by Elle Wright
“Where you ‘bout to go? Want to shoot some pool?”
My light mood turned dark as thoughts of what I’d find when I reached my destination took over. “On my way to the east side.”
“This late?” When I didn’t respond, he said, “Alright, man. I know when to change the subject.” Coop updated me on the status of the project closeout he was handling while in town. “The client is already talking about hiring us for their next venture,” he explained. “We need to go ahead and hire another architect. You’ve been working nonstop, bruh. You can’t be everywhere at once.”
Leaving my corporate job as an architect to launch this company had been the best professional decision I’d made. Instead of stuffy board meetings and impossible expectations from firm partners, I had the opportunity to do meaningful work in the community. It helped that Coop and I had the same vision, the same desire to improve life for the residents of my hometown, Detroit.
Over the past several years, we’d expanded the company in ways we hadn’t fathomed when we’d first started. Our little company had increased in value, and we’d cultivated a clientele that only brought in more business.
“I’m good with that.” I merged onto the expressway. “We definitely need a bigger team. And while we’re at it, we can figure out how we want to handle Dave’s upcoming retirement.”
“I’ll have Jackie put a meeting on the calendar to discuss our hiring plans,” he offered. “I have a feeling we need to think bigger for staff.”
“My schedule is jam-packed next week, but I’ll make it work.”
A moment later, he asked, “Sure you’re good?”
“Fine,” was my clipped answer.
Cooper sighed. There wasn’t much we didn’t know about each other, and he’d been in my life long enough to know why I’d be driving out there this late. “You need me to meet you there?”
“Have you told Dallas about the move yet?” I asked, effectively answering his question without actually telling him no. “It’s been over a month since you’ve been back in Detroit.”
Since Cooper had been down south, I’d actually spent a fair amount of time with Dallas. True to her word, we’d never discussed what had happened in that bathroom at her birthday party. If I was a punk, I probably would’ve been offended or hurt, but I wasn’t trippin’ about it. I figured we’d talk at the right time—or never. I certainly wasn’t going to question her about it. I’d been through enough to know when to shut the hell up and move on.
“I’ll tell her before I leave,” he admitted. “Maybe tomorrow. I have a lot of shit to do, and Dallas will slow me down with all of her damn questions.”
“If you’re worried about PHC, don’t.”
“Hard not to.”
“We already had this discussion, man.”
“I heard what you said,” he argued, “but executing business remotely is—”
“The same shit people do every damn day,” I interrupted. “Look, we have a plan in place, and we’re going to work it. You haven’t been here since January, and business is still booming.”
“I’m just sayin’,” he argued. “This is a big change.”
“Absolutely. But we’re not new to change.” Several seconds passed with no conversation. “I told you before that Prescott-Hayes will be ours whether you live in Michigan or South Carolina. If you have to be here for anything, you’ll get here. Worry about Angel greeting you with open arms.”
“Right. But I’m not worried. All I need is permission to stay.”
“Alright, man. Let me know if I can help with anything before you hit the road.”
“Same. I mean it, bruh.”
I had no doubt about that. I thanked him and ended the call. The rest of my forty-five-minute drive was quiet—no music, no talking. As I sped toward the house I’d once called home, I wondered what I’d find when I got there.
When I arrived, I checked my surroundings, sucked in a deep breath, and made my way to the front door. Using my key, I unlocked it and walked in. The small house was quiet, but the smell of stale air, spoiled food, cigarette smoke, and vomit permeated the air. I flicked the light switch, expecting the lamp to come on, but it didn’t. I turned on the overhead light, which had never shined brightly no matter how many electricians I’d hired and expensive light bulbs I’d purchased. Off in the corner, the lamp shade was tipped over, and the thick glass of my late grandmother’s favorite lamp was shattered on the floor.
Dirty clothes littered the floor, fast-food bags were piled on the counter, empty pizza boxes sat on the couch. I didn’t know why I’d expected anything less than the sight that greeted me. It had always been this way.
My childhood had been spent taking care of home, of her. School had come second; friends or girlfriends hadn’t been a priority. Only her. Because I could never trust her to take care of herself or me. While other kids were partying, playing sports, meeting girls, I’d been working so I could make sure we both ate. When it was time to graduate, I’d missed my own graduation because I hadn’t wanted to have to explain why she acted the way she did. And when I’d enlisted, I’d spent days reassuring her I’d continue to help her pay the rent.
I walked to the kitchen, grabbed a trash bag from under the sink, and started picking up the trash. When I finished inside, I took the almost-full bag to the garage and checked the ’96 Buick. The car keys were on the car seat. Empty beer bottles were strewn on the passenger side and in the back seat. I made quick work cleaning up and tossing the bag into the trash bin.
I glanced at my watch and stepped into the house. I checked each room on my way to the master bedroom, where she was sprawled out on top of a soiled, sheetless mattress. Her clothes were hanging off, her feet were filthy, and her hair was a tangled mess on the top of her head.
“You’re here?” Her slurred words were familiar and indicative of her drunken state.
“You called me. At least twenty times in less than an hour.”
