“I’m sure Charlotte had something to do with you stopping by. I told that girl to leave it alone.”
I frowned, knowing the truth likely was that my mother told my sister how long it’d been since I’d last visited, ad nauseum, hoping that she’d get me to stop by. I loved my mother but she was difficult as hell to deal with.
“Charlotte didn’t say anything. I wanted to stop by and see how you were doing. For myself.” I glanced around the spacious two-thousand square foot condo I’d purchased for my mother about five years prior. The hardwood floors and open floor plan would’ve been anyone’s dream home. The place was decorated in earth tones, and there were a number of paintings that lined the walls depicting various images of black men and women, either holding one another, cradling the earth and such. My mother had loved such images when I was a child. Now, however, the only thing she seemed to love was telling the world how much I didn’t visit her.
“I told you over the phone, I’ve been fine.” My mother, at five foot nine, extended her heavy arms, displaying the oversized T-shirt she wore and baggy grey sweatpants before she plopped down on the brown leather loveseat. My mother had let herself go in more ways than one since my father died.
“You quit going to that gym class you had been telling me about?” I moved fully into the living room space and sat diagonal from my mother on the long couch but angled my body to see her.
Her dark eyes averted, turning to the fireplace that she never used.
“All them rich white women going to that fancy gym. All they do is talk about where their child is going to school or what play he or she is in or whatever.” She waved her hand in the air.
“What does a bunch of mothers bragging on their kids have to do with you not working out? I thought you liked it there? The gym is only right around the corner from here.” Lord knows, she didn’t get out the house to do anything else. Over the years, I’d signed my mother up to do so many different things she used to like. But she either found an excuse to stop going or never go in the first place.
“It’s too cold to go out and sweat, and then have to walk back over here all wet in the cold.”
I held my tongue, avoiding telling her that winter was winding down and had been mild this year. That just wasn’t my place. If she wanted to spend her days inside, who the hell was I to force her out? My job was to make sure she had a comfortable roof over her head, food in her refrigerator, and money for the bills and any other spending she needed. I’d done my job.
“I don’t like working out with other people no way. I’ll just pop in one of those DVDs Charlotte bought for me and do it here. You staying for dinner?”
I wanted to say no but felt obligated since I knew she’d be eating alone. Charlotte lived in the same building but had an active social life. And from what she’d told me earlier in the day, she was going out with some friends for dinner.
“What are you having?”
“Some rice and gravy, peas, and fried chicken.”
I cringed. I’d just have to put in a few more hours at the gym that week to make up for dinner.
“Yeah, I’ll stay.”
I saw my mother’s eyes light up for just a second, but then the frown that seemed to be etched into her face permanently returned.
“Let me go heat this food up.”
I nodded and stood, removing my suit jacket and tie. I didn’t see the point in keeping them on since I was only having dinner with my mother.
As we sat down to the wooden dining table that sat right in front of the sliding glass doors leading to the balcony, I glanced up and admired the view from her window.
“What you staring at? Someone peeking in here?” My mother turned to look out the window. “This is why I keep the damn blinds closed. Charlotte always coming in here opening these damn things.”
“No, Mama,” I insisted, “I was just checking out the view. At the sunset.”
“Oh.” She waved a dismissive hand, turning back to the table.
I shook my head. “Thanks for dinner, Ma. You cooked this?”
Nodding, she shrugged. “Nothing else to do around here.”
“That cooking class you signed up for last year still on-going? Since you like cooking—”
“I ain’t going to no cooking class. Them people didn’t even know what lard was.”
I frowned.
The last thing my mother needed was to be cooking with some damn lard. It was a healthy cooking class that Charlotte had told me about, asking me to sign our mother up for it, aka pay for it.
“Tell me about business,” my mother insisted as we ate.
I swallowed a forkful of the rice with gravy before wiping my mouth. “Business is business.”
“And them watches you love?”
“They’re coming along. Sean just dropped off a mockup of one today. We’ll have a prototype of it soon, hopefully.”
My mother rolled her eyes and planted her elbow on the table, pointing her fork at me. “I don’t know why you keep that boy around. If he’s anything like his mother …”
“Sean’s cool, Mama.”
“Anita took that boy all the way to California. She didn’t even come back when your daddy died. What type of sister is that?”
My hand tightened around the fork I held. Sean was my cousin on my father’s side. My Aunt Anita was my father’s sister. Apparently, either before I was born or when I was real young, my mother and my aunt had had some type of falling out. My aunt moved to California with her then husband when Sean was only a few months old. She didn’t speak to our side of the family for years, even well after my father died. It wasn’t until her husband died and she moved back to Williamsport when Sean was sixteen and I was seventeen that I even met them. But like I said, Sean was my right hand. Whatever was between my aunt and my mother was their damn business.
“She’s selfish. Lamar was dead in his damn grave, his two kids starving after he died, and she ain’t have the damn decency—”
“Mama, let it go.”
“I’ll let it go, all right. As soon as she apologizes for what she di—”
“Drop it!” I snapped, slamming my hand on the table.
