The Rhyme of Love (Love in Rhythm & Blues Book 2)

by Love Belvin

  “Yo!” I try to defend myself.

  “You heard what the fuck I said?”

  I don’t guard myself when she swings and smacks my joint so hard I crumble to the floor, holding myself.

  “Never! Never!”

  Her fist hits my back, but I don’t feel much of it. My pain is in my privates. I’m praying for it to blow over.

  “You hear me, Gee-Gee?”

  My leg kicking out with force woke me out of my sleep. Quickly, I leaped up from the couch out of breath, my eyes wild and searching. The t.v. was still on and muted, the curtains drawn, blocking out the sun. I turned back for the bedroom and saw the bed untouched as it had been since she left. Slowly, my eyes closed and when I dumped my face in my hands, I felt the sweat from it. The dreams were getting out of control.

  Something about this felt familiar. The confusion, secrets, the stress, lies, and the hiding from someone who represented light to me. I’d been here before and couldn’t afford to go back. I didn’t want to lose the light and get trapped in darkness again.

  Not after…

  I shook my head as all the air left my lungs. Nah… I couldn’t go back there. I deserved more than the bed of hell of my memories. Memories that were now nightmares. I deserved more. I deserved redemption from this shit.

  I grabbed my phone from the coffee table and dialed a number.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Yeah. Everything ready for Drai’s?”

  “Yes. D.J. Scratch is available and has confirmed his attendance. Should I arrange the G550 for your flight to Vegas?”

  “Nah. That’s been handled already. The apartment?”

  “She had the cleaning staff in two days ago. They’re done. I plan on sliding through to make sure it’s correct. I have a designer coming through to redo the dining room tabletop, kitchen counter décor, and bathroom touch ups.”

  I rubbed my eyes. “The yacht?”

  “I’m not done with that yet. I found one that matches your specifications, but it’s way overpriced. I know what we’re working with in terms of what you can afford, but I have a friend of mine getting me the number to a Swedish businessman…real big in the telecommunications market space. He has one our size and doesn’t seem to wanna make a profit so much as he wants it alive on the water to maintain it. I plan on making a pitch to him.”

  “A’ight. And the blog?”

  “Getting closer. The Bahamian one goes home a lot. I have a friend, from a smaller island I met a few years back, DM’ing a friend of hers out there. I wanna find out her schedule without asking for it directly.”

  I nodded, unhappy and impatient about the progress. “I’ll let you get back to work.”

  “Okay.”

  I ended the call, tossed the phone on the other side of the couch and covered my face again, taking a deep breath.

  This is misery…

  We stepped into the ranch well after two in the morning. I was spent, and was sure everyone else was, too. It was a brutal night at the studio where seasoned producers evaluated the music and work we’d been putting in for close to two weeks now. Most of them Skyped in like Young Lord, Mario Winans, Swizz Beats, Rico Love, 9th Wonder, and even Young Guru. Two, Janét Ulepic and Scott Leedsman, who was Young Lord’s engineer guy, showed at the studio. Most of those people were nameless and unknown to me until their resumes were introduced and I was blown away. Our tracks were sent to them a couple of days ago after Diane Roberts wrapped up her session of the boot camp.

  Tonight, everything had been critiqued from the sound, mix, drums, cadence, vocals, and even lyrics—including mine. It wasn’t easy having my words of passion picked apart and questioned, but I took it like a trooper and welcomed the criticism. Most of my group members didn’t have such studious attitudes. Young Guru criticized the engineering of B City’s voices on the track I wrote. He said he even heard too much background noise. Rico went back and forth with him spiritedly for a while until he snapped, spewed a few choice expletives and stormed out of the room.

  Quietly, the group dispersed as soon as we filed into the French doors of the ranch.

  Jemah, did offer to Rico, “Yo, playa, tomorrow’s another day to get our shit tight. We got this.”

  “Word,” Irv added. “You know they fucking with us on that “Making the Band” bullshit.”

  “On god,” Jon followed up with as they neared their hall to the right of the entryway.

