~4~

“Damn. Could y’all move any slower?” I heard hopping off the boarding stairs of the yacht.

I recognized the voice, which was why I ignored it. Tina, my barber, provided some explanation to him when she made it onto the pier where we docked. My attention went into the clear air. It was dark when we landed twenty minutes ago at the airport. The plan was to do this while the sun was setting.

Yeah, right…

We were a half hour behind because my jet didn’t get clearance for takeoff at the scheduled time in Atlanta. Then coming here—Marye Island in the Florida Keys—we had to land, unpack the jet then unload what was needed, board the yacht and take the ride to the private resort where my wedding was about to take place.

Wedding…

I’d done a good job all day not thinking about it. I’d been busy, working on closing a few real estate deals, doing three interviews to promote the tour, visiting a local boxing gym to do a photo opp for a buddy of mine, and even sleeping for a good hour. My life was constantly an act of time management, and while touring, my time was managed for me. While approaching Mike Brown smiling with his hand mid-air, ready to give me dap, I was reminded of the planner.

“What it do, my nigga!” He greeted as we bumped shoulders. “You ready for this?”

I pulled out my vibrating phone as we walked down the pier, heading toward the resort.

Myisha: Please say you’re here. We’re so behind.

I ignored her, dropping the phone back into the pocket of my sweats.

“Nah,” I finally answered Mike honestly. “I got a full-bodied Arturo Fuente and a bottle of Mauve in a Miami rental, overlooking a bay in my immediate future.”

“I can add a Dominican with a fat ass and strong jaw muscles to that agenda,” Mike offered as we walked toward the resort where I saw staff waiting.

“I’m good.”

“Cool, man. Cool! Let’s just get this shit over with.”

“Just show me to hair and makeup, give me my lines, and point to where I should stand and smile, so I can get up outta Dodge.”

“You got it, playboy,” he assured. “You sure you don’t wanna stay for a taste? Shorty thick as shit with a pretty smile. Definitely a fuckable bride.”

“Brown—”

“I’m just fuckin’ witchu, Raj!” he hollered into the salted, dark air as he took me by my shoulders. “Let’s get you married so we can start this new chapter. Fuck Hollywood and their conservative ass studios. We coming back, knocking the damn doors down.”

The moment I stepped outside, I felt a festive vibe. Lights were strobing and music flowing.

“‘Bout damn time!” I turned under the veranda while fixing my cufflinks and found Myisha all made up and in what looked like a bridesmaid gown, handing me a shot glass. I’d been in enough weddings to recognize her costume. Myisha, being the fashion diva she was, looked effortlessly gorgeous, and I was sure, better than the bride. She pointed with her forehead for me to take the shot right away. I did. My cousin knew me, sometimes better than I did myself. “You could return my texts, you know.”

She looked annoyed, but man, so was I as she lifted another shot off the small table next to her. She gave another angry jerk of the head for me to down it. Without a question, I did.

“Why’re you texting me when you know where I am?”

“To tell you all the shit we gotta do to pull this off!” She caught on to her heightened volume almost matching the music, her eyes scanned all around us before she whispered, “We’re an hour late. Follow me, please.” I obeyed, finishing with my wrists. “We missed the damn sunset, but I had the resort bring out extra lightening. Lucky for me, they specialize in weddings and have the perfect lamps and spotlights, and in-ground posts to create the best wedding glow.”

We were walking down the back yard that was slowly turning from inland estate scenery to a beach.

“So, where’s all this going down?”

“There will be lots of pictures, Raj.”

“Okay,” I returned dismissively, realizing she ignored my question.

“No.” She grabbed my arm, halting my steps, and turned to me. “Lots of pictures, and you need to be patient. Here.”

She handed me another shot I honestly didn’t see her carrying. I downed it and gave it back to her. Did I really need three shots to marry a stranger? Maybe I did.

“Okay!”

“No okay. I hate this shit.” She rolled her eyes—hard. “Like… With a fucking passion I ain’t never felt.” Her eyes were hard on me. “But you’re more than a cousin; you’re my brother and I’d walk through a fucking pack of wolves, naked with raw sheep’s flesh hanging from my limbs to keep you covered and happy. Just don’t forget, I’m putting a lot on the line for this shit.” Her eyes skirted around. “There are close to forty people out here for this wedding and maybe only five of us know it’s bullshit.”

“Well, that’s good.” I snorted, feeling the first wave of warmth from the tequila.

