SYNOPSIS
True never guessed that life would be this hard. Being only twenty-five years old, she should have been being wild, reckless, and having fun, not fighting the hardest battle of her life, alongside a husband who no longer loved her. After their divorce, True wanted to be free and enjoy every day. Falling in love was not in the plan. She most definitely hadn't foreseen falling in love with an arrogant, womanizing hustler like Coop. Yet, she did. However, as soon as True tells him all her truth, he'll revert to that unbearable goon that wreaked havoc on the streets of Chicago.
Coop grew up an orphan, passed from foster home to foster home. A hustler, his right-hand man, was his only family. His love was the game. His side chick was money. Then he met True. She filled gaps in his life that he didn't even know needed filling. Looking at her, being in her presence, was like the first warm, sunny day after a brutal Chicago winter. Being with her felt like being lost in the right direction. Coop had thawed out his icy heart and given it to True... just for her to break it. True was gone, unable to fix what she’d broken, but, lucky for Coop; True found a way.
Remi has been with Banks for ten years. She remained loyal through every lie and infidelity in hopes that her patience and understanding will eventually bring her “happily ever after” with her one true love. Finally, Banks gives her what she has always wanted… a ring. However, that ring came with such a devasting blow, leaving Remi unsure how she will ever recover… until she meets True and Coop. Unbeknownst to her, these two strangers will mend her broken heart and cause her life to never, ever be the same again.
* This is a heart-wrenching, yet warming, story of broken women who find love in their darkest hours from the most unexpected and hardened hearts.
Contents
About the Author
Title Page
In dedication to:
Prologue
1. True
Coop
2. Remi
True
3. Coop
True
Angel
True
Remi
4. True
COOP
5. Remi
COOP
TRUE
6. Remi
COOP
TRUE
7. Coop
8. Remi
TRUE
9. Coop
TRUE
ANGEL
10. Remi
COOP
ANGEL
11. True
COOP
REMI
12. Angel
TRUE
ANGEL
REMI
13. True
COOP
14. Remi
COOP
15. True
COOP
REMI
16. Coop
ANGEL
17. Remi
COOP
18. Angel
REMI
19. Remi
20. Coop
REMI
21. Angel
COOP
22. Remi
COOP
REMI
ANGEL
23. Coop
REMI
24. Angel
REMI
COOP
ANGEL
25. Remi
COOP
REMI
COOP
THE END
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Copyright © 2018 by Jessica N. Watkins
Published by Jessica Watkins Presents
All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. Without limiting the right under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form by means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise), without the prior written permission of the copyright owner.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.
Created with Vellum
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Jessica N. Watkins was born April 1st in Chicago, Illinois. She obtained a Bachelor of Arts with Focus in Psychology from DePaul University and Masters of Applied Professional Studies with focus in Business Administration from the like institution. Working in Hospital Administration for most of her career, Watkins has also been an author of fiction literature since the young age of nine. Eventually, she used writing as an outlet during her freshmen year of high school as a single parent: "In the third grade, I entered a short story contest with a fictional tale of an apple tree that refused to grow despite the efforts of the darling main character. My writing evolved from apple trees to my seventh and eighth-grade classmates paying me to read novels I wrote about kids our age living the lives our parents wouldn't dare let us". At the age of twenty-eight, Watkins' chronicles have matured into steamy, humorous, and realistic tales of African American Romance and Urban Fiction.
In September 2013, Jessica's most recent novel, Secrets of a Side Bitch, published by SBR Publications, reached #1 on multiple charts.
Jessica N. Watkins is available for talks, workshops or book signings. Email her at [email protected].
In dedication to:
Auntie Lucille, Verline, “Uncle Morris”, Vicky, Glenda, and Rosemary
Prologue
True
“Goodnight, Mommy.”
I couldn’t help but smile at Joy’s sweet voice. At four years old, she could have been calling me a bald-headed wench, and it still would have sounded so adorable and angelic.
I bent down and kissed her chubby, chocolate cheek. She had inherited her father’s deep, chocolate skin and she was the spitting image of him. But you could see remnants of me in her smile.
“Goodnight, Mama’s baby. Let’s say our prayers.”
Her long, dark lashes appeared as if they were fanning me as she shut her eyes. It was so cute how she squeezed her eyes closed so tightly before I began to recite our prayer.
