Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 72980 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 365(@200wpm)___ 292(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72980 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 365(@200wpm)___ 292(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
Please. All I sent her ass was a thumbs-up because heartbreak did have its perks. And she didn’t like that emoji.
As I moved toward the door, I spied Montana walking hand in hand with Zuri, and the son he’d soon adopt at his other side. Darius had recently turned five, so close in age to Elijah. I didn’t know which made my heart tighten more: it hurting to watch him because of that or because they’d passed the spot where Madison went buck wild on my Bentley. I tried to blame it on the car since the little dude was a good kid. I needed to be comfortable around children again. I wanted children again.
Zuri looped her Sisterlock behind her ear and gave me a hug. “Aw, man, you’re solo? I spoke with Madison earlier.”
“How’d that work out for you?” I asked, nodding at my little brother. His expression signaled that we needed to get down to business.
“Maddy agreed to meet me later this week to discuss bridesmaids’ dresses … just not here. She joked about not being a cliché. Returning to the scene of a crime.” Zuri shook her head.
Montana chuckled, all teeth and ego. “Maddy still says it like it is, huh? I see why you’re tryna marry her again. Don’t steal our wedding date though, bruh.”
“I’m taking that woman down to the courthouse,” I said. “Our wedding was free in San Jose. California beach vibes. Bluetooth speaker. And a classmate-preacher who wore sandals that go between the toes.”
“Flip flops?” Zuri lifted a brow.
“That,” Montana barked a laugh. “Real men. We don’t do stuff like that. Momma’s still mad you ain’t let her preacher say the vows.” He kissed Zuri on the cheek and glanced down at Darius. “Go on in, chère. Grown-folk talk. Darius, we’ll ride Croc later.”
“Oh, yeah!” Darius perked up.
I frowned. “Ya’ll riding what?”
Montana smirked. “His horse. Zuri lost her damn mind the first time I mentioned it.” Montana watched them walk up the porch, then his tone dropped. “Bruh, we’ve got a problem.”
“I felt something was off with Momma hosting her Wednesday night dinners here instead of the Hot Chicken & Peach Pit Maison. Not like her to switch up. No word from Texas after all these months?”
My brother roughed a hand over his face as Tennessee’s truck rumbled up the drive. Ash from firefighting clung to his cornrows as he got out, eyes tired, boots heavier than his mood.
Montana said, “Man, I hired two PIs. One here. One in LA. Both swear they’re top dog. Both charge like they know it. Ain’t neither found Texas.”
“Uh …” Tennessee sat on the bottom step of the porch, elbows on knees. “Y’all’s pops … said he saw my twin.”
The air thickened. I always forgot that me and Montana shared that deadbeat. The twins had the daddy I still aspired to be. Marcel Babineaux was the dad who raised us. And he died too soon, all after he gave me and Montana his last name. A solid last name.
Montana leaned a shoulder against the Doric column. “Is he asking for money to give us something?”
“Ezekiel … may not do that,” I muttered. Then again, confidence wasn’t my ministry when he was involved. The family tree had sent out his eviction notice when I was five.
Tennessee shook his head. “Nah. Zek said Texas looked in a bad way.”
Montana’s shoulders went rigid. That swagger drained like bourbon. “Bad way? Like what?”
“Like he had enemies. Ezekiel said Texas disappeared out the back of the Dollar Store where he works. Some dudes had just walked in.” Tennessee’s jaw flexed. “Looked sketchy.”
“What looked sketchy?” Momma’s voice sliced clean through the air.
We all glanced around.
She stood at the doorway, apron dusted with flour. I got it now. She’d cooked at home today. She’d probably spent the whole day reaching out to Tex too. Left him voicemails saying that Wednesday dinner would be at home. Probably wanted him to feel comfortable when he returned. But …
“Momma …” I started, voice low.
Her eyes darted from our faces, catching the silence like a scent. When neither of us spoke, she choked the words out in Kouri Vini. “What happened to my baby? My little Texas?”
madison
. . .
Ialmost took Washington up on his offer to attend Wednesday dinner. Truth was, I missed my family, the ones who had always been there, the warmth of their love filling the air. I’d called Washington later in the evening to ask about what good eats his momma had cooked. He hadn’t answered.
I’d already finished my workday and was tearing out of my glassblowing gear. Omari stood across the room, as if expecting me to strip out of my jeans and shirt. “Well, good morning, Mr. Riche,” I said, something between a smile and a grimace that read, Cool your jets, bro.