Truth or Dare: Episode 2 – Malik

MALIK

Al Green’s smooth vocals drifted through my kitchen, his words floating on invisible clouds, in and out of my ears. I’d been fantasizing about this day for three shifts straight.

Three back-to-back shifts—two nights at the hospital—had me delirious before I even clocked in for the first one.

I needed this break. Badly.

I turned for just a moment, reaching for the container of alfalfa sprouts. I pinched a few strands and layered them onto my sandwich, then reached for my wine glass. Red, poured to the curve. I brought it to my lips and took a sip.

It was late afternoon, and I stood over my marble island, putting together lunch. I’d slept in yesterday morning after coming off my shift, swearing I’d get up bright and early today.

Being an attending at Brooklyn Bay Medical Center was both a blessing and a grind. I loved the work. Loved being of help. But shutting it off?

That was the hard part.

Even standing here now, at home, it was taking everything in me not to reach for my phone and check on my patients.

I pushed the thought aside, forcing my ears to lock in on Al’s voice.

My parents were huge fans. Still are. And I loved Al so much I somehow passed that love on to my son. That… and because his favorite R&B artist, Amir Jones, covered one of Al’s classics for his last album.

Thinking of Junior, I made a mental note to call him once I finished eating. It was the weekend, he was probably chillin’ at home. I hadn’t spoken to him in two days outside of a couple of texts because of work.

Fatherhood wasn’t something I’d ever dreamed about. I didn’t even get the chance to consider it. I just had to grab it and run. And even as a teen dad, I was proud of the boy I’d raised.

He was the same age I’d been when his mother and I conceived him. Taller than I was back then, too. He’s stayed out of trouble, kept his head in the books, and now he’s headed off to college next fall. I was excited. Nervous, too. Because I knew—one bad decision could derail every dream he’s ever had.

One bad decision almost derailed mine.

I moved to the fridge, grabbed lettuce and tomato, swaying to the melody playing from my Bluetooth speaker.

My late fiancée, Karmelle, loved Al Green too.

We met during my last year of community college—back when I was helping Presley raise Junior and figured relationships were off the table.

Then Karmelle walked right up and set one.

Presley adored her.

My family did, too.

Then the crash happened.

Three cars. No survivors.

And that grief still hums under everything I do.

I shook my head and went back to the sandwich as one Al Green song faded into another.

Just focus on Al Green, I told myself.

Because if I let my mind wander, I’d forget this was supposed to be my relaxing day and end up doing something strenuous. Like entertaining the idea of taking my ass to work.

With Junior’s plans to head off to college, I planned to finally travel. Use more of my vacation time. Maybe even breathefor once.

Because I’d put off a lot when Presley got pregnant.

Because Presley put off even more.

And maybe that’s where some of the guilt lived…

Right beside the gratitude I’ve always had for the blessing she gave me through our son.

She and I met at a summer party, two months before senior year. One of those house parties that happened every week once school let out. I’d been hearing about them for years but always skipped.

Then my parents—my mother, really—got wind of it and pushed.

Said I’d earned it. That I’d spent three years being focused, disciplined, too serious. She told me to start being more social. My mother was big on me doing things outside of our projects.

We lived in Marcy Houses. One of the toughest in Bed-Stuy… maybe all of Brooklyn.

Outside? Not a game.

But inside? My parents ran a tight ship. Orderly. Disciplined. Half the block called us The Cosbys of Marcy.

But that wasn’t enough for my mother. She wanted me to see more. Do more.

So I listened. I went to the party.

Twice.

And both times, I ran into Presley.

On that second visit, with the music loud and the air thick and a game of truth or dare spiraling out of control, I made the biggest mistake of my life.

“Oh,” Presley said, her big, beautiful eyes peering straight through mine.

“You’re… you’re a virgin.”

I swallowed hard. Embarrassment crushed my chest.

“You don’t look like…” She waved her hand, then shook her head. “It’s okay.”

She smiled, shifting closer to me on the bed.

“We can fix that… if you want.”