“No!” she demanded, though her tone was low. “It’s not if your resentment surfaces, and they can smell the bullshit. You say this is all for your rightful place in Hollywood? Then, motherfucker, you better act as good as though you’re up for a fucking Oscar based on your performance tonight alone. You fucking with Mike on this? Then make this shit work tonight.”

Making it sound that simple pissed me off. “It’s not just for tonight. It’s for three year—”

“That’ll be the easier part that we’ll figure out later.” Her eyes shot like bullets into me. Myisha and I fought like brother and sister, but she was never threatening. “Tonight, your father is here, a few of your cousins, too. We tried to make this as legit as possible without involving too many people. But this is it.”

We both turned when we could see someone coming our way. It was a photographer, bringing his camera up for a shot. Myisha pulled on my arm to follow down closer to the beach.

She whispered, “There are four photographers and one videographer on duty tonight.”

“Why so many?” I pulled out my Chapstick to swipe my lips.

Myisha shook off my question with her head. “Pictures will go out to every major news media outlet in exactly one hour—that includes the bigger social media bloggers like Spilling That Hot Tea. I’ll lead you through everything, just don’t give any pushback. And please, be polite to Wynter.”

“Who’s Wynter?” After a few seconds of her shooting me with more eye bullets, I relaxed my face and chuckled. “Just a joke, MyMy,” I kind of lied. It took me a minute to recall the name.

She rolled her eyes again and continued down onto the sand before stopping to straighten my vest; a piece of the costume she selected for me.

“First up is pre-nuptial pictures—”

“Prenup… Get it?” I smiled.

She rolled her eyes again. “You need to see your bride from afar. She’s so damn gorgeous—and you better tell her,” she threatened through gritted teeth.

“Where is she?” I was confused. Myisha pointed behind me and I turned to look. Sure enough, there was a woman wearing all white with a gang of long curls falling over one of her bare shoulders, at least three yards down from me, holding a bouquet of flowers. She looked bored as she waited for something while looking out to the sea. “Why she all the way down—” I stopped as I turned to find Myisha backing away from me and pointing toward the photographer gaining on me with his camera ready.

“Long As I Live” by Jaheim began pouring over the resort as if cued, just when I was going to ask if she had my rental in Miami secured for the night.

Why the hell Jaheim?

I had no time to complain about the music. It was a dope cut. It was just anytime I heard Jah, I recalled how he owed me a stack for a dice game I beat him at like three years ago. Every time I’d seen him since then, he’d use charm to say, “Next time, I got you.” I knew he was taking advantage of my niceness and soon I had to go another route. Lately, I’d been fed up with people confusing me for a sucker because I was an unapologetic Christian man.

One that cuss, gamble, and lie…

Shaking that private reminder out of my head, I looked down the beach again. I found myself chuckling at her rocking on the balls of her feet while looking…bored. I caught a camera flash in my periphery. Then a man in clergy garb was in front of me out of nowhere.

“Mr. McKinnon. I’m Bob Reynolds, the county clerk at the…”

The liquor had met up with my anxiety and I couldn’t follow much more of what he said. At one point he asked, for formality’s sake, who was I marrying and when her name didn’t come to mind right away, I automatically pointed down the beach to her. By this time, she was looking at me. The Bob guy asked me to follow him down to my bride, and with Myisha on our heels trekking down the sand, I did.

She was cute—Wynter, now that my brain had caught up. Her off-white gown fitted and flowed in the mild wind. It swathed her round hips, making them appear classically feminine then gathered at her knees before sprouting out, reaching the sand. She had soft pearls in her hair, pinned in between curls that fell into the ponytail I was able to see from a distance, over her shoulder. Her face was made up well, not too heavy—even white eyeliner on the lower lids to appear innocent and angelic.

That thought had me busting out a chuckle. Well…that and the alcohol.

“What the fuck is so funny?” Wynter snarled.

Even angry, this chick was beautiful as hell…flawless. 

“How gorgeous you are when I ain’t picking up ya battery operated boyfriends off my damn floor.”

When I heard Myisha sputter, I laughed again, fully this time. Wynter cracked a smile she fought hard not to share. My damn toes were heated now, thanks to the shots. Maybe if I’d stopped at one, even two, I could have avoided being blinded by this chick’s beauty, something I had no desire to notice or care about. Humor was a convenient distraction from it.

