End Zone Love (Connecticut Kings Book 4)

by Love Belvin

  “Nah. Now your passion has…” My hand waved in the air as my mind worked for the right word. “…transferred. You’ve taken on coaching some of Jordan’s teams. You’re working on the mental health consortium due to ya moms. There’s ministry in that, too.”

  I’d known Stenton Rogers for years, but some of my best conversations with him were after a sermon Ezra taught that made us examine ourselves. It’s where the male bravado fell to the side and we could build each other up or be real with each other about sensitive stuff.

  Stent’s mind was going; I could tell. He was dazed, eyes in the night air as his head shook again.

  “I can see that. I just wanna make sure I’m making the most of what God’s given me. That’s the crazy thing about professional athletes: you retire so young, you gotta reinvent yourself.”

  “Man, I’m still working and feeling like a damn fish outta water.”

  Stent turned to me and his eyes turned chink as he smiled—more like laughed—at me.

  “What you talking ‘bout, man? You gotta close the door when you take a dump now? Living with a woman ain’t easy. Is it?” He cracked up.

  I chuckled, not as hard as him. “Nah,” my tone was low. “Jade stays on my back about keeping the place clean, but my biggest issue ain’t about the house.” I tossed a look over at him and caught Stent’s smile fading.

  “Then what?”

  My eyes went to my house we were parked in front of then I took a deep breath.

  “Pardon my French, but I don’t know shit about romance, dawg!” A laugh I didn’t know was growing in my belly busted from my lips.

  “Get the hell outta here!” Stent cracked up with me. “Romance? Like…” He dipped his chin.

  “Man, hell no! I’m good with putting that lil thing to sleep. Don’t trip!”

  He laughed again. “Then what? Like flowers and candy?”

  I thought about it a minute. “Yeah. That. Like… I don’t know nothing about surprising her or making her feel what I feel about her outside of orgasms. Yo, that girl holds me down! Every day, she’s doing something new I never thought of to make life easier for me. It’s crazy. She’s even wiggling herself into my business, taking over my scheduling from Elle at Dynamic Branding for this transition to Love is Action.”

  StentRo chuckled, looking ahead, but I could tell he wasn’t amused by what I’d just copped to.

  “Man, at least she funneling all that energy into you and your career.”

  My face balled.

  What the hell…

  “You want Zo’s hand in your career?”

  “I used to, but now it ain’t even about that. Now,”—his hands shot in the air to communicate his point—“I feel like, I’m done with balling and I got my Niña, so we can ride off into the sunset. But nah, because she got her own shit going on. My career allowed me to retire before forty. My wife’s taking the traditional route: she’s a business owner in her late twenties, making major moves. She ain’t tryna slow down to enjoy this down time for me. She wanna…”

  “What? Zo’s got a little independent streak. That ain’t so bad,” I tried.

  “Ain’t so bad if we needed it. We don’t need her money. I got us straight for life. Our kids straight for life. I’m still making money off my money. We good, TB.” He took a deep breath, shaking his head.

  Out of nowhere, I busted out laughing. “That’s why Ezra’s joints be on point. Look at you: talking about your new identity since retiring. You’re not fitting into the same shoes you did when you was still on the courts.”

  Then I sat back to consider what that would mean for me in a few short years when I hung up my cleats. I only had a few more prime years on the field.

  “I trip every once in a while,” StentRo’s voice, sounding more calm and now assured, took me out of my thoughts. “I respect what Zo does, but sometimes realizing just because my career ended and hers is kinda just starting ain’t wrong. It just means I married a damn feminist, who refuses to let me take care of her.”

  We busted out laughing. Stenton was still struggling with it even while trying to convince himself he was tripping.

  “You shot out, yo.”

  “Nah. But I trip a little. As far as Jade, man. I can’t say I have an answer for romancing or wooing—as A.D. Jacobs would say. Zo ain’t never been high maintenance. She never asked for anything, to be real. Even when we were trying to figure things out after Jordan was born. She accepted everything I gave, but never asked for anything. Zoey kinda got more stylish after getting cool with Tynisha, but she’s not over-the-top with it like—”

  Stent’s eyes shot over to me.