Her tirade stopped abruptly, mouth parted and eyes bulged as if she couldn’t believe I raised my voice at her. Shit, neither could I. I might not enjoy spending too much time with my mother but I always managed to maintain a certain level of respect. After all, she was the woman who’d brought me into this world. But when she started talking about my father? Well, that always brought up memories I’d rather forget.
Truth be told, Aunt Anita had apologized to both Charlotte and I for not being around when my father died. She’d tried to apologize to my mother, too, but got rejected. My mother much rather preferred sitting in her bitterness.
“I’m sorry, Mama—”
“No, no.” She shook her head. “I see she done got to you too. I bet you think she’s a better mother than I am. Wish she had raised you instead of me.”
I bit my tongue and neglected to tell her that she’d barely raised me. Once my father was killed, for months she was barely able to get out of bed. And when she finally did, she might as well have stayed there.
“Bullshit,” I mumbled as I watched my mother walk off down the hall, clearly pissed off. I wasn’t about to run after her like my father had always done. I’d been taking care of her like I was the parent and she was the damn child.
I went over to the sink and scrapped the uneaten portion of my food into the disposal before sticking all of our dishes into the dishwasher. It was only then I discovered the damn thing was full with dishes that still had yet to be cleaned. I put our dirty dishes in the sink before turning the dishwasher on to clean what was already there.
I didn’t bother saying bye to my mother. When she got like this, time and distance were the best remedies. I set the alarm before heading out to the garage where I’d parked. It’d likely be another few months before I was back over here.
; Chapter Six
Damon
“Dad!” I yelled down the dark alleyway.
He turned to me, but in the dark I couldn’t see the expression on his face.
“Son? What the hell are you doing here?” He sounded panicked even to my thirteen-year-old ears.
“I—”
“Shh!” He looked up as if hearing something. “Shit. Get behind that dumpster and don’t come out until I come and get you.”
“Dad, wait—”
“Damon, do as your father tells you!” he ordered. “And don’t let nobody see you.”
Moving quickly, assisted by his pushing at my shoulders, I ducked behind the dumpster, low so that I couldn’t be seen by anyone who passed.
“Remember, stay there.”
I’d never heard that tone of voice from my father. I’d heard him calm, in charge, even pissed off but never scared. And recognizing that in that moment, my father was scared, terrified me.
I worked hard to keep my breathing under control. I tried to move my head around to be able to see past the side of the dumpster, to spot my father, but I stopped moving when I heard another voice.
“You got the stuff?”
I wasn’t familiar with the person who the voice belonged to.
“Yeah, I got it, but things have changed.”
Somehow, I knew that wasn’t a good thing.
“I’m not doing this anymore. I got a family—”
Laughter sounded.
“A fucking family? We all got families. You think you’re the only one with skin in this fucking game?”
“My concern isn’t for anyone else.”
I swallowed as my heart raced.
“Fuck your family!” another voice sounded. A millisecond later I heard the distinct sound of spit hitting the ground.
“And fuck you,” my father retorted.
“Is that necessary, Lamar? We been in business together, what? Fifteen years? Since you was a teen ya self. How old’s your boy now?”
“Don’t ever mention my fucking son.”
“Temper. I’m just saying you weren’t much older than him when you joined this game, were you? I bet he likes that fancy school and nice house he lives in. It’d be a—”
Whoever the man was that’d been talking about me stopped when a clicking sound went off.
“Lamar, put away your fucking gun.”
“Nah, you wanted to mention my son so now this is what it’s gotta be.” My father’s voice hardened into what I recognized as his protective mode. He used it often when we were out in public and some dude tried to talk to my mother or some person would come up asking for something.
A few more clicking sounds sounded.
“You’re out gunned, Lamar. What’d you think you could take me on all by your damn self?”
“If need be,” my father responded, defiantly.
“You thought wrong, motherfucker!”
I gasped and then quickly covered my mouth with both my hands and squeezed my eyes shut when loud popping sounds that sounded like firecrackers started going off.
****
“Shit!” I sat up in bed sweaty and chest heaving as I woke up from my dream. Blinking a couple of times, I glanced around my darkened bedroom, before turning to the clock on my nightstand. It read twelve-oh-eight.
Fuck! I thought, running my hands through my low cut Caesar. I hated waking up in the middle of the night like this, though I was no stranger to it either. Pushing the blankets and sheets off of me, I grabbed my phone to check the date. It was a Thursday which meant I could easily find a fight down at our spot. And since sleep wasn’t going to happen that night, I stood from my bed, stretching before grabbing a pair of grey sweats, a T-shirt, socks, and sneakers, and was out the door in minutes. I always kept a duffle bag of fighting clothes in the trunk of my car.
Twenty minutes later I was pulling into the underground garage that was connected to the basement of the building we fought in. I parked, hopped out of my car, grabbed the bag from my trunk, and within a few minutes was pounding against the metal door. Two knocks, wait a second, then another three knocks—the secret code to alert whoever was watching the door that night the person on the other side belonged there.
“Damon, what’s up?”
I nodded and slapped hands with the young guy who’d opened up for me.
“Come to watch or participate?”
