~3~

 

My last memory was of my hand grazing a small metal ball pierced into soft velvety flesh encasing a steel muscle when my eyes fluttered open. The phone…it was ringing from the nightstand. That’s when I realized my thumb and index were gripping the teardrop diamond pendant, rolling it back and forth. My eyes squeezed closed.

Damn it!

I’d dreamt about him. Again.

Why?

My phone ringing again snapped me out of my head. I pushed over onto my shoulder to get it. The random number with a distinct area code lit across the screen told me who it was. Damn… I almost missed this call.

“Hey…”

“Whaddup?” Van asked as though it was a decent hour.

Here in Arizona, I was two hours ahead of him, and that two hours made a big difference no matter how hard I tried keeping with my normal sleep and wake patterns.

“Just waking up.”

“Daaaaamn,” he sang. “I know that mouth hot!”

I rolled my eyes at his teasing. “You hear from Ernestine?”

“Nah. She ain’t speaking to me.”

I rolled my eyes. Ernestine was Van’s second baby’s mother. They fought all the damn time.

“She said her tire blew and she’s riding on a spare.”

“Shit…” he swore under his breath. “Always some shit!”

“Yup.” I yawned. “And so close to you getting out. When exactly?”

“Soon. My lawyer said he’s waiting on the prosecutor to send the judge some documents. Then he can file a motion for dismissal.”

Van didn’t sound as happy as a man who could smell his release should.

“That’s great. And your court date is still in a couple of weeks?”

“Less than that,” he mumbled.

“Can’t wait.” I smiled. “I’ll be there with fucking bells on. I swear, I can’t wait for the nightmare to be over.” Then a thought came to mind. “You think you’ll still have your job at the garage?”

“I sent a letter to old man Spence last week. Had MaMa call him the other day. Sounds like I’m good. Just gotta finally get outta here.”

“Yeah.” I turned over to my back. “I hear you.” I licked my lips, eyes closed as I held my breath. “And we’re done with the bullshit. Right, Van?”

“Look, Wyn—”

My eyes shot open. “A simple yes or no would suffice.”

For a while, I didn’t hear anything from Van. I could only hear the noise pollution of the happenings around him.

“Damn, baby girl. Yeah. Hell, yeah!”

I sighed deeply, wanting to believe him. I had no more tricks. What I’d done to help see him through this was extreme and a once in a lifetime type of deal. He’d be released soon. I still had the aftermath of my decision to deal with. I’d heard on BET last night how Mike Brown’s condition hadn’t improved. No arrest had been made, but the word was True Blue had his hand in this. Would he come for Ragee? Me?

I rolled my eyes.

“Aye…”

“Yeah.”

“You in love?”

“Wha—” I flew up to a sitting position. “What?” When did Van talk about being in love?

“You know what I mean. Like… This shit with your old man on the up and up?”

Quickly, I caught myself. “I am married to him, Van.”

“I know, but…”

“But what?”

“Like… You kick it with that nigga? Like… On some real shit?”

Where was he going with this?

“He’s my husband, Van!”

He went silent for a while, and that confused me even more.

“You there?”

“Yeah, Wynter. I’m here.” He exhaled harshly into the phone.

Was he losing it in there? Had these six months behind bars gotten to his mental? I’d seen this countless times. Oftentimes, men didn’t have the mental wherewithal to endure jail and/or prison.

“I ain’t never say this, but my bad on the Sheldon situation.”

“Huhn?”

“I know!” he grumbled. “I ain’t never really address the shit properly. I was too fucking caught up in my feelings about you sneaking behind my back… I felt betrayed, yo.”

My forehead lifted, confused and hella surprised. “Betrayed? By me?”

“Yeah…” didn’t come out exactly clear.

“Why just me?” Here we go again with this shit! “He was your best friend—”

“But you was family. My fucking sister. The one real smart and pretty. You may be from Garfield, but ya grandparents raised you like you was from fucking…Nutley. You was the light for me. The one I wanted to protect, yeah. But the one I ain’t never expect to fall for a nigga like Sheldon or me? We the same. You better than us.”

