands.

He was folding up the extra blankets they’d tossed on the couch earlier, but his hands paused the moment he saw her. His gaze softened immediately—so soft it made her heart do that fluttering thing again, that inexplicable warmth that bloomed in her chest whenever he looked at her like she was the only thing in the room worth seeing.

Yasmina tucked her lip between her teeth, voice gentle, “Hey Sami?”

He straightened, head tilting with that quiet, attentive focus he always gave her. “Yeah, habibti?”

She smiled shyly, her fingers brushing through the ends of her still-damp curls. “Do you think you could help me with my hair?” She stepped closer, one hand still holding the towel as her curls clung to her shoulders in thick, coiled tendrils. “I wanted to take a bath, but… sometimes it’s just nice to have help with my curls. Especially detangling, and…” she trailed off, a little bashful.

Sami blinked, visibly trying not to melt where he stood.

“You want me to help with your hair?” he asked softly, surprised but already crossing to her with that careful reverence she always brought out of him.

She nodded, voice small and sweet. “I trust you. And… it makes me feel really cared for. I dunno—it's just one of those things.” Her fingers twisted together at her front. “If that’s okay.”

“Yeah,” he said, that word landing like a vow. “Of course it’s okay. I’d be honored, actually.”

Yasmina let out a soft laugh at that, the tension easing from her shoulders as she handed him the comb she brought out from the bathroom along with her leave-in and curl cream. She settled on the edge of the bed, legs criss-crossed, and Sami sat behind her, adjusting the pillows so she’d be comfortable.

He gently took one of the clips she’d brought and sectioned her hair as she instructed, hands surprisingly gentle for someone used to wielding axes and hoses. The comb slid carefully through the strands as he worked with patience and care, every pass through her curls a silent love letter.

Yasmina sighed contentedly, eyes fluttering closed. “You’re really good at this…”

Sami chuckled low. “You think so? I watched some tutorials, actually. After the first time you mentioned your wash days. I wanted to be ready.”

She turned her head slightly, just enough to look up at him, brown eyes glowing. “You really did that for me?”

“I’d do anything for you, Yasmina.” His voice was low, honest, devotional. “Even learn how to detangle curls like a pro.”

She grinned so wide her dimples peeked through, reaching for his hand and bringing it to her lips for a kiss. “You’re my favorite human being, you know that?”

Sami leaned down, his lips brushing the crown of her head. “Good,” he whispered. “Because you’re mine.”

The scent of her hair products filled the room—shea butter, lavender, and honey—and the two of them sat there in the quiet, in their own little pocket of softness. No pressure, no audience, no expectations.

Just the intimacy of love in the form of detangled curls and gentle hands

Elysian — Next Page

The curls were soft between his fingers. Still damp, coiled and fragrant, like lavender and vanilla and some other scent that was just... her. Yasmina had leaned back against him halfway through, completely relaxed, her legs stretched out now across the bed. She hadn’t said anything in the last ten minutes—just quiet, content, her eyes closed as he gently worked through the last few strands near her temples with his fingers.

Sami didn’t rush. Not with her. He kept touching her hair even after he was technically done—just lightly, combing through the curls with reverence like she was something rare and delicate and holy. His other arm rested gently around her waist, grounding them both.

Yasmina let out a tiny hum, not opening her eyes. “You’re gonna spoil me,” she mumbled sleepily, the side of her face nuzzled into his chest. “Now I’m gonna be addicted to you doing my hair.”

“Good,” he whispered into her crown, his lips brushing her curls. “That was the plan.”

She giggled softly, half-asleep, her body curling into his like a cat drawn to warmth. “Feels nice. You’re really gentle with me, Sami.”

He closed his eyes for a second, breathing her in. “You deserve gentle, Mina. Always.”

A quiet moment passed between them, broken only by the slow ticking of the clock and the faint hum of the city outside the window. She shifted slightly in his lap, pulling his arm tighter around her waist, and he leaned back against the headboard, holding her like she was the softest part of a dream.

