by Love Belvin
by Love Belvin
MKT Publishing
Copyright © 2019 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
I hate this part.
Dedicating a book to you doesn’t seem natural.
I miss you more than I thought possible.
Your color so vivid, your brain so brilliant, and your light appealed so deeply to my heart.
Shenedrea “Nena” Goshay-Colar
June 24th, 1977 – May 20th, 2019
Table of 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
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Epilogue
Love Acknowledges
Other Books by Love Belvin
Extra
∞1∞
“Ashes to ashes. Dust to dust. Naked I came from my mother’s womb, and naked I will depart. The Lord gave, and the Lord hath taken away,” the pastor quoted scripture over the descending casket. A small choir of seven softly sang a hymn about joining Christ in heaven.
This was it. It was the final destination. I thought seeing the casket in the church was the finale, psychologically. Just an hour ago, I believed the sniffles from the mourners in the pews and sorrowful words of eulogy were the dénouement of his life. I was wrong. Inside this cold ground was his official resting place—at least in the only form I’d known him.
The cold earth…
At the gravesite, standing amongst dozens of mourners, the wind blew aggressively, and the sun hadn’t quite decided if it wanted to grace this day or to leave us in gloom. My thoughts were furthest from the pearly gates. A sharp memory rolled over in my mind. A wise man once told me if you were good in the illegal trade game, it wouldn’t be the law that took you out. It’d be stress from the work, your heart, cancer, your hothead-ass lady, or a miscalculated loved one. Betrayal weighed on my heart, and vindication had purchased prime real estate in my mind. My family had taken a beating in the past two and a half weeks. Circumstances created by our decisions put us at risk of having this dynasty ravished.
Considering the occupant of that casket, I reflected on how fucked up the game was. Being in the illegal trade game like my father was a high-risk journey: thinking two steps ahead of law enforcement, working three times harder than your competitors, and operating twenty-five hours a day took a toll on the most solidly built men. It was never a burden I wanted to carry. I always knew whatever industry I went into, I’d grind harder than my peers. I knew it would take nothing less than that commitment to reach the Earl Ellis level of excellence. I’d been achieving it and still felt the loss from this death. Death to the game.
The small hand clasped in mine squeezed. I glanced down to my right. Bilan’s brows above her dark sunglasses lifted, and she gestured ahead. The casket was six feet into the ground and on top were roses. I peered down to the long-stemmed one in my left hand, and that’s when the realization was made. I tugged gently at her hand, and we smoothly gaited over to the unearthed hole to drop our flowers inside. I assisted her back to our respective places.
“How are you?” she whispered up to my ear.
With my eyes glued to the hole in the ground, I nod my response. What more could I say? I was fucked up—for more reasons than one. I couldn’t believe we were at a damn funeral. This shouldn’t have been. It wasn’t supposed to be. Of course, I couldn’t articulate this to my fiancée in the moment. Instead, I tried focusing my attention on watching Monica and the girls go next with their flowers.
This period of time had been so fucked up for them. I struggled to remember I was still Monica’s brother-in-law and Ivana, Iesha, and baby Irene’s uncle over these two weeks. Bilan had been an invaluable help in covering my neglect. Monica looked thinner, almost lifeless as she struggled to keep up with two precocious school-aged girls, and a growing infant without their father. She was a fighter, but even these circumstances could rattle the best warrior.
Taaliba assisted my mother next. My queen, too, had been compromised by the latest set of unfortunate events. She appeared aged in just two and a half weeks. Like most of us in the family, her world had been delightfully enhanced by the addition of a new Ellis. We’d gained Bilan, finally, as well. Who knew so soon, we’d be wracked and disassembled by the ghost of death by natural causes and a suicide attempt before my son could make it to three months old?
My mother hadn’t been herself. It was a good thing Taaliba flew in from Antigua when she did. Having her at the house with our mother gave me eyes on her, other than the staff’s. Taaliba mentioned our mother had been prescribed a sleeping aid. A sleeping aid. Apparently, Taaliba’s teas were no longer in supply or not as aggressive as my mother needed to rest.
Next to drop flowers onto the casket was Livia. Tiffany, along with Livia’s mother, walked together to throw their flowers. It reminded me of how wide the web of my father’s influence had stretched over the years. The few times my father’s assistant, Palmer, had his young daughter on a visit, he’d bring her around my father’s right-hand man’s daughter, Tiffany, when they were my nieces’ ages. I just didn’t know they were still in touch.
“At this time, we’re going to conclude the home-going service of our beloved,” the eulogist announced. “On behalf of the family, thanks for coming out and celebrating the life of the dearly departed. There, in the church, the family has a repast prepared. Thank you.” He nodded.
The crowd seemed to turn toward the church simultaneously at his last words. It was odd having a funeral and burial in the same location. You didn’t see much of this in the metropolis. As we sauntered out of the graveyard, I held Bilan to me by the side of her waist. She wore heels out on the flaccid soil that would occasionally puncture the ground. As we meandered across the yard, her soft hand reached up for my chin, bringing my attention to her face.