With my face bowed and while pinching the bridge of my nose to manage the emotion, I shook my head. “No. Van, I wanted to be just like you. Wanted in your world. I’m sorry for going behind your back, fucking up your relationship.”

“Nah. He did that. And then on top of it, got lil’ Reign pregnant—twice.”

“Three times.”

“What?”

“She’s pregnant now. I’m surprised MaMa hasn’t told you.”

There was an abbreviated pause. “Nah,” he sounded dazed. “She didn’t.”

I rolled my eyes. “Sorry to be the bearer of bad news. I found out in January. Guess I forgot to tell you, too.”

That was true. I rarely thought of Reign. I’d programed my mind not to over the years.

“Look. I gotta go. They gone end the call soon. But I want you to know I’mma handle that between you, her and Sheldon.”

“That shit is old, Van.”

“Nah. Just overdue. I’ll holla.”

The line went dead. I dropped the phone from my ear and stared blankly at the face. What was that? We didn’t talk about Sheldon. Van established that years ago when he began speaking to me again after finding out about our relationship. Shit. I made it so we didn’t talk about Reign. The shit hurt, and the best way I dealt with that type of pain was by not speaking about it. Even Wanda knew the rule. Only little Miss Asia didn’t, but she’d know as soon as she was old enough.

I pulled myself from the bed, needing the toilet. The toilet led me to the sink to wash my hands. Doing that propelled me to wash my face and brush my teeth. And while on auto-pilot doing that, I next found myself in the shower. That damn Van. Why would he broach the forbidden subject after all these years? Something was up.

As I toed out into the bedroom for clothes, my mind wouldn’t slow. I just finished tossing on a bra and panties when I sat down to distract myself. Social media was always a great go-to when I needed a mental escape or to pass time—at least since being married to a celebrity. It didn’t take long to come across material related to my world, directly and indirectly. I saw a link to an article stating two arrests had been made in Mike Brown’s shooting. And predictably, they were Crips from Compton, California, home of True Blue. 

A few days after we returned from Saint Justin, a horrid video was released of True Blue’s children’s family being attacked by masked gunmen. Whispers circulated about the assailants in the video being affiliates of Mike. I knew Mike had his shit with him, including dark energy, but I had no idea he was the murderous type. A crook, perhaps. But a homicidal tyrant?

Why the fuck did I check social media?

I tossed my phone and went to the drawer to pull out a cut pair of shorts I bought before flying out here. I’d been so proud of my weight loss, I treated myself to them. I paired them with a long sleeved, oversized powder blue blouse. It was a rest day for me. I’d been going so hard since being here, my entire body ached. I got clowned last night by some in the group, saying it seemed as though I’d just had my first fuck.

As I powdered on a little foundation, my phone rang again.

“Hey, MaMa…” I wasn’t hesitant on that greeting, knowing a genuinely excited one wouldn’t be reciprocated.

“It’s me,” was returned with even more timidity from Reign.

“What’s up?” I pushed myself to continue with a light face.

I’d soon have to find a car to take me into town.

“MaMa told me to call you.”

“Okay…”

“She said you supposed to send her some money. Van told you to?”

First of all, the money I’ve been sending her has been my own...

Van asked me once since being arrested to look out for her. That was all he said.

Because he knew you’d do exactly that…

“I don’t know nothing about what Van said.” Then it hit me. “Can I speak to her?”

I didn’t like this third party setup.

“She in the bathroom,” Reign tried.

“Then she can call me back when she gets out.”

She stalled, and I knew. I understood why. MaMa had her call because she didn’t want to speak to me.

“Wyn—”

“I’m so sick of this shit,” I breathed, more to myself while pinching the bridge of my nose.

I could feel a headache nearing.

