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

by Love Belvin

  Not too long after that, desserts were served, and the dance floor flooded with intoxicated bodies grooving. I left for the bathroom at one point, waiting in a short line for a stall. I refreshed my makeup when I was done and teased the loose curls in my weave.

  When I made it back to the table, I saw Danny G standing guard near Raj, who was speaking with a young woman. I could only see the silk mocha of her shoulders inside the straps of her dress. As I neared them, Raj’s regard swept from her to me as his frame faced hers. I approached with a smile, guessing an introduction was looming. Raj tossed his chin to me as I took his side.

  “This is my Wynter,” he rasped, voice still not quite the same.

  When I peered over to the woman in front of him, her eyes swelled. “So, is this for real? Because if it ain’t, you could have called me to help out.”

  I almost choked on my spit. The girl was gorgeous: full dark afro almost covering her face, dark ebony eyes, full lips, and a gold nose ring that seemed to work for her. The only complaint I could lodge against her was how tiny she was, though she wore her slender frame well. That’s when her features seemed familiar to me. She looked a lot like Regina and Zebedee.

  “You are?” I shook my head, trying to clear my voice.

  She giggled. “Khadijah Baker.” She looked me up and down without a bit of humor.

  “The family’s been nothing but amazing tonight. Please don’t go against the grain,” Raj warned, but lightly.

  She laughed, tilting her head back, telling of either her drunken disposition or sick nature. “I’m just saying. I follow the blog. I heard about Teke and company.”

  Before Raj could utter a rebuttal, I extended my hand. “I’m Wynter McKinnon, Ragee’s whole ass, for real ass, legal ass wife. I can run down to you what makes our marriage official, but I don’t think that would be fitting to do at your Dad’s extravaganza.” My nostrils were wide and eyes direct.

  “I’m just kidding.” She gasped, placing her palm over her flat chest. Her laughter was high pitched and not just to me because her mother and sister quickly joined us. “I swear. I’m just teasing Raj. He knows how I am.”

  “Kidding about what, young lady?” Regina asked as she gave her the scowl of death. “I hope you’re not over here being rude!”

  “Please don’t tell me that,” Khalira followed up with.

  Khadijah’s voice jumped over theirs, “I’m just joking with an old friend and his new and sudden wife!”

  “That childhood crush nonsense stops here, Dijah!” Regina demanded. “Apologize. Now!”

  “It’s all good,” Raj asserted. “No need to get turned up at my guy’s party. We’re ‘bout to hit the road.”

  “You don’t have to leave—” Regina tried.

  “Lira,” he reached over and grabbed Khalira by the back of her wild mane, pulling her in to him for a loving kiss on the forehead. My fucking nipples throbbed at the sight of that. I couldn’t understand why. “Good job, lady. Thanks for putting me ‘D’.” He released her, and she cut a nasty eye to her sister. “Gina, I’m coming over to go fishing in that pond.” He hugged her warmly.

  “You better,” Regina encouraged. “And bring Wynter, by all means.”

  Raj meant it when he said we were going to leave. I had hardly any time to say my goodbyes before I was trekking behind him for the main doors. By the time we made it outside, the truck was parked in front and we hopped in.

  The ride back to Jersey City was just as muted, only Raj wasn’t on the phone the entire commute. He gazed out of his window as I did mine. My thoughts were scattered. Tonight didn’t feel like work. It felt like…something more intimate. Raj didn’t feel like a stranger. He felt like a familiar ally. A friendly one. And again, his aura was different. I didn’t feel rampageous energy emanating from him as I typically could. But he was still brooding. That I could feel.

  We pulled into the underground garage and immediately, he stepped out and opened the door for me as he did when he picked me up. Ragee walked me over to the enclosed waiting area for the elevator and even punched the panel for the car. We waited in silence for it, but when the ping sounded, he spoke.

  “Thanks for tonight,” he offered formally to my back as I stepped on. “Hope it wasn’t too much trouble.”

  I turned to find a polite smile as he backed up to leave the vestibule.

  “No trouble at all. Well, until Khadijah,” I joked lightheartedly.

