Our Muted Recklessness (Muted Hopelessness Book 2)

by Love Belvin

  Our Muted Recklessness

  Love Belvin

  MKT Publishing, LLC

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  ~Next

  ~Bonus

  ~Love Acknowledges

  ~Other Books by Love Belvin

  Also by Love Belvin

  Also by Love Belvin

  Also by Love Belvin

  ~Extra

  Copyright © 2020 by Love Belvin

  All rights reserved. This book may not be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without written permission from the author. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidences are fictitious and a product of the author’s imagination.

  Cover design by Visual Luxe

  Chapter One

  -NOW-

  “And we’re done,” he shouts over the music while his camera performs its last flashes. Rashad drops the camera. “Those were dope, Tor.” He glances down at the digital screen. “I think they’ll be struggling with which one to go with for this series.”

  This series was the easiest. This photoshoot is for female athletes; more of a feminist piece, in my opinion. According to Elle, the renowned magazine, Sugar&Spice, invited me to showcase my various faces. Faces as in not just what I’m known for, but all the roles I play in my life. I’m not married yet and don’t have kids, so my images are limited to boxer, entrepreneur, and philanthropist. The series we’ve just finished was the boxer.

  “The next one is—” Half-mindedly, Rashad cuts me off. “Uhhhh…” he hesitates, flipping through the pictures.

  “Entrepreneur,” his assistant answers.

  “Yeah.” Rashad’s head comes up briefly. “Listen, Tori. I need you focused on this one.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I know you hate acting. This will be that for you.” He supplies a crooked smile and I know what he means.

  I’ve worked with Rashad a few times on different projects, and have rubbed elbows with him at events. He’s one of the best around and is in crazy demand. From Blackwood, he comes with a nurturing, yet no-nonsense policy. He’s young, yet full of wisdom and it shows with his direction.

  I head to the dressing room to change and prepare for the next series, trying to dismiss him. But I’m really playing it cool. He’s just challenged me, and I have to deliver. Young Lord’s “Sunset Showers” has me humming as I approach Jade Bailey.

  “Ase Garb sent these over in your size.” She holds up a pair of pointy-toe heels. “but I think you should be barefoot for the philanthropist series.”

  “Entrepreneur is next.”

  Her short, petite frame follows me to the dressing area. “I know. I’m just letting you know the direction I’m trying to go into.”

  Jade Bailey is the Partner’s Ambassador for Love is Action, the sports agency I’m signed to. She’s responsible for making sure the agency’s corporate sponsors have placement on our public platforms. Ase Garb, a growing top-tier Black designer for footwear and accessories, is one of the Love Is Action’s corporate partners. Those of us signed to an endorsement deal with them must wear their merch as part of our contractual agreement. That’s a cakewalk for all of us. Ase Garb’s in high demand across the globe. But if not careful, I can easily miss occasions to wear their merchandise, and that’s why Jade here comes to shoots and the like where I’ll have opportunities to fulfill my agreement with the designer and my agency.

  “You know I’m good with what you choose. I’m starving,” I mutter on the move, paying her a glance. Jade’s little legs are keeping up with me in four-inch heels. Per usual, she’s photoshoot ready as though she’s the subject of the camera. Her blonde curls bounce with each step but her lined lids squeeze, nearly covering those beautiful green orbs. “You okay?”

  “Back pains.”

  “Take off those heels, girl. You’re pregnant.”

  “Never. These heels got me pregnant.” Her model-worthy smile has returned with the flicking of her tongue.

  “You’re so nasty. How does Trent deal with that all day?”

  She laughs. “Like you said, I’m pregnant. You’ll see soon after you and Deon tie the knot.”

  That mention makes my stomach knot, and I wonder if Jade’s heard all the rumors. I don’t think she’d take them lightly if she did. But shoot, everyone’s talking about it. Spilling That Hot Tea has been on my neck more than TMZ.

  “Entrepreneur’s next, right?” ShawnNicole rasps, twirling a metal curling iron in her hand at the vanity booth as we enter the dressing area.

  “Yeah,” Jade answers before splitting paths with me.

  “Good. I’m going wavy for this one,” ShawnNicole adds. “Did you see the suit she got for that shoot?” Her chocolate posture screams excited with her fists in the air. “It’s all that!”

  Wordlessly, I try to allow the vibes of “Sunset Showers” to absorb into my bloodstream as I strip out of the sports gear from the last series of pictures. It’s an old hit now, but one of my favorite albums. I think I like it better than his latest.

  “Here.” I’m handed a heather gray suit and an ivory blouse on hangers. “I’m still waiting on Jade’s assistant to bring over the shoes and jewelry to pair it with.”

  “Thanks, Drea.” I accept the clothes and quickly, yet carefully put them on.

  She’s here along with her assistant to button and zip. Being half-naked and touched by others doesn’t even faze me at this point in my life. It’s taken years, but with therapy and a few tongue lashings from Elle Hunter when I first signed with her and she promised to make me the most recognized female boxing name in the world, I’ve gotten over it. It doesn’t help that I’ve got a gang of crap on my mind and can’t feel much.

