The Rhythm of Blues (Love In Rhythm & Blues Book 1) Read online

  “I don’t know what I’ve done to earn your harassment, but—”

  “You married a dear friend.”

  “Which has nothing to do with you.”

  LeRoy’s head tilted back and he gave the softest, heartiest chuckle I’d heard of a man.

  “Sweetheart, anything Ragee McKinnon does has everything to do with me, as well as Myisha. We’re a family. Like I said, a package deal.”

  “Myisha, I can take. You two asshole of besties can kiss my ass.”

  LeRoy laughed again, this time when his eyes were on me again, they almost sparkled. The man visibly softened to me that instantly.

  “You know, dear, I’m not against you, per se—at least not at the moment. There’s something about your raw energy that appeals to me, making me feel he’s safe. The fact that your background doesn’t yield any relationships, romantic or otherwise, with any industry knowns helps, too. Let’s get through these three years uneventfully, huhn?”

  I flicked my brows. “I’m counting them down already.”

  Then I was thrust into a spin. Before I landed, I could hear LeRoy’s tenor advise, “We’ve come to an understanding.”

  By that time, I’d bumped into hard planks of muscle. My eyes fluttered up and found Ragee’s. His were glossy and pink. Exhaustion and inebriation at their finest mix.

  “Time for the bride and groom to retreat for the night,” Myisha announced cheerfully. “Thanks all for joining in this blissful event. Let’s say goodnight.”

  I followed Ragee’s lead in waving, having no clue what to do. After a few seconds, he tugged me to follow him. We made our way, with the guidance of staff, to the rear lobby of the opulent resort. People nodded and smiled our whole processional inside. When we stopped in the lobby, I hadn’t realized Mike and Myisha were on our heels.

  “Lemme holla atchu, partner,” Mike called over as Myisha crowded me, taking me off to the side.

  “The glam squad is leaving tonight,” she informed. “Your things are still in the bridal suite and need to get up to your room. I’m going to have one of them help while I close up out there. Okay?” I nodded. She handed me an envelope. “Alright. Here’s your room key. You can’t miss it; you’re in the penthouse where there’s only one suite.”

  Before I could ask more questions like, Am I expected to stay in there with him? Myisha called someone over. I’d only known these people for weeks and realized they stayed with an army of helpers 24/7. Within seconds, I was entering an elevator with two women, one did my hair and the other had spray tanned my neck, chest, and arms earlier. We stalked to the bridal parlor and collected our things, placing mine on a bellman’s cart. On the way out, I heard the girls talk about being close to missing their flight. When we made it to the elevator, I told them to take the first available one.

  “You sure?” Penny, the hair stylist asked, looking at my luggage on the cart and my sandals clutched in my hands.

  “I’m positive.” I managed a smile. “My last stop is right upstairs. You guys’ is up the coast.”

  Stepping in, they thanked me. “Fuck the shit outta his fine ass, girl!” Lucy, the Dominican tan sprayer, hooted.

  A guttural laugh escaped my lips as the elevator door closed.

  “Little do you know, Lucy…” I whispered in my faux Spanish tongue as I stabbed the panel for the next elevator.

  My eyes brushed over the décor of the place. High walls, richly hued window treatments, and a freshly scented carpet. This resort was hella nice. I counted four doors on this floor. I’d heard the girls say this place was private, hidden, and exclusively expensive. So far, I couldn’t dispute their claim.

  I sighed when the next elevator arrived. When I stepped on, I searched for the penthouse option and tapped it. The card feeder on the panel lit up, similar to the one in Ragee’s high-rise in Jersey City. That prompted me to look into the envelope Myisha gave me downstairs. Inside was a plastic card I inserted. The dancing lights turned from red to green and the doors closed.

  Seconds later, my throbbing frame was being let out right into the suite itself; there was no entry door. I walked right into it just as we did with Ragee’s place last night. I pulled the cart inside enough to allow the elevator door to close. The place was grand, breathtaking. There was a lounge, larger than my living room—old living room. A dining room, but no kitchen. Behind a wall was the bedroom with a regal bed set on a platform. There were two balconies: one off the lounge area and another off the bedroom. I stepped outside of that one and saw the pier where the boat that brought us here this morning docked. There was a group of men stepping onto it. One wore a dress shirt that matched my gown. I figured he dumped the vest somewhere.