Eventually, the Bob guy asked us to take hands. Myisha took Wynter’s bouquet. We were asked to repeat lines, lines I kept fucking up.

“I take thee, Wynter, to be my awfully wedd—” I tried for the third time when the Bob guy interrupted me again.

“…lawfully wedded,” Bob corrected.

“…artfully bledded—” I tried until Wynter rocked back, laughing hard.

“What’re you laughing at?” I was struggling here.

“Your drunk ass.” She cracked up. “You gotta be! This ain’t fair!” She turned to Myisha, standing near her. “He gets escape shots and I don’t? That ain’t fair!”

“Neither is the fact that I’m paying for all this shit by myself, but you don’t hear me complaining.”

Wynter’s head shot back and her pretty eyes blew up. “I agreed to be legally tied to your ugly ass mug, so we’re definitely even,” fell from her lips without a blink.

That shit set off a round of laughs that even Bob joined in on. I legit leaned over while holding both her soft, cold hands and laughed my ass off. I didn’t know this chick, had no interest in getting to know her either, but she was making it bearable for me—her and those three “escape” shots.

We got through the vow process and when I turned for my next cue from Myisha, she was motioning for someone to come down to the beach. Next thing I knew, a gang of people were making their way to us.

“Kiss her hand and lift it in the air so they can see,” Myisha whispered from behind us.

I did as told, feeling Wynter’s little hand tightening around mine. Then I started to recognize faces as they neared. My dad was one of them.

“Dawg.” I met him with an open palm. “You fly?” I was surprised he came.

Dude was as low key as they came.

“For this?” he asked while we hugged for a second or two, his salt and pepper locs hitting the side of my face. “Why the hell not? Only got one son. Nah mean?”

“That’s what’s up.” I chuckled.

“Your grandma ain’t here,” he noted, looking around.

“That’s ‘cause it was last minute,” Myisha came from nowhere, butting in.

Praise Jesus…

She continued about our grandmother, who wasn’t kin to him, “You know she has a bunch of conferences around the city this time of year.”

“Oh.” He shook his head, looking convinced. Then he tossed his chin at Wynter. “This her, huhn?”

“Yeah,” was all I could get out.

“Yes!” Myisha spoke up again. “Meet your daughter-in-law, Cut. Wynter McKinnon.”

“Shoulda been Michaels,” he mumbled. My father never liked the idea of my mother giving me her last name instead of his. The story went, he’d gotten locked up just before her due date for something dumb and reckless, so her way of getting back at him was not giving me his last name. “Anyway,” he gruffed then reached for Wynter, “welcome to the family, shortie. Nice to have you.”

He and Wynter hugged as she thanked him. All I could do was stare at his clothes. He rocked a button up and slacks. I was used to seeing my father in sweats and sneakers, around or inside a boxing ring.

“You gone bring her to the gym?” he asked, looking ready to go.

Formalities wasn’t his strong suit. Again, I was surprised MyMy got him down here.

I shrugged with my brows. “Maybe. Don’t know if she that speed,” I spoke honestly.

“Boy, bye!” Myisha waved her hand in the air. “She’ll be there, Cut.”

“A’ight.” He nodded before stepping off, paying one last stare to Wynter.

“Cut?” Wynter asked.

“Upper Cut. It’s his ring name,” Myisha explained right next to us. “He’s a boxer. But his first name is Kevin.”

Oh, Wynter mouthed as I went to hug my cousin, who came down with my pops.

We spent the next few minutes greeting and introducing Wynter to the few people there. I wondered why none of her people had to be exposed to this bullshit, but mine did. We took lots of pictures by the water, which was easy because Myisha bossed everybody into position, something she would’ve done had this been a real wedding. Mike approached us with drinks. He put his heavy arms around us as his hat leaned to the side, and took pictures. He was tipsy, eyes hardly open, but I knew he was relieved the night was being pulled off so well.

“You guys’re so cute,” he teased, using an innocent pitch.

“Yeah. For how long?” I could never ask that question enough tonight.

“Three years, baby?” he cheered.

“And this is for real?” Wynter asked under his thick arm, unsmiling.

“Well.” He sighed, turning his head from side to side, dramatically as he thought of his answer. “Technically, you filed for a license, but you don’t have your actual marriage certificate yet. That comes after tonight, now that you said ‘I do.’ But we’re going to hold off on the certificate. No need to make it legal unnecessarily. We just want the public to think it. After these pix from tonight, some appearances we got lined up for y’all, and some dope ass social media posts, we can rest easy in about six months or sum’in like that.”

