My Muted Love (Muted Hoplessness Book 1)

by Love Belvin

  My chuckle is dry. “I don’t think I’ve ever liked nutritionists.” I toss a few air punch combos. “It’s my trainers who I gotta love.”

  She laughs while rolling her eyes. “Are you mentally preparing for the fight?”

  “Always.” I’ve been watching Monica “Four Clover” O’Connor’s fight tapes and had strategy meetings. The third level trainings have begun. “My prep begins after I consent. You know that.”

  With tight lips, she nods. “I do.” Her eyes are below again.

  “I need to get out of here.” I grab my bag. “I’m gonna grab some pizza. Need to eat something before this meeting with O.P.I. Right after that is one with M·A·C Cosmetics.” And digest this shit with Ashton Spencer. I grab the doorknob.

  “Tori,” she calls from behind me. I turn to face her. “How’s the wedding planning coming along?” Her eyes fall again and she reaches for the remote. This is too much for Elle. She’s an in-your-face type of broad. She’s skirting around a lot today and I don’t like it. I feel winded, totally opposite of how I did when I walked in. “You get in contact with Pam Hewl yet? I told her I gave you her info. She did a great job on my wedding.” When Elle finally looks my way, it’s brief.

  “I will soon,” I mutter.

  Elle hums, “Mmmhmmm.” Then she presses play on the remote and a familiar piano sequence begins. My mouth drops, but not as fast as my heart when Shirley sings, “It’s morning, and we slept the night away…”

  Elle smiles, mood’s changed that quickly by nostalgia. “You getting Margherita pizza?”

  My stomach is flipping again and I’m back in that emotional zone. I’m no longer a child, but a thirty-one year old polished woman. These lyrics can be expressed without Shirley’s emotions: I have my own vivid, passionate experiences. Conveying them can be as natural to me as an out-boxer maneuver in the ring. Some things look shiny and glistening on the outside, but inside is just as hollow as the knob in my hand.

  “We’re not girlfriends, Elle.” My eyes bouncing around the floor as I swallow hard. “I’ll call you later.”

  I leave, feeling like shit. I’ve disappointed the most influential woman in my life, and I’ll be sharing the same air as Ashton Spencer again soon.

  My body trembles all the way out to the elevator. Thankfully, Candice is nowhere in sight, and I can try and focus my thoughts on my favorite pizza.

  2

  -Now-

  A hum of contentment leaves my nostrils as I chew the first bite.

  “Is that where Maury gets her love of Margherita pizza from?”

  I chuckle with a hot mouthful. “You would, too, if you had some with me,” I manage to garble, then hand over the partially-eaten slice.

  Lori, the nanny, bites her lips together and shakes her head. “I don’t know. I can’t get with any pizza without shredded mozzarella.”

  I toss my brows. “I can guarantee you’d develop a particular longing for it if you had your first slice with me, too.”

  My wink spreads her cheeks, and Lori’s head ducks as my mother strolls into the kitchen just as the tea kettle sounds.

  “Young man, you better be careful with them eyes and words,” my mother warns. “You know these young women have this Me Too thing going on, and when they come for you, it’s ovaaaaa!” She moves about the kitchen, pulling out a teacup and grabbing tea bags.

  “There’s no sexual harassment going on here,” I reply.

  “If this young lady feels she gotta have pizza with you to keep her job, there is!”

  I shake my head and garble, “Don’t think that’s exactly how it works, Ma.”

  “Don’t ask me.” My mother traverses the room for the stove. “Ask your millionaire/celebrity friends, who have to move around their board of directors on the org chart like they’re pieces on a board game, all to make it seem as though they’re no longer the head of the company because these women ain’t taking their foolishness no more!”

  Lori’s panicked eyes are on me biting into my pizza again, but she’s trying to mask it with a smile. She’s a beautiful woman, but a young woman. Lori’s features are unique yet beautiful, thanks to her Black father and Saudi Arabian mother. Her lovely skin is as dark as licorice, and hair just as rich in hue, but a silky long mane reaching down to her little ass. And that was the problem. Lori was a twenty-four year old graduate student at NYU. At thirty-four years old, I no longer fuck women under twenty-five. I may do light-weight flirting, but that’s it.