  ShawnNicole comes over with hot metal irons for my hair. I wait patiently as her assistant from her New York City salon switches up my makeup.

  “Look at the BSU crew!” I open my eyes to Jade, returning with a pair of mustard suede booties, likely Ase Garbs.

  “Proud home of the Panthers!” ShawnNicole rasps.

  “So, y’all still get together for homecoming?” Jade asks, handing the booties to Drea. “I wish I went the college route when I had the chance. But my heart was in them streets with a knucklehead.” The rolling of her eyes and silly face combo has us all laughing as I try to keep still. “Chileeeee, I wanted that hood peen, until I learned it was for everybody but me.” Jade is a clown—until you piss her off. She makes these shoots interesting with her sense of humor. “Did y’all graduate together?”

  “Nah,” ShawnNicole answers, flipping her wrist to create tighter waves in my custom wig. “Andrea and I did, though.”

  “Oh, Drea,” she gasps. “You guys have been friends that long?”

  “Yup. Met our freshman year.” Drea nods at my feet, arranging the legs of the pants. Drea is what I call her now, making it impossible
for me to remember she was part of the “brat pack” when I met her. “Two thousand-three feels like forever ago, too.”

  “Did you ever go back home?” ShawnNicole asks Drea from behind me. “Like from when you left for college. Did you ever go back?”

  “For like six months,” Drea answers. “That was a stressful time. So much had changed at home. Shit. I’d changed.”

  “You from the East Coast, Andrea?” Jade asks. She grimaces again, palming just above her thigh on her pelvis.

  “No. Sonoma County, California,” Andrea answers. “Wine country.”

  “Oh, shit. You from money, too,” Jade observes.

  “Like you,” I add, knowing Jade hates that reminder.

  “Yeah, yeah.” She rolls her eyes. “It’s cool how you guys have remained tight since the early two-thousands.”

  ShawnNicole guffaws at the side of my head. “You mean we got cool after the early two-thousands. Girl, no one would have ever thought the three of us would end up as friends.”

  “Not Tori with us,” Drea corrects.

  I roll my eyes, wanting to do more.

  Jade’s face folds. “What do you mean?”

  “Let’s say Tori wasn’t the popular kid back then,” ShawnNicole tries to explain.

  I cut to the chase. “They bullied me. Their whole crew bullied me the entire single year I was at their stuck up ass school.”

  Drea laughs as she glances up to me with a threaded needle in her hands, sewing the hem of my pants. “That’s half true and such old news, T. Knock it off.”

  The BSU dynamic does feel old now. I’ve been working with ShawnNicole and Andrea since I signed with Love is Action. I pulled them on as contractors. ShawnNicole has been busy dressing the heads of celebrities. And Andrea’s been a personal stylist to many of the same people.

  “You guys go to homecoming? I heard BSU’s one of the best!”

  “I’ve only been to one, Jade,” I answer with my eyes closed as my lids are being painted. “When I was there.”

  “I went like three years ago. Those kids still got that Blakewood energy!” ShawnNicole rasps, singing her exclamation. “It was a little sad that my crew wasn’t there, though.”

  “You said you saw Dre,” Drea corrects her.

  “Who’s Dre?” Jade inquires, finally taking a seat at the vanity station.

  “An old friend of ours,” Drea answers. “You know televangelist, Dr. Erickson.”

  “Yeah.” Jade rubs her belly. “I think he spoke at our men’s conference last spring.” She stands from the director’s chair. “I need the bathroom. Excuse me.”

  Seconds after she takes off, things are quiet as they work on me. That’s until ShawnNicole’s rasp announces, “Did Tori tell you she met with Ashton Spencer a couple of days ago?”

  Drea’s stunned gaze rises from my ankles. “Holy shit. You’re going through with the Sports Illustrated piece,” she states rather than asks.

  My eyes raise, then close. I hate this topic and they know it. One of the clear verbal terms of our relationship, when my life intersected with both women, was that there would be no mention of anyone from their alma mater. No reminiscent statements, no talks of reunions, no updates on former classmates or professors. I haven’t even wanted to hear about a drop of endowments to that institution, if that’s what they’re into. It’s nothing personal against Blakewood, honestly. My time there just isn’t a period I care to revisit. And they know why.

  ShawnNicole’s short stature backs up to peer up at my face. “Well, say something, Tori.”

  “I’m going through with the feature,” is all I can think to say.

  Drea stands and now they’re both in my face, their assistants still at work.

  “Were you two able to hash out those old issues?” Drea asks.

  “It was purely professional and will continue to be.”

  ShawnNicole’s hand goes to her forehead. “When does it start?”

  “He sent over a few questions the other day. I’ll have to answer those. But it can go on for a month or more.”