  Is that him?

  My phone rang in my hand.

  Myisha.

  “Hey…”

  “You good?”

  “Uh…” I glanced down again, seeing the boat pulling its anchor in. “Yeah. I’m here…in the suite.”

  “Okay. Good.” Myisha groaned. “We’re about to select the pictures to send out. If you don’t want your phone dinging all night, you may wanna turn down your ringer.”

  My forehead creased as I tried processing it all. “O…okay.”

  “Cool. Get some rest. We leave at noon for home.”

  “Okay.” I made a mental note of that. “Myisha?”

  “Yeah.”

  I turned to glance into the posh suite. “Ragee has his own room tonight. Right?”

  I could hear her speak to someone about what I assumed were pictures. Hell, no. Not that one. He’s half smiling.

  There was a pause before she snorted. “Gurl, his own house,” she murmured into the phone. “En route to Miami as we speak.”

  It was my turn to pause. I backed into the suite, making my way to the bed.

  That was Ragee.

  “I gotta go focus on this. Okay?”

  My lids blinked, long lashes clapping over my dry eyes. “Oh, yeah. Same here.” I swallowed hard. “Okay.” I tapped to disconnect the call and tossed it across the massive bed.

  My back slammed into the firm mattress and my eyes closed tight. I’d been able to take jabs: verbal and mental like the best of them. I’d even sparred a little with him and his people last night and all day today. But there was something…sad and rejecting about finding out he’d skipped out without even saying bye.

  Damn, that’s fucked up…

  Hard vibration somewhere near pulled me from the last of my sleep. My mouth was dry and eyes crusty. There was a deep throb in my back and an aching cramp in my neck as I tried to lift my head. The peaceful sound of the ocean and the feel of its breeze hitting my face couldn’t calm the pounding between my ears. I was able to crack one tight lid and saw my legs stretched before me, still covered in tuxedo pants and silk Ase Garb dress socks. The hem of my shirt was out of my pants and undone, and my undershirt was stained. The October waves of the beach crashed just beyond my toes as I sat high on the terrace. I hardly remembered coming in last night.

  I recognized the symptoms right away: I’d overdone it. I drank myself to sleep, something I hadn’t done in a while.

  Slowly, I lifted my chin. My eyes strained and tongue felt like sandpaper. My hands shakily grabbed the sides of the lounge chair and I painfully lifted myself up to sit back. I needed water and Excedrin. Orange juice, a decadent fantasy floating in my thumping head. The problem was, I was alone in this place, mostly. Other than my security, the only staff I brought with me was my trainer, Josh. It was my demand against the trickery my management had pulled me into with this wedding shit. So, I was by myself—

  And this damn phone won’t stop vibrating!

  My heavy eyes swung over to find it on the table next to me. I picked it up and found a long scroll of alerts and notifications: texts, emails, Instagram, Facebook, and tweets. I tapped randomly not caring where I landed; I just needed it to stop.

  Heather: I can’t believe you did this? You really married her Raj?

&nbs
p; My eyes closed again, my tongue moved heavily in my dry mouth, and I had nothing to swallow down my sore throat. But that didn’t keep my quivering fingers, thanks to the alcohol still flowing in my system, from tapping away. I wanted to get the pulse of my world before my session with Josh and then sound check for tonight’s show.

  They. Were. Everywhere.

  Pictures from last night. I could only count four, but that quad had circulated around the Wild, Wild West, also known as the internet. There was the one where I pointed down the beach to her for the officiant, Bob. One where we danced with her buried in my arms as both our heads were tossed back while we laughed—and it appeared to be at a mutual cause. I couldn’t remember what it was; last night was such a blur for me. There was one where we sat on the shoreline and she fed me wedding cake. I vaguely recalled that because Myisha was able to get us towels to sit on that were small enough to hide, but big enough to protect our costumes—clothes.

