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

by Love Belvin

  As Stenton spoke, a grand piano was rolled onto the middle of the dance floor that was dimly lit. A few guys—three—ambled over there with bowed heads, clearly trying not to take the attention away from the speaker.

  Stenton’s head was toward the floor as he rocked left to right, clearly fighting his emotions, when he mumbled, “He was a friend to so many of us young cats. Reached lots of people, who didn’t know his name, and touched lives that’ll never be the same.” His head dipped even more and he took a moment to collect himself. “Quincy, you’re missed. You’re still loved, and on the day your seed takes on his queen, we wanna acknowledge you. Your friends wanna say hi…”

  In that moment, spotlights hit the center of the dance floor. The room went up in applause at their presence. One sat at the piano and his fingers began to tickle the keys. The other two held microphones as they either lifted their chin or bowed their head against the blaring claps and whistles. Of the two with microphones, one had a stark gray beard and sunglasses. The other had a shiny bald head with sunglasses as well.

  “Oh, shit!” Raj sat up in his chair, lifting his arm from behind me for the first time tonight.

  I caught when Young Lord’s eyes shot over to him, narrowed, then slid away with an unnamed emotion. He, too, now sat with an erect spine.

  A track began bursting from the speakers throughout the room and the grand piano played against it. The bearded older guy began with runs before going into the first verse of a song that sounded dissonantly memorable. The bearded guy sang about having sung a lot of songs and given bad advice. He mentioned acting out his life on stages with people watching. And then the other guy, who the room went crazy over, crooned about treating someone unkindly he was close to. Just before the chorus, when the ballad asked to listen to his melody, it hit me. The reason it took so long to recognize the song I’d heard my favorite vocalist sing just days ago, was because their delivery was strained and off key often.

  Listen to me, talking about off key…

  It was the same song Raj sang to Zebedee at his birthday party. My eyes brushed over to him, who sat with an erect spine, raptly observing the performance. Oddly, the bald guy broke down before they made it to the second verse. When the pianist did a solo run, I had time to think. These guys didn’t sound as supreme as the previous performers. They were old—the gray hair gave that away. But honestly, they sounded god-awful.

  Poor Jackson stood as they progressed in the song. The bald guy began to cry. The one with the gray beard shook his head, missing the lyrics. The bald one finally tapped the shoulder of the pianist then sliced at his own neck, killing the song.

  The room, as if on key, stood and clapped, accepting their emotional display.

  “Man, fuck this,” the bald one declared, and I was frustrated with not remembering their names. Zebedee mentioned them. This was apparently he and Raj’s favorite rendition of this song. “Stop the track, too!” he demanded. “Let’s get some young blood up here to finish this for the greatest to ever do it!”

  Another applause burst through the opulent room. Mumbles ripped through the air at that request. People were trying to figure out what was happening and who could resolve it. I’ll be damned if Jackson didn’t shout Ragee’s name. Stenton repeated it. After that, it seemed like the whole gargantuan room did. Young’s raven eyes shot over to Raj but didn’t speak. Trent hooted for Raj to go.

  Raj’s head collapsed to his chest and my heartbeat thundered in my chest. I had no idea why. Maybe because he was so relaxed and had been drinking. I didn’t know. But I knew he could deliver the song; I’d witnessed it three days ago. Plus… He was dammit Ragee! A squeeze of my hand over my lap woke me from my rumination. It was Raj. He then stood and made his way to the dance floor with a resounding applause all around.

  What the fuck is this?

  The pint of Mauve in my belly didn’t help. I’d never been in an environment like this to know if it was normal. Kennedi next to me chirped her excitement, palms met repeatedly on a clash as her boobs lolloped in the air. She was excited for her friend in spite of the shade he’d been throwing her husband—a husband I wasn’t too sure how long would tolerate my legal husband’s mercurial nature.

  After whispering to the guys and then the deejay, Raj accepted the mic from the bald, chocolate man. The room began to applaud as Dale made his way up to the dance floor. The guy with the gray beard damn near pushed his microphone into Dale’s chest the moment he was near. Dale then whispered something to Raj, who nodded. The pianist cued Raj and was met with another nod.