“So, we’re not really married?” she whispered with those pretty big eyes, lined in white.

Mike’s arms fell from us and he answered as he took off, “You fuckin’ together a’ight. Don’t forget that shit.”

Wynter’s eyes hit me then fell away. I saw, for the first time, sadness that I wasn’t indifferent to. My spirit Man jolted inside me, the spirit of discernment—tipsy or not—sounded loud and clear how unsettled she was about this arrangement. But my flesh wanted to override it and I reminded myself she signed up for it and was being well compensated. She’d be fine. If there was one thing I absolutely despised, it was a deceptive woman. There was a constant distrust I had of them. Why I kept very few around me. Because of this inner conflict with them, I was content on being like Paul and never marrying. My flesh, on the other hand, was a conflict in and of itself.

The resort host called us up to the banquet set up on the lawn. Of course, I had to sit next to Wynter—in the middle of the group of tables, under a cascade of white lights arching over us like a tent. She was quiet most of the time, mostly smiling. Myisha sat next to her, which gave her someone to talk to. I ain’t have much conversation for her.

Once when Myisha stepped away and I noticed the photographers looming, I asked, “You good?”

She nodded. “Just tired and hungry.”

“Yeah? Had a long day?”

Wynter blinked and forced a smile to her face—even my tipsy mind picked up on it. “Every bride has a long day, Ragee. Even fake ones like me.”

“How am I supposed to know? You done this before or something?”

“Hell, no. I just have common sense.” She tapped her temple.

“Common sense?” I chuckled, looking over at my cousin taking selfies in front of an ice sculpture.

“Yeah, like not throwing them back on an empty stomach.” She was being sarcastic again.

“How you know my stomach empty?”

“I don’t. Mine is.” Her eyes left me, too. “I’m surviving off of a bowl of Frosted Flakes at two this afternoon. Not only am I starving; I’m gassy as hell.” Her hands went to her belly I could see poking underneath the garment of the gown.

I raised my hand and motioned for the waitress, who came over.

“Yes, sir?” she asked, kneeling over our table with a deep smile.

“The bride needs something to nibble on.”

“Right away, sir.” She was off.

I noticed Wynter didn’t say thank you.

“You’re welcome, though.”

She turned to me. “What? Your feelings hurt?”

I wanted to laugh—almost did. This chick was on one tonight.

I twisted in my seat to face her, creating a cove for privacy. “What’s ya problem with me? I’m sure you’re getting more than enough for this.”

She cocked her head to the side, eyes wide as she breathed, “Like what?”

My head shot back and face turned hard. “Like me! The hell you mean, like what?”

“Because you got money?” Wynter looked genuinely confused.

“And because you know my name.”

Wynter drew closer to my face, her nose went wide and voice got low. “Let’s make this shit clear from the gate, bruh. You may be the man in many’s eyes…been in movies, had hit records, but I ain’t neeeva been a Ragee fan. Eeeeva.”

My forehead stretched.

Oh, she’s a live one. A liar, too.

“You expect me to believe that?” I challenged her, sporting a killer smirk.

Her brows met. “You see a Ragee CD slip outta that box last night? I can’t tell you the last movie you were in. And if you asked me about your last hit, I would say “Do You?” because Young Lord’s name was on it—only.”

Daaaaaaamn…

I didn’t know if that offended me or made sitting next to her actually enjoyable. We did the stare down for a while. I tried to catch her angle. I’d always been pretty good at reading people. Discerning. But the longer I looked into her pretty eyes, the less evil I found in them. She was just…straight mad. Angry.

“Why ya family ain’t here? You mean to them, too?”

“For one, I had no time to involve them in this fuckery,” she whispered. “Two, this is pure fuckery.”

“Why do you keep talking like you ain’t well compensate—”

“Good evening, to the handsome crowd.” Mike was in the middle of the tent, addressing everybody. “On behalf of my mans,” his hand shot over in my direction, “thanks for coming through tonight on short notice. Trust me, he fucked up some plans for me, too.” People found that funny, and I’d just learned the newest level of his ability to lie. “When Raj hit me up, he said he wanted this so bad, he ain’t wanna wait another week. So,” his hands went up as though he was clueless and helpless, “you know I’mma make whatever I need to happen for this nigga.”