“You sure you’re okay? You held up well, but I don’t want you suppressing,” Bilan murmured as we trailed behind my mother and Taaliba.
I grabbed her soft hand and placed a kiss on her palm in a manner of responding. I didn’t have many words to express today. However, I needed Bilan to believe I was fine. She should not suppose anything less than that. If I showed an ounce of weakness, it would have a domino effect on her as well as our family. I’d get through today and those after.
As we entered the church again, we were stopped by friends offering their condolences. Bilan and I stood behind my mother, just inside the door of the dining room, creating a line for greeting guests. I’d be a liar if I claimed to know ninety-eight percent of them. Quite honestly, it didn’t matter. My mind was on the person whose casket was being covered in dirt as I forged my best smile while stringing together words of enc
ouragement I didn’t feel, and those of gratitude that were so distant to me.
Like she’d been at this for years as an Ellis herself, Bilan stood next to me, greeting attendees with warm efforts and sincere energy. She even completed many of my sentences when I stalled. Her small hand was at my back rubbing, comforting me while we were at work. I was trapped in a haze of remark-timing and recounting where I recognized faces from. It was so much easier with my father and brother. Everyone knew Earl Ellis, the infamous Double E Bags. And with Iban being the oldest and closest to my father’s business, he knew far more associates than I did. I always stood third in line for events like this. I’d catch more conversations than the scary Iban Ellis, however, he’d give me a cheat sheet of names and connections by greeting them first.
Those were the times of yesterday. Today would be cemented in my life forever, and tomorrow, things will irrevocably change. Death may be a part of the game of life, but it was still a phenomenon most couldn’t reconcile. I was one of them—when it came to someone so close. This shit hurt bad.
“I remember you,” an elderly woman, no taller than four and a half feet with a gray and white Jheri curl claimed, peering at me over her glasses. Her eyes so aged, her pupils were bordered by gray spheres. Her voice carried over the line of people separating us. “You’s the youngest boy.” Her lips were tightly balled, tone accusatory. She moved toward me, cutting the line, but the people respectfully moved out of her way. Her one white gloved-hand pointed my way. “Earl was particular about you. I knew your daddy for years,” she emphasized. “Met him over forty-five years ago, and I ain’t never see him happy like he was when he brought you down here for Palmer’s daddy’s funeral. You was ‘bout yay size.” She removed the one glove and spaced her shaky, veiny hands out to the distance, representing the size of my son, Sadik.
My father brought me to a funeral in South Carolina when I was an infant?
“Where the oldest boy?” Her asking about Iban that way told me she didn’t know about his accident. That, oddly, pleased me. She didn’t wait for my answer before continuing. “I spoke a Word from the Lord to ‘im whilst he held you in his arm. I told him the sun was on your head. The Lord poured a proportion of favor in ya momma’s womb for you. You’s a special one. Nothing like he ever made; nothing like he was ever gonna make again.” Her eyes narrowed. “And you know what he said?”
When Bilan elbowed me, I blinked a few times, then shook my head.
The old woman’s forehead lifted and a smile blossomed on her face, stained dentures in plain sight. “He said, ‘I know.’ Ha!” She slapped her hands together, laughing with her eyes as her short legs dipped. “Come on, y’all!” she commanded the crowd of people lined up to speak with my family. “Let the good people eat. We got food prepared for ‘em at the tables. Let them eat, then y’all can give y’all condolences.”
Almost in an instant, the line dispersed. My mother promenaded over to me, weariness painted all over her beautiful face. Taaliba, Monica, and the girls behind her, circling us, creating privacy as all eyes in the room were on us.
“Are you ready to call it quits, queen?” I asked her. “The limo’s outside waiting.”
Her arm snaked around my back as she moved in to hug me. “Just a few more minutes,” she murmured. “I won’t stay too long. Stacy’s probably already started dinner back at the house.”
“Okay. Just say the word and we can go,” I informed.
She patted my back before ambling over to the tables a young man was directing them to.
I glanced down to Bilan, still at my side. Her eyes were pinned to my mother. She seemed concerned. I pulled Bilan into me by the side. “You want something to nibble on?”
Her eyes roved up to me, changing from concern to guilt. Bilan shook her head, grabbing my hand and leaning into me.
“I’m sorry for your loss, Deek,” she whispered, squeezing my hand.
Deek…
Bilan only used that name under particular circumstances. This time, she was trying to finesse me.
I dropped my face to meet her forehead. “You’re my gain—will always be my gain.”
She rolled her eyes, fighting a grin. “Not like Sadik?”
“Sadik could never be his mother. He could never fulfill my needs like she does.” Ever.
Speaking of our son lifted my spirit instantly. Now I missed him. The best thing was falling asleep with him on my chest for a nap and awakening to his little head lifted as he gazed at me. Within seconds, he’d smile, recognizing his old man. And when I’d ask him what he was smiling at, the rumbles from my chest would make him laugh. It was love expressed in a way I never knew possible.
