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)
Iwheeled my luggage into the living room of my sister’s place, glancing around as if I’d never return. Honest to God, I needed this to work. Once we returned from Shreveport, I wanted Washington and me to make the jump. Well, I’d keep my meeting with Omari and Martin on Monday. Nerves might cause me to delay packing until after I had news. I didn’t want to return to our home as a burden on Washington.
“Then we’ll make it official on Tuesday after therapy,” I muttered to myself, checking through my purse.
The front door flew open. Lynetta rushed in, bouncing in her NASA prototype rejects. “You’re spending the night at his home? At your home?”
“You look happy.”
“Girl, I’m your ride or die. I’ll cop the same attitude you have. We came to that conclusion already.”
I hadn’t expected us to become so close. Lynetta always ran with her crew. The day I left for college in California, she started at NYU.
But now, we embraced, jumping around like an old sitcom, the horrible theme song in my head.
“Maddy, Washington better treat you good, because frowning is messing with all of this.” She gestured to her face. “Yours too.”
“Okay, Mom Junior.”
“You packed your facial serum and moisturizer?”
“You know … it,” I paused, staring at the open front door that, in my sister’s elation, she hadn’t closed. A man stood there. Muscles from his head to pinkie toes. I still couldn’t wrap my mind around Washington’s third-hand account of Texas hiding in the Dollar Tree from somebody. He was well over six feet, like the rest of his brothers. His head barely cleared the doorframe. And his personality was usually bigger than his namesake.
Today though?
From behind him, the evening NOLA sun washed out the glow he usually carried like a personal spotlight. Texas scrubbed a hand over his face. His dreadlocks, normally fresh, crisp, and styled within an inch of their life, begged for a retwist. Frizz puffed at the roots as if waving for attention.
A tumbleweed beard obscured the clean-muscular line of his jaw. Texas was always hustling, always one step away from questionable life choices. But he always smelled of expensive soap and apparent good intentions. The contradiction was impressive. Olympic level. But today?
My heart hurt to look at him.
Lynetta raised her eyebrows. “Hey, Texas, or is it Tennessee?”
“Texas,” I muttered, since all he did was offer a halfhearted wave.
“Okay, Texas. Come in.” She tapped her fingertips against her thigh. “I’ll leave you to this.”
As she strolled away from the living room, I came alive and rushed to the door, hugging the guy who would always be my little “Incredible Hulk” brother. “Tex, where the hell have you been?” Yep, the bass behind my tone firmly cemented me into that role too. “How are you?”
“I can’t call it,” he replied in that slow, smooth drawl. I riddled him with questions about the Dollar Tree, and he stared at me as if he had the number to the nearest psychiatric paddy-wagon on speed dial.
Okay, maybe Washington’s father got that wrong? Ezekiel had seen Wash and Montana only a handful of times since he had gone to prison when they were little. Safe to say it was an honest mistake.
“Don’t know nothing about all that. Got your text, though.” He held up that raggedy phone with its one-inch screen and large, ancient button numbers. Damn burner phone model had to be his age. Montana had told Washington that neither PI could track his number because of it.
“So, you had that but couldn’t call nobody?”
“Sis, all y’all’s texts, calls? I’m surprised the phone didn’t explode in my hand. Can’t even play Tetris.”
“Texas!” I gasped, strolling toward the kitchen with him in tow.
“Nah! Y’all asses owe me a new phone.”
“I see you still have that don’t-give-a-crap sense of humor. Cute.” I pulled a pitcher of sweet tea from the fridge and snorted when he gave me a half-serious look, even though I knew he was kidding. “Okay, we’ll all pitch in. Five bucks each should get you another piece of crap.”
“Madison? Language, bébé!” The so-not-a-saint placed his hand on his chest. Boy, please.
“Where have you been?” I handed him the glass of tea.
“Bruh, no ice?”
“No!”
“Can you at least make me breakfast, gran sœr?” He smirked, calling me big sister.
Dude knew my buttons. I’d always wanted a baby brother. “Yeah, sit.”
“I hope you gave Wash half this attitude.”
“Oh, I did.”
“That’s what I’m talking about, bébé!”
Chuckling, I got to work. As I chopped vegetables for an omelet and warmed a pot for instant grits, Texas sat at the table, arms folded, face hidden. Then came the sound of snoring.
Lord, don’t let him be coming down from something.
I jotted a quick text to his brothers. We thought he was selling drugs. He’d sold them in high school, so it wasn’t a stretch. He was a decade younger than Washington and even tried to hustle dime bags at Aquatic Park when visiting us for our wedding. So far, he’d avoided issues with the law. But who was after him?