  Raj began to belt about how he wanted his image to be. Guests exclaimed their approval. Dale added riffs and vocal runs to back up Raj. The song was played just as dramatically as it was when Raj performed it alone, only here the track running behind them made it more compelling. Also, tonight was a choir component Raj didn’t have at Zeb’s party. The crowd roared their approval. Dale and the two guys began to rock left and right, singing along. People began to shoot to their feet, crowding my view. Even Kennedi and Young were up to my left. Trent and his wife followed suit on my right. And straight ahead, I could see Elle joined Jackson as he held onto the table, hunched over in a display of emotion.

  That’s when I stood to my feet, instinctively drawn to Raj’s absorbing tenor. His register and pitch were perfectly blended with raw emotion as he led the chorus. It was moving. Everywhere my eyes landed, folks were up with their attention locked to the center of the room. Raj made it personal, reciting the man, Quincy’s name as he sang. The bald guy, who couldn’t deliver the song in the first place, held on to Raj’s shoulder as he cried. Again, moving. I don’t think I breathed. They sang until the track ran out. The gray bearded guy motioned for Raj to keep going acapella. This was when you could hear Dale’s vocals. A few others joined to assist. This went for at least ten minutes with Raj singing his heart out, emotionally connecting with the groom of the hour, Jackson Hunter.

  The dance floor crowded with people’s reaction to the impromptu emotional presentation. I didn’t know much about that Quincy Hunter but could now easily assume how powerful his presence was on Earth. These were grown men curled over not much different than his son in reaction.

  Before I knew it, Raj was at my side again. It surprised me because the room was still in disarray like the end of a good concert.

  He stood, gazing at me with his face angled and hands behind his back. My eyes followed his line of vision and I saw my hands threaded at my chest, telling how enthralled I was, too. I couldn’t help myself when I moved to him and tossed my arms around his thick shoulders and held him.

  “That was incredible,” I shouted in his ear, standing on my toes to reach it. “My damn uterus is jumping!”

  Realizing my emotional slip, I pulled my head back. Maybe it was the Mauve, but I didn’t know where that damn statement came from.

  His cheeks rose above the beard and brows met. “You mean your bladder?”

  I swear, though he was joking, that’s when it hit me. I had to pee.

  My face dropped. “Yeah…” My eyes circled. “That’s it.”

  I withdrew my arms to spring into action. But Raj’s big hands landed just above my ass, holding me to him.

  “You want kids?” His expression deathly serious.

  My face mirrored his. “Hell no. You know that.” Then I thought. “You?”

  He nodded then shook his head even longer in correction. And while I believed he was being honest, it was clear even in my tipsy state there was more to that. I didn’t have time to investigate it. I had to pee.

  “I’ll be right back.”

  “I’ll go with you,” he informed over the clatter of the room.

  Trent was at his back along with another beard. Their pastor. They were congratulating him on saving that damn song.

  I squeezed his thick arm. “You stay. I’ll be right back.”

  Hesitantly, he nodded. I grabbed my clutch and shimmied out of there around a sea of tables
. The hall was much quieter and the bathroom damn near empty. I was grateful to steal a stall right away. When I was done washing my hands, I touched up my makeup. My eyes were smudged, likely from what I’d just experienced. After touching up my lips, too, I slipped out, not being able to wait to get back. There was something about Raj that was different than the one who picked me up in Los Angeles.

  This Raj was more self-controlled in temper and less with expressing his feelings for me. He was an attentive gentleman. And like a damn moth to a flame, I was foolishly drawn to him. I decided to try again at talking to him, to try to find out exactly what the hell happened before I left for Arizona. What caused him to withdraw from me. My feet in five-inch heels couldn’t get me to him fast enough.

  “Damn! You moving faster than you did to take a leak.”

  The sound of that voice broke my stride. It didn’t take long for me to see Teke approaching me from near a large potted plant. I’d forgotten all about him. Good company, food, entertainment, and brandy could kill anxiety.

