Love Notes (Equilibrium Book 1)

by Christina C Jones

  “You don’t need anything Anika. I’m the client, remember?”

  “Client my ass. You are my cousin – no, my damn sister. I want to know what’s really happening here.”

  I pushed out a sharp breath, and glanced over my shoulder again. After breakfast, Troy and I had cleaned up in his kitchen and showered, and now were supposed to be heading out for the day. I’d called myself intercepting Anika from showing up at the studio with a “quick” phone call, but it was proving to be more difficult than expected.

  I didn’t need difficult right now.

  Inside Troy’s loft, I’d been able to do a great job of tuning pretty much everything else out. I didn’t know what was waiting for me once I stepped outside, or worse – stepped into my studio to see the damage I’d wrought with fresh eyes.

  I wasn’t ready to face the resurfaced pain that had driven me to that level of rage, and I certainly wasn’t prepared to explain it to anyone else. They’d wonder what happened, why I hadn’t taken someone with me to the house, or even told anyone that I was going. With Anika, there was no doubt it would get reported back to Will and Darcy, and that would just turn into an even bigger thing, when all I honestly wanted to do was forget.

  At least for a day or so, time enough to regain my bearings. Maybe even talk to a therapist, like the one I’d found when I was out in Cali.

  If only Anika would let me fucking breathe.

  “Anika, look – I know you mean well, but I don’t have time for this right now. I don’t want to talk about it, I don’t want to explain. I just want you to cancel the party. That’s all. Can you do that for me?”

  She huffed. “Whenever you’re done being booed up with Troy, you let me know, so we can talk. Are you coming home tonight? Tomorrow night?”

  “No,” I said, not even thinking about it before I answered. “We don’t need to talk about it. Just cancel the party.”

  Without giving her a chance to respond, I pulled the phone from my ear and ended the call. Immediately, she called right back, and I ignored it, even though I felt bad. I loved Anika, didn’t want to hurt her feelings, but I couldn’t deal with it right now.

  Or maybe ever.

  “Yo, you good?” Troy asked, making me flinch at the sudden sound of his voice. I’d been facing the window at the back of his loft, and turned to find him approaching me with his pick in hand, running it through his beard.

  I nodded, hoping there was nothing crazy on my face to give me away. “Yeah. Well – no, actually. Um… I hate to be this girl, especially since we just made this thing official, but…”

  “Just spit it out, mama. I have an appointment in like twenty minutes.”

  “Right. Um… I kinda just got into with Anika, and I was wondering if… I could maybe stay here for a couple of days? It’s fine if the answer is no. I can get a hotel room – I should get a hotel room. I can’t impose on you like—”

  Troy quieted me with a quick, soft kiss on the lips, then followed it with one on my forehead. “Not an imposition. Just don’t get mad if I leave the toilet seat up. There’s a key in the drawer by the stove in the kitchen,” he said as he breezed off, in a hurry to get to his client. “Lock up when you leave!”

  I blinked, and he was gone, leaving me with full range of his place like it was nothing. I shook my head about that though – it wasn’t nothing, and I knew it. He was trusting me with his space. He wasn’t prying about why I needed it.

  And at that moment… it meant everything.

  Twelve.

  Damn.

  By default, I wasn’t a messy person – had trained myself long ago into a basic standard of cleanliness that I abided by. But that was nothing -nothing – compared to walking in my place in the middle of the day to find it looking and smelling like it had been scrubbed top to bottom, and was ready to be featured in a magazine.

  Jules is still on a rampage.

  Not that I wasn’t grateful for her desire to be a good houseguest – and she was – but she hadn’t left the house since the day she asked if she could stay.

  Three days ago.

  Her presence was fine, but I was starting to wonder if the sun might be missing her a bit, since she hadn’t stepped into it in so long. Something was going on, but it was obvious she wasn’t ready to talk about it. Pressing people into divulging shit they weren’t ready to talk about was counterproductive in my experience, and she’d already gotten a little hype with me once, when I asked her about Anika.