Sami rested his cheek against her hair, his fingers idly looping a ringlet around his knuckle. “You know,” he murmured, “if someone had told me a year ago that I’d be sitting here—on a quiet night, in my bed, with the love of my life asleep on my chest after letting me do her hair… I’d have laughed in their face.”

Yasmina’s lips curved in a soft smile, but she didn’t open her eyes.

He tilted his head, brushing his nose gently against her temple. “But now I think this might be the closest I’ve ever been to peace.”

She smiled again, softer this time, a sleepy hum leaving her throat as she whispered, “Me too.”

He kissed her temple once more, his hand still resting over the curve of her side as the last of her tension melted into him and sleep finally took her fully.

And there he stayed, wide awake in the dark, holding the woman he loved like she was spun from silk and starlight—like home had finally grown arms and wrapped itself around him for once.

Elysian — Next Page

The scent of cardamom and cinnamon reached him before the light did.

Sami stirred slowly, eyelids still heavy, the warmth of the blanket wrapped around him like a second skin. For a second, he thought he was dreaming—the faint hum of Nina Simone playing somewhere in the background, something sizzling in a pan, and the unmistakable sweetness of mango and orange juice freshly pressed.

Then he heard her.

“Good morning, habib albi!” her voice sang softly from the doorway, all sugar and sunshine. “I made you breakfast!”

His eyes blinked open fully then—and there she was, standing in the soft morning light, a tray in her hands like a vision plucked straight from the sweetest daydream. Yasmina was wearing one of his oversized hoodies again, sleeves swallowed her hands, her curls poofy and still slightly damp from the shower. Her cheeks were a gentle pink, not from embarrassment this time, but excitement.

Sami sat up slowly, rubbing his eyes. “Wait—you made me breakfast?”

She giggled and carried the tray over with great care, setting it across his lap as she beamed at him. “I know you usually make me breakfast but I figured I’d flip the script,” she said proudly. “We’ve got za’atar toast, scrambled eggs with garlic and tomato like your mom makes, and this—” she lifted a little mason jar filled with golden juice “—is fresh mango-orange-carrot juice. I squeezed it myself. I even used that little mint from your balcony garden.”

Sami blinked down at the tray, heart thudding stupid fast in his chest. Everything was arranged with so much care—a folded napkin, a tiny glass cup of labneh with olive oil drizzled on top, and even a sticky note on the side of the plate with a smiley face and a heart.

“You…” he looked up at her slowly, eyes full of wonder, “you made all this for me?”

She nodded, biting her lip shyly. “Wanted to take care of you for once, sunshine.”

He looked at her like she’d hung the moon.

Then, softly, reverently, he pulled her forward by the waist until she knelt on the bed in front of him, cupping her face in his hands and pressing the gentlest kiss to her forehead. “No one’s ever done something like this for me before, not like this.”

Yasmina's smile bloomed wider, her dimples appearing. “Well, you better get used to it,” she whispered, nose scrunching as she leaned in to peck his cheek. “Your future wife’s got some more surprises up her sleeve.”

He laughed quietly, leaning their foreheads together, voice still heavy from sleep. “You already gave me the biggest surprise of my life. And I still haven’t recovered.”

She tapped his nose playfully. “Eat your breakfast before it gets cold, habibi.”

He obeyed, heart full, eyes never leaving her even as he took the first bite. And just like everything she touched—it tasted like home.

Elysian — Next Page

The tray was pushed aside, breakfast half-eaten and juice half-sipped, but neither of them seemed to care.

Sami sat on the bed cross-legged, a quiet hum vibrating in his chest, his back leaning into the warmth behind him. Yasmina had climbed up behind him some time ago, soft as a whisper, and now sat with her legs on either side of his hips, comfortably nestled behind him like she belonged there—which, somehow, she always had.