  The smirk he sported reminded me right away why I shouldn’t have given him the time of day.

  “Did you follow me out here? We need to add stalker to your resume, too?”

  He had one hand buried in his pants pocket and the other holding a wine glass. And Teke wouldn’t kill that slick ass smirk. I saw one of his eye sockets was darker than the other, reminding me of Raj’s quick and silent temper.

  “What else’s on there?”

  “Daydreamer.”

  He tossed his head back and chuckled. “Yo, you one of the funniest females I ever met. I love that about you.”

  “You don’t know me. You like to make up lines in a song about what you want to know about me.”

  Teke’s face contorted. “That?” He blew out air before taking a sip of his wine. “You feeling some kind of way about a song?” He shrugged. “I thought it was dope.”

  “My husband may feel some kind of way about it.”

  “I ain’t write it about him.”

  “And you ain’t write it about me. You wrote about a damn fantasy.”

  “You can prove that?”

  I sighed. “I don’t know about you, but I’d like to get back in there. Pretty sure my husband’s waiting on me.”

  I kept using the term husband to piss him off. I knew Teke was crushing in boot camp; however, I didn’t know he was unhealthily enwrapped. I didn’t like feeling preyed upon. There was something to his fixation of me that I could sense was extreme. My gut told me it had nothing to do with my naiveté in thinking he was harmless in his crush.

  “That ain’t ya real husband.”

  Whoa…

  I prayed he couldn’t see my gut blow reaction to that. What did he know? Was the word out now and I didn’t know yet? I almost drew my phone to my face to go straight to Google or Spilling That Hot Tea, but after years of shock-proof training with former inmates, I slowed my actions and thought about what my next move should be.

  “Can you prove that? Or are we daydreaming again?”

  Teke snorted. “I saw you. ‘Memba that night at the beach?”

  “When you saw a woman beefing with her husband? Yeah. Crisply.”

  “Nah. It’s more to the story and you know it.” That smirk wouldn’t fade.

  I turned to him. “The story is one you don’t know, didn’t know, and will never know. You don’t know me, and you don’t know my husband, Teke!”

  His green eyes lifted from me to over my head and his grin dimmed. And that’s when I knew.

  Ragee…

  My eyes collapsed, squeezing with anxiety all over again. If he would have just given me a couple more minutes, I would have been back in there, avoiding another spectacle. I wasn’t a fan of violence, and Raj made it very clear he was its ally.

  “You good, baby?” I heard the ocean deep sonant of his chords.

  My back was to him and I believed I could stall what was about to go down by staying still. I didn’t want this for Raj or me. Hell, I didn’t even want it for stupid ass Teke, behaving like a daredevil by being out here with me. But I didn’t know what to do.

  “Wyn—”

  “I’m good, Raj,” I hissed, finally opening my eyes and turning to him. I was able to muster a smile on my way to him. “Can we please go back inside to the festivities?”

  “Nah.” His eyes roved behind me to Teke. “I wanna see what’s causing the party out here?”

  “Raj…”

  Just then, Jade Bailey strutted out the door. She paused at the sight of my palms on my husband’s chest as he flexed over me. Quickly, she then made reverse steps back into the room.

  Shit…

  “Raj,” I tried whispering. “Let’s go.”

  “Nah. I wanna kick it with Teke for a minute. Seem like he got lots to say to you and about you. Let him address those things with me,” his voice was deceptively tender.

  I moved into him, bringing my arms around his tailored waist. “We’ve had a good night. A damn good night. The type of good night that tells me I won’t be pulling back the sheets alone tonight. Please… Don’t do this.”

  It was true. I’d pretty much been plotting on how I could fuck Raj tonight with little incident since I heard Elle’s vows. Today inspired me to lighten up on my stance with him. No, I didn’t believe I had with Ragee what Jackson had with his wife. But it did tease me enough to let down my guard once again to explore what had happened last month. Especially since Raj had sworn he was sorry and it wouldn’t happen again.

  Raj didn’t respond. His gape didn’t move from over my head. Neither did the hands that secured me all day meet me in assurance.