“She wants you to get your car—”

She was interrupted by a familiar mal-matriarchal tone. “No. She need to get that shit off my damn property!”

My brows lifted. “I see she’s out of the bathroom,” my tone sardonic.

“Wyn—”

“Tell her to give that shit to you! She high and mighty now. She ‘on’t need that shit,” MaMa kept with her long-thought-out theories. “She jealous of you. You know what that’s about. She jealous you can give your man all these babies and she couldn’t.”

That was it.

“Tell her I’ll have the money to her in a few hours.” I disconnected the call.

The moment I hit the kitchen and expected empty quiet to fix my breakfast in peace, I see four male figures. My steps halted, taking in the scene before me and identifying everyone. Most were sitting, one standing, a few yawning, and all wore tight faces.

Resuming my pace toward the fridge, I greeted them and asked, “What the hell are y’all doing up so early?”

Teke turned from over the stove. The room smelled of glorious pork bacon, a delectable food I hadn’t had in months.

“Oh, hey,” his vocals were thicker than usual, a little raspy, too.

I grabbed cottage cheese and blueberries from the fridge and placed them on the counter before going for a bowl. Teke’s eyes were on me until I peered at him directly. He went back to the stove.

“No one’s answered my question. What are you doing up this early?”

“Waiting for this nigga to finish our food!” Irv barked at Teke, his voice just as weak.

He was on his laptop, apparently on Facebook, scrolling away.

“We ain’t been to bed yet,” Rico, an engineer in the program, explained on a stretch and yawn.

“Oh.” I glanced over to Teke, planting scrambled eggs on a platter. “What were you guys up to last night?”

I was typically the first to turn down at night and to rise in the morning. It was strange not having the place to myself.

“Recording.” Teke winked, dumping bacon onto another platter then licked his thumb before going back for the stove.

“Something new?” I asked.

Jon was at the counter, grabbing the platters to take them over to the kitchen table where the rest of the guys were sitting.

“Yeah. One of yours,” Irv called over his shoulder, eyes still on his screen.

Rico brought plates and utensils to the table and the guys were going in, spooning food into their plates with gusto as Teke brought a platter stacked with pancakes to them.

“There’s enough for you if these fucks don’t inhale it all,” he offered before lightly slapping Jon in the back of the neck.

I shook my head, declining. Admittedly, everything looked delicious and smelled divine, but I was now down to one hundred sixty-seven pounds. The weight had been melting off since arriving to Arizona. I’d been a workout machine but didn’t eat as much as I should because I had little of an appetite. Even now, cottage cheese and blueberries should have been accompanied by something heartier and fiber friendly. I still had the food lists Ragee and Earl put together for me. They included meal options, too. But here was work and not a place of comfort and familiarity. So I ate to survive, not to socialize.

“What song of mine?” I asked the hungry table of men, digging in the food as though it was their last meal.

“Damn,” Irv uttered mid-chew, pausing with his fork in the air. “We ain’t got no title, huhn?”

“I wanna get lost and hide, forever stay inside...of...you, baby.

High off your ecstasy, I almost died, baby.

To...come...down...I really tried, baby.

But you became the drug I need, baby.

My...addiction...forever feed, baby.” Jon sang with a mouthful of eggs. He chuckled. “That shit still looping through my head.” He resumed eating.

With knitted brows my alarmed gaze went to Teke, who eyed me with his regard going to his plate occasionally. “Hope you don’t mind.” He put down his fork. “You get full writer’s credit on it if it’s published.”

I didn’t know what to say. The business was new to me, so much shit I still didn’t know. What I did understand was L.I.T. Music’s clear directive of fresh music coming out of this camp being one of the factors in them deciding who they’d offer an exclusive contract to. I knew I had to produce something and to do that, I had to open my bag of goods. However, I was wise not to share too much. Whatever came out of this would belong to L.I.T. Music and not me even if they were my words. In the moment, I couldn’t decide if Teke was helping or using me.