Her fingers moved carefully through his curls, slow and patient, combing and parting with a tender rhythm that felt like something ancient and sacred. She’d found his leave-in conditioner, took one look at his hair with a tilt of her head and went, "oh absolutely not, we’re fixing this today.”

He hadn't protested. Not once.

She leaned forward just slightly, her cheek brushing against the back of his shoulder as her hands paused, curling gently into the strands. “I always loved your hair, Sami,” she said softly, voice dipped in syrup and honey.

He smiled, eyes fluttering closed. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” she nodded, curls bouncing, her dimples teasing their way onto her cheeks. “You look like sunshine... or like a really pretty star. Like the kind you only catch once, and you have to whisper your wish to before it disappears.”

He chuckled under his breath, his fingers resting against her knee where she sat wrapped around him. “A really pretty star, huh?” he murmured, leaning his head back just slightly against her chest, where her heartbeat was steady and strong.

“Mhm,” she replied, voice featherlight. “The kind that makes people believe magic still exists.”

He was quiet then, his throat tight as her fingers threaded back into his hair with that same loving care, smoothing it section by section like she had all the time in the world. Her touch felt like poetry. Like a lullaby sung in a language only they knew.

She leaned in again, pressing a tiny kiss to the crown of his head. “You’re so beautiful, Sami. Even if you don’t always see it.”

He turned his face slightly to the side, catching her arm with his lips, brushing a kiss there in return, his eyes glassy but warm.

“If this is what married mornings are like,” he said hoarsely, “then I never wanna go another day without ‘em.”

Yasmina giggled behind him, fingers still buried in his curls. “Good. Because I plan on loving you like this forever. Even if you snore.”

“I don’t snore,” he grinned over his shoulder.

“You absolutely do,” she laughed. “But you’re lucky—you’re cute, so I forgive you.”

And just like that, in the quiet sunlight of their shared space, their love stretched further. Like it had always been written in the stars.

Elysian — Next Page

Sami had just finished rinsing out his coffee mug in the kitchen, wearing nothing but his gray sweats slung low on his hips and that sleepy smile he always had in the morning when she was around. The radio was softly playing some mellow jazz in the background, sunlight streaking through the window as if even the sun knew peace lived here now.

Yasmina had disappeared into the walk-in closet a few minutes ago with a giggle and a mysterious “Wait right there!”

He was leaning against the counter with a towel slung over his shoulder when he heard her voice float back into the room:

“Oh! I went with some of the wives from the mosque this morning—before you even woke up,” she said, bubbling with excitement. “They helped me pick out some things! I wanted to show you.”

His brows raised slightly. “You left the house this morning without waking me?”

“You looked too cute sleeping, I couldn’t do it,” she called out, giggling.

He chuckled under his breath and turned just as he heard the soft swish of fabric.

And then—

She stepped out.

His entire body stilled.

She stood in the doorway of the closet, framed by the warm morning light, her figure cloaked in a flowing soft blue abaya that caught the light like water. The delicate embroidery around the sleeves shimmered ever so gently, and the cream-colored hijab she wore was wrapped elegantly around her head, draping like something from a painting. Her eyes were big and warm, framed by long lashes, cheeks touched pink with anticipation.

She smiled shyly, her fingers twisting at the fabric near her wrist. “They said this one made me look soft… what do you think?”

Sami didn’t speak right away.

Not because he didn’t want to.

But because his throat was tight. His chest ached in the most beautiful, indescribable way. It wasn’t just that she looked beautiful—though, God, she did. It was that she was glowing, standing there in something so sacred, something she chose to embrace because it was part of him.

“I think,” he said slowly, finally stepping toward her, “you don’t even know what you look like right now, do you?”

She blinked, confused, her lips parting just a bit. “Is that… bad?”

“No, habibti,” he said gently, taking her hands in his. “You look like a dua come true. Like something I used to pray for without even knowing what I was asking. You don’t just look soft—you look heavenly.”