  As my mother pours the water from the kettle into the teacup, Lori turns her head to peer over her shoulder to my mother. “I don’t think Mr. Spencer has to worry about that, Ms. Lee.”

  “Oh, you don’t?” my mother challenges with her back to us.

  “No.” Lori giggles, clearly now uncomfortable, though she knows our chemistry. “Only because I’ve been working for him for over three years now. So either he’s a patient man or sucky in the harassment department.” I chuckle as Lori turns completely to my mother. “Are they asleep?”

  “Out like a light as soon as their heads hit the pillows.” My mother confirms.

  “Good.” Lori turns to me. “If that’ll be all, I need to meet up with my study group tonight.”

  “Oh.” I grab my plate and wine glass to head for the table. “What’re you meeting about?”

  “Something we’re all clueless about.”

  “Try me.” I wink, biting into my slice again.

  “How mythology plays into medicine. We’re all over the place with possible topics to take on. No one has anything good.” She snorts. “I hate this class already.”

  I think for a minute. “Achilles.”

  Her brows meet as she drums the countertop with her fingertips. “I don’t follow.”

  “He was a noted Greek warrior in the Trojan War. Classical mythology has it that when he was a baby, his mother gave him a bath in a river that was supposedly magical. She was trying to make him immortal, or some shit. She dipped him in, upside down, by his heel. All was immersed but that heel she held. When he fought the Trojan War, Achilles murdered the Trojan hero, but was hit in the heel by an arrow, and that killed him.” I shrug. “That small portion of his body is what was not submerged in the river, and it cost him his life. It was weak. Anatomically, the Achilles tendon runs from the calf, down to the heel.”

  “And that term is used in medicine!” Lori gasps, wide eyes and pearly whites exposed.

  “Not the official term, but yes.” I take another bite.

  “Thank you, Mr. Spencer!” She jumps on her toes and turns to leave the kitchen. “You have no idea what a relief this is! Goodnight, Ms. Lee.”

  My mother grunts, “Night, young lady.” She plops down in the seat across from me with her evening tea. After rolling her eyes at my ego being stroked by a twenty-four year old, she notes, “That lil’ girl wouldn’t know the first thing to do to keep a man like you.”

  “Damn sure wouldn’t, but she’d keep me happy.” I stick my tongue out and shimmy in my chair.

  She shakes her head, glaring at me in judgment. “Ain’t too many tricks she can do in the bedroom on you when you stay globe-trotting.”

  “That,” I pointed into the air. “is what keeps me.” I bite into my pizza again.

  “So, what’s next, young mister?”

  I take a minute to chew and swallow what’s in my mouth. “Boxing.”

  “Boxing?”

  I nod, wiping my mouth.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’ve been handed a feature for Sports Illustrated by the great Tyler Thomas.” The sarcasm in my words can’t be mistaken.

  “Ahhh…” She’s digesting the information while picking up her teacup. “You’re covering sports now?”

  “I guess this one time, I am.”

  “Who?” Her upper torso jumps as she demands. “Must be somebody good to have you writing about sports.” An inspirational puff leaps from her mouth. “Don’t tell me! It’s about that knot-head boy,
Mayweather.”

  I scoff silently, bringing the pizza close to my face for another bite. “Tori McNabb.” This bite is tasteless after that name leaves my mouth.

  “Who? That girl that’s all over the place, fighting?”

  “I guess, yeah.” Laughing and chewing at the same time isn’t the best idea, but I manage.

  Mom nods, taking a sip of tea. “I guess she’s owed. Young lady’s been making a name for herself. Nothing wrong with exposing to other young Black women and girls what God-given talents we have. What do you know about her, so far?”

  I drop my crust onto the plate, squinting my eyes. “You don’t remember her, do you?”

  “The Tori girl?” Her expression matches mine. “Why would I? I saw her fight one time at that sports bar Tabitha took me to a year or so ago. I hear her name everywhere, but remember her? What do you mean?”

  Why am I feeling wounded? The shit doesn’t make sense.