I went back to preparing my breakfast without answering him. As I poured blueberries over the cottage cheese, Irv barked his excitement about something he saw on Facebook.

“Yo, man!” He yanked the earbuds from his ears, pulled the wire from the laptop, and turned it so others could see the screen. Blaring music began pouring from it and into the large room. “This nigga nice. He ripping through those fuckin’ scats, yo!”

The deep tenor singing didn’t sound familiar at first.

“That’s Will Downing?” Rico asked.

Will who?

“The one and only,” Jon replied with his regard fixed on the screen, his neck craned oddly so he could see it.

That’s when I heard a familiar voice, a fluid baritone similar to the first one belting helpless thoughts of love. My heart rate quadrupled.

“Yo, how that nigga turn a female verse with vocals into something masculine?” Irv questioned with passion as they watched raptly.

“It’s called talent,” Rico answered. “Ragee that nigga. Why you think Will fucks wit’ him like that? Invite him on his set, too.” His Baltimore drawl came alive every now and then.

Teke’s green orbs hit me and immediately, my eyes fell down to my bowl on the counter. My hands trembled as I tried spooning my food. Ragee’s voice was deep, thick, and saturated in passion.

“What song is that?” Rico asked.

“I Can’t Make You Love Me,” Jon answered. “I think. Will covers a lot of shit ‘cause he always make it new with that bass register.” His head bobbed to the slow rhythm. “You hear them fucking runs?”

He was referring to the series of high and low notes in quick succession, I’d learned of since being here. The melodies the two guys added were amazing. Raj sounded different. Matured vocally. He shared more of his range, not caring about the beat, but the integrity of the note instead.   

“This was last night?” Teke spoke for the first time, squinting at the screen.

“Yeah,” Irv answered. “Will’s show in Philly.” He went on to try his own runs over Will’s and Ragee’s.

“Goddamn!” Jon shouted. “Rewind that! You heard Raj?” Jon tried mimicking it but struggled with the note.

Rico laughed. “You ain’t got that nigga’s range! People sleep on that dude. Focus too much on his sexuality when that nigga is the modern day Will, Teddy, and—fuck it—Marvin, but with broader appeal. And Will ain’t never get his just due ‘cause he stay in jazz lane.”

“That nigga been eating well in that lane, too!” Irv argued. “Still sell out shows.”

“True!” Rico added.

They rewound the video a few times and continued with their commentary as though I wasn’t in the room. Surprisingly, that relieved me. I didn’t want to be associated with Raj here, in a sense. It reminded me of that fraudulent feeling I could hide from inside his estate. But out here amongst his peers, it was hard to keep up with, especially seeing I hadn’t heard from him since I arrived. And pathetic me fell asleep last night reminiscing about his heartbeat blended with soft alluring vocals of “Ribbon in the Sky” over the calming sounds of the ocean. Then I woke up from a dream of caressing the bar of his Apa piercing. The shit was crazy.

And annoying…

After an explosive approval of something they heard in the video, Rico asked, “Ain’t that ya dude, Teke?” Teke’s alarmed regard jumped to Rico. “I heard you biggin’ him up a few times. No biggie. Raj is dope and slept on a lot in a industry where the music is laced with auto tuning and the same fucking 808s…synthesizing. He slowed with the musicianship, playing keys, horns, and original drumming and fell into the hype of pop 808 kick, drum, and snare evolution. He still got the raw talent. If I’m gonna say who I wanna pattern my style behind and wanna choose a young buck, Ragee would be that nigga for me.”

“All day,” Jon quietly agreed.

Rico reminded me of his talent. He’d done producing and engineering, mixing and fine-tuning tracks before they hit the radio airwaves.

I finished my bowl, rinsed it, and placed it in the dishwasher.

“Where you going this early?” Teke asked, ignoring Rico apparently.

