24

The conference room felt too bright. Too white. Too loud — even though nobody was talking yet.

Angel sat at the far end of the long table, phone face down, legs bouncing. She could still hear the echo of Camron's voice from his Live last night. The fake concern. The "I just wanna see my daughter" act. It made her sick.

Across from her sat Jeanine, calm as ever, scrolling through her iPad. Kirsten, her PR rep, was already setting up notes, and next to Angel was her mother — Ms. Angel, legs crossed, hair pulled back tight, the picture of composure.

Jeanine was the first to speak. "Alright. We all know why we're here."

Kirsten nodded. "The live went viral overnight. It's everywhere — Twitter, TikTok, even some gossip pages. They're using clips of him crying and that old photo someone found of you leaving Target with a stroller." She said as she turned the screen showing em the picture from three years ago.

Angel groaned, pressing a hand over her face. She could feel the tears brining her eyes. "That was from three years ago, when I was literally just trying to mind my business."

Ms. Angel leaned forward, grabbing her daughter's hand. "Relax baby. You didn't do anything wrong Angel."

Angel let out a humorless laugh. "He doesn't want our daughter. He wants clout. He had three years to figure out how to be a father and the best he could do was a text message two months ago."

Kirsten, who'd been typing notes, spoke carefully. "Which is exactly why we have to tread carefully here. If you post or say anything that even hints that you don't have a child, that's going to backfire. The stroller photo's real. People have already put together that it's from 2022. Denying it now would make you look dishonest."

"So what?" Angel snapped. "I'm supposed to just let him go on like that? Talking about me like I'm keeping her from him?"

Jeanine sighed. "No, baby. We'll handle that part. But we need to do it strategically."

Kirsten turned the iPad toward her. "Our advice is to keep it simple. No interviews, no long captions. Just a short statement confirming you're a mother, and emphasizing that your child's privacy is not up for discussion."

Ms. Angel nodded approvingly. "I like that. Straightforward. Nobody's business but yours."

Angel stared at the screen. The idea of even acknowledging Arayah publicly made her chest tighten. Her baby was her peace. Her soft place. The one part of her life untouched by cameras, comments, or contracts.

But now?

Camron had dragged that peace into chaos.

She took a deep breath, steadying her voice. "Okay. But I'm not saying her name. No pictures. No details. Just that I'm a mom, and I'm proud of it, but that she's off-limits."

Kirsten smiled faintly. "Exactly what we were thinking. Just enough to blow over the heat, but still keep Mini Angel protected."

Jeanine slid a folder toward her. "We'll get your statement cleared through the Sparks' PR team. Keep it up for twenty-four hours max, and then go dark. Let the storm blow over."

Angel's mother reached over and took her hand. "You did everything right, baby. You protected your child. Don't let nobody make you feel bad for that."

Angel nodded, fighting the emotion in her throat. "I just... I never wanted her name in anyone's mouth."

"I know," Ms. Angel said softly. "But now that they know, you take control of the story before they do."

Jeanine closed her tablet. "Alright. We'll draft the post. Short, respectful, and final. You ready?"

Angel sat back, exhaled slowly, and nodded once.

"As I'll ever be."

⸻

Angel had never been scared of much. Cameras, crowds, critics...none of that ever fazed her. But this?This had her sitting at the kitchen island in silence, phone in her hand, staring at a blank caption box like it was the hardest shot she'd ever had to take.

Across from her, her mom — Angel Sr. — sipped her coffee quietly, giving her space but staying close. "You don't have to say anything until you're ready, baby," she reminded gently.

Angel nodded, jaw tight. "I know. But if I don't say something, people gon' twist it. He's already doing enough damage."

He.Camron.

The man who had walked out when she was seven months pregnant.The man who hadn't called, hadn't sent a dime, couldn't even describe their daughter's face if someone were to ask.

And now, suddenly, he wanted to "make amends" while live on Instagram.

She opened her Notes app, scrolling past old drafts until she found the one she and Kirsten had worked on that morning. It had changed a dozen times since, her edits turning it from polished PR into something that actually sounded like her.

She read it one last time before copying it into Instagram.

She stared at the words and the photo for a few seconds, thumb hovering. Then she hit Share.

The moment she set her phone down, she felt it. that weird quiet before a storm.

Her mom reached over, rubbing her shoulder. "You said what needed to be said," she murmured. "Ain't no confusion in that."

Angel nodded, trying to breathe through the tension in her chest. "It just pisses me off that he's out there acting like I kept her from him. Like he didn't choose to leave."

Her mom's eyes softened. "You did what you had to do. And you've done right by that baby every day since she's been on this earth."

Angel took a slow breath, the words grounding her.

But within minutes, the flood came.Notifications, mentions, tags, everything.

She turned her phone over, screen lighting up every second.Posts. Tweets. Reposts.Some supportive. Some nosy. Some messy.

"Wait — ANGEL REESE IS A MOM???""Protect that baby fr 😭😭😭""Not the bd trying to chase clout off this woman 💀""Idk yall, that's still his kid. She should hear him out."

Angel ignored it all, pushing her phone across the counter. "I'm done with it," she muttered, getting up to check on Arayah.

Her little girl was sprawled across the couch under her Moana blanket, one sock halfway off, still clutching a toy tambourine. Angel crouched down beside her and brushed a curl from her forehead.

"You're so special Ray girl," she whispered. "I love you."

A sleepy hum was the toddler's only response.

Angel smiled faintly and kissed her cheek before sitting back against the couch, finally exhaling.