  “You touch me this time,” Teke rumbled, “you go to jail.”

  My chest began to pound against his that was raging in pulse. My fingertips ran cold when I decided our names and faces would be all over the blogs tomorrow, and worse: Raj would be arrested this time.

  The harsh cool air Raj pushed from his nostrils as he snorted had the hairs on the back of my neck standing erect. “Jail? You think I give a fu—” he stopped. “You think I care about going to jail for checking your chin about coming around my lady? You think I’mma cower at jail?” A derisive chuckle vibrated from his chest against me. “That’s when you show your Cranford panties, Teke. I’ll sit easy in jail, pay the bail, and be right back at your jaw.”

  Teke didn’t respond, but the door sounded, and I heard a voice behind Raj.

  “What’s going on out here?”

  “You need to get ya boy,” Teke warned. “You talked me out of suing his big ass before but let him lay a single finger on me tonight. That G550 gone have B City printed on the tail.”

  “I ‘on’t know,” Raj answered. “I just came looking for my wife and found her out here with your pretty-eyed crooner, keeping it trill about not knowing her or me.”

  “Oh, I ‘on’t know you, Raj?” Teke challenged.

  Young stepped into my peripheral, looking disturbed in his all black. His eyes were locked to Teke at first. Then he turned to me.

  “You good, Wynter?”

  “Wynter ain’t your problem. Your lil artist here is. He ‘bout to have a serious problem if I find him around my wife again.”

  “How you know she wasn’t around me?”

  I flew in the air turning completely around. “I wish you would fucking lie on me again!”

  “Whoa!” I heard another deep voice call out.

  Then Young jumped to move. Raj was circling around me for Teke and I didn’t even know it. Thank god his friends caught him.

  “Yo, Teke, man, what the fuck you still doing here?” Young asked.

  Teke lifted his glass. “I was just having a drink.”

  “This long after the cocktail hour? Where the hell is your crew?” Young glanced around.

  “They clocked out.” He scoffed, “I ‘on’t need them with me at all times.”

  “But you looking like a fucking stalker then,” Young charged.

>   “That’s what I said!” I shouted.

  Kennedi appeared out of nowhere, taking to her husband’s side. Guilt began to pour in. I didn’t want to make a spectacle at his friends’ wedding around the people he was coolest with. The sight of Kennedi seemed to upset Young and likely because he didn’t want her involved in this craziness.

  “Raj, homie,” Young turned to him. “Take them inside. Have a drink an’ chill.”

  “Why?” Raj asked. “So you and ya lil artist here can write another track about my wife?”

  Young recoiled, his face tightened. “Yo, that’s why you been acting mad funny style all fuckin’ day?”

  “Nah. Funny style is jumping on a track with a rookie when he’s taking shots at your soldier.”

  Young’s face wrinkled even more. “What shots?” He turned to Teke then back to Raj then back to Teke. Teke’s smile was brighter in his eyes than his mouth. He was taunting Raj. I couldn’t believe three weeks of nothing—absolutely nothing—between Teke and me had turned into this gathering in the vestibule of LaChateau? “That track was about Wynter?”

  “Hell fucking no!” I shouted, wanting no ambiguity. “I don’t know Teke like that.”

  “But your”—He used air quotations—“husband knows me. Don’t you, Raj? Or are you too big now to remember?”

  Raj charged at him again and this time it took four of us to break his movements. “Don’t bring that up in here!” Raj barked.

  Then Jackson was in front of Teke, holding him back. But his words to him were audible.

  “Why’re you still here?”

  Teke raised his glass to start his explanation, but it was stalled by Young Lord’s revelation.

  “Yo, I ‘on’t know what the fuck went down between your wife and that mufucka, but I can tell you this, ain’t no fuckin’ way I’mma break bread with a nigga coming for my peoples. I sent you the track before it was engineered.” Lord lifted his index to Raj, though a couple of yards away. “If ya sometimey ass would keep in touch on a regular, you woulda heard the track and it woulda been dead before it hit the airwaves.”