Clearing my head of all things Ragee, I rubbed the back of my neck, trying to recall. “A bank then MoneyGram or Western Union.” I cleared my throat. “Gotta send money back home.” I tossed my hand toward the kitchen door. “I need to call a car to find them.”

Teke pushed back from the table. “I can help.” He grabbed his plate. “I need to pick up a couple of things myself.”

I didn’t notice the room got quiet until Jon spoke. “I thought you couldn’t wait to hit the sack. We gotta be back at the studio early today. Diane wanna hear the track.”

Moving about briskly, Teke answered, “I need fuckin’ throat lozenges.”

He sounded as though he did. Ignoring the suspect silence ringing out in the room, I finally left the kitchen. 

“Told you there was a MoneyGram here,” Teke boasted as the car pulled into a small convenience store parking lot at the lip of Phoenix. “I gotta sharp memory.”

“That you do.” I smiled, grateful to have found one.

The grocery stores in Paradise Valley didn’t have money transfer services. And MaMa didn’t have PayPal, making this more challenging and inconvenient. Teke didn’t want to go deep into Phoenix because we didn’t bring security, something he needed and not me.

I hopped out of the car and he followed me in. Once locating the MoneyGram counter, I split from him. A few minutes later, as I was finishing filling out the form, Teke walked up on me, resting on his side against the wall.

I glanced up for a few seconds and caught him ogling my bare legs then went back to writing. “You look exhausted.” I tried softening that comment with a smile.

“Fuck yeah,” he exhaled, rubbing his face. “I should be good with at least a two hour nap. I got the stamina to get back to work.”

I hummed my okay then handed the attendant my slip. Then I went for my purse and pulled out the cash I’d just withdrawn from my draining bank account, trying not to think about how strapped I was.

“Aye,” Teke broke my attention. “Back there…at the house. The thing Rico said about Ragee.” I offered a definitive regard. “I got mad respect for the big homie. I just don’t be riding him like that.”

“Why is that necessary to say?”

“‘Cause I ‘on’t want you to think I be on some Single White Female type of shit. Ragee’s dope and I’ll give that to him, but that’s all it is.”

This was strange. Why bring it up?

I handed over my cash then returned my attention to him.

I literally used my head to shake off this conversation. “Okay.” My attention diverted to the other side of him.

“I mean… I know him and shit.”

I turned back to him. “You do? Like… Personally?”

“Yeah. I guess. Well, I did. Him and my brother used to play in a band together back in the day. He used to come up to the crib for practice.”

“Oh, okay.” I waited on the transfer to be completed.

“That’s all you got to say?” He scoffed. “You know, you stay tight lipped when it comes down to him. Public Relations training came with your proposal?”

I chuckled at that. “No. I’m a little confused at where this is going.”

“But you’re always like this. You don’t talk about him. I don’t see you talking to him on the phone. And he damn sure ain’t been through here.”

“Because he’s working and so am I.”

“Okay. I thought maybe y’all was beefing or something.”

I shrugged with my mouth. “And if we are? Isn’t that something married people do?”

“Real married people. Yeah!”

I was struck by that comment, able to smell an agenda from him at this point.

I turned to face him completely.  “Trust me, honey, the state of the relationship Ragee and I share is as real as it gets. It’s just not something I go yapping about to strangers. My husband is a very private man, and more and more each day I see why.”

The attendant asked for more information. I turned to her and answered.

“So, I’m a stranger?”

I slowly rolled my eyes over to him and countered, “You’re not?” My brows met. “I’ve known you for less than two weeks.”

“But you’ve talked to me more than anybody else here.”

“I don’t discuss my life with them either. Why should I?”

“Maybe because we’re about to be label mates?”

I thanked the woman and began my way out of the store as I spoke. “I’m hoping to be signed,” I corrected.

He blew out air, dismissing my humility. “You got that in the bag. I’m making sure of it.”

“Mighty much?”

Teke laughed. “I’m just saying I see your talent. I’m trying to make sure the label heads do, too.”