“I’m so glad you came. Can you grab me a pack of cigarettes from my purse? And a Pepsi. No, a beer.” She patted the top of her head. “Shit, my hair is a hot mess. I need to get myself together.”
The words hot and mess were an understatement. I stared down at the first woman I’d ever loved. Kenya Hayes had been a stunner once, so fly that she’d garnered the attention of one of the top modeling agencies. But an unwanted pregnancy at eighteen, a hit-and-run at twenty-one, and a failed marriage had left her with a lot of regrets and an addiction.
I should’ve felt sad, but all I felt was anger. Disgust, really. Maybe pity. But definitely rage. Because this wasn’t the first time I’d had to drop everything and clean up my mother’s mess— literally and figuratively. I took a cleansing breath, grabbed the bottle of vodka on the nightstand, and stomped into her bathroom. I heard her struggling outside, screaming at me to stop, but I poured the liquor into the toilet.
“Pres!” she hollered between coughs. “Don’t throw out my shit. I paid good money for that.”
Sighing, I walked back into the room. “Too late. And maybe you should’ve paid the electric bill, or even your cell phone bill, instead of buying a fifth of Tito’s.”
“Show some respect,” she slurred. She picked up her lighter and attempted to light the butt of a cigarette. “I’m still your mother.”
“Then act like it, Ma.” I snatched the lighter from her. “For once.”
“You have no right to talk to me like that, lil’ nigga. I will kick your big ass.”
I snickered. “Good luck with that.”
“You think you’re funny.” She stood up and nearly fell on her face. When I went to help her, she smacked me. “Don’t touch me.”
“You can barely stand up.”
She shuffled around the room aimlessly, opening drawers, throwing clothes around. I suspected she was looking for her pain pills or her stash of liquor. Because there was always a spare.
I spotted the half-full bottle under the recliner and grabbed it, h
olding it up. “Looking for this?”
She grabbed the neck of the bottle and tried to snatch it from me, but my firm grip made that impossible in her state. “Give me that shit,” she spat.
The unhealthy relationship I had with my mother had taken its toll on me, but it had never stopped me from doing what I had to do—it had never prevented me from succeeding in school and at work, and it had never kept me from being there for her. No matter how exhausting it was, when she called, I came.
Mom shoved me again. “You can get out.”
“You know I’m not going to sit here and watch you kill yourself with this drink.”
“That’s not your decision to make.”
Arguing with her about who was in charge wasn’t an option. Because from the time I could think for myself, it felt like I’d been the parent of the relationship. “You called me? What’s going on?”
“Shit,” she grumbled, pushing papers around on her desk. Eventually, she pulled out an envelope and waved it in front of me. “The mortgage is late, and my water bill is behind. The city is threatening to shut it out…I mean off. The bank wants to foreclose.”
I took the envelope from her. “I’ll pay both of the bills tomorrow. I told you to just let me handle your finances.” It had been a recurring argument between us, because she’d wanted to maintain her independence. Even though that had never stopped her from asking for money.
“So you can give me an allowance?” she questioned. “Hell no.”
I let out a heavy sigh. “Why don’t you take a shower? I’ll change your sheets and throw these clothes in the washing machine.”
She smiled for the first time since I’d arrived. “Can you go to the store and grab me a couple of candy bars?” My mother loved chocolate. “I ran out.”
“I’ll take care of it.”
Mom tried to take the bottle from me again, but I was quicker. She glared at me as I poured that one out too. “When you leave, I’ll just get more.” Her matter-of-fact response irritated me. “You always think you’re better than me,” she growled.
“Nah, that’s not it. I think you’re better than this,” I yelled. “Damn, Ma, when is it going to be enough? When are you going to start taking responsibility for yourself? When are you going to get tired of living like this?” I waved my hands around the room. “Nothing has changed. You’re still living in the same place, talking about the same shit, and fucking around with the same people.”
“See?” She pointed at me. “You’re just like your father.”
“Don’t do that.” It was her patented response every time I told her she needed to get her shit together. Soon, the tears would follow.
Her chin trembled and the first tear fell. “He treated me like I was beneath him too.”
My parents had been children themselves when I was conceived and had never been an official couple. There’d been no co-parenting, no communication between them. Just bitterness on my mother’s part. But I’d seen my father every other weekend and on the occasional holiday until he’d died, right before my thirteenth birthday.
“Don’t start this,” I warned. “Dad isn’t here anymore, and I don’t want to talk about this shit. I’ve heard it my whole life.”
“That’s what you think,” she said with a shrug.
I froze. “What are you talking about?”
“Since you think you know everything, I’m going to tell you something you don’t know.”
Frustrated, I snapped, “What? What is it I don’t know?”
“Preston Hayes Sr. was not your father. Your real father lived his best life—without you.” She stumbled into the bathroom, whirling around to face me. “Now, run tell that.” Then, she slammed the door in my face.
Chapter Three
Slide
Dallas
If I didn’t like dick so much, I would’ve sworn off men a long time ago. Because what the hell else were they good for? Surely not financial security, because I could pay my own bills. Definitely not protection, because the last few men I’d dated had been so damn weak. More scared of spiders than I was, and certainly not willing to get my back in any fight. Absolutely not conversation, because they didn’t listen. And they were so damn needy. Always wanting time and checking in and phone calls. I didn’t have time for that shit.