  I hung a left toward the stairs without a word. My mind was filled with pushing myself to get up in less than four hours to work out.

  “Wynter,” my name was barked. I turned to see Teke had stopped near the foyer. Jemah’s eyes bounced between the two of us before she forced herself to the same staircase I had to travel. “I can be up around nine to go over vocal layering and how to write a dope bridge.”

  His voice was laced with weary due to the hour and the shitty night we’d had, but it was also filled with generosity. I didn’t want to make him feel uncomfortable for trying to bring me up to speed on skills that were remedial to him. For now, I just wanted to accept his offer and go to bed. No need trying to protect a husband who hadn’t even fucking called.

  With a soft smile, I nodded. “Thanks.”

  When Teke acknowledged it, I began my hike up the steps. Unconsciously, I pulled my phone to my face and went into the Instagram app that kept alerting me of notifications. By the time I reached the top of the stairs, I realized they were reactions from a post I made three hours ago. Only I was in the studio being ripped apart three hours ago, my phone all forgotten about. Traveling down the long hall toward the master suite, I tapped on my post. It was a picture of necklaces, Chanel to be exact. There were four different ones, but two were stretched out over a jewelry display case.

  The caption read: So many options when spending his cash.

  It ended with the dollar sign tongue emoji. My feet stopped moving at the double doors of the suite. This was bullshit. I didn’t post this. No way I could afford Chanel. And Raj sure as hell didn’t buy me any. The only jewelry he’d ever gotten me was the Tiffany necklace I wore every day. Seething, I began to feel hot. Boiling blood shot from every artery of my body. I could feel my jaw tighten. This could only be one person. Myisha. She was the only one with access to my social media passwords. She used to post things for me to legitimize my marriage to her cousin. Well, didn’t she know he sent me off with no promises of continuing our friendship?

  Why would she make me out to be a gold digger after spending a month getting to know me? Shit. She’d bought me more shit, tricking me out, than her cousin! I didn’t have access to his money and she knew it. With more energy, I opened one of the doors, entered the room then slammed it closed behind me. I couldn’t sit down quick enough to make sure this shit didn’t happen again. I started by deleting that first fucking post. Then I changed my password there. Next, I got on my laptop and changed my email and passwords on all of my other social media accounts.

  My hands trembled, and heart raced as I moved swiftly from one account to the next. I considered deleting all of social media but wouldn’t give the McKinnons the pleasure of that reaction. My thoughts went to Mike Brown, the initiator of these fucked up relationships. I never wished death on anyone, but I did consider my freedom from all of them on the other side of his life.

  Betrayal fucking hurt.

  ~4~

  “Sorry I’m running late.”

  I looked up from my Audemars as Molly rushed into the small waiting room with her small arms filled with folders. I caught a glimpse of Lil Bruh posted outside the door before she kicked it closed behind her. There had to be bad news for her to ask to see me and not just shoot an email. I had so much to do. I’d just left a meeting with my product manager and lawyers in Manhattan to drive all the way over to Bernardsville, New Jersey for this “important” meeting. This cut into my time with D.J. Scratch to go over my show at Drai’s tomorrow. That was all the way in Englewood, right back near the City. And I wa
s lucky he was so close just before the show, and I didn’t have to fly out to Vegas a day early just to vibe and plan with him before we did the show. On top of that, I was sick as hell. Post-nasal drip and a scratchy voice was not a good look before a show; it didn’t matter, it wasn’t a full concert.

  “S’all gravy,” I offered as she sat at the other end of the small table. The paperwork she struggled carrying spilled out over the table and she tried drawing it back into a neat pile. “You good?”

  Molly giggled, stacking the thick folders as much as possible. “I will be.” She bit her bright red bottom lip as she struggled. “Okay,” she breathed, finally looking at me. Those aquamarines ablaze with emotion. “Mr. McKinnon—”

  “It’s Raj, Molly. You know that.”

  No need to add to her obvious anxiety with unnecessary formalities. I’d been knowing Molly for over a year now. We were past that.