“Is that why you recorded one of my poems without letting me know?”

“They’re not poems once mixed with music, first of all. Second, if you didn’t want it recorded, you wouldn’t have shared it in the first place.”

“Yeah. I thought you didn’t like it.”

We were outside, headed to the parked waiting town car. 

“Never said that. I just didn’t think that was the one we should have taken on as a group for that particular assignme—”

“Oh, my god! Oh, my god!” trilled loudly ahead of us. There were three young girls who stood beet red, squealing their heads off.

“Fuck! His eyes are real!” one screamed, clutching her palms to her chest.

“Totally dreamy!” another agreed just as ecstatic.

I’d seen this several times with Raj, just with older women—men, too. I had to quickly gather myself, remembering Teke and B City was one of the hottest acts out right now. They’d been out officially since last year and were due to go on tour this summer. Still, I wasn’t expecting this. But Teke had been, which was why he didn’t want to go too deep into the metropolitan city.

“My dad,” the sole black girl tried, high-pitched. “He’s buddies with Munsnick. He told me you guys were staying in town. We tried to get into the club to see you the other night but couldn’t.”

“Yeah!” The other with blonde flowy hair couldn’t stop moving on her toes. “Can we please get a picture?” she begged.

“Are the other guys here?” The Asian girl turned, gaping all around. “Holy shit!”

“Nah,” Teke calmly answered with a smile, stepping closer to me. “We slipped out to grab a few things.” His arm snaked around my shoulder. Instantly, I felt uneasy. “You Ezekiel Williams’ daughter?” he asked the black girl who’d name dropped.

“Yeah!” Her eyes grew even brighter if that were at all possible. “You know him?”

“I know of him. Black NASCAR driver. Dave mentioned bringing us by your crib to say hello before this is over with.”

The girls, who could be no more than seventeen-eighteen years old, giggled feverishly, I guessed, unable to believe it was actually scheduled to happen.

“Can we get a pic now anyway?” the Asian beauty pushed. “Your girlfriend can be in it.” She turned even redder.

“I’m not—” I tried.

“She’s not my girlfriend. I ain’t that lucky.” He switched to a grumble. “I’m hoping for a new scenario to make that happen.” Then he resumed his regular pitch. “She’s a writer at the label. Y’all should see her face around soon.” The girls squealed again.

“I can take it for you guys,” I offered.

“No! We want you in it,” the blonde demanded.

Then she called a man over who’d just stepped out of the convenience store and asked him to take the picture. He obliged, and we gathered against the brick wall of the store. I was yanked by Teke, and the Asian girl grabbed my hand. We were told to say cheese and I tried for my best smile, thankful to have put on a light face this morning.

That comment from Teke felt snake’ish. In one minute, he was denying being a fan of Raj, even though Rico mentioned it being stated in an interview. The next, he slipped in something slick about wishing the scenario was different to my current married one. One thing was settled. I’d continue to decline going out with the guys when invited. My gut told me that was best.

I roll off her and onto the mattress, on my side. Then I pull up the sheet to cover myself ‘cause I’m still hard, my body’s still tingling. Staring at the wall, I study the feeling rolling over my body. It’s good. Real good, and I want to be here before the bad feelings come. Because I know they’re coming. They always do. The guilt. That disgusting feeling. And being scared all over again. I’m always scared now. I don’t want nobody to know what we be doing down here.

But here is good. It won’t last long so I need to just lay here until it’s over. I hate this confusion. How can my body feel so good right now when what we just did was wrong?

That’s it.

That feel good moment is gone and I feel sick.

Guilty.

I can feel her sitting back down on the mattress. Now I hear her lighting her cigarette. Grandmother’s gonna be mad when she finds out she’s smoking in the house again. I hope the smoke don’t float outside of here and into the hall. Forget that. I get up so I’m not naked if somebody comes down, looking for the culprit.