“Now I lay me down to sleep. I pray the Lord my soul to keep.” My heart melted as Joy prayed along with me in her toddler dialect that missed and oddly pronounced some of the words. After four years of saying this prayer to her almost every night, she had memorized it. “If I should die before I wake, I pray to God my soul to take. If I should live for other days, I pray the Lord to guide my ways. Amen.”
“Amen!” Joy ended.
“Okay, sleep tight, sweetie.” I stood up from the bed where I was sitting beside her. I then made sure that the blanket covered her up to her chin. She had begun to drift off to sleep before I had even turned to leave.
I was grateful that Joy was such a sweet, well-behaved child. My life after having her had been a complete nightmare. Yet, having her was a ray of sunshine that pierced through my fierce and deadly storm. I had been dealt one of the worst hands that any twenty-four-year-old could imagine. However, God had looked out for me by blessing me with Joy before I knew that I would even need her in my life to make it better and give me a reason to smile.
Just as I passed the kitchen, the usual feeling of nausea hit me like a sickening wave. My stomach started to swim. I instantly felt disappointment. Since Jameel was home that night, I had hoped I wouldn’t be sick so that we could spend some quality time together. It had been so long since we’d been intimate, and I was dying for his affection.
Making an about-face, I scurried into the guest bathroom towards the back of the house. I fought to keep the contents of my stomach down instead of violently regurgitating until
I could make it to that bathroom. I was trying desperately to keep any sounds of my vomiting from yet again ruining any chances of me pleasing him or even more so, him being turned on enough to please me.
Luckily, I made it into the bathroom just in time to close the door tightly, turn on the light and ventilation, and empty my belly into the toilet. I heaved, gripping the sides of the toilet. No matter how many times I had done this, it never got easier.
Once my stomach finished expelling, I forced myself to my feet and reached into the medicine cabinet for toothpaste and mouthwash. Using one of the extra toothbrushes for guests, I brushed my teeth and rinsed.
As I left the bathroom, I tried to coax myself into having the strength to go into my bedroom and seduce my man. Despite my efforts, I yawned as I padded up the hallway towards the master bedroom in my home in Morgan Park, a huge difference from the low-income housing that I had been raised in with my single mother in “The Gardens.”
My mother was living in Altgeld Gardens with her parents when she got pregnant with me. My father was some hustling little boy who was too immature to claim me when my mother told him that she was pregnant. My mother had raised me in my grandparents’ home until I was five. She tells me all the time how, with me in her arms, she would walk right by my father as he sold drugs in the neighborhood, and he wouldn’t even look at me or acknowledge her. Eventually, his occupation got him murdered when somebody robbed him when I was five. That same year, my mother met my stepfather who had some big-time position at Metra. He fell in love with my mother’s regal, modelesque looks and tan skin. He took me and my mother out of the projects and moved us to Tinley Park, a suburb outside of Chicago that looked like the lap of luxury compared to the Gardens. Mama and I never looked back after that. My mother first thought I would be raised in poverty amongst the gang and gun violence in the hood of the city, but, instead, I had ended up being a spoiled suburban girl who rarely needed for anything.
My mother had met her knight in shining armor, and years later, I made sure to meet mine too. Five years ago, I met Jameel at the Metra Christmas party and fell in love with him after just three dates. He was an engineer for the company, and once I got pregnant a year later, he gave me the same comfortable life that my stepfather had given my mama and me.
Right before entering the master bedroom, I yawned again. As usual, I was so drained and ready for bed. I couldn’t wait to curl up next to my man and allow his scent to relax me to sleep. However, I first intended to please him if he were in the mood that night. So, imagine my surprise when I walked into the bedroom to see him walking towards me with luggage in his hands.
“W-where are you going?” I stuttered over my words as my eyes glanced over the luggage. Instantly, my heart started to race with fear. This wasn’t like Jameel to jump up and go out of town without telling me, and it was odd that he was going anywhere at nine o’clock at night. “What’s going on?” I asked, praying to God that someone in his family hadn’t suddenly fallen ill or worse, had passed away.
He hesitated… and I didn’t like it. I didn’t like the look on his face either. It was stern, mean… uncaring.
He stood in the middle of our bedroom with the handles of the two pieces of luggage—one in each hand—and simply shrugged. That one, swift, nonchalant movement told me everything. He didn’t have to say anything. I hadn’t expected it, and I hadn’t seen it coming, not even with binoculars, but that one nonchalant shrug told me everything.
Yet, still, he sealed my fate with, “I can’t do this anymore.”
