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

  She answered after a few rings, sounding out of breath.

  “He—hello?”

  “Where you at?” I asked.

  She hesitated for a minute. “At the apartment. I just left the gym.”

  “Stay right there.”

  The moment I glanced up at him, Danny was looking at me through the rearview mirror.

  I could hardly speak when I croaked, “Jersey City.”

  ~11~

  She’d just glanced up from her laptop when I came bustling into the dining room. I went toward the long side of the table as she sat at the head. Her hair was swept back into a ponytail resting over one shoulder. She wore only lip gloss on her face, reminding me of her natural beauty. Other than the puffiness rimming her eyes, she looked young. Comfortable here at the apartment. But that didn’t make it easier for me to have this conversation. I didn’t want to lose my head. Patience. I had to be patient and accept responsibility for this. But the pain in my chest was unlike anything I felt before. Nothing I could remember, at least.

  I wanted to hurt something. Break something. Like her heart. I wanted to break it, so she could feel what I was feeling, then put it back together and have it whole again. The only problem with that was I didn’t own Wynter’s heart. I never had.

  Slowly and with a shaky hand, she closed her laptop.

  “You and Teke still in touch?”

  Wynter’s eyes narrowed in a flash as though she flinched. “I haven’t seen him since he was laid out on the ground with a bleeding face.”

  “Was that the last time you heard from him?”

  She took a deep breath and raised her hand. “I heard the song, and it was a bullshit shot at you. I get it, but why the bass in your voice with me?”

  “Answer my question!”

  “I just tried to call him…return”—Her eyes closed as she switched up her answer—“his calls.”

  “Which one is it?” I could feel my pulse beating in my neck.

  Patience… Patience…

  Her eyes raced the table beneath her. “Mya called me about it. I heard the song and wanted to know what the hell was he thinking.”

  “So you know it’s about you? About the two of you?”

  She cocked her head to the side and I wanted to scream I wasn’t in the mood for her slick ass mouth but knew I couldn’t exactly say it that way. “I have a keen inkling this was about you going ape on his damn face in front of his people!”

  Ignoring that, I moved on. “You said returning his calls. He been calling you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  Her neck popped back. “I wouldn’t know. I didn’t take them.”

  My head swung back. “Bullshi—” I took in a breath so deep, my lungs felt like they were going to explode. I shook my head while it hung. “He texted you, too. Don’t lie.”

  When I was able to lift my head, I saw Wynter took deep breaths, too. This time it looked as though she was trying to keep from crying, but I knew that was crazy. She’d been crying lately. Twice! Wynter never cried. It wasn’t her style. She’d told me.

  When her face fell into her hands as she whispered, “This is bullshit!” and she sniffled, my knees went weak.

  Her shoulders jerked, and I moved to step to her and paused with my hands out. I didn’t know what to do. Her head swung up and she swiped her eyes to clear the evidence.

  “Why’re you crying?”

  “Because I hate this shit.”

  “What?”

  “I hate that I ever turned to Mike Brown for help. I ma—may be bill-free, but I hurt, too, Raj,” her voice jumped with high emotion. “I have feelings, too.”

  But instead of hearing her, I chose to be defensive. “When did I ever say you didn’t hurt or have feelings?”

  “When?” Her head swung to face me. “You said it when you shipped me off to Arizona the way you did. We were supposed to go together.” Wynter began to shake her head, and I grew scared because I’d never seen this side of her. The first thing that came to mind was to call her sister, Wanda or her girls to help her. “We were so”—her index finger swung in the air as she tried to decide on a word—“real that last night with each other. The last few weeks. I thought we had more than something that made it so easy for you to toss me out like that. Do you know how foolish I’ve felt this past month? How stupid that once again I’d missed another red flag concerning you?”

  That’s when I realized why her eyes were so puffy when I first laid eyes on her. Wynter had been crying. Maybe it was because of the guilt of sleeping with Teke. I didn’t know for sure. What I did know was I didn’t like it. To me, Wynter was ironclad. Nothing could penetrate her…well, only between her juicy legs.