“You know,” she speaks while holding the smoke in her mouth. I’m so used to her, I know most of her habits. And I freeze from pulling my boxers up my legs. “You need to cut that little Heather girl from the church off.

What?

She blows out her smoke, my back is still to her. “You hear what the fuck I said?”

I finally turn to face her and see she’s looking at me, too. “Why?”

“Because! You can’t be doing this with two of us at the same time. Somebody may get something. You can give somebody a disease that way. Plus, that nasty, fast ass little girl probably got something she gone give you from the other lil boys.” She sniffs hard, bringing up mucous from her throat then swallows it back down.

I’m mad. First, I don’t want to be doing this with her anyway. And now she telling me to cut my girlfriend off? I don’t like that. Heather may not be my girlfriend no more anyway. She said I been acting funny with her. I’m not. It’s just that… It’s… Man, I can’t tell her my aunt be liking for me to do this nasty stuff to her. She gone think I’m a freak like Patty. I don’t want her to think that. I don’t want nobody thinking I’m like Patty.

What hurts me the most is she keep making me do stuff. First the nasty stuff, now she don’t want me to have a girlfriend. I don’t like it! I gotta let go of something I love to be stuck in something I hate? Why?

I didn’t catch her movements. Missed when she jumped on the bed and charged at me, knocking me against the wall. My arms fly back when I try to catch myself before I fall on the cold floor.

“You hear me?” She yells like a nut. “You hear me?”

“Yo!” I try to defend myself.

“You heard what the fuck I said?”

I don’t guard myself when she swings and smacks my joint so hard I crumble to the floor, holding myself.

“Never! Never!”

Her fist hits my back, but I don’t feel much of it. My pain is in my privates. I’m praying for it to blow over.

“You hear me, Gee-Gee?”

My leg kicking out with force woke me out of my sleep. Quickly, I leaped up from the couch out of breath, my eyes wild and searching. The t.v. was still on and muted, the curtains drawn, blocking out the sun. I turned back for the bedroom and saw the bed untouched as it had been since she left. Slowly, my eyes closed and when I dumped my face in my hands, I felt the sweat from it. The dreams were getting out of control.

Something about this felt familiar. The confusion, secrets, the stress, lies, and the hiding from someone who represented light to me. I’d been here before and couldn’t afford to go back. I didn’t want to lose the light and get trapped in darkness again.

Not after…

I shook my head as all the air left my lungs. Nah… I couldn’t go back there. I deserved more than the bed of hell of my memories. Memories that were now nightmares. I deserved more. I deserved redemption from this shit.

I grabbed my phone from the coffee table and dialed a number.

“Yes, sir.”

“Yeah. Everything ready for Drai’s?”

“Yes. D.J. Scratch is available and has confirmed his attendance. Should I arrange the G550 for your flight to Vegas?”

“Nah. That’s been handled already. The apartment?”

“She had the cleaning staff in two days ago. They’re done. I plan on sliding through to make sure it’s correct. I have a designer coming through to redo the dining room tabletop, kitchen counter décor, and bathroom touch ups.”

I rubbed my eyes. “The yacht?”

“I’m not done with that yet. I found one that matches your specifications, but it’s way overpriced. I know what we’re working with in terms of what you can afford, but I have a friend of mine getting me the number to a Swedish businessman…real big in the telecommunications market space. He has one our size and doesn’t seem to wanna make a profit so much as he wants it alive on the water to maintain it. I plan on making a pitch to him.”

“A’ight. And the blog?”

“Getting closer. The Bahamian one goes home a lot. I have a friend, from a smaller island I met a few years back, DM’ing a friend of hers out there. I wanna find out her schedule without asking for it directly.”

I nodded, unhappy and impatient about the progress. “I’ll let you get back to work.”

“Okay.”

I ended the call, tossed the phone on the other side of the couch and covered my face again, taking a deep breath.