  Why the fuck did this feel so…melancholy?

  Raj smiled as he stepped backward. “Night, Wynter.”

  “Raj, why did you pay my bills?” It was abrupt as hell, but I had to know.

  He didn’t have a reaction to my knowing, just smoothly stopped his movements. As his hands slipped into his trouser pockets, he snorted silently, and half his face lifted in amusement.

  Raj licked his lips before softly supplying, “Because you’re my wife, Wynter. You shouldn’t have come into this with those bills. I ain’t know Mike wasn’t paying you much. That was wrong. It was the least I could do.”

  “So, is that my payment for continuing this?” I couldn’t be more curious.

  Another snort, but this one dismissive as he slipped out of the glass door, wearing a smirk that would haunt me in my sleep after my fingers slipped into the bed of my panties tonight.

  What the fuck is wrong with me?

  A nervous chuckle burst from my chest and I brought my thumb to my mouth to nibble on the nail. “I know this’s been weird. But I’m glad we met—well, for real for real.”

  I brought my hand down from my face and clasped it with the other, trying to sit up and straighten my spine. Molly’s big excited eyes went to the boys sitting across the dining room table from me.

  “I…I,” Benji stuttered. “I just don’t get it. You been helping all this time? I thought the state paid for everything.”

  “Well, Benji,” Molly’s blues were cautiously on me when she began, “that part is hard to explain. The state does pay a great portion for your care, but Mr. Ragee here has supplemented with brand new instruments for you, your laptops and other devices, clothing when you all had growth spurts outside of the normal shopping schedules. He’s even done your gifts at Christmastime, matching what the state gives.”

  I was at the home of the Bearing Love program in Bernardsville. This time, I sat in their dining room where I was officially introduced to the three kids I’d been sponsoring.

  “That’s why we got more than Mark Nelson, and them?” Devon asked point blank.

  My eyes shot to Molly, who seemed as stumped as I was.

  “Yeah.” I sat up again, still nervous about meeting kids. “I guess so. I tried getting things you needed and not a lot of flashy stuff.”

  “I like flashy.” Benji smiled from ear to ear.

  “There was a kid’s Bible, too, the last time,” Devon noted.

  “I liked that, too.” Benji shrugged.

  He was the most talkative of the three. The oldest, and a saxophonist in the making, too. Benji was short for Benjamin Jean-Claude. He was born to a Syrian mother addicted to coke, occasionally dabbling in heroine, and a Haitian pops, who sold the drugs his moms was hooked on. From what I was told, Benji was molested by another crackhead, who was friends with his mother while the mother went out on a hunt for drugs and money. This had gone on for years and his father didn’t know. Benji’s parents were never a couple. He would just give her drugs for sexual favors. But he took care of and acknowledged Benji. Benji was his second child, only son. His mother’s demise proved Benji’s father valued him when he killed her after finding out his twelve-year-old son was being molested. The senior Jean-Claude snipped the molester first.

  “What about the Bible do you like?” I asked.

  Benji shrugged. “It talks about God and Jesus. My dad believes in them. I do, too.”

  I nodded, not wanting to further question him. He was too young for more, unless he grew up in church like I did.

  “What a
bout you, Mat?” I asked. “Did you like any of the Christmas stuff? By the way, you’ve been killing it on the keys.” I wanted to hear more of him.

  His eyes lit up and little mouth twisted. “You know my nickname?” He seemed in awe.

  I nodded, running my fingers through my beard. “I know a lil something.”

  “Whoa!” His crooked teeth pierced through his narrowed lips, one lapping over the other. “Yeah. I guess everything I got was cool.” He shrugged.

  Mathew spoke the least. He had mild to severe anxiety issues and was on medication to help with it. He somehow chose piano when he came into the program. Apparently it worked, because his updates always came with notes of a temper tantrum ending with hours of piano playing.

  Mathew Peterson was a white kid from South Jersey. He, too, was sexually abused and physically by an aunt who cared for him when his parents died in a car crash while on a bus ride to the Poconos. He was only three at the time and never told anyone. But when he kept coming to school with bruises his pale skin couldn’t hide, the guidance counselor took note and notified DCPP. It didn’t take much for them to find out what was going on and remove him from the home.