  “Tori went to Blakewood,” I try.

  “Okay.” Her eyes are empty. My silence challenges her. “Oh! With you?”

  I nod. “Briefly—well, toward the end. My last year. She was a freshman.”

  “Oh.” Her eyes are still wild, now with questions of disgrace. She sips her tea again, blinking successively. “Was she friends with Aivery?”

  A dry titter leaves my nostrils as I take a sip of wine. I don’t want to go there, but answer honestly. “No.”

  She nods again, the cogs of her brain turning over visibly from my vantage point. “So how much of friends could you have been in just your last year?”

  After taking a bite into the second slice from my plate, I wipe my mouth then recline in my chair, arms going over my head. “You really don’t remember her, do you?”

  “I told you I don’t. What’s hard to believe about that?”

  “She’s been to your house.” My arms drop and chin dips.

  “In Newark?”

  I nod, swiping my tongue against my teeth and gums to clean out the residual food. “Yup. And you intimidated the hell out of her.”

  She sucks her teeth. “A child? She was a child, Ashton; I’m sure her shadow intimidated her!” My mother rolls her eyes to the other side of the kitchen. I stretch my palms over the table, shrugging. She collects her teacup from the table and stands. “Something don’t feel right about this.” Tell me about it. “I don’t know why, but it don’t.” She starts across the room before turning back to me. “You gotta travel with this one? I’m thinking about going down to Lamar for a few days. My aunt, Hattie, ain’t doing too well.”

  Good ol’ South Carolina…

  “Yup.” Unless this goes terribly wrong, I’ll be traveling with Tori during her training. “In a few weeks.”

  She nods, lips tip. “I’ll take them with me…stay a few days, then go south to see the old mouse.”

  I chuckle, eyes brushing over the half-eaten slice on my plate. “You know I couldn’t do this without you. Don’t you?”

  She pivots to face me fully, chin touted in the air. “Ashton Spencer, you’re my only child. Ain’t too much on this side of glory I wouldn’t do. You’ve afforded me a wonderful life most women my age would give their drooping tits for. I don’t know what my fifties would be like if I didn’t make the worst mistake of my life.” She winked as I laughed my ass off.

  My mother’s robust sense of humor knows no bounds. And people wonder where my charm comes from. I, personally, have no doubt.

  -Then-

  “It’s only been a few days, Tori.” Those words fell on deaf ears as I bounced my knees in the air from springing on the balls of my feet. My arms were crossed and eyes on the wall to the right of me. I didn’t give a shit how long it had been, I was ready to go home. “We explained it would be a difficult transition from New Jersey,” Trisha yapped off.

  “It really is, Tori,” Collin, her assistant, jumped in. “This is an entirely different world here. It’s an opportunity many wish to have.”

  “You’re probably bored,” Trisha thought. She was right and wrong. “Some organizations like the band and its whole ensemble moved in today. You should be able to meet more students. That may help with your homesickness.”

  She typed away behind her computer as she spoke. I sat on the sofa against the wall in her small office. Trisha was the Athletic Director here at Blakewood State University. Sports was major here. I thought this place was…not as big as it is. The campus seemed as big as Millville, my hometown back in Jersey. Crazy thing was, I hadn’t been around the whole damn place yet.

  I tried fingering through the dry strands of the weave my cousin, Renata, put in last month. My hair looked a mess and I had nobody to do it for me or money to get it done. And the people here… At first, the campus was like a ghost town; now that people were starting to move in, I was sure I wouldn’t fit in.

  “Is that what it is, Tori?” Collin asked. He was a young white guy. I hadn’t seen many of them on this campus. I guessed it was because Blakewood was a historically Black college/university. But he flew out to Jersey when Trisha came to meet with my trainer, Uppercut, about me getting college level training and exposure to help with my career. “You want friends? If that’s the case, your roommate should be moving in by the end of the week.”

  My head shot over to him. “No. I ain’t thinking about no friends, man.” I stood, ready to go.