  “You ain’t miss nothing, Wynt—” My head fell and my forehead met my palm. I didn’t know how to explain. “Myisha came to me that night. You know she was on that bullsh—” I swallowed, closing my eyes. “She was being childish about you and me being together like that. She threatened me—”

  Her whole body seemed to leap in her seat. “With what?”

  “With…” I took another deep breath. I had to be careful with this explanation. “She came to me saying Mike told her he had something on me that could…probably get me in trouble.”

  “What kind of trouble?”

  “Locked up, possibly.” I paused, deciding. “It’s complicated, but I found out at Mike’s funeral it was paper thin…basically a lie to use her to come between us.”

  “And it worked.” Her browline jumped. “Look where we’ve landed. And what could he have possibly said to her to get you to flip on me like that?” Her last few words were sobbed.

  “I’m sorry, baby…” I breathed, feeling a rip somewhere deep.

  “You’re like four weeks too late.” She sniffled.

  Her hands alone wasn’t enough to clean her face.

  “Don’t say that, baby.”

  “Don’t call me baby!” She yelled, slapping the table. “You’re so fucked up, Raj! You don’t care about anyone on that level. You don’t know how.”

  My hand automatically went up to brush over my head, and out of nowhere I felt hot. “I do.”

  “You fucking don’t, Raj!” Her fist clenched as she screamed it then stood from the table.

  She wasn’t hearing me. She didn’t get it.

  “I want you back!”

  A silent chuckle pushed out of her mouth and she turned her back to me, holding her head. “You never had me!” Her head shook left to right as though my desire was incredulous. “I gave you the basics, Raj—one-on-one. I gave you my friendship in spite of the horrible way you treated me around here for months. I never judged your quirky behaviors and haven’t whispered the reasons, since I’ve learned why, to a soul. How can I give you more than I already have and not be foolish?”

  “Because I fu—” I took a deep breath. “I made a mistake based on false information.”

  “Information we could have worked through together. Something I thought we were doing with your sordid past. I thought you valued that confidant in me—”

  “I did—do! I swear I do. I promise not to let something like that happen again.”

  “The fact that you let it happen the first time… You didn’t even call me. You didn’t keep in touch. I still don’t know why you showed up when you did. But even that was a twenty minute fucking conjugal visit.”

  Maybe she was right. That was something I felt but couldn’t explain.

  “I needed to see you. I missed you.”

  “Listen!” She had her hand in the air. “The night I ran into Mike and he invited me to his office was when Van was arrested. I met with Van because earlier that day, I quit my job. Do you know why?”

  “You said you were underpaid and overworked.”

  “Yeah. Overworked by my clients, too. I was burned out from working with needy, broken men. Day after day, I sat with men with horror stories—some that would make your trauma look like a sexual fantasy.
Tales of incapacitated grandparents being raped, being forced to deep throat a high ranking gang member in prison with a busted, bloody face, not that dissimilar to how you left Teke in L.A.; little defenseless boys being fucked up the ass by druggie boyfriends.” Her eyes closed as though it shielded her from the horror.

  She twisted her tight lips. “And I sympathized with them all, forgetting along with their trauma came survival skills. Those skills included creating false exteriors and developing the right language that would convince naive people like me to believe whatever it was they needed me to, to get what they wanted. That included telling partial truths to keep their deception going. It didn’t matter that I gave them my all, went beyond the call of duty to help them. It didn’t matter that I depleted myself to help them. A broken man is a broken man. A broken man is a limited man, Raj.”

  “I’m not.” I tried to even my breathing. “I’m not broken. I’m just…”

  “Troubled?” My eyes shot over to her. Wynter nodded. “Yes. You’re that, too. So troubled, you sent me packing after weeks of what I thought was building a friendship. Troubled to the point you can’t tell simple truths. You love secrets, though you know how I feel about them.”

  Secrets… She hated that term.