  I still had a lot of stuff to learn about Jules, but there was one area I was confident in – when she was ready to talk, she would. Until then, the only thing I cared about was getting her in a better mood.

  She came into the bedroom while I was in the closet, putting away my shoes. I looked up to find her draped in the closet door, hair wild, in what seemed to be her favorite outfit – one of my tee shirts and a pair of my boxers.

  She looked like she’d been crying.

  “You’re early,” she said, before I could address the redness of her nose and eyes. “Everything okay?”

  I nodded, then approached her, putting my hands on her waist to pull her closer. “Yeah. I’m good. But… you’re not. You wanna tell me what’s going on?”

  She pressed her forehead against my chest, pushing out a sigh that I expected to be followed by a “no, I don’t.” But to my surprise, she looked up, her eyes glossy with fresh tears. “The launch party was supposed to be a few hours from now,” she told me, and I nodded my understanding. It was one of those things she hadn’t wanted to talk about, beyond telling me it was canceled.

  “You’re feeling a little sad about it?”

  She scoffed. “A lot sad about it. But… nothing to do about it now.”

  “There’s actually plenty to do about it,” I said, cupping her chin to tip her face upward, even as she frowned.

  “Like what?”

  “Like… you getting dressed, and letting me take you somewhere that could turn your whole mood around?”

  Her frown deepened. “I don’t know about all that Troy.”

  “Who said you needed to?” I asked. “It’s already handled. That’s why I’m home early. Dress up like you did for Honeybee, and let me blow your mind.”

  Jules shook her head. “I don’t even have anything like that here.”

  “Then what in the world is in that box?” I pointed behind me, to the delivery box I’d deposited in the closet before I took my shoes off. “The delivery guy definitely said it was a dress…”

  “Delivery guy?”

  I nodded. “Yeah. He was trying to deliver to your studio, but you weren’t there, so I flagged him down and signed for it. Box seemed heavier than a dress though.”

  “Because it’s shoes too,” Jules mused, moving past me to get to the box. She crouched in front of it, putting her hand over the delicate blue store logo. “I ordered this for the launch party. Had it delivered to the studio because I just knew I’d be there, getting things ready. Nobody would’ve been home at the apartment. I completely forgot about it.”

  “But it worked out anyway. Now… no excuses. Get dressed.”

  She looked up, with panic in her eyes. “I…. uh… my hair,” she said, overly excited to land on another reason to stall. “My shaved side, it’s getting scruffy again. I can’t be out with you looking like that.”

  “Come right on to the kitchen then, mama. I have a set of clippers under the bathroom cabinet, I’ll take care of it for you.”

  “You’re really not going to let me out of this, are you?”

  I grinned, and shook my head. “Nah, I’m not. You haven’t left in three days. I love your company, trust me, but… there’s no way this is healthy for you. You don’t want to talk about it? I’m not gonna push. But I’ve read too many damn books to let you get too deep into this isolation thing you’ve got going on right now.”

  Jules dropped her gaze, moving to a seated position on the closet floor, beside that box. “I… I know. And I appreci
ate you for not pushing, which is why I am going to get dressed, and let you take me out. I need it,” she said, her voice cracking with emotion. “I’m just… I fucked up really bad.”

  I lowered myself down beside her, wrapping an arm around her. She readily accepted the invitation to get close, scooting toward me and dropping her head onto my shoulder.

  “I went to his house,” she said quietly, unprompted. “I shouldn’t have, and I know, but I just… when it comes to that whole situation, it’s like… logic just completely leaves me. I thought I was past it, and that’s why I came back. My mother was gone, and my aunt and uncle, and Anika, they wanted me here. And I wanted to be here, with them. I just didn’t know it was going to all unravel like this, and now everything is… fucked.”

  I tightened my arm around her, thinking for a moment before I carefully chose my words. I’d suspected that this had something to do with her stepfather, but I knew that situation was delicate. Hearing that she’d gone to him made molten anger swell in my chest, but I tamped that down, knowing that scolding her right now would be the total opposite of helpful.