  He was now eight years old and riddled with depression and selective mutism, something I’d never heard of until him. He spoke only when comfortable and feeling safe to do so. Grandmother McKinnon swore I didn’t speak when I was between twelve and sixteen. She said all I wanted to do was play instruments and fight. Hardly sang in church anymore.

  She had no idea…

  “Devon,” I moved on. “I hear you’re picking up the paradiddle rudiment, man. You gone be the next Ringo Starr.”

  He gasped. “You know he the biggest paid drummer in the world? I read that in a book I got from somewhere.” Devon frowned as though he couldn’t remember.

  I’d bought him the book for his birthday. It swelled my chest learning he’d read it.

  “I’m gonna be good enough one day to play in your band,” Mathew declared with a sideways grin.

  “Man, Ragee a singer! He ‘on’t play nothing. He sing—a lot,” Devon exclaimed. “And the girls be going crazy!”

  I killed the laugh shooting up from my stomach. I wish it were that simple. Mathew’s smile dimmed.

  “Nah,” I jumped in to save it. “I actually do play. I do the keys, the guitar…mess around on the bass a lil bit, and drums was probably my first love.”

  “Whoa!” Mathew spit.

  “Wow!” Benji followed up with.

  Devon balled his mouth and cupped his chin with his hand. “Why I ain’t never hear that in the streets?”

  I did laugh that time. So did Molly.

  “I’m not sure, but I need to find out why my man, Devon, ain’t get the memo and fix that.”

  “I’d…like to…” Mathew hesitated, “see you play all of them one day.”

  I sat back in my chair, tossing my arm over the back to appear open to him. “Then we’ll have to make that happen. Maybe I’ll ask Ms. Molly to see if I can bring my band and we can all jam together.”

  For the first time, all three burst in excitement in unison.

  “Yeah!” Benji jerked his elbow back with a clenched fist. “That would be dope!”

  Mathew’s two front choppers hung from his mouth and his cheeks spread wide. That dopey expression melted my heart. It made me happy I agreed to come out today when Molly called last week.

  “Okay, guys,” Molly broke in. “It’s time for journaling. You’ve already missed the first twenty minutes, so spend the rest of the period sharing something meaningful.”

  The guys huffed and groaned, but all were in motion.

  “Yo, Raj, man,” Devon’s little frame was next to me with his hand extended. “It was real. Thanks for everything, man.” His little frame wasn’t quite four feet. I could tell he was going to be short.

  I accepted his hand. “You sound like a G, man. I appreciate that.”

  “Real ones recognize real ones, man.” Devon didn’t smile.

  And yeah, I knew he was trying to impress me, but the mere fact he wanted to actually did. These kids had been through hell. Their trauma had less than a distance between where they were now than mine. Devon here propositioned his substitute teacher for sex, alerting his school to foul play. It took them almost a school year to find out he was being violated by a neighbor and an older cousin—separately. His mother was a young, single parent, who drank too much when she wasn’t working at the grocery store. When the story broke in the neighborhood about Devon’s abuse, she got drunk one night into the morning and hung herself in their apartment. Devon didn’t know his father, neither did the state when they tried to contact his next of kin. His grandmother had died months before and his aunt, the mother of the cousin abusing him, wanted no parts of him.

  “For sure, my G.” I gave a neck bow.

  Devon patted me on the back before leaving the room. Mathew and Benji said goodbye as they waved and followed Devon.

  Molly waited a few seconds before swinging around back to the table, her blonde hair flying in the air. That’s when I realized something strange. Out of all this time I’d known Molly—almost two years now—I didn’t realize she dressed like a print ad model rather than a social worker. Her hair stayed groomed and in place, her face the same colors including bright red lipstick, and she mostly wore dresses and high heels. That revelation made her comical.

  Her brows lifted mischievously. “Tell me they aren’t great!” she whispered scandalously.