Her eyes welled a little at that, her lips trembling into a small smile.

“You sure?” she whispered, still unsure, but hopeful.

Sami leaned forward, pressing his forehead to hers gently. “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life. You were always beautiful, Yasmina. This? This is just the universe showing off.”

She let out a breathy laugh, her arms winding around his waist, hiding her face in his chest as he cradled her there.

“You’re gonna kill me with your words one of these days,” she mumbled against him.

“And I’ll die happy,” he murmured into her curls.

Elysian — Next Page

Sami hadn’t even made it back to the couch before she called out again from the closet, voice laced with excitement and the same bright joy that made her so unmistakably her.

“I have some more—wait right there!”

He turned with an amused grin, arms folding as he leaned against the back of the couch, eyes fixed on the doorway like it was a stage. The apartment was still warm with morning light, soft shadows dancing across the floor, jazz humming low in the background like the opening theme to a love letter.

A few heartbeats later—

She emerged again.

This time—

Oh.

Sami blinked slowly, breath catching in his throat.

Yasmina was standing in the entryway of his closet in a sleek, all-black abaya, the fabric flowing and buttery-soft against her figure. It cinched just slightly at her waist, elegant but subtle, enough to hint at the curves beneath, and the matching black hijab was wrapped a little more snugly this time—framing her face, accentuating her cheekbones, and drawing all the attention to those expressive, brown, almond-shaped eyes.

The contrast of the black on her warm brown skin?

Sinful.

Illegal.

“They said it was diverse…” she teased, strutting a few slow steps forward like she was in her own little runway show, voice playfully confident, “and made my hips look lethal.”

Sami stared.

Hard.

Mouth parted.

No air.

Brain gone.

“I—uh—”

She laughed, the sound honey-sweet as she turned slightly, showing the silhouette from the side. “Well?” she grinned, “Lethal or not?”

“Habibti,” he said, voice low, thick with everything, “if you don’t want me to propose again—like again, on top of yesterday—you should probably take that off before I forget we’ve got neighbors and laws.”

Yasmina’s brows shot up as she tried—and failed—to suppress the wicked little smile growing on her face.

“Oh really?” she tilted her head, teasing, swaying just enough to remind him what that abaya was doing.

Sami raised his hands like a man surrendering to fate. “I’m just saying—this is a trap. A holy, hijabi, divine trap and I am absolutely caught in it.”

Her giggles filled the apartment again, and she turned to head back toward the closet. “Well then… guess I shouldn’t show you the third one yet.”

Sami groaned, collapsing back onto the couch. “Ya Allah, protect me.”

Yasmina peeked out again. “What was that?”

He put a hand over his heart. “Nothing. Just praying for strength.”

“You might need it,” she grinned devilishly before ducking back in.

Elysian — Next Page

Sami was still recovering.

Still sprawled on the couch like a man fighting for his last remaining brain cells.

He hadn’t moved since the black set. Hadn’t dared to. His curls were still slightly damp from where she’d done his hair earlier, and the tray with breakfast was barely touched on the coffee table—he didn’t even remember if he’d eaten or just stared at her the whole time like a love-drunk fool.

Jazz still played low in the background. Outside, San Francisco’s light filtered through the windows like spilled gold.

And then—

“Okay,” Yasmina’s soft voice called from the closet, already laced with laughter. “This one’s my favorite. Don’t scream.”

Sami sat up.

And then promptly lost all composure.

She stepped out in a purple abaya—soft lavender with hints of dusky violet stitched into the sleeves and hem, delicate embroidery that shimmered slightly when she moved. The cut of it was regal, sweeping just above her ankles, but soft in how it shaped to her. Her cream and violet ombré hijab was wrapped a bit more loosely now, a wisp of curl peeking out near her ear. Her warm brown eyes somehow looked even deeper now—like cocoa in candlelight, like melted honey. The color brought out every golden undertone in her skin.

