Now playing: Spin - Megan Thee Stallion ft. Victoria Monét ———————————————

Stack had convinced Smoke to come out, called it a “welcome-home” night. The sign outside buzzed pink over peeling paint, Vixen Lounge, a strip club he used to haunt before the twins disappeared for years. The twins had only been back in town for about two days after being gone for nearly a decade.

At the door, Stack dapped up the bouncer like they’d grown up together.

“Long time, Rico. Just me and my brother tonight. Figured I’d get him out the house for a lil’ bit,” Stack said, grin lazy.

“Man, Smoke? Ain’t seen either of y’all in forever,” Rico laughed, pulling the rope aside. “Y’all go enjoy yourselves.”

Inside was everything the name promised: a smoke-thick room, the DJ pumping slow heat, a raised stage planted in the center of it all with seats all around it for a 360 view of the dancers who’d perform. A ten foot chrome pole stood at the center while a line of VIP booths rung the floor. Girls worked the crowd, guys threw dollar bills and shouted for dances. Women in glitter heels and see-through lingerie floated between tables, laughter slipping through the music. Stack was already talking to a dancer he half-remembered, loud enough to compete with the DJ.

Smoke sat back in the corner booth, shoulders loose but eyes alert. He didn’t belong in a place like this anymore, but Stack kept the whiskey coming. Neat, one ice cube and he let the burn sit on his tongue while he watched the room spin under the lights.

He hadn’t been home in almost a decade. Back then, it was your mama who took the twins in, fed them, treated them like her own. You were part of that house. Your aura was steady, bright, untouchable. Smoke still remembered your laugh, the way you’d lean on the porch rail at night while he talked about getting out. He’d promised he would. And he did. He just never came back.

Then the DJ switched the track to a slow, heavy bass under a sample of “Spin” and the crowd leaned forward as the familiar cadence of Megan’s rap track blared from the speakers. Stack’s attention drifted to the stage, smoking on a rather thick cigar, but Smoke barely looked up until the spotlight hit you.

For a second, he thought his eyes were lying. The way you walked, the small necklace you’d worn for years catching the light. Everything in him froze. The club noise fell out from under him. Stack’s grin vanished; he pulled the gar from his mouth, his voice a low rasp.

“Well shit…”

Smoke didn’t answer. The whiskey sat forgotten in his hand. You turned, beginning to work the pole for the room, and his heart dropped right through his chest. Years gone, one promise broken, and now you stood under red lights with the world watching.