  “Is it “fucked” or is it exactly where it needs to be?” I asked, not really expecting an answer. “It’s like… sometimes we think swallowing shit, ignoring it, means that we’re handling it, when really we’re just setting ourselves up for a worse fall out. I know it hasn’t felt good, and that it hurts, but… maybe you needed to unravel? Cause when you think about it… it’s not like unraveling means nothing is left. You’ve still got the raw materials to correct your mistakes, make something better than what you had before… something more secure. Using better tools.”

  She peeked up at me, smiling a little through her tears as she nodded. “I think you’re right. I hope you’re right, because I… picked up a new tool today. There’s this website, www.therapyforblackgirls.com. They have a directory of black therapists, and I found someone local, Quinn Maxwell. I’m gonna go see her next week.”

  “That’s what’s up,” I nodded. “I actually know Quinn, I think you’ll like her a lot.”

  Her eyebrows went up. “Know her… how?”

  “Not like that,” I assured, chuckling. “Stick around long enough, you’ll know everybody too. Now come on, let me hook up your cut for you, so you can start getting ready.” I climbed to my feet, and offered a hand to help her up, which she accepted. As soon as she was steady, I pulled her into me, making her smile before I dipped my head, pressing my lips to hers. “I’m glad you decided to talk to somebody. That takes guts. I’m proud of you.”

  She shrugged. “I got guts if I don’t have anything else.”

  I laughed as I led her out of the closet, but I knew what she said was the truth. It was something I admired about her, a lot – a strength and fearlessness that camouflaged the vulnerable state of her heart, that probably made it easy for other people to discount her feelings. Everybody expected “strong” people to run purely on flawless logic, like not being a pushover meant you were supposed to be a robot.

  But that wasn’t the Jules I knew.

  And I planned to do whatever I could to bring the warm, bubbly side of her back out.

  “You aren’t going to run me into a light pole or anything, are you?”

  I laughed at Jules’ question, keeping my arm tight around her to help her out of the car in her blindfolded state. Only the pretense of going too far to walk had built her excitement enough to let me tie a scarf around her head, forgetting her earlier complaints about it ruining her makeup.

  “Now why in the world would I do that?” I asked, leading her toward the door of our destination.

  She shrugged, practically bursting with excitement. “I don’t know, I’m just saying. Where are we? Are we there yet?”

  “Yes, nosy,” I teased, making her grin. “We’re here, but the way you’re wearing that dress has me wondering why I let you out of the house. Damn you look good.”

  Jules propped a hand on her hip and pretended to flip her hair, since she couldn’t because of the blindfold. She knew she looked good, in a floaty white, off-shoulder dress printed with oversized, bright yellow lemons. The bottom hem hit her mid-thigh, showing off long, toned legs that led down to sexy, strappy high heels on her feet, and brightly painted toenails that matched her lemons.

  “You ready to go inside?” I asked, and she nodded.

  “You promised there would be food, so yeah. I’m starving,” she laughed. “I hope this restaurant has crab cakes. Or maybe a burger. Or a steak. Definitely a steak.”

  “Get your hungry ass in here,” I chuckled, opening the door and pulling her through. Once she was inside, I stepped behind her to undo her blindfold and then moved away, giving her room for whatever her reaction was about to be.

  She blinked, hard, not moving an inch from where she stood. “I…” she started, then shook her head before she looked at me, eyes filled with confusion. “Troy, what is this?”

  “Your launch party. You worked hard for this, mama. Congratulations.”

  Jules stared at me for another few seconds before she looked away, taking in the sight in front of her. The framed prints from the walls had been replaced, and so had the gallery displays. The blankets and props were back on their shelves, the backdrops returned to their tracks. Everything was back in the pristine state it had been the last time I saw the studio – before that day that Marshall came up. There were no traces of the destruction I’d found when Anika stopped me on the street two days ago, demanding I go with her so she could show me something.