A fix that turned into a lifetime of consequences I never regretted.

Just never stopped paying for.

My phone buzzed on the marble island, drawing my attention.

One glance told me everything.

Presley.

Speak of the devil.

Whenever she called, something in me straightened. My heart knocked a little harder—not out of worry. Out of muscle memory.

Presley lived deep inside a part of me I’ve never tried to understand, let alone unpack. I just knew she was there… and I wanted her there.

I twisted my mouth, debating if I should answer. After a second, I shook my head and let it ring.

I’d call her back.

Knowing her, it was probably about Junior, or something tied to his senior year. She’d been on top of everything lately. Senior dues? Covered. Senior trip? Paid. She’d already picked out tux designs for prom and graduation and insisted they be tailored so he looked sharp for both events.

She was living vicariously through our son, and I didn’t blame her. Presley never got the senior year most people did.

Pregnant through most of it. Gave birth a shortly before prom.

But she never complained.

Never acted bitter.

She just… showed up.

Presley was practical like that—one of the things I’ve always admired. Beneath all the extroverted chaos she carried so easily, she was solid. Steady. Hell, more responsible than me… and that’s saying something.

The call that had just rung out started again. Presley’s name lit up my screen.

That one made me arch a brow.

Still, I told myself I’d call her back.

Right now, I wanted to enjoy my wine, my sandwich, and my silence.

Because with Presley, the moment she enters a space, it becomes the United States of Pres.

She will make the hour about her.

But that’s the thing. Even with all her wild energy, she was still orderly. Balanced.

She was also self-sacrificing. And deeply compassionate, though you’d never know it just by looking at her.

It was that same compassion that had her offering to be my first, after a game of Truth or Dare at that house party. I picked dare and got dared to make out with her in one of the bedrooms.

I only picked dare because my friends called me a square. Said I played it safe. I wanted to prove them wrong—and truthfully, I wanted to step into the kind of vibe I hoped to have for my last year of high school.

Adventure. Spontaneity.

My mother had told me that summer was the time to live a little.

So I listened.

And like a dumbass, I told Presley I was still a virgin.

She offered to fix that.

So I used the condom I’d kept in my wallet since freshman year—courtesy of my pops.

Slid it on and enjoyed two, maybe three minutes of a kind of bliss I’d never known…

Only to pull out and see the condom had broken.

The phone rang again.

This time, it gave me pause.

I snatched it up and answered.

Before I could say a word, I heard the chaos on the other end.

My heart dropped.

“Pres?!”

“Mal!” Presley’s voice shot through the phone, pure panic layered all over it.

“Pres, what’s going on?” I asked, planting a hand against the marble.

“Oh my God,” she sighed. “What isn’t going on?! I am swimming in my kitchen, Malik.”

I arched a brow. “What?”

“My kitchen,” she said again, her breath ragged. “It’s flooded. The brownstone is flooded. Water everywhere.”

“What?”

“Would you stop saying what! God!”

I pressed a hand to my forehead. “How the hell did that happen?”

“A pipe burst,” she exhaled. “There’s water coming from the ceiling… everything’s soaked!”

I switched the phone to my other ear. “Did you call someone?”

“Yeah, fool!” she snapped. “I called you.”

“Pres,” I said, trying not to smile, “I meant a plumber. Or whoever handles burst pipes. I’m not a plumber, sweetheart.”

“You’re a man, ain’t you?!” she shot back. “Shit, good enough. Get over here and do what men supposed to do, dammit. ‘Cause I sure could use some kind of man in here.”

I tucked my lips in and tried—tried—not to laugh.

Even when she’s drowning, she makes me smile.

That’s Presley.

“Pres—”

“Get over here, Mal,” she cut in. “Please.”

I closed my eyes and held them shut.

I could’ve told her again to call a professional.

But that was my son’s home.

And Presley… she was family.

“I’m on my way.”

“Thank you!” she exhaled, a breath full of relief. “Hurry up, please.”

I ended the call and set the phone down on the island.