Sami was gone.

Done.

Deceased.

He stood without realizing it, hand over his heart like it physically ached to see something so beautiful in his home.

“Yasmina…” he whispered, reverent.

She twirled once, holding the sleeves out with a shy but proud smile, “The ladies said this one made me look like royalty.”

“You are royalty,” he said without missing a beat.

Her laugh was breathless, cheeks turning pink.

“Come here,” he whispered, voice suddenly thick.

Yasmina stepped forward, her bare feet padding across the wood floor, smile still blooming as she looked up at him.

Sami’s hands found her waist gently, carefully like she was spun from moonlight. “You look like a dream,” he said, his forehead leaning against hers. “You look like mine.”

She closed her eyes, and her voice came barely above a whisper, “I wanted you to see me like this… like the kind of woman you’d be proud to love.”

Sami pulled back just enough to look at her, palms resting against her cheeks now. “You could be in rags, in flour-dusted aprons, in oversized shirts that fall off your shoulder, in tears, in sunlight, in hijab, in a hoodie, in anything—and I’d still be the proudest man alive to love you.”

She blinked up at him, lips parted.

“And for the record,” he smirked a little, “every single one of these looks should come with a warning label, because damn.”

Yasmina giggled, then buried her face in his chest. “Okay, okay, I’ll save the rest for tomorrow.”

Sami pressed a kiss to the top of her covered head, smiling softly. “I’ll count the hours.”

Elysian — Next Page

Sami was mid-sip of his juice, finally calming his poor soul after the full hijabi fashion show she just gave him not even twenty minutes ago. The record player spun a soft jazz tune, his curls were tied up in a loose bun, and for the first time in the last two hours, he thought maybe—just maybe—he could breathe again.

He was wrong.

Because when Yasmina tiptoed back in, grinning like she was up to no good, he looked up and choked mid-sip.

“Habibti…” he coughed into his arm. “I’m gonna need you to start making announcements before you enter a room.”

She laughed, hands on her hips, twirling once in the center of his living room like a girl on a beach runway.

It was a modest bikini, if there ever was one—muted blush pink with long-sleeved top and high-waisted swim skirt, ruched in just the right places, perfectly secure, with matching swim leggings beneath. It hugged her frame without showing too much, sweet and sleek all at once. But what nearly sent Sami to the floor was the pure, effervescent joyradiating off her as she beamed at him.

“I didn’t have a swimsuit,” Yasmina chirped, “so one of the wives—Nadine? The one with the boutique? She told me I had a cute frame and helped me pick this out.”

“You do have a cute frame,” Sami replied automatically, eyes wide, juice forgotten. “Very cute. Criminally cute.”

She snorted. “You always say that like I’m gonna get arrested.”

“You should,” he said, still not blinking. “You commit acts of war on my self-control.”

Yasmina laughed harder, reaching for one of his throw blankets to toss over her shoulders playfully. “I just wanted to surprise you—figured if we ever got near a pool or the beach now that it’s hot, I should be ready.”

Sami finally stood, walking over slowly like approaching a wild creature—because frankly, she looked like an angel sent to test him. When he reached her, he looped the blanket over her gently, his voice low as he looked her over once more.

“You could’ve worn a trash bag and I’d still be weak.”

Yasmina wiggled her brows, playful and smug. “Noted.”

He kissed her forehead, smiling against her skin. “But you? In this? With that grin? I’m never recovering.”

She wrapped her arms around his waist under the blanket. “That’s okay. I’ll take care of you.”

Elysian — Next Page

Sami had just sat back down.

He had just calmed down.

The record was still spinning — faint traces of an old Nina Simone vinyl crooning in the background. His breakfast plate was half-eaten, his curls were still freshly moisturized from her gentle hands, and he had exactly 0.3 seconds of peace before Yasmina disappeared again with that telltale glimmer in her eyes.

He should’ve known.