Instantly, my eyes welled with tears and soon began to run like faucets. On top of everything I was going through, all my suffering, and fighting every day, I didn’t need this. Not this too.
I raced towards him, and he stepped back like the last thing he wanted me to do was touch him. “Jameel, w-what do you mean?”
He took another step back. He shook his head as he said firmly, “I can’t keep living like this with you. It’s too hard.”
My amber eyes bulged out of their sockets as his audacity hit me in the gut. I was floored, literally flabbergasted although I shouldn't have been.
Jameel had provided for Joy and me, but he had been an asshole for most of our marriage. He took care of the household, but he didn’t give a damn about me or Joy emotionally. He had shown no signs of that before we got married, however. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have walked down that aisle in that thirty-thousand-dollar dress that my stepfather had purchased.
Six months into our marriage, Jameel changed. Some days were okay. Some days, I could enjoy a smile on his face and lying beside him. Other days were torturous and full of reminders from him why he wanted more and better. However, I was willing to remain married to him and keep trying if it meant me being with him and giving Joy a father figure and comfortable life just like my mother had made sure to provide me.
Though Jameel fronted to be happy with everyone else, he had recently stopped fronting with me. He was cold and unhappy. He put on for the relatives and social media. Everybody thought that we were the perfect couple and relationship goals. Yet, behind closed doors, he took his anger out on me and even sometimes Joy for being married before he was truly ready. Jameel had married me because his mother had told him to because it was cheaper to keep his pregnant girlfriend. I prayed that his heart would change, though. I prayed that his sudden disinterest in this marriage and his child was a phase. The last thing I’d needed to add to my stress was failing to keep Jameel happy.
Last year when I received devastating news, I thought it would bring us closer. I thought it would make him want to fight for me, fight with me.
I guess not.
“I’m tired. I’m done. I can’t deal with this,” he said, frowning as if our marriage, his family, and I were disgusting and something he just wanted to wash his hands of as fast as he could.
My eyes bucked even wider. I glared at him, daring him to be serious. “What do you mean you can’t deal with this, Jameel? The last time I checked, I could have sworn that I was the one dealing with it.”
His mercenary eyes rolled to the ceiling. “That’s your problem. You think this only affects you when it affects all of us.”
I clutched my chest in disbelief. Even though he had been clearly unhappy, I’d never thought he would leave… not now. “So, you’re leaving?”
He sucked his teeth like the immature boy that he was, the little boy that I never wanted to admit that I had married. “I didn’t sign up for this.” He sneered.
“No, you didn’t sign up for marriage period,” I spat. “Be honest. You married me because I was pregnant, and your mama made you be a good boy, not because you loved me or even liked me.”
“Fuck you,” he hissed so easily, as if he had been waiting forever to tell me that.
“Fuck you too, Jameel!” I shrieked, pointing my matte, Pink nail at him.
He shrugged again and went for the luggage. “That’s the problem. You don’t. You don’t fuck me.” He started to roll the luggage towards the door. It made me sick to my stomach to wonder where he was going or better yet, who he was going to.
“How can I?” I protested, on his heels. “You know—”
He waved his hand so suddenly that I instantly shut up. He had never hit me. He’d always used his words to hurt me. Yet, in this moment, he was obviously so determined to break me that I didn’t know what he was capable of. “I don’t wanna hear that shit. It’s the same sad, tired excuse all the time.”
“You act like I can help it!” I cried.
He kept heading towards the bedroom door, burying my existence and heart with every word that left his throat. “You can’t help your life, but I can help mine. I’m twenty-seven. You think I gotta live my life like this? With a wife that can’t please me, and that I gotta —”
“Shut up!” I couldn’t take hearing it. Not from him. Not like this. I raced towards him, asking, “You think I like being like this? You think I asked for this?”
On his way out of the door, he sealed my fate. “Yeah, well… It’s happening to you, not me.”
I stopped dead in my tracks, his harsh words paralyzing me. He had been an asshole, and he had said some awful things to me, but I didn’t know that his disgust ran this deep. “Jameel…”
He didn’t even bother to turn around as he shook his head. “Don’t beg,” left his voice so cynically that I fell back against the wall nearby. I slid down it with tears streaming from my eyes. I couldn’t believe he had chosen to walk out on me at a time like this. Jameel had been such a rock for me when my stepfather passed away four years ago. That’s how I fell so deep in love with him so fast. I just knew that, no matter how he felt about this marriage, he would hold on to it so that he could be there for me through this too.
When My Soul Met A Thug Page 1