  I wanted to get this over with, this school shit. The problem was, I still didn’t know why I was here. School wasn’t for me. My grades had always been shitty. I didn’t know how a school like Blakewood accepted me. Along with those sucky ass grades, I had no money. Deep down inside, I remembered why I agreed to this. It was because I ain’t have shit else to do in dry ass Millville, New Jersey. The only exciting thing coming out of the city was Alton Alston being drafted into the basketball League. Outside of that was nothing that would bring any level of success in my life or anyone in my community.

  On my way out the door, Trisha called me. I stopped and turned to face her.

  “Your test scores are in.”

  “What test?” I’d taken so many, probably flunking them all.

  “Basic skills. All accepted applicants are required to take them upon their declaration of enrollment,” she answered, chin low while looking at me over her reading glasses.

  I shrugged, halfway rolling my eyes as I tossed my hand in the air, giving up on trying to remember. I’d taken lots of tests since graduating in June.

  Trisha rolled her eyes. “Anyway…” She sighed. “It’s a placement test to see where your weaknesses are in math, reading, and writing. Seems like you scored just above average in math, and average in reading, but in writing, you didn’t make the mark.”

  Scratching the back of my head, trying to get underneath a cornrow, I asked, “What that mean? I go home?”

  Trisha laughed. “No, quitting ass!”

  “It means you’ll take a basic course to help get you up to speed,” Collin jumped in. “And they’ll assign tutoring.”

  “Just for writing?” My face went tight.

  Collin nodded, flipping through file folders.

  Walking out the door again, I mumbled, “Ain’t nobody ‘bout to have no muthafucka in my face for no schoolwork.”

  “Tori…” I was in the hall when Trisha called me again. “Have you called your mother?”

  I thought for a minute. I hadn’t been here a full week yet. There was no need for me to call her. Wasn’t like she was helping out with my cash flow problem, and she damn sure wasn’t footing the bill for this place. Why would I call her?

  “She call up here asking for me?”

  She say when she’ll send my money?

  Collin looked up from his folders. “Don’t you have a cell?”

  I shook my head, scratching that same spot again. “Nah.” My eyes fell to his shoes.

  My phone was turned off over a week ago. I told myself I’d get another when I found a job out here.

  “Here.” He w
alked deeper into the office, then came back and tossed me an orange bag. I unfolded it to see it was a BSU soccer bag. He pointed behind me. “That one’s gonna fall apart any minute now.”

  I took off, shaking my head, studying the bag in my hand. There was no way I was going to walk around this high saddity place with this bright ass bag. I already knew I wouldn’t fit in; no way in hell was I trying to stand out.

  I hated Blakewood State University already.

  -Then-

  She’s here…

  Damn.

  She sat on top of the perfectly green rolling hill, a few yards away from the famous Blakewood State University landmark sign. The name of my soon-to-be alma mater could be seen from the closest major highway. It was the place my crew hung out, even at night, allowing the light posts to illuminate the historic landmark.

  Aivery Cooper sat on the perfectly manicured grass with one leg folded over the other and an elbow resting on her knee while pretending to gaze into the sunny sky. Her golden shoulders sat high in a stark white tank t-shirt as her face hid behind oversized Chloé sunglasses.

  I hiked up the hill toward her, wanting to get this over with. It was a meeting I’d been dreading all summer. It wasn’t until I lowered myself a few feet away from her that Aivery turned toward me, almost as if she was done with an internal countdown.

  “Hey, you!” she breathed out with a big smile. “It’s so good to see you!”

  When she reached for me, I didn’t hesitate to return her hug. It was what she expected. What we’d always done. When we let go, Aivery shifted to face me, sporting a zealous beam.

  “I see you liked the sunglasses.”

  “Oh, my god! Yes. It was so sweet of you, Ash!” Her high pitch belied her bubbling emotions. “All the girls in my room when I arrived were so fucking blown away! And my mom…” She squealed. “She wanted to come over to your apartment before we unpacked! I had to tell her you were likely in practice or working out.” Her head tossed back slightly, giggling.

  I nodded. “Glad you liked them.”

  Aivery’s face sobered quickly. Her dark, thick eyelashes met, weighing her lids down, and I knew what was coming.