  My palms began to mist. “I can tell truths. I just need time. I have to get used to having someone I can tell them to, but I can.”

  “Oh.” She frowned as her head cocked to the side again. “So, you can?” I nodded. She tossed her chin to me. “Tell me why you got your dick pierced. Why the Apa?”

  No…

  I pushed out a defeated breath. Why that?

  “See. You can’t—”

  “I can!”

  “You’re angry already. You’re shouting!”

  I had. But because this was hard.

  “I… Uh…” I rubbed the back of my head, trying to come up with something…a clean version that wouldn’t turn her off. “I got it around fifteen years ago. I was at another low point in my miserable life…betrayed a friend and I wanted to punish myself. I hated myself, not understanding why I did the things I did…felt the way I did. I knew a chick who had a piercing and as crazy as the idea sounded, the pain of the process of it appealed to me.” She gasped and I felt my eyes close, wishing I hadn’t started this. This was why I didn’t like talking about this. The only person I had ever shared it with was Ezra and for this very reason.

  “Finish!”

  I let out a breath. “The guilt. The guilt from what I did to my friend pushed me to go through with it. I wanted to mar myself. To make myself ugly and less appealing, thinking it would deter…”

  “Women from you?” I didn’t answer. There was no need to. “Did you sleep with his girlfriend?”

  I shook my head. “Nah. I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “You never want to talk about it!” She screamed so loud, pain lanced through my chest. “Broken men never release verbally and emotionally. Some, only through sex. I don’t want that type of hell, Raj! I don’t want a man who wants to be an island in my big ass sea. I want friends to push me to take care of me. To help me blossom finally! To put me first, too. And most importantly, don’t keep fucking secrets. I hate them.”

  “I swear…I can do that, Wynter. I just need you to have patience with me.”

  One by one dollops of tears fell from her eyes before streams formed. She tried licking them away as she stared me dead in the face. “The duration of patience doesn’t have an expiration date. I could waste years being patient…waiting for you to become a man you’re not capable of being.”

  I didn’t know what else to say. I’d said it all. Never wanting a woman, I had no clue what more I could say or do. And that patience thing… Yeah. It was getting old and boring real quick at this point.

  “You get everything you need for the wedding?”

  Shaking her head in a way that told me she believed I was crazy, she uttered, “Yeah.”

  I turned for the door.

  “You know,” I heard her scoff as she spoke and turned over my shoulder, “…you barge in here violently about another man, asking if I want him. Then you declare this unrequited love, telling me you want me ‘back’.” I didn’t say it, but my timed silence and expression must have spoken the question. I wanted her to get on with her point. Wynter seemed to have struggled, too. Her eyes closed tight as she swallowed hard. Then her tongue brushed past the mole on her lip. “You never asked if I fucked him.”

  “It wouldn’t matter.” I stepped off again.

  “Why?” she called out behind me.

  “Because I don’t care if you did. You could tell me you wanted a white man and I’d bleach my skin”—my voice splintered as I shared the second most embarrassing fact of my pathetic life—“if it meant you’d want me, too.”

  This time I left for real.

  The whole church seemed to have stood breathless as the bride strolled down the aisle—alone. I hadn’t realized it right away. But she wasn’t escorted by anyone as she approached the altar, decorated in regal mise-en-scène, fitted for royalty. It was a scene to behold, all right. And it was then that I realized the purpose of the all-white dress code. The bride wore a shimmering gold fitted floor-length gown encased by sheer taupe tulle, uncloaking her undeniably fit shape. At the bottom of the gown were budding flowers, their fabric the same iridescent gold hue, bunched at floor level, almost as though they were growing up a tree trunk. Her cinched waist was guarded by the modest width of a gold-plated belt. The ends of her taupe veil stitched with small flower faces, extended past the flowers of the long train.

  And I could see all of this intricate detail from the balcony of the sanctuary of Redeeming Souls for Abundant Living in Christ church. The church my husband was a devoted member of. And based on the reception he received from the pastor, his pastor and friend along with those working today’s event on behalf of the church, he had been missed recently. Call me crazy but learning that bothered me.

