Alpha Crusher: A BWWM Romance Novella

by Shani Greene-Dowdell

  I hadn’t been there five minutes, and I could already feel my heart start to race and my hands ball into tight fists.

  “Don’t EVER call her an animal. She’s the love of my life,” I said sternly so that he knew I wasn’t here for the derogatory name calling.

  My Dear Old Dad squinted his eyes and glared at me as if I had somehow went out of my way to betray him.

  “That nigger ain’t the love of your life. You need real help, Son.”

  I leaped to within an inch or so from his face so that I was looking him directly in his eyes. I tried desperately to ignore the fact that I looked exactly like him. I was so close I could smell the coffee he drank this morning on his breath. I began making real deliberate attempts at trying to calm myself down from doing the worst. I didn’t want to hit my father, but disrespecting Tameka would be the button to push to make that happen.

  “Pay attention, and I want to make this really clear as this won’t be up for debate nor discussion,” I said damn near through my teeth. I could feel the vein in my forehead pumping quickly.

  “I asked for Tameka’s hand in marriage, and she said yes. This is the happiest I have ever been in life, Dad. She’s going to be my wife, and you’re going to have to fucking deal with it or stay out of our lives!”

  “Your wife? Son, have you lost your damn mind?” He backed up from my face and began to pace the porch, making a creaking sound with every other step. “You ain’t goin’ ta’ be parading around this town that your ancestors built with no...with no colored girl. I’ll tell you that right now.”

  I couldn’t take it anymore, but just as my fist began rising up, my cousin, Channing, rushed out the front door and grabbed it just in enough time.

  “Easy, easy, Jeb…he’s an old man,” I could hear Channing say, but my mind was focused on the face of the man who took me to baseball games, showed me how to climb trees, and also tried to brainwash me into thinking we were superior to black people. “It’s not worth it,” Channing said.

  I started to back up all while keeping my gaze on my father. The old man was ready to take the hit and wouldn’t back down just because I wanted to stray from our bigoted family traditions.

  “She’s going to be my wife, and we’re going to have little brown children with your last name and your blood running through their veins. Your name and your blood!” I screamed, and then backed back to my car.

  “Over my dead body,” I heard my father yell just before I closed my door.

  I sped off, leaving Channing and my father on the porch. Channing’s worry lines were visible even as I drove away. My father, on the other hand, seemed to have no problem watching me, his only son, drive out of his life, forever.

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