  “I can’t.” I took a deep breath. “Because that’d be a lie.”

  “See! I knew you just needed a little push. I just have this special feeling about the four of you.” Her hands shot in the air as she thought I had a rebuttal coming. “I understand the mix of ethnicities, color, and cultures at play. But if there’s one thing I’ve learned in my line of work, it’s love blinds everything separating us as a people. It truly solves, resolves, heals, and rights everything.” Molly grew animated. “This is why, Ragee, you should just toss those few insignificant doubts to the side and give it a try. I understand this is a huge commitment, but it’s a worthwhile sacrifice for boys who may otherwise become victims to their circumstances. You can’t give me one good objection as to why you shouldn’t consider it.”

  “My wife—”

  “Yes! I was hoping you’d bring her today. Why didn’t you?”

  My eyes dropped, and I let out a nervous snort. “In so many ways, we’re still newlyweds. As you can imagine, my lifestyle comes with so much I have to slowly dole things out to her.”

  Molly’s porcelain jaw dropped. “She doesn’t know.”

  “She doesn’t know.” My eyes averted to one of the paintings on the wall. “And right now I’m trying to save us. I wish I could do that and the boys at the same time.”

  With puckered lips, Molly nodded. “I can understand and respect that, but we still have time. I haven’t heard anything about expediting the time yet. I think the decision came faster than the solution as to how to dissolve the program.” She collected her keys and stainless steel thermos just as my phone buzzed over the table. “I’ll keep you posted. I wish you well with your wife. She’s a fellow social worker, I see. Beautiful and inspiring.”

  I didn’t know a lot about white people. Wasn’t quite familiar with their humor. So when Molly spoke those words so gently then winked as she made a clicking sound with her mouth, I was lost to its meaning.

  Instead of dwelling on it, I went to my phone that vibrated again. Then suddenly, it flooded with notifications the alert function couldn’t keep up with. My trainer, Josh, was the one notification that made me pause to think. Did we have a session today? I didn’t stop to think, instead I tapped on his text.

  Josh: What the hell’s going on dude?

  There was a link and when I clicked on it, I was taken to the L.I.T. Music website where it listed new music by Teke featuring Young Lord. The track was named “She Sweats.” Right away, I found my way o
ut of the house. Danny G was parked where I left him and now I was out of inappropriate earshot. My heart plummeted as I tapped to listen. When I think of sweat—a woman sweating, only one came to mind. My Bluetooth automatically kicked in when I hopped into the back seat and we pulled off. The first thing I noticed was the dope beat. It was uptempo and crazy captivating the way it broke from fast then passed to a slow sexy cadence.

  The verses spoke about a woman he approached who was in a “relationship.” He tried to respect her and her situation, but he couldn’t get her out of his head. She would haunt him in his sleep until he found himself going to her daily, begging for a chance at romance. Apparently, he wore the chick down and banged her out. His lines were clever, making it clear this wasn’t about love. It was strictly sex and ego. Him teaching her things about sex she never knew.

  After the second chorus, Young came through with his bars skillfully. Known for writing some of the hardest lyrics out right now, dude also had a slick mouth on the subject of physically pleasing a woman, so I could see how Teke and the execs at L.I.T. would think he’d be a dope feature. But it was the bridge portion of the track when I knew for sure who his inspiration was without a doubt.

  “Oh, babeeeee…

  I’ve seen you ride a bike…

  Take a hike up the mountains.

  You take them lunges to the floor, babe.

  Drop the squats on the clock.

  Cheeks jiggle on your run.

  But when it’s all on me, you have some fun.

  Your skin gets so slippery…

  Feels like some mind trickery.

  Slide up and down in your fist…

  When you say you ain’t never had it like this.

  But no matter how I touch you, bae-bay…

  I’ll always have a towel ready.”

  Then the chorus came back in seamlessly.

  “She stretch…

  She sweats.

  Bend over…

  She sweats.

  Looks up with a mouthful…

  She sweats.

  Throw it back on my tool…

  She sweats.”

  I tapped to end the song and could barely breathe when I found her contact and dialed.