  “I know.” She rolled her eyes and shook her head. “First, thanks for meeting with me on such short notice. I know you’re a busy man and this may be costing you money—literally. But I couldn’t do this over the phone.” She took a deep breath and tried calming herself. “The state’s pulling the plug on the Bearing Love program.” Another breath. “We got word a few days ago from our project manager, and my boss has spent the past few days, trying to negotiate to have them rescind or even downsize. It hasn’t worked, so we wanted to reach out to you as a courtesy.”

  “Program’s been running and well for over a year.” I scratched my bottom lip as my eyes grazed the table blindly, trying to come up with something. Anything. This was messed up. “You guys have data on the progress of your work. You can’t write some stats to retrodict your purpose?”

  Molly shook her head. “Nothing so far.”

  “Is it the money? Do I need to dig deeper to supplement more?”

  Again, those blonde waves of her hair swung. “We reached our supplement funding requirement for the budget period.”

  “Then why’re they pulling the plug? It’s always about money. Gotta be. We ain’t even at the end of the three-year-pilot period.”

  “We have a new governor. A new administration means new priorities and new agendas. To be honest, word is Bearing Love only got green-lighted because of a favor the old administrator owed a friend of one of our bosses here. This is considered a ‘luxury’ program. The new government doesn’t see identifying sexually abused children, rerouting them from the foster care waiting list, assuming legal care, bringing them out here to ‘no-where rural New Jersey,’ and treating them with intense counseling and music therapy a viable alternative. The powers that be at the upper echelon government level have to be on board with it for it to succeed, no matter how sound and revolutionary the approach is.” She shrugged. “Unfortunately, that’s how it goes around here.”

  I chuckled, scratching inside of my beard.

  “What’s so funny?” she asked with a soft smile.

  “Nah. It’s just that I just took a meeting a few days ago with the state.” I shook my head, still chuckling. “They need something from me and I turned them down.”

  Her eyes ignited with amazement. “Whoa! The state? You turned them down?”

  I jerked my neck, shrugging. “It’s just property. I bet they don’t even realize how they just rep’ed their right hook back at me.”

  “Too bad you choose to be anonymous here.” Molly was suggesting I could have possibly used that as leverage to keep the program alive.

  I scoffed. “If only it were that simple. Politics ain’t my thing, Molly.”

  Her eyes fell below, and she nodded her acceptance.

  “How long are we talking?”

  “We don’t know yet. Possibly six months. Perhaps a year before they’re registered for foster care.”

  My eyes closed and squeezed on their own. I grabbed the bridge of my nose. This was the last thing I expected when she hit me up.

  “Anyway.” She began sifting through the mountain of folders she carted in here. “Benji will be an easy placement. He’s older—could possibly be fifteen before this program shuts down. Mathew and Devon won’t be as easy a sell. Mathew’s anxiety and medications make him an unlikely candidate for fast placement. And Devon’s trauma happened over such a stretch of time, the only way to ensure his development and healthy survival at this point is long term therapy. Otherwise, he’ll be another Newark statistic. You know?”

  My eyes fell to hide the vividness of that prospect. Molly didn’t know I invested in this program to try to foster a connection to boys like me. She had no clue how knowing I was doing something to help boys with similar scars to mine helped me feel human. I’d prayed for years for an opportunity to pay it forward with anonymity. Out of nowhere, Ezra hit me up with information on this program. He said he’d heard about it from the manager of a group home near his place. It had been the perfect match.

  Now, I sat here regretting it. How can I let go of these young boys and toss them to the wolves of foster care? I’d met them twice, but they had no knowledge of my sponsorship. I never wanted anyone to know.

  “I have an evaluation to get to but want to leave you with this. Another reason I couldn’t do this over the phone.” She slid a sealed envelope over to me before gathering her things to go. “If you have any questions, don’t hesitate to call.” Her smile was warm and final neck bow professional.

  I returned the bow but was too curious about the envelope for words or facial gestures. As the door closed behind her, my phone vibrated over the table.