  “Like what? My high maintenance ass lady? You can say it!”

  We laughed again.

  “Nah. Jade ain’t snobbish or diva-ish like Ty.”

  “Nah. She ain’t. But it’s still crazy how the chick I fell in love with had to be born with a damn silver spoon in her mouth.” I started counting off on my hand. “Went to all private schools, joined social clubs since a kid, took all types of etiquette classes, stepfather who raised her is a big time corporate lawyer, her mom pushes a damn Alpine white M760i xDrive.”

  “Daaaaaaaamn!” Stent’s eyes shrunk as he laughed, understanding my point.

  “Yup. And I got her pushing a 2013 Range that somebody copped for me.”

  Divine Jacobs gave it to me as a sign of support when I was on trial at the end of 2012. Had the thing factory ordered.

  “At least it’s white, my G!” He laughed.

  I guessed it was good to joke about my dilemma. It took the sting out of it.

  I shrugged with my head. “That’s the closest I could get her to her momma’s status. I’m such a cheap bastard, man,” I breathed, turning to look out my window.

  “The truck still runs good, man. You had it parked for years. It’s good she’s driving it.”

  “But is it special?”

  “She got a dope whip. That ain’t special enough? See what I mean? I ain’t gotta deal with stuff like this. Zo’s whips have always been in rotation. She don’t get attached to nothing.” He shrugged. “Pretty much is good with what I get her. I don’t think Jade’s trippin’ either.”

  “Like… I’m looking at this ride.” I swiped the sleek leather topstitched of the dashboard. StentRo stayed with a G63. “This new, right?”

  “Yessir!”

  “I’m dancing on if I should upgrade her truck or not. You know me, I’m married to my ’87 Chevy. New whips ain’t never been my thing.”

  “Cars hers?”

  Staring at nothing in particular in the night air, I let out a breath. “With my girl, her only ‘things’ seem to be her son, me, her weave, and her nails. Anything coming for those four things is when she gets wicked. Jade don’t stress nothing else. But as her man, I peep her level of class. She’s a diamond. Ordinary won’t do.” My face was stretched and I felt dazed by that revelation.

  “A’ight,” StentRo perked up. “Sounds to me like you already know ways you can woo her. You just gotta step out of your ways to do it. Keep in mind you’re not single anymore, bruh. That adjustment dudes have to go through to include a woman in their lives is serious.”

  I rubbed my face, frustrated. “That’s what I’m saying! I never had to worry about spoiling chicks. I mostly dealt with broads in the industry, who had their own money and reputation to maintain. They weren’t looking for me to do it for them. They only wanted the D and maybe some flicks for followers.”

  “Sounds to me, your fiancée only wants you, fam.” Stent’s expression turned serious again.

  On that note, I lifted my hand for dap. StentRo returned the love and his smile appeared again.

  “A’ight. Get across that road safely. I ‘on’t want Zo banging on my door, saying something happened to you because you retired and don’t need security around you twenty-four-seven.”

  “Yeah, but your cheap ass still working and was too cheap to pay Tyheem to roll with us to Harle
m tonight!” He fell out laughing again.

  I had to join him. I noticed lately, Stenton laughed more. We’d always had a good relationship and could kick it, but he’d been more carefree.

  “Peace and blessings, my dude.” I saluted him outside of the truck.

  “Peace and blessings,” he shouted back before pulling off.

  I turned for the house and let myself in. Out of nowhere, sleepiness fell over me. I tossed my coat in the room right off the garage and trudged upstairs. I had one thing to do before falling out for the night. The minute I hit the master suite, I stripped down to my boxers, threw my clothes on the sofa in the sitting room, not even needing the light to do it. Jade would just have to ream me out about my mess in the morning.

