Fire Between Two Flames

CHAPTER 3

By the time we reached the urgent care waiting room that smelled like industrial sanitizer and desperation, I was surviving on caffeine, sheer willpower, and spite. Fluorescent lights hummed overhead, casting everything in a sickly yellow-green glow that made my already pounding headache worse.

I sat in a plastic chair that was somehow both too hard and too sticky, with Malik squirming on my lap and Zarian pressed against my side, his arm wrapped in a temporary splint.

My fierce, brilliant, too-brave-for-his-own-good baby boy had fallen off the monkey bars trying to prove to some older boys that he could do anything the teenage boys could do. Fractured wrist. Possibly worse, depending on what the X-rays showed.

The guilt was a living thing in my chest, clawing at my ribs, making it hard to breathe. I should have been there. I should have picked them up from school myself instead of relying on the after-school program. I should have known, somehow, that today would be the day he decided to be reckless just from how he was talking this morning.

“Mom, can I get chips? Please?”

“No, you’ll get sick eating all that food the way you do, we just ate in the car.”

“I promise I won’t, please mom, please. That fast food was nasty. I barely ate any of it.”

Zarian snorted. “You couldn’t get it down fast enough, fat boy.”

“I’m not, this is just baby weight!”

“Boys,” I said, voice low with warning. “Don’t test me right now.”

They slumped into their chairs, and I let out a slow exhale. Ten minutes in, I was ready to trade my sanity for silence. The phone started ringing again — first the office, then my mother, then the football team group chat. Each buzz was a fresh reminder that I hadn’t had a full moment to breathe since dawn.

I silenced them all and leaned back in the chair, closing my eyes for three seconds of peace that didn’t last. My mother’s name flashed across the screen again, and guilt finally won.

“Hello, Mama.”

“Hello, my beautiful baby,” she cooed. “How did it go last night?”

“It was fine,” I said, scrolling through work emails on my second phone.

“Fine? That’s it? Did you at least try to look interested?”

“I’m busy, Mama.”

“So you didn’t like him.”

“I liked the part where I got to go home alone. Mama, I have to go. Zaran hurt himself at school today, I can't deal with all of this right now, we’re at the doctor.”

“Oh Lord, my poor baby. Well, at least tell me—”

“Bye, Mama.”

I hung up just in time for my phone to light up again — no caller ID. I didn’t need to guess that this was the office, but nonetheless I answered.. “Imani Legend.”

“I didn’t authorize you to leave for a full day.” Ahmir’s smooth voice hit my ear, and my eyes slid closed.

“I don’t remember asking for authorization. I’m not an employee, Mr. Wolfe. If I want to take an hour or 3 weeks I’ll do so without permission from anyone.” A beat. Quiet. Controlled. The waiting room buzzed around me — crying kids, cartoon noises, the clatter of clipboards — but the moment he spoke, the world tunneled, sharpened.

“Are you aware,” he said slowly, “that investors expect a full briefing by morning?”

“I’m aware my child possibly broke his arm today” I snapped. “Priorities shift for my children. That outranks quarterly projections in my book. Legendary will survive a night without me.”

Another pause. I could picture him perfectly — suit immaculate, jaw set, leaning back in some executive chair like a king displeased with his queen’s defiance.

“Where are you?” he growled into the phone.

“Does it matter?”

“Yes, now answer my question,.” Annoyance flared hot behind my ribs.

“If you must know, pediatric urgent care in Piedmont.” I said. “Surrounded by snot and tears and mothers who would sell organs for a nap. Any other inquiries?”

“Children come before business,” he said, voice dropping, tone unreadable. “Good to know.” Just when I thought he might end the call, his voice sharpened again. “When you return, we have matters to discuss. Your delegation pipeline is inefficient. Your director of ops is—”

“A toddler is licking the window and my child is screaming in pain,” I cut in. “If you’d like to continue this, you can meet me at Disney World, because that’s the energy level here.”

For a moment — the smallest, most impossible moment — I swore I heard him choke back a laugh. Then he recovered.

“I expect you back in the office today.”

“You can expect whatever you want,” I murmured. “Expectation doesn’t equal reality.”

Silence. Razor-fine. Electric. His silence wasn’t disbelief, it was calculation. I hated that I knew that about him already.

“When you return,” he said finally, “we’ll address the operational deficiencies you’ve ignored.” A humorless laugh escaped me.“We’ll speak soon, Ms. Legend.” He hung up.

I stared at my phone like it personally offended me. And maybe it did, because my pulse was out of rhythm and I hated that he caused it. The nurse at the desk caught my eye and sighed,“Full house today, ma’am. Might be a bit of a wait.” Of course it was. I sat back down, boys on either side, and tried to remember why I’d chosen to do everything myself. I could afford help now. I could afford ten nannies if I wanted to. But that wasn’t the point. They were my boys. My responsibility. If I couldn’t handle them, what did that say about me? Still, exhaustion was a language my body was fluent in.

About 15 minutes crawled by. Malik swung his legs and Zarian was writhing beside me from the pain shooting up his arm. I rubbed my forehead and counted the ceiling tiles like that would hold my sanity together. A toddler ran by wearing a cape made of what I prayed was a blanket and not medical paper. Then the front desk phone rang. The receptionist answered, eyebrows lifting as she listened.

“Yes… yes, absolutely. Right away, sir.” She hung up and cleared her throat. “Zarian Legend?”

I blinked. “Yes ma'am, that's us.”

“You can come back now. Doctor’s ready.”

My brows pulled together. “Already? You said it would be a while.”

“It was. We had… a priority alert. You’re being seen immediately.”

Dozens of tired parents and screaming toddlers stared like I’d just been handed a golden ticket.I blinked, confused. The waiting room was packed long before we arrived. I gathered Malik in my arms—sixty-seven pounds of squirming toddler—and helped Zarian to his feet. He was trying so hard to be brave, my little warrior, but I could see the pain in the tight lines around his mouth and the way he cradled his arm against his chest.