Because when she returned this time…?

He actually froze. Mid-breath. Mid-thought. Mid-heartbeat.

Yasmina stepped back into the room like sin wrapped in satin, soft curves wrapped in pale blush-toned lace with tiny stitched petals — hand-embroidered he guessed, because Nadine and her boutique clearly didn’t play around. The bodice was delicate, sheer in all the places that counted, with tiny silk bows along the garter straps that kissed the top of her thighs. It was modest by Western standards, sure. But by Sami’s heart rate?

It was deadly.

She looked like a damn painting.

And the worst part — she was smiling so innocently.

“I liked this one,” she said softly, her voice sweet like honey and teasing like a dare, “Nadine said it was only for my husband’s eyes. So I figured... I could show you. Since you’re gonna be mine soon.”

She gave a playful little spin, the delicate fabric catching the light, the subtle shimmer of the petal appliqués glinting like they were real.

“Isn’t it pretty?” she whispered, pausing in front of him, hands behind her back. “I liked the little petals…”

Sami stared like his soul had just left his body and hadn’t found its way back yet.

“You’re gonna kill me,” he finally choked out. “Wallah, Yasmina. You are going to end me.”

She bit her lip, cheeks flushed, but the smile only deepened. “You like it?”

“Like it?” His voice cracked halfway up. “That’s not a strong enough word in any language I speak. You—you’re a dream, habibti. You can’t just waltz in here looking like a garden in bloom and expect me to survive.”

Her grin turned a little sheepish, the slightest bit bashful. “You’re sure? It’s not too much?”

He shook his head, standing slowly like he was approaching something sacred — which, frankly, she was. His eyes locked on hers as he stepped close, hands carefully resting on her arms, his voice soft but steady.

“It’s not too much,” he whispered. “It’s perfect. You’re perfect. And I swear to God, I’m gonna spend the rest of my life thanking Him for letting me love you like this.”

She swallowed, lashes fluttering, lips parting in a soft breath — but she didn’t speak. Just smiled. A little stunned. A little overwhelmed. But warm. Glowing. All Yasmina.

And Sami?

Sami was just trying to remember how to breathe.

Yasmina’s smile was shy but full of this quiet, hopeful glow as she looked up at Sami, her curls bouncing just a little. “Hey Sami?” she whispered, almost like she was testing the waters, “Next time… can you come with me to help me pick out some clothes? I wanna try wearing modest stuff more often. It feels… safe, you know? Like my whole body’s being hugged by soft fabrics.”

Sami’s chest swelled with something warm and protective. He reached out, brushing a stray curl behind her ear with a tenderness that made her shiver. “Anything for you, habibti,” he said low and sure. “I’ll be your shopping buddy. We’ll find whatever makes you feel like the queen you are.”

She giggled softly, the kind of laugh that made his heart hit a million beats per minute. “Promise you won’t laugh if I pick something wild?”

He grinned, eyes sparkling. “Yasmina, you could wear a potato sack and I’d still think you were the most beautiful woman in the world.”

She tilted her head, warmth radiating from her smile. “Good. Because I’m pretty sure we’re gonna need more than one trip.”

Sami pulled her closer, heart full, whispering against her temple, “I’m here. Every step. Every choice. Every look. Every moment.”

And just like that, the world felt softer — wrapped in her laughter, in his promise, in the slow, steady pulse of two souls entwining.

Elysian — Next Page

Yasmina sat close to Sami on the couch, the soft afternoon light warming the room and their skin. Her big brown eyes lifted to meet his, cheeks flushing as she shyly whispered, “Habibi… can we get a pet? Like, something soft and cuddly? Please?”

Sami blinked, heart catching in his chest. His lips curled into that slow, tender smile she knew meant everything was about to get even sweeter. He leaned forward, resting his forehead gently against hers. “You want a little fluffball in our lives now? Turning me into a soft boy too, huh?”