  After taking a leak and washing my hands, I climbed in the bed to find my little one. She was curled in the middle, as usual. I shifted beneath the comforter and found her legs. Spreading them while she lay on her side, my face made its way between her thighs and I ate my wife’s pussy until she woke up, grabbed the back of my head, came in my mouth, and shivered underneath me before falling back on the mattress, out of breath.

  Then I rolled over, thanked God for another day, and was out.

  Ezra had just walked onto the pulpit as the choir was ending an up-tempo song, “Magnify Him.” His wife, Lex, was a few steps behind him, her head bowed as she carried his device and notepad. It made my heart smile that Lex had been transforming into a First Lady. Jade and I got the opportunity to chill with them over the past few months, and learned how down to earth she was. Strange, but real: Ezra and his wife were like night and day. She was good for him though. Humanized him, if that was even possible.

  The music slowed and the drummer tapped on the cymbal. The congregation quieted and sat in their seats around me. I was seated on the floor, a few pews from the pulpit where Ezra asked male members to sit, including those of us who were in the industry. From the corner of my eye, I watched someone take the mic on the floor, under the pulpit. The music turned theatrical, like. Rage—or Ragee, which is his full name—lifted his head, opened his mouth, and breathed life into the speakers sprinkling over us.

  “Walking in the wilderness with burdens of the world flanked on each side…

  I find You in a quiet place…

  A garden of peace where You dwell.

  I tell my burdens to wait outside; my Savior is there, awaiting me.

  I come in alone…

  Only carrying my perilypos heart…

  No need for my rod and staff when my Comforter is before me.”

  I knew nothing about music, other than my head and energy took to what appealed to them. I couldn’t even tell if this was an old hymn or something he and Dwayne, the dope praise and worship leader, put together, because they did that. But I read my Word enough to know he was painting a picture of meeting God in a garden, similar to Jesus. Rage’s talent… Man! There was melody within the notes he sang. His range was that ridiculous. Dude could hum his way into panties or heaven.

  “Your presence is so majestic.

  I cry, “Father, Father, my spirit is too heavy!”

  The burdens of this cold world outweigh my hope!

  Please take this cup.

  I’m not worthy of thine will.”

  My whole section seemed to have left their seats at the same time. His words, notes brought imagery. Ezra not only stood from his seat on the pulpit where he usually sat for this ushering in of the Spirit part of the ceremony, he walked to the edge of it to see Ragee. His face was tight, meditatively, and his one hand held the ends of his beard. We’d all been in this desperate place, needing to get out all of our problems to God, in the human form. I remember seeking this many times from a cell in Wisconsin.

  “Your voice is so sweet and crisp as You reveal.

  Your countenance so restful.

  Our encounter so ethereal.”

  Rage’s head flew back as he belted, “I feel no earthly woes…

  My heart is so light it could fly from its tomb.

  My feet are weightless…

  And my lungs are filled with hope and praise as You remind me of Your promises.”

  He yanked the mic from his face, stretched his arms wide, and cried out a baritone praise that forced me into a place of worship myself. My hands shot into the air and I began to bless God. Could you imagine that? Kicking it with God alone? Rage had just convinced me he had, and I could, too. The whole building lit up with praise.

  As I was washed over in worship, so many events of my life flashed through my mind and I swear, I could feel His presence when He saved me from despair each time He did. There was no way anyone could convince me God wasn’t real. I may not have been able to impart or speak in tongues like Ezra. Couldn’t sing my way into Zion or command the people into a place of worship like my man, Ragee, but I could feel His presence undoubtedly.

  In the recesses of my conscious, I could hear Rage begin to sing again. I was so caught up in a place of praise, I could hardly make out every word. He sang old, slow paced hymns to keep the congregation in a place of worship. The choir had backed him with their vocals at this point.

  “Blessed assurance, Jesus is mine!

  Oh, what a foretaste of glory divine!

  Heir of salvation, purchase of God,

  Born of His Spirit, washed in His blood.”