  Then there was one of me slipping the ring on her finger. My attention was on the task while ol’ girl’s eyes were on me.

  Those eyes…

  They were made-up to make her appear angelic, but there was something deep inside them that resembled altruism. She never complained last night, other than when I ruffled her feathers. She smiled even when it was empty, and she had the patience of a priest when we were pushed all around and told what to do for over two hours. Even when we danced, she seemed to have found a peaceful place to escape to until we were done. And she was alone. Alone. That still bothered me. Why would she do something this stupid by herself.

  But none of that was picked up in the pictures that were released to the media sometime last night. We looked happy, excited, calmed by a security only we knew and we shared. I shook my head, my eyes closing. That revelation burned my chest. These pictures were so damn deceiving. Even my alcohol-fuzzed brain that couldn’t recall much of last night, would believe there was something between this chick and me.

  I looked…happy. Satisfied. Freed. I hadn’t been anything remotely close to less than haunted since I found my third string of hair growing near my dick. Since then, the energy in these pictures made them laughable.

  My phone vibrated in my hands, ripping me from my haunted thoughts.

  E.T. Carmichael

  My stomach toiled, I wasn’t in the right state of mind to speak to my pastor, but some things you had to take head on.

  “Bishop,” I answered the call.

  “I’ll take friend any day, you know?” he rasped into the phone, and I knew right away, he wasn’t for the charm this Monday morning.

  My eyes roved out to the water. I felt…reduced to a child, something rare for a man like me. But I knew he could smell the guilt and shade from whatever side of the world he was on.

  “Ezra…”

  “My princess woke early this morning and I decided to let her exhausted mother extend her rest, so I took her out for a stroll on the beach. I changed her diaper, fixed her a little snack, warmed up a bottle, placed her in a stroller, and headed out. Thought it would be good to get aquatic worship in while she had her first meal of the day against the morning breeze.” Yup. I was in trouble. Ezra had a way of presenting an argument, a visual one. “Not even seventy seconds into the stroll on the beach, I get a barrage of activity on my phone: images, texts, and even calls. All with the same theme, same subject. My dear friend and confidant wedded his secret love on Marye Island last night.”

  I rolled my eyes at how cold that came across. My chest tightened and head throbbed even more.

  “And while my heart would no less than expand and rejoice at the news of you exchanging vows with a love God has sent you, it strikes me as odd that I’d be one of the last to know such a woman exists. I mean…at the very least I’d receive an invitation to bear witness and extend my support, Raj.”

  “It was Lisa-Mare’s birthday,” I tried. “I couldn’t ask you to change your plans.”

  “Was it, indeed, planned?”

  “Chaotically,” I answered truthfully.

  “But your love for her…,” Ezra went there, “your commitment to her. Is that disordered, too? Because, my brother, I didn’t even know a Wynter Blue—now, McKinnon—existed until minutes ago,” he rasped.

  “Ezra, you know you would have been called on to officiate had you been available. It was just something we decided to do. It was fast, maybe impulsive, but I wanted—we wanted to go for it.” I shrugged as if he was in front of me. As a child. “We went for it, E.”

  “Accountability.” It sounded random at first, but nothing out of the man’s mouth was random. “That is my responsibility to you. Friendship is just the icing on the cake. You can run and get married, dampening our friendship. But at the end of the day, I have to answer for you when I go before my God on Judgment Day. Telling Him I had no idea what you were doing with your life because I didn’t hold you to our friendship will not be a suitable answer.”

  “Please don’t make this more than what it was, Ezra. I feel…messed up about leaving a lot of people out. It wasn’t just you.”

  Lisa-Mare fussed in the background. That sound reminded me of how much of an imposition I was being even when it wasn’t me reaching out. I pinched the bridge of my nose, needing a distraction from the nausea I felt since taking this call. Ezra had been a gift to me since the day we met. A gift. In so many ways, I owed my journey to healing to this one individual, who was expressing his feelings of betrayal.