Case in point…my client. Langston Sykes was the son of a prominent politician. Our families had traveled in the same circles for years. His mother was like an angel on earth, a beautiful woman with a genuine spirit. Too bad her son was a self-entitled asshole who cared more about his fingernails than about people. On paper, though, he was the perfect man. Educated. Handsome. Successful. But he was a little punk. Instead of killing the bee that had flown into my office, he’d walked out and asked Dexter to come in and do it. And for the last hour and a half, he’d nitpicked on every clause in the prenuptial I’d been negotiating with his future wife. The jerk had insisted on weight and BMI criteria for his fiancée, had suggested adding a required amount of sex per week to the agreement, had requested limits to social media posts, and had even tried to sneak in a section giving him the leeway to cheat once a year with no questions.
“Anything else I should be thinking about?” He glanced at his watch. For most of our meeting, he’d failed to make eye contact, splitting his attention between the floor, his phone, and my breasts. “My colleague’s brother mentioned it might be wise to include a beauty budget—because, you know…women spend thousands on plastic surgery nowadays, and I don’t want to pay for that shit.”
I blinked. I’d never liked him, but I loved his mother, which was why I’d agreed to this favor. Now, I was just ready for this to be over.
He shrugged. “She’ll sign it. I’m a catch. She should be lucky I chose her.”
“Sure!” My pseudo enthusiasm dripped with sarcasm. “While we’re at it, how about we add in a drug test requirement? Better yet, how about we put in a clause regulating the number of orgasms she can have when she masturbates?”
He leaned back in his chair and crossed his legs. “I think I like that drug test provision. I hear she did ecstasy back in the day.” When I didn’t respond, he continued, “Really?” His amused smile made me sick. “Is this how we’re treating clients now?”
I was done with Langston. If he didn’t know it now, he would in a few minutes. When we were younger, my siblings had affectionately nicknamed me I.Q., for Ice Queen. Or D.D., for Damn, Dallas!” Which often was accompanied by “you’re so damn evil.” Early on, I’d decided no one should know what I was thinking or how I felt at any given time—unless I wanted them to know. Not only had I mastered the art of the poker face, but my “you ain’t shit” stare had weakened even the strongest men. I wouldn’t say I was mean, but I didn’t necessarily like people. I fucked with my family—and my two and a possible. That was the number of friends on my list—Demi, Cooper, and… sorta Preston.
I met his gaze, narrowing my eyes on him. “No. This is how I’m treating you.” Under normal circumstances and with clients who didn’t try to get me to play Hide and Go Get It with them as kids, I would’ve never taken it there. But Langston? I didn’t give a fuck about him or his micro-penis. Yeah, women talked, but so did money. And he had a lot of it.
Langston cleared his throat. “You haven’t changed, Dallas. You’re still a bitch.”
“Thanks. I’ll be that for you.” I processed a refund of his retainer and fed the contents of his file into my paper shredder.
“Maybe you should think about who you’re talking to. I’m not the same boy you grew up with.”
“You look the same to me. Sound the same too. Lame. Let’s not pretend to like each other anymore for the sake of our parents.” Folding my arms, I stood. “Find another attorney.”
Langston frowned. “You can’t do this. I paid you.”
“And I refunded you,” I said with a shrug. “We’re all set here.”
“I need this done,” he argued.
“Hire someo
ne who’ll do it.”
“Look, I’m sorry. You know I was just playing with you. We’ve known each other for years. We have history.” He stepped forward, reaching out to grab my hand. “You—”
“Don’t touch me,” I warned. “And don’t bother making up a lie to your mother. I’ll be sure to tell her myself that you’re full of shit.”
After a long pause, he apparently thought better of arguing with me, because he simply nodded and left the office without another word.
Closing my eyes, I let out a slow, cleansing breath before I made my way to the window. On the street, I could see Langston practically running to his car. I also noticed a photographer in front of the building next door. I hate this.
Sometime ago, a few of my siblings and I had the bright idea to combine our resources and purchase an office building. My parents were entrepreneurs, operating several successful businesses. All of us had followed their lead. It just made sense to have a central location, where we could see clients, work our own businesses, and collaborate with each other.
Located in Ann Arbor, the spacious building had nine office suites, one for each sibling and an extra for guests. Currently, Dexter, Bliss, Blake, and I worked there every day. We called the space “Young Haven.” It didn’t matter what happened throughout the day—knowing that at least one of my siblings was around made all the difference. It was one of my safe places. Now, I had to worry about strange people camped outside my place of work. And I didn’t like that.
A few minutes later, Dex poked his head in my office. “Took you long enough.” He stepped inside and sat on the small sofa near the window. “Now I owe Blake money. I thought he wouldn’t last thirty minutes.”
I shrugged, joining him on the couch. “I really tried. But…just no. Not all money is good money.”
He gave me a fist bump. “Exactly. Mom called. She wants us to be at the field early for a family meeting.”
“About?”
“Shit, I don’t know. I just show up.”