That's when her phone buzzed again — a different name this time.

Jackie 🖤

you okay?

She hesitated, then replied:

yeah. had to post something. tired of him talking.

Jackie's answer came instantly.

saw it. proud of you. you said that exactly how it needed to be said.

Angel bit her lip, warmth flooding her chest.

thanks. just tired of feeling like i gotta explain being a good mom.

you don't. anybody who really knows you already knows that. and anybody who don't, they not your business.

Angel smiled for the first time in hours.

you right.

always am 😌 now give my girl a hug and tell her I miss her. Have a good day pretty

Angel looked back at her daughter, already knocked out again, and whispered, "what the hell am I doing."

For the first time that day, she let herself relax.The internet could spin whatever story it wanted.She'd already told the only one that mattered — and she wasn't saying another word.

⸻

She was sitting on the edge of her couch, hair still damp from the shower, scrolling through the flood of messages when her phone lit up again.

Jackie: You home?Jackie: pls Don't say no.

Angel blinked, confused. Before she could respond, another text popped through.

Jackie: I'm outside. I missed yall

Angel's heart stumbled. She moved to the window — and sure enough, there was Jackie, leaning against her rental car, hoodie up, arms crossed, that same unreadable look she always wore when she was worried but didn't want to show it.

When Angel opened the door, she couldn't even pretend to be annoyed. "You really flew in for this?"

Jackie shrugged, stepping inside like she belonged there. "You needed me."

Angel scoffed. "You didn't even ask."

"Didn't need to," Jackie said simply, eyes soft. "You post something like that... I knew you'd try to act fine after."

Angel folded her arms, trying to hide the flicker of emotion that line pulled out of her. "And what if I am fine?"

Jackie tilted her head. "Then I'll sit here and be fine with you."

That earned a small laugh, quiet but real. Jackie smiled like she'd won something, then nodded toward the table. "I picked up Thai. The place down by Venice you like."

Angel raised an eyebrow. "You remembered that?"

Jackie grinned. "I remember everything you tell me. Even when I'm half asleep on FaceTime."

They ate on the floor, containers spread out between them. Angel barely realized how hungry she was until halfway through, her body finally starting to unclench. The conversation stayed easy — basketball, playlists, gossip — until Jackie set her fork down and broke the silence.

"You didn't have to explain yourself to anyone, you know that, right?"

Angel looked down at her food. "Maybe. But I needed to say it out loud. I think I was reminding myself just as much as everyone else."

Jackie nodded slowly. "Still... I hate that you even have to say it. You're an incredible mom. Arayah's lucky. That's the whole story."

Something about the way she said it — low, deliberate, certain — made Angel's throat tighten. She blinked fast, forcing a smile. "You're gonna make me cry."

Jackie leaned back on her hands, watching her. "Then cry. I'll still be here when you're done."

Angel studied her for a long moment, then laughed softly through her nose. "You always say the right thing, you know that?"

"Not always," Jackie said. "But when it comes to you, I try."

The air thickened just enough for Angel to notice. She could feel it — that quiet warmth that had been growing between them since the beginning, now pulsing stronger in the stillness of her living room.

For once, she didn't shy away from it.

She leaned back too, their knees brushing, eyes lingering longer than they should have. The TV hummed low in the background, forgotten.

"I missed you," Angel admitted finally.

Jackie's smile faltered into something softer. "Yeah. I missed you too."

And for the first time in a while, Angel felt light. Not empty — just still. Like maybe she didn't have to keep fighting to prove she was okay.

Because with Jackie there, she actually was.

The room had gone completely quiet except for the low hum of the TV. Angel didn't know when she'd stopped pretending not to look at Jackie, but now that she was — really looking — she couldn't look away.

The way the shadows from the lamp hit Jackie's skin. The way her eyes didn't flinch when Angel's lingered too long. The way she breathed, steady, patient, like she was waiting on Angel to decide what happened next.

Angel leaned in first.

It was subtle at first — a shift, a test of space — but Jackie didn't move. Her gaze dropped briefly to Angel's mouth, then back up again, and that was all the permission either of them needed.

Their lips met softly, tentative at first, as if either might pull away — but neither did. The kiss deepened slowly, the air between them melting into something warm and quiet and impossible to explain.

Jackie's hand slid up to the side of Angel's neck, her thumb brushing the edge of her jaw. Angel sighed against her mouth, that familiar control she always carried — on the court, in life — unraveling in the gentlest way.

There wasn't any rush. No fire to burn through the moment. Just the kind of kiss that said everything they'd been too careful to say out loud.

When they finally parted, Angel's forehead rested against Jackie's, both of them still catching their breath. Jackie's lips curved into a small smile.

"That was..." she started.

Angel laughed softly, brushing her thumb against Jackie's chin. "Yeah. It was."

They stayed like that for a while, quiet, their breaths syncing again. The TV kept playing in the background — another Law & Order rerun that neither of them were watching.

Eventually, Jackie shifted, tugging Angel gently until she was resting against her. "Come here," she murmured.

Angel didn't argue. She curled into Jackie's chest, her body fitting easily against hers, heartbeat steady under her cheek. Jackie kissed the top of her head once, like it was instinct, and Angel smiled without meaning to.

For the first time in a long time, it didn't feel like the world was asking her to be anything — not a player, not a headline, not a mother holding everything together. Just her.

And in that quiet space between the two of them, wrapped up in the soft rhythm of Jackie's breathing, Angel let herself fall asleep — not because she was tired, but because she finally felt safe enough to.

Excuse all errorsAjah