  Everything about Ragee bothered me today. For one, he was fucking gorgeous, standing next to me in a tailored ivory suit. His beard was wonderfully groomed. Those thin bushy brows were enticingly messy as always. His thighs were spread with virility as his hands were clasped at his pelvis and his camel shoes even intrigued me. But it had been two days since the nasty fight at the apartment and lots had happened since then.

  I hadn’t heard or seen much of Raj since then, though he had flowers delivered to me the following day. And last night his chef, Earl, showed up at the apartment with a couple of bags of groceries to cook me a tasty meal, the first good home cooked one I’d had since leaving the estate.

  Van was released at eleven this morning. I was bummed I couldn’t be there but had arranged for transportation for him. I used my Uber, but his one baby’s mother, Diana, was picked up first. He’d FaceTime’d me from her phone when she presented him with the bottle of Mauve I’d five-fingered from the storage room in the apartment where I found a case of them. He was giddy as hell, in the phone, screaming, “Ah shit! Ah shit! I’m famous now!”

  And I was annoyed. Sad that I wasn’t there to receive him, but somewhat excited about being with Ragee today. Why was I excited? Why did I want to breathe the same air as my captor? He was mean. A liar. Secret-keeper.

  It annoyed me to watch this royal-worthy subject walk toward my future boss, who couldn’t take his eyes off her.

  “This is so Elle’s style,” Jade, the petite woman whose head barely reached her husband’s breastplate whispered elatedly across Raj. “You know her?” she asked me.

  I shook my head with honesty. I didn’t know—I glanced down to the elegant stationary of the program—Elle Ann Jarreau. I’d only known her soon-to-be husband because I tried out for his boot camp recently. I still couldn’t believe I was at Jackson Hunter’s wedding. This was like a damn dream.

  “I’ve been around her a lot,” Kennedi to my immediate right whispered over to me and Jade, Trent’s wife, answering her. �
��and this is ultimate diva-status, just like the woman herself!”

  The girls high-fived each other, and I giggled nervously, not wanting to be rude during the ceremony. My eyes timidly brushed up to Ragee, whose attention was below on his associates about to exchange their vows. It had already been an awkward seating arrangement up here. I didn’t want to be the cause of his foul mood in front of his friends. Rich friends—baller-ass friends—in the entertainment business. I couldn’t believe I was sandwiched in between Young Lord and Trent Bailey. Stenton Rogers and his wife were two rows ahead of us.

  Crazy!

  His pastor, Ezra Carmichael, stood there in a white robe with gold embroidery. He was nothing of what I expected. Dude was fine, yet mystic. He looked young, physically, but behaved like a seasoned man. His swag was off the charts, and beard fuller and wider than Ragee’s. His thick eyebrows furrowed as he examined me earlier—at least, that’s what it felt like. It felt like the man could see back to me cheating on my AP Chemistry quiz in high school, his eyes were so damn intense. He had the type of aura a woman could get lost in, but for an absence of lust there. I’d seen it in enough men to recognize satyr when it was vetting me. Not this Ezra, his scrutiny was lust free. And it still haunted me.

  I watched as Jackson received his bride before we were cleared to be seated. Pastor Carmichael spoke eloquently about the institution of marriage, its origin, and worldly and spiritual bases. His voice was an intriguing and captivating rasp and his articulation, boundless as he interfaced with the couple using occasional charm.

  Jackson’s vows were original, yet simple where he pledged his life to being her life partner, leader, and lover. He promised to never let a period go by without assuring her of her beauty, ability to love him, seduce him, and nurture him. It was sweet and compelling. But Elle’s vows were moving.

  From the speakers around the sanctuary, her breathless oath could be heard crisply.

  “Some say happiness is a journey and not a destination. I disagree, because I've arrived at a place of sheer joy and contentment. No more sleepless nights or bouts with insomnia. Today I choose to sleep at night, knowing I'll wake to a new day filled with your light. Your love.