  I’d been baffled by it then, didn’t understand why Jules would destroy something she cared about so much. But now that I knew about the visit with her stepfather, I understood where she’d found that kind of rage, and why she didn’t want to talk about it.

  “If you don’t want to do this… if you’re not feeling up to it, whatever. We can route everybody to UG instead.”

  “We?” she asked, her voice cracking as her eyes went wide.

  I nodded. “Yeah. Me, Anika, your aunt and uncle, a couple of guys from the shop, a couple of Anika’s homegirls. They all came through and helped out so we could pull this off for you.”

  “While I’ve been avoiding home, and dodging phone calls. Like a selfish bitch.”

  “Whoa,” I shook my head. “None of that, aiight?” I asked her, closing the distance to grab her hand, linking my fingers between hers. “Nobody did this just because your name is Jules – They did it because they know you’d do it for them. In the short time I’ve known you, I’ve seen so much compassion, so much nurturing from you. Hell, you think I would’ve made it through hoe rehab if you weren’t on board with me?”

  Her eyebrows shot up. “You didn’t though…”

  “Small technicality,” I shrugged. “My point is that you’ve got people who care about you enough to be on your side, even when you’re trying to push them away. And they’re wise enough not to take it personally.”

  Jules looked around again, eyes wet with tears as they lifted, taking in the string lights I’d hung across the ceiling myself. “You think so?”

  “I spent two days with these people, cleaning this place up, and we didn’t even know what it was about. Just that this was important to you, and that making you happy was important to us. So… what’s it gonna be? We partying or not?”

  Finally, her face broke into the smile I’d been waiting to see, dimples and all, as she nodded. “Yeah. Let’s do it.”

  I pulled my eyes away from Jules long enough to greet her uncle as he approached, giving the older man a little fist bump before I returned to my drink. He put his back against the empty space beside me on the wall, following my gaze to his niece.

  “You know, I wondered why you were over here in the cut away from everybody, but now I see,” he chuckled, sipping from his own drink as I damn near sputtered on mine.

  “Mr. Elliot, I’m—”

  “Man, come on with that “Mr. Elliot” shit,” he said, shaking his head.
“I’m not your probation officer anymore, you can call me Will. Especially since it seems you’re being brought into the family,” he added, nodding in Jules’ direction.

  “I just wanted to be clear that there was no disrespect,” I explained, which made him laugh.

  “Disrespect? Please. When you stop staring at your woman, that’s when things turn into a problem. Write that down, son. Juliet is a beautiful woman, and you are a lucky man.”

  “I absolutely agree, sir.” He raised an eyebrow. “I mean… Will. You’ve gotta understand though… it feels weird calling you that, when you made me call you Mr. Elliot for the years I spent on probation.”

  “Yeah well, you earned it young blood,” he told me, clapping me on the shoulder. “You’re a success story, you know that right? Completed your probation, haven’t re-offended, kept a good job, all of that. Didn’t make me regret asking Carter to take a chance on you…”

  “And I hope you know I appreciate that.”

  “Never a doubt in my mind,” he said. “You’ve got a good head on your shoulders, man. You hurt my niece, I’m gonna have to knock it off of there, but otherwise we’re good.”

  I chuckled. “Message received.”

  The day I’d walked into the studio to start the cleanup process, I’d been shocked to end up face to face with the man who’d helped keep my ass on the straight and narrow after prison. I’d heard Jules mention her uncle – even specifically Uncle Will – but for whatever reason, I’d never put two and two together.

  Maybe since they didn’t have the same last name?

  Whatever it was, Will had greeted me warmly, not nearly as surprised as I was. Anika was out of the loop too, not having been privy to her father’s roster of former criminals, but his wife, Darcy, had recognized me that day on the street, from my picture in the files Will would take to bed with him, doing paperwork at the end of the day. The same one who’d sent him to our weekly check-ins with a plate from their Sunday dinners.