She giggled, scrunching her nose like it was the most adorable thing in the world. “Maybe. I think we both need some extra warmth.”

His hand slid into hers, squeezing gently. “Alright, but here’s the deal—you go get dressed. I’m gonna pick what kind of pet we bring home. No complaints.”

Her eyes lit up, sparkling with excitement and trust. “Deal. But you better choose something as cute as me.”

He chuckled, eyes crinkling with affection. “Challenge accepted.”

They stayed wrapped up in that quiet moment, the future soft and full of promise, ready to be built one tender choice at a time.

Elysian — Next Page

Yasmina stepped out like a queen in that fresh green abaya, the silky fabric catching the light and swaying with every little bounce she made on her heels. Her matching hijab framed her face perfectly, softening her glowing skin and making her brown eyes sparkle even brighter. The engagement ring on her finger caught the sunlight, shooting little prisms of light around the room like they were celebrating with her.

“Okaaaayyy, I’m ready!” she chirped, her voice full of excitement and that playful energy Sami loved so much. “Let’s go, sunshine!”

Sami smiled wide, heart swelling like he might burst. “You’re killing me, habibti. Look at you—radiant as hell. Let’s do this.”

He reached for her hand, fingers curling around hers, steady and warm. Together, they stepped out into the morning light, the city buzzing softly around them but all Sami could focus on was the way Yasmina’s eyes shined when they locked with his.

Their destination? The local animal shelter — the very place where Yasmina had found her little poodle Susie, and today, Sami was keeping his end of the deal. He got to choose their next furry family member. It was one of those simple promises made in laughter that turned into something beautiful, a symbol of how they were building a life piece by piece.

As they entered the shelter, the familiar scent of fur and hope wrapped around them. Yasmina’s eyes lit up at the sound of barks and soft meows, and Sami felt his heart ease in that gentle chaos. He squeezed her hand softly before leading her down the aisles, smiling at the happy chaos of wagging tails and curious noses.

“Alright,” Sami said, voice low and full of affection, “you picked Susie, now it’s my turn. But don’t think I’m making this easy.”

Yasmina laughed, leaning into him, “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

They stopped in front of a small cage where a shy, scruffy terrier mix peeked out, tail wagging hesitantly. Sami knelt, letting the dog sniff his fingers. The dog’s eyes shone with quiet hope, and Sami looked back up at Yasmina, his decision clear.

“This one,” he said softly, “she needs us.”

Yasmina smiled, brushing a hand over the terrier’s head. “She’s perfect.”

Together, they filled out the adoption papers, hearts swelling with the kind of joy that only comes when you’re making a home — not just for each other, but for someone else who needed love just as much.

As they walked out with their new furry family member, Sami whispered in her ear, “We’re building our forever, one pawstep at a time.”

Yasmina grinned, squeezing his hand tight, “Forever sounds just right.”

Elysian — Next Page

Back at Sami’s place, the afternoon sun poured through the windows, casting a golden glow over the cozy little living room where Susie and the new terrier met for the very first time. Susie, the white poodle queen, sniffed cautiously but with curiosity, her fluffy tail wagging in a polite hello. The scruffy terrier, shy but hopeful, took a few tentative steps forward, then settled beside Susie like she’d found a safe spot.

Yasmina stood nearby, eyes shining with a mix of excitement and tenderness, her head tilted just enough to catch Sami’s gaze. Her fingers twirled the edge of her hijab as she smiled softly and asked, “So… what should we name her?”

Sami crouched down to the terrier’s level, running a gentle hand along her soft fur. He glanced up at Yasmina, his eyes full of warmth and something like awe—like he was seeing their whole future in that small moment.

“How about ‘Nour’?” he said quietly. “It means ‘light’ in Arabic. Because she’s a little light coming into our lives—just like you.”

Yasmina’s smile deepened, dimples blooming like little stars. “Nour,” she whispered, letting the name roll off her tongue as if it were already part of their story.