“Fight,” I answered.
“That’s what I’m talking about.” Grinning, he rubbed his hands together.
“Who’s here tonight, Rich?”
“Doc, Brick, and you so far to fight. A few of the newer guys just came to watch.”
I nodded.
“Buddy’s in the back.”
“Cool.” I strolled off and gave a couple of head nods to some of the guys who were sitting around the ring we’d set up, waiting for the next bout.
“Nightmares still keeping you up?”
I narrowed my eyes and turned to the five-foot-eight pain in the ass. “Mind your damn business.”
Buddy grinned and laughed as if he cracked his own self up. Buddy was older, in his fifties, and had been a boxing coach and trainer for years. Now, he was the guy who refereed, supervised, and even helped patch up the fighters down here. I’d known him for years yet had never told him about the dreams that kept me up some nights. But I suspected I wasn’t the only one who had trouble sleeping at night. Shit, why the hell would any other sane adult be out in the middle of the damn night fighting for nothing but the bragging rights within our underground circle?
“Doc’s up tonight. I was going to put him in the ring with Brick, but I can save Brick for Daniel. You want a shot at Doc?”
“Hell yeah.”
Buddy narrowed his pale green eyes that wrinkled at the corners and nodded. “Get changed.”
I passed Buddy to head to the changing room where I threw on a pair of shorts. Buddy came in a minute later and helped me wrap my hands. Five minutes later, I was entering the ring and came face-to-face with the guy we referred to as “Doc.”
The jackass had the nerve to grin when he turned and saw me.
“Want a rematch, huh? Last time wasn’t enough of an ass whooping?”
I frowned. “Talking shit usually leads to trouble, pretty boy. Close your damn mouth and lets get this started so I can wear that ass out.”
Doc chuckled.
I pictured myself dislodging one of his perfect pearly white teeth from his damn jaw. I didn’t dislike the man or anything, but the last time we were in the ring together, he’d caught me off guard and I walked around with bruised ribs for a week. I’ll also mention that that had been the night of Joshua’s wedding. After I’d taken Scarlet home and fucked her but still wasn’t satisfied because I hadn’t had the woman I really wanted. Images of Sandra in that long, black dress that had held those curves of hers just right had danced around in my head even while fighting. That was how Doc aka Jacob was able to knock me off my square.
“Shit!” I grunted as I ducked a fist aimed at my temple. I’d done it again. Gotten lost in thoughts of her while in the ring. Hell, at least my mind was off the fucking dreams.
“Fuck!” Doc grunted just after my left hook landed in his ribs.
“Payback’s a mother lover, ain’t she!” I taunted, as I circled Doc.
We had one rule in the ring. No head shots. We’d recently implemented it. Like I said, we all were businessmen and professionals. We weren’t keen on the idea of walking around with black eyes or bruised cheekbones and shit.
Doc and I continued to circle one another, bouncing on the balls of our feet, keeping ourselves light on our toes. It helped when it came time to pivot out of the way. Doc attempted to land a leg sweep, one of his signature moves, but I wasn’t falling for that shit. He was a sneaky motherfucker in the ring. His speed was second only to Joshua’s. Considering I was bulkier than Doc, I was a touch slower but my blows made an impact. So, when I did make contact it slowed his ass
down.
We went three rounds until Buddy finally called it.
“Give someone else a turn, why don’t you?” he yelled out, getting in between us.
Doc and I touched fists to signal the end of the match and then ambled our way out of the ring. Two more guys entered but I didn’t bother to turn back to see who was fighting.
“Nice spin move to avoid the leg sweep. You been practicing,” Doc stated as he tossed me a towel in the changing room.
I caught it with one hand. “The only reason you caught me off guard last time is ’cause I had shit on my mind.” I pulled a bottle of water from the refrigerator in the changing room. Again, that was Joshua’s thing.
“We all got shit on our mind.”
I nodded and swallowed. “How’s the cosmetic surgery business? Ass implants still taking up most of your day?”
He gave a half smile and rolled his eyes. “Not as much.”
“Then breast implants.”
“Those will never grow old.”
I chuckled. In our out-of-the-ring life, Jacob was actually an up and coming plastic surgeon. I’d once asked him why the hell a surgeon would get into a goddamned fight club. There was a high percentage of broken fingers, sprained wrists, and the like. The absolute worst things for a surgeon. He’d only shook his head, shrugged, and said he had his reasons. Shit, we all did.
“I’m heading out. See ya’ next week?”
I nodded. “Probably.”
We slapped hands and Jacob exited.
I thought about heading home but then the memory of the dream that woke me came to mind. Getting back to sleep with that shit on my mind wasn’t an option. So I chose to stay and watch another fight.
As I watched the next two fighters, my mind drifted from the dream I’d had earlier to the woman I was supposed to be seeing this Saturday. That’d been happening a lot lately. Getting lost in thoughts about Sandra and the brief kiss we shared. Hell, I wasn’t convinced it could even be called a kiss. A mere brushing together of the lips was more like it, but I’d be damned if it didn’t make me physically ache for more.
****
Just Say The Word Page 7