  J-Exec: All’s clear for tomorrow. Also peep this… https://instagram.com/p/BfvxABKHxjS/

  It was an IG link I automatically clicked on without thought. It took me to a post made the day before. It was a picture of some young girls in some parking lot with Teke and… Wynter. She stood next to one of the girls, holding the peace sign, smiling bright and looking sexy as fuck. She wore a big blue, silky looking blouse with long sleeves and coochie shorts.

  When did she start wearing those?

  Then I had to remind myself I met her last fall; I had no idea what she wore before moving into my homes. Her teeth were bright and nicely aligned. God, it felt like forever since I’d seen the light of them. The slide-in heels she wore made the look less casual, but the way Wynter crossed one leg over the other, she appeared very comfortable in her skin. And fit. Her thighs looked to have toned since she left.

  She’s still working out…

  That discovery made my heart swell with pride and jealousy. My eyes scrolled down the line where Wynter and Teke were separated by one girl. His head was to the side and smile loaded with arrogance, speaking more to me than I should have believed he was.

  The caption read: And then this… Going to load up on cheap junk before the movies and see fine ass Teke from B City stroll out of Quick-Shop with this beauty.

  I could see someone asked was Wynter and Teke a couple. The girl responded, “It looked like Teke wanted to be.” Then as I kept reading—like the pathetic ass I am—I saw someone sensibly explain Wynter was married to me. No one responded to that in all the eighty comments there. Because I read them all.

  I came out of the app and clicked to rest my phone. My back reclined in the chair as I took a deep breath, and my fingers went to my beard as I thought. The truth was I needed to get to that meeting with Scratch, but I felt exhausted all of a sudden by the blows coming. Seeing her with this clown reminded how far we’d drifted, and so soon after finally connecting. And I couldn’t forget about the news I was just hit with about Bearing Love.

  That reminder brought my attention to the envelope Molly left. I ripped it open by the flap and pulled out the contents. There were brochures on the adoption program in the state. The one on top was specific to the registry. Buried in between was a letter not addressed to anyone neither was it signed. It was, however, detailed with specific steps on how to adopt a child or specific children who are in need of a home.

  Tossing the papers down, I la
ughed my ass off.

  I muttered to myself, “I got a play-play wife I’m tryna legitimize, a business manager I’m praying will keep his life, and a grimy cousin I’m weeding out my life. Even if she lets me back into her life, there’s no way I can bring three kids with me. She really gone think I’m crazy!”

  And by the way, Wynter, these ain’t all black boys. One’s mixed with some crazy ass combo, and the other’s white…

  I stood laughing, needing to go.

  Even with the laughter, my chest ached with a pain like no other.

  We came bustling through the door, looking a sweaty sight. I couldn’t stop laughing at Teke’s pathetic limp after he crawled out of the limo.

  “You’re horrible!” I teased, holding the door for him.

  “And you’re evil,” he emitted with little breath to spare.

  I had very little in my lungs, too, from cracking the hell up at him.

  “See…” I tsked. “I told you those energy drinks are bullshit and wouldn’t help with cardio.”

  We were returning from a private guided mountain hike. It was a guided trail and admittedly, I wasn’t a strong runner, but Teke couldn’t even make it a full mile before his knees buckled. Sean, a son of one of the L.I.T. Music executives, came out with us and had to endure Teke’s blasphemous grumbles and complaints. He had to hear my bursts of laughter, too, as I cracked the fuck up from his laziness.

  Sean’s cheeks were a deep hue of pink, I was sure from the exercise as well as our antics. “Time to soak in the fucking tub, dude,” he bade as he toed down the hall toward his room, looking a bit pained, too.

  The mountain was no easy feat, but it didn’t kill me. It actually distracted me. Teke helped, too.

  “You gonna be alright, bud?” I babied him, swiping my hand across his head while he leaned over with his hands on his knees. “You know we stopped walking over twenty minutes ago?” I lifted a brow.

  “Nah. Every step I take for the rest of the day is gonna be painful.” His face was stretched in torment.