Susie gave a tiny bark, like a seal of approval, and Nour’s tail wagged a little faster, like she understood she’d found her forever.

Sami reached for Yasmina’s hand, their fingers lacing together naturally, and in that quiet space filled with new beginnings and gentle love, everything felt perfectly, achingly right.

Elysian — Next Page

Yasmina sat cross-legged on the soft rug, totally chill but also kinda trapped by the two tiny dogs sprawled all over her lap—Susie curled against her left thigh, and little Nour nestled right by her belly like she was claiming territory. The warmth of the pups made the moment feel cozy, like a secret bubble away from the world.

She looked up at Sami with those big brown eyes sparkling with curiosity, voice soft but steady. “Habibi… have you ever thought about having kids? Like, do you want kids someday?”

Sami, leaning back in the chair nearby, caught the question like a quiet ripple across a still pond. His eyes softened as he looked over at her, his fingers absently stroking Susie’s fluffy ears.

“Yeah,” he said after a moment, voice low and sincere, “I’ve thought about it a lot. I want to be a father one day. Someone who can teach, protect, and love a little person the way I’m learning to love you.”

He paused, then smiled a little shyly, “Honestly, I think about it more now — with you. Like maybe that’s the next chapter we’re meant to write together.”

Yasmina’s heart fluttered, a shy smile tugging at her lips as Nour lifted her tiny head and gave a soft bark, like she was agreeing on behalf of the whole little family growing right there on the floor.

Sami reached over, his hand finding hers, thumb brushing soothing circles. “What about you, Mina? What’s your heart say?”

The room felt warmer, the future suddenly full of promise, all wrapped up in the quiet magic of a shared question.

Elysian — Next Page

Yasmina sat cross-legged on the soft rug, her lap a cozy kingdom for Susie and the tiny terrier now dozing with contentment. The warm afternoon light filtered through the curtains, casting golden streaks over her curls and the gleaming coat of the dogs. She reached out, running her fingers through Susie’s fur, her touch slow and gentle, as if trying to memorize the softness.

“Habibi,” she began, tilting her head with a curious, almost shy look, her big brown eyes searching his face like she was trying to catch the words before they fully formed in her mind. “Have you ever thought about… having kids? Like, do you want children?” Her voice was soft, almost hesitant, as if voicing the thought made it feel more real.

Sami’s eyes softened instantly. He watched her, his heart stirring in a way that made the world around them hush. “Yeah, I think about it,” he said quietly, the low timbre of his voice wrapping around her like a warm embrace. “I want a family… someday. Someone to come home to, someone to teach all the things I learned from my Baba. And maybe, you know, someone to bake with your magic.”

She smiled, her cheeks blooming pink with that familiar shy glow, and she reached up, her fingers tracing a loose curl falling over his forehead. “I think you’d be an amazing dad, Sami,” she said thoughtfully, her voice lighter, teasing just a little. “Like, the kind of dad who’s gentle but strong. Who makes your kids feel like they’re the most important people in the world.” She paused, her eyes glinting with hope and sweetness. “And I would love kids too. I could teach them everything — how to bake, how to be kind, how to love without holding back.”

Her gaze dropped for a second, then she looked back up, her smile widening, dimples deepening as she said softly, “I hope they get your red hair. It’s so pretty — like fire and sunshine tangled together.”

Sami chuckled, a deep, rich sound that vibrated through his chest. He reached out, brushing a stray curl back behind her ear, his fingers lingering as he locked eyes with her. “Girl dad, huh?” he teased, warmth and tenderness bleeding through every word. “I think you’d make the best mom, Yasmina. And if our kids have even half your heart, they’re going to be the luckiest kids alive.”

She laughed then, a bright, melodic sound that filled the room with light, the dogs wagging their tails happily as if they knew this moment was something special — a quiet promise between two people building a life from broken pieces, stitched together with hope, love, and the softest kind of forever.