  “Ain’t that some romance movie shit for that ass.” ShawnNicole’s hand is still over her head, expressing the identical anxiousness I feel. “So, y’all gotta talk for months after what…”

  “Thirteen years,” Drea answers for her. Her eyes turn sad. This is a slippery slope for us. “That’s a long time, Tori. So much has happened.”

  And she knows. She actually has a clue as to what’s transpired in the lives of Ashton, Aivery, Karmen, Dre, maybe Al and Paulie…hell, possibly Samantha. I don’t know for sure because that’s a part of the terms. I don’t want to know. Don’t tell me a single detail. They were not my concern. I’d only crossed paths with those people briefly. I was not a part of their BSU family.

  But the look on ShawnNicole’s mahogany face right now tells me she’s struggling with something.

  “What?” I snap.

  “You know Bre’s foundation?” ShawnNicole asks.

  “Of course, I do! I donate to it annually.” She’s being funny. She knows I give to her daughter, Breann’s, asthma awareness organization regularly.

  “Ashton pledged five hundred-thousand over three years,” she rasps. I swallow hard, not prepared for that. “He’s on his second endowment cycle.”

  My face balls. “What does that mean?”

  “It means he’s given the first five hundred-thousand already and is on his second pledge,” Drea explains, head cocked to the side.

  My head bounces back on my shoulders. I get it now. “You’ve been in touch with Ashton Spencer all these years?”

  “It ain’t like we talk on the phone every day or every month.”

  Drea’s hands fly into the air defensively. “We’re not friends with him. Okay? You’ve made it clear we cannot be if we want to be in your life—”

  “I’ve never said that—”

  “Bullshit, Tori!” ShawnNicole rasps loud. The assistants drop what they’re doing and scurry away. My eyes close on a roll. “You’ve made it clear since we’ve both reconnected with you,” ShawnNicole continues. “We’re in our thirties now. I’m a mother, Andrea’s been married and divorced, and you’re the fuckin’ middleweight boxing champion of the world and engaged to a man whose team won the damn Super Bowl a few years ago! None of us are hurting or in a sad, sunken place. We’ve all done well, and that alone demonstrates the long ass gap in between BSU and what we’re doing right here and right now.” She stabs her index toward the floor.

  Instantly, I’m betrayed. “You know—” I swallow back a threatening cry from the bottom of my belly. My eyes are hard on ShawnNicole, body’s vibrating beneath the Italian suit being customized to fit my frame. I told her everything one night in Vegas after having four Greyhounds too many. I cried my guts out to her after one of my assistants brought in bags of B-Way Burger, gleefully violating the rules of the club we were in. “I don’t ask for much. I’ve never asked for much.”

  “Then what’s wrong with talking about it—about him?” Drea asks with desperation in her tone.

  “Because there’s nothing to talk about.” There’s no way we’re doing this right now. I motion for the guy and girl working on me to return. We need to finish up. “I’m sorry if you feel it’s because of me you can’t resume your West Beverly High reunion, but I assure you, you can do whatever you feel is best for you. My only request has been for you to forget I exist when with them, and when you’re with me, do the same regarding them. I don’t think that’s unreasonable, considering our business relationship.”

  “Don’t go there, Tori,” ShawnNicole warns. “Don’t come with no ‘we’re your contractors’ bullshit either. That’s fuckin’ evil and is the same aristocratic label you’ve put on us all these years. I’ve been your friend, not just your hairstylist. Point, blank, period. We’ve respected your stance. We’re just asking can we let up on the ‘never speak of Ashton and Aivery rule’ for a minute now that you’ll be communicating with him yoursel
f.”

  It’s messed up that she’s taken my stance to mean that all these years. But again, I’m not about to argue over it while working.

  Respectfully, I answer, “No. Rashad’s waiting on me for the next series.”

  ShawnNicole rolls her eyes and Drea exhales harshly. Like the professionals they are, the two get back to work…mutedly, and I’m thankful. That’s until I see one of the Love is Action interns jog over to us with a pained expression.

  “Jade had to go. She could hardly come out of the bathroom, saying her back pains were that bad!”

  ShawnNicole gasps, “What?”

  My heart drops to the floor. How did I miss that? Arguing with my team, obviously.

  “Who’s with her?”

  “Trent’s aunt,” Trevor, the intern, answers. “She’s been outside the studio, reading. Apparently, Trent didn’t want Jade driving alone today.”

  I swivel my head to locate my assistant, Lidia. She’s approaching me with a cup of tea. “Call Trent and make sure he knows Jade isn’t okay.” I hope I’m not jumping the gun, but I also know how close those two are. After Jade got over my affiliation with Brielle, her husband’s ex, she and I have been solid. So in touch, I’m now worried about her and the baby she’s carrying. “Maybe wait twenty minutes or so. They could be on the phone with him now. Just ask that he texts me when things settle?”

  “Of course.” Lidia nods before taking off.

  “Can we get this done?” I ask my team. “It’s been a really long day already.” A much-needed cleansing breath enters my lungs. “And can we crank that up?”