This is misery…

We stepped into the ranch well after two in the morning. I was spent, and was sure everyone else was, too. It was a brutal night at the studio where seasoned producers evaluated the music and work we’d been putting in for close to two weeks now. Most of them Skyped in like Young Lord, Mario Winans, Swizz Beats, Rico Love, 9th Wonder, and even Young Guru. Two, Janét Ulepic and Scott Leedsman, who was Young Lord’s engineer guy, showed at the studio. Most of those people were nameless and unknown to me until their resumes were introduced and I was blown away. Our tracks were sent to them a couple of days ago after Diane Roberts wrapped up her session of the boot camp.

Tonight, everything had been critiqued from the sound, mix, drums, cadence, vocals, and even lyrics—including mine. It wasn’t easy having my words of passion picked apart and questioned, but I took it like a trooper and welcomed the criticism. Most of my group members didn’t have such studious attitudes. Young Guru criticized the engineering of B City’s voices on the track I wrote. He said he even heard too much background noise. Rico went back and forth with him spiritedly for a while until he snapped, spewed a few choice expletives and stormed out of the room.

Quietly, the group dispersed as soon as we filed into the French doors of the ranch.

Jemah, did offer to Rico, “Yo, playa, tomorrow’s another day to get our shit tight. We got this.”

“Word,” Irv added. “You know they fucking with us on that “Making the Band” bullshit.”

“On god,” Jon followed up with as they neared their hall to the right of the entryway.

I hung a left toward the stairs without a word. My mind was filled with pushing myself to get up in less than four hours to work out.

“Wynter,” my name was barked. I turned to see Teke had stopped near the foyer. Jemah’s eyes bounced between the two of us before she forced herself to the same staircase I had to travel. “I can be up around nine to go over vocal layering and how to write a dope bridge.”

His voice was laced with weary due to the hour and the shitty night we’d had, but it was also filled with generosity. I didn’t want to make him feel uncomfortable for trying to bring me up to speed on skills that were remedial to him. For now, I just wanted to accept his offer and go to bed. No need trying to protect a husband who hadn’t even fucking called.

With a soft smile, I nodded. “Thanks.”

When Teke acknowledged it, I began my hike up the steps. Unconsciously, I pulled my phone to my face and went into the Instagram app that kept alerting me of notifications. By the time I reached the top of the stairs, I realized they were reactions from a post I made three hours ago. Only I was in the studio being ripped apart three hours ago, my phone all forgotten about. Traveling down the long hall toward the master suite, I tapped on my post. It was a picture of necklaces, Chanel to be exact. There were four different ones, but two were stretched out over a jewelry display case.

The caption read: So many options when spending his cash.

It ended with the dollar sign tongue emoji. My feet stopped moving at the double doors of the suite. This was bullshit. I didn’t post this. No way I could afford Chanel. And Raj sure as hell didn’t buy me any. The only jewelry he’d ever gotten me was the Tiffany necklace I wore every day. Seething, I began to feel hot. Boiling blood shot from every artery of my body. I could feel my jaw tighten. This could only be one person. Myisha. She was the only one with access to my social media passwords. She used to post things for me to legitimize my marriage to her cousin. Well, didn’t she know he sent me off with no promises of continuing our friendship?

Why would she make me out to be a gold digger after spending a month getting to know me? Shit. She’d bought me more shit, tricking me out, than her cousin! I didn’t have access to his money and she knew it. With more energy, I opened one of the doors, entered the room then slammed it closed behind me. I couldn’t sit down quick enough to make sure this shit didn’t happen again. I started by deleting that first fucking post. Then I changed my password there. Next, I got on my laptop and changed my email and passwords on all of my other social media accounts.

My hands trembled, and heart raced as I moved swiftly from one account to the next. I considered deleting all of social media but wouldn’t give the McKinnons the pleasure of that reaction. My thoughts went to Mike Brown, the initiator of these fucked up relationships. I never wished death on anyone, but I did consider my freedom from all of them on the other side of his life.

Betrayal fucking hurt.