  The worst part of it all was me being a coward by making it seem as if he had no reason to feel slighted and betrayed. Anyone who really had a clue about the real me knew I made few moves without the blessings of my spiritual leader and friend. Ezra helped me navigate my way out of the darkness of abuse, confusion, rebellion, and the unrelenting pain from it all. Ezra wasn’t your average minister. He was a vivid seer, and a mighty miracle-caster.

  “Does she know?”

  When I thought my heart couldn’t pound any faster, it felt like it was about to explode in my damn chest. A nasty, thick film covered my tongue, preventing me from lying.

  I tried swallowing, but it didn’t improve my state. “No.”

  “Christ!” he shouted.

  My eyes squeezed.

  “One thing many would be surprised to know about me is my astounding indifference to most people, Ragee. I am the shepherd of a prominent and sizable organization, but a true introvert by nature. It is my charge in life to spread the gospel, but I don’t have to engage in pillow talk with the thousands of lives I touch weekly. So, when I call you friend—”

  “Ezr—” I tried, because our friendship wasn’t in jeopardy.

  Couldn’t be.

  “Ragee.” There was an authoritative bite to his call, one that silenced my bullshit. “When Andrew introduced his brother, Simon, to whom he believed to be the Messiah, Jesus peered into his soul. He examined his inner crevices upon meeting him—immediately saw what Simon had been, and would be. Jesus’ eyes revealed everything. He knew the good, bad, and betrayal that lay ahead involving Him. Yet He still deemed Simon worthy to be called friend…gave him a new name, Peter. It’s an Aramaic term for rock. Because that’s how firm His commitment was to Simon Peter’s soul…to his new friend.”

  My spine flew into the air and I jumped to the glass railing of the balcony just in time for the upchuck. A sheet of vomit shot into the air before falling to the bushes below.

  “My commitment to you is from my charge as your pastor. But this sting I feel in my heart is from the betrayal from a friend.” Lisa-Mare’s fussing turned into a full cry. “This conversation isn’t over. Friend.” He disconnected the call.

  I’d never been hung up on by my pastor. My dear friend.

  My boy…

  Another round of vomit hurled from my damn stomach.

  5

  These are better…

  I sighed, rolling my eyes in front of the full length mirror. There were few things more depressing than trying on new clo
thes when shopping, especially since I’d gained over fifty pounds in a year and a half, and kept the weight on. I went from a size six to—apparently—a fourteen. After glancing at the tag, my eyes squeezed shut. This shit was embarrassing. Along with my new life as Mrs. Ragee, came the expectation to look the part. Apparently, as a rhythm and blues singer in this day and age, fashion went along with the motif. It was about what you did, who you knew, and who you wore. Eighty-five percent of the new wardrobe I’d recently acquired was purchased from a high end fashion boutique in the City. The rest came directly from budding designers, and fewer were from established ones. I wasn’t a size four, so according to Myisha, not many were interested in “dressing” me. The shit was stressful.

  Taking a deep breath, I stepped out from behind the black curtain of the changing room. When I walked out into the lounge area in the back of JAGMisha Boutique, I saw Myisha sitting on a round tufted ottoman with her lean legs covered in thick black hosiery crossed as she spoke adamantly with one of the owners, JAG.

  “He wanted to eat my pussy so damn bad,” Myisha declared in a tone scandalous all by itself while JAG, a bronzed slender diva herself, squealed at the gossip. “I almost let him. You know I’m always down for a good time!”

  She high fived the woman.

  “Girl, that dude ain’t want no trouble with Raj!” JAG reminded her. “You remember how he almost got locked up over there in fucking Manchester? Raj ain’t care about being out in the U.K. when it came to you.”

  I watched and listened as I chewed on the inside of my mouth, trying to follow what seemed to have been a juicy story. Why would Raj be ready to kill over his employee? Was there something more between them? They did travel together a lot. And she was hella attractive. But Myisha was boy crazy. Almost each time I’d been with her, there was always talk of men, either she dated or wanted to. She seemed to be a healthy woman.