That led to a big round of applause. It’s also when I retreated to the back of my mind, wanting to be anywhere but here.

I hate gray areas…

The music was winding down and Ragee’s hold on me was loosening. My face hurt from fake smiling so much, though the three glasses of wine I’d downed since eating helped hold my cheeks up. My feet were luckily fine in flip-flops that couldn’t be seen under the long and heavy gown. But I worried not having on heels made me look pudgier than usual. I slipped on the strappy sandals to take pictures—I swear this whole conundrum was for pictures—near the cake and ice sculptures and with more of the same people under the white-light tent.

All the traditional toasts were done, especially by that damn Mike Brown, who was a crook if I’d ever sensed one. He’d been more pleasant than cold all night, but I made it my business to stay out of his way. I could tell he’d brought a date with him, though he hardly showed her any attention. A few times, he called Ragee over to talk with him and a few other guys. While Ragee went, his eyes were just as glossed over as they’d been with me tonight. Just as he was indifferent with me, he was with everyone else—except for Myisha. He may have had low patience, but he didn’t give her much lip and did everything she asked. That provided a weird comfort to me. 

Now, I was dancing with Ragee for the third song straight for more damn pictures. But he smelled good. Real good. And as much as I tried to convince him of not being a good looking guy, he was actually handsome, defined facial structure, rich honey eyes, faded brows, and full lips between a mustache and full beard. The hairy face wasn’t his signature look. Years ago, when he first hit the scene and I’d seen images of him, he didn’t have a beard. But now… Ragee was tall, cinnamon just as he was in the pictures I googled of him, thick, and very much athletic. Gay rumors or not, Ragee McKinnon was all man. No, that meant nothing in terms of sexual preference, but as a hot blooded woman, he could definitely call the attention of my pheromones.

Leaving his hold allowed me to breathe. I couldn’t even look at him to communicate the task being over and wondered what was next. I wanted to sit and gather myself, possibly go to the bathroom.

“We’re almost done,” Myisha’s voice was unexpected, low, and rushed as she approached me, messing over my hair. “You’re doing a great job and looking flawless doing it.”

I wanted to ask what was next, but I felt a hot hand at my back and turned.

“Remember, I’m a package deal.” LeRoy, Ragee’s—obviously—gay bestie smirked, lifting a perfectly arched eyebrow. “My turn.” He extended an arm and took the most dramatic bow.

I glanced over to Myisha, who implored me with her eyes. Hesitantly, I took his hand and was glided weightlessly into a dance I’d never participated in before. With his gray eyes, LeRoy guided me through a jazzy tune I wasn’t familiar with. Our communication, for seconds long, was unspoken until I gained the counts of each step. LeRoy smiled proudly, almost gave a nod of approval.

“Now, you got it, beauty.” He smiled broadly, and if I wasn’t mistaken, sincerely.

“Oh, I’m beautiful today?”

LeRoy smiled pageant-worthy. “The four ounces of makeup you’re wearing doesn’t hurt.” He shrugged with his face, his perfectly aligned teeth were stunning against his flawless skin.

“You’re a fucking douche.” I tried mimicking his expression. “Definitely twinning with your bestie.”

LeRoy made a faux pouting expression, the skin on his face appeared as smooth as a baby’s ass and could have had a layer or two of liquid foundation, too. “We’re just guarded and protective, my dear.”

“What are you guarding, Lee-Lee?” My voice turned sweet. “Your secret garden?” I stretched my forehead and narrowed my eyes.

LeRoy pushed me into a gentle spin and when I landed effortlessly into his arms again, he guided me to sway with him rhythmically.

He was good. So good, he made me, an unpracticed dancer, look believable.

“There’s a garden of secrets, my dear, but not one we share. My preference is a man or woman fluid enough in desire and actions to play in my garden. Your recent husband’s garden is too bland, and frankly, too damn gloomy for my liking. Does that clear the burning whisper of a suggestion in that pretty little head of yours, pumpkin?” he cooed.

For a while, as we swayed chest to chest, all I could do was study him. I felt the muscles around my eyes tighten as I searched…for what, I didn’t quite know. There was a story here. No one disputed LeRoy being Ragee’s best friend. LeRoy gave the traditional best man speech during dinner. The two chatted for a bit right after dinner where I saw they had undeniable chemistry, but nothing inappropriate. Almost like an accepting family. Ragee held no feminine mannerisms, totally unlike LeRoy who exuded them all.

“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?

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.