I didn’t see Tiffany approach, so I was surprised when Bilan squeezed my hand again. My eyes bounced around for a short while until landing on Tiffany’s long blonde wig. It was parted in the center with the roots a yellowish shade. My eyes rolled down to her face.
“You mind if I talk to you alone?”
I gave her an empty expression. Would she pick this event of others to pull me from Bilan to speak privately?
“Please,” she urged, then her eyes swept over to Bilan.
I followed her line of vision. Bilan’s expression mirrored mine. Emptiness veneering disbelief.
Bilan pulled in a long, quiet breath. “I need to call and check on Sadik.”
I watched her walk off, pulling her phone from her purse.
“Is it that fuckin’ serious?”
I faced Tiffany. “What?”
“Her having to be all uptight. We just buried family!” Her arm swung behind her. “Why do I feel this divide now?”
“Are you implying Bilan is the cause of it?”
“Like shit, she is. Look at how she reacted to me just talking to you. We ain’t kids; I get it. We fucked, but now you got a girl. I get it, but why the hell do I have to act like I don’t know you?”
“Who asked you to do that?”
“That’s basically what she wants!”
“Basically?” I challenged, calm demeanor opposite of hers.
“When I hit up Rory yesterday, asking where we was staying, she said the family was staying at your place in Macen Beach.”
“Okay...”
“Okay? I ain’t even know you had a place in South Carolina. So when I asked to be picked up from the airport and brought to the house, she gone say that ain’t possible. She said the house belong to you and Bilan. What the fuck?”
“You think it’s okay for you to stay at Bilan’s house?” My voice was even.
Tiffany’s jaw dropped, then her eyes. She balled her mouth. It took her a moment to rebound. “This is a family matter. We always come together: you know that. Everybody knows that! We can put our shit to the side and support each other. I heard Irene ain’t doing well. It’s fucked up that I can’t be there with her.”
I cocked my head to the side, lifting a brow. My father, yes, but Tiffany didn’t have the type of relationship with my mother to provide her comfort.
“Listen...” She took a deep breath, eyes rolling below. “Palmer was my family, too. He and my father was mad tight. I wanna be with my family this afternoon and tonight. Why am I being penalized because your girlfriend can’t accept you had a past before meeting—when meeting—her?”
I changed stances, pulling my arms in front of my pelvis, clasping my left hand over my right wrist. “Let’s get one fuckin’ thing straight. You were before Bilan, not during. Don’t you dare try to create that narrative. Secondly, you made clear who you are to her the minute you show up to my apartment requesting shit you left on my jet.” Tiffany’s neck snapped back as her mouth fell open again.
I nodded. “Yeah. Your lil’ cute ass slip was hugely inconvenient for me. I almost had to share with her family business Earl wouldn’t even want my mother knowing.”
“And how was I supposed to know that?”
“By you simply keeping your fuckin’ mouth shut and not taunting her.”
“Taunting?” Her face balled. “Man, nobody was bothering that lil’ girl!”
My eyes narrowed. “Little girl?” I stepped closer to her, hands still at my pelvic line. “What did you leave behind on the jet, Tiff?”
She blinked a few times. “I thought it was just my earrings, but I found them. Then I realized I left my slippers.”
“You couldn’t just buy a new pair of slippers?”
Her head reared. “They’re Ase Garb!”
I began sauntering off. “I’ll have Rory ship you a pair in every fuckin’ color. See you back in Jersey, Tiff.”
Palmer, my father’s most trusted ally, was dead. A stroke. It took him out the day after Iban appeared in my son’s nursery. It was too much. Two fallen soldiers; one guided him, and he protected and aided both. The law didn’t catch up to Palmer. The stress of the game did.
The physical and harmonious rhythm of the powerful waves hypnotized me. It reminded me of the might of nature, versus the might of mortal stress. I imagined myself fighting against the fierce and angry waves, miles into the sea. That would be real danger. It would mean life—more like death. There would be no need to fight. Just concede to death. Whereas the drama I’d experienced in the past nine months since being kidnapped by Damien was optional stress, at least it was what I’d been telling myself. I’d survived it all. Even as the stressors kept rolling in, so had the blessings. I could choose to focus on the latter rather than the prior.
However, it would have to be a choice. Like today: I would have never thought Palmer’s death would bring me back to my dream home that I now wrestled with for nostalgia. But I was here, with my two loves and their family: my family. I was worried about Sadik, the senior. He’d been under tremendous stress; more, I’d been learning, than ever as it related to his family. I’d never seen him so withdrawn and narrowly focused. This was weird because baby Sadik and I were saturated with his father’s care, attention, and affection. He spent most of his time with us, though he continued working, sometimes during odd hours to make up for the time he put in transitioning our family from his penthouse after Iban’s accident. He was present and in each moment with us, but…only to us and his work.