  I got it. It hit me in that moment why Ezra had us all sitting together this morning. He didn’t want even us well-known people up in the balcony. He had us sprinkled amongst laymen. It was because we were all the same when it came to the Kingdom. There was power in the midst of praise and worship with a group of men. I was in the third row and not one body was seated or hands below their shoulders. This is what God’s presence did. Rage and the praise and worship team led us into this place as they continued a peaceful pace of songs.

  “Rock of ages, cleft for me,

  Let me hide myself in thee;

  Let the water and the blood,

  From the wounded side that flowed,

  Be of sin the double cure—

  Save me, Lord and make me pure.”

  I didn’t know a lot about gospel music either, but he brought life into the old fashion words.

  “I am desperate for you, Jesus!” he sang.

  “Take the money…

  Take the fame.

  Take this old body…

  Change my name.

  And deep down inside, what you’ll find…

  Is a worshipper until the end of my time.”

  Those words were freestyled. I just knew it. I could tell by his emotional delivery. It was clear in each high note and low cry. I stood affected and blown away at this dude’s vocals. It’s funny how they say every athlete believes he’s a rapper and every rapper wants to be an athlete. In my case, in this moment, I wanted to be a smooth R&B singer. My mom would say my emotions matched it. She used to call me a sissy. I snapped out of those thoughts, needing to be where the anointing was, which was here in the sanctuary. My brother was ushering in the Spirit.

  It was good to see his magical turnaround when I was locked down. That was like seeing family being blessed. But Rage had a little money before then. And now with the movie dough coming in, he was able to feed a new generation of his decedents—if he ever had kids. He had a new mansion built in the woods a few years ago, but never shared it with the public. I knew because Ezra invited me to a brotherhood retreat Ragee offered his crib up for last year, but I couldn’t make it.

  The bigger Rage got, the more private and…weird he became. My guess was it had to do with the increased attention of his personal life. No matter how big, buff, and masculine he was, those gay rumors followed him, even now in Hollywood. Him singing here this morning was a big deal because a couple of years ago, he sang one night at a revival, brought the house down, and everybody on their feet in worship. Before Ezra could give the benediction that night, a video of him was on every major gossip blog—of course, Spilling Tha
t Hot Tea released it first. By the next morning, local news stations were showing the clip of Rage going in. But they questioned his authenticity, accusing him of acting in church the same way he does in his films.

  That burned dude so bad, he swore he wouldn’t sing in church again; he’d just come. I felt bad for him. Things like that would make you go into yourself. Rage had been a member of Redeeming Souls for Abundant Living in Christ longer than me. He always gave his all in worship—more than he did at his wild concerts. For people to question that was straight violation. We all tried to kick it with him, encourage him about being a leader. But it didn’t seem to work. Rage closed up socially, period. StentRo told me, when I got out of prison, that Rage’s career had blown way into the stratosphere, but he was on the verge of turning into a Michael Jackson with his reclusiveness. I peeped it after the first month of being home.

  Rage was still cool with me, but never around like he used to be. Ezra would always say to keep him lifted in prayer, and that’s all I’d been doing. Thankfully, since his collabo with Young Lord, he’d been seen out more. Maybe some people balanced you. They won a Grammy together and hung out a little, according to the blogs. Most would think they had nothing in common, but I got what they did. It was what me, Ragee, StentRo, and Young Lord had in common. We were all street niggas, who rose from them and became public figures. God, for some reason, favored us against the odds and we were all successful beyond what most would imagine.

  And that’s why I was here in the closing of this men’s conference, heavy in worship. I was a blessed man. Too bad for Rage. I was willing to bet, by the time we left the sanctuary, there would be a video or two posted of this service where the bloggers would make a subject out of his worship. Without a doubt, there would be dozens and dozens of women commenting how fine he looked singing, sexualizing a personal and spiritual experience. That’s what they did. Men and women, both hypersexualized everything. And to top it off, there would be half that number questioning if he’s gay, and because the video would be of him singing in church, a flame would have been lit.