“Some niggas just got the devil in ’em. What he did to you and young boys before you. I’m sorry about that. I know it turned you cold. You never really had a chance Messiah, and if I had known earlier … if you had told me. I mean if I had even the smallest clue of what was happening, I would have eliminated that nigga. I would have hit him in the middle and bled that nigga slow.” Ethic said the words so casually that they sent chills down Messiah’s spine. He knew it wasn’t an empty threat. There was no need to be loud when you meant what you said. Messiah was surprised Ethic had spoken the words at all. So often a threat was eliminated without warning because Ethic didn’t grandstand. He was a murderer. Plain and simple.
“I couldn’t tell nobody that,” Messiah stated. “Not even you. Especially not you.”
“I believe he did the same to Mizan, but the abuse turned into something else. Something sick. Some fucking Stockholm shit that I don’t think anyone can ever understand because the only people who can explain it are no longer breathing. They were twisted but I have proof that Mizan was not your blood. You’re not related to the man that ruined Mo’s childhood and it don’t matter that Bookie was yours biologically. I chose you a long time ago Messiah. I don’t know if you’re like my son or my brother or a little bit of both but you’re mine. The shit you did cut deep. I ain’t slept right since the night you told me who you were. Ain’t breathed right. I lost something that day. Mo lost everything that day but you not being Mizan’s brother. That’ll mean something to her. It’ll give you a chance. You only gon’ get one shot with her though. I won’t let you mess her over again. You got to come right. You got to have your shit together Messiah, none of that half-assed little boy shit you carrying around on the inside. You couldn’t help your past. Couldn’t control it. Couldn’t do anything to stop the chaos. You can control what happens next though. You’re not that little boy anymore. You understand?”
Messiah nodded and sniffed away the overwhelming emotion that watered his eyes. He flicked his nose than squeezed the bridge of it.
Ethic stared out at the water as Messiah tried to control the onslaught of trauma that plagued him.
“You cross me again and I won’t hesitate,” Ethic stated. “You even breathe wrong and…”
Messiah’s grief was palpable, and Ethic stopped the threat because he realized Messiah knew what was at stake. He put a hand on Messiah’s shoulder. He gave it a hard squeeze and then handed him the fishing pole.
“Fuck I’m supposed to do with this, big homie? Wifey done turned you into an old ass man,” Messiah said.
Ethic chuckled and nodded as he reached into a jacket pocket retrieving an expertly rolled blunt. “Old as fuck and she probably gon’ bitch up a storm when she smells this shit on me, but the least I can do is blow one with you.”
“I mean, she can make an exception considering I got cancer and all,” Messiah said as Ethic sparked the blunt.
“That might be the only thing that stop her from putting me on the couch,” Ethic snickered.
Messiah watched Ethic pull the smoke into his lungs, cheeks puffing, and then he blew it into the air. He passed the blunt.
“Shit must be nice,” Messiah said as he hit the weed. “I want that. With Mo. Shorty Doo Wop could put me on the couch every night as long as she let me come home.”
“I need you to keep your distance Messiah. You can’t pop up on her without warning. I need to talk to her first. Mo’s fragile. She can’t take a lot. You focus on getting you together and I’ll figure out how to let her know you’re back. Hell, that you’re alive at all. She went through a hard time when you left. You’ve got to be careful with the way you come back into her life.”
“I just want to be here man. Whatever it takes.”
Messiah passed the blunt back to Ethic and Ethic nodded as if he were settling things in his head.
“I love you kid. No more fuck ups,” Ethic stated.
Messiah’s eyes burned. To have forgiveness and love after what he’d done. He hadn’t expected to receive that much. It was a gift he had never received. A gift he didn’t deserve. He couldn’t even respond with words because he was afraid he would lose it. The sudden tug on his line startled him, distracting him. A friendly shift of focus from God right when it was needed … right when the vulnerability was making two of His most difficult children uncomfortable. A fish had taken the bait.
“Oh, shit what I do?” Messiah asked.
“Start reeling,” Ethic said. Messiah stood, slightly panicked as he pulled in the fish.
“Yo’ this mu’fucka ain’t coming up!” Messiah shouted. It was one of very few times in his life that felt carefree. It felt easy. Like nothing outside of this interaction mattered. Like Ethic was indeed his father and as long as he had him, he knew he would be okay. Ethic would never know how much he meant to Messiah because Messiah would never tell him. Messiah whirled the fishing pole until a small fish came flopping out of the water.
“Yo’ this little mu’fucka got heart,” Messiah said, holding up the end of the line.
Ethic hollered as he stood to his feet.
“Throw it back, man. Sometimes you catch something just to let it go. When it’s for you, you’ll know it. That ain’t our catch.”
1
Ahmeek sat in the car listening to the hum of his engine as it ticked to a stop. Crickets serenaded the night air. The green numbers on his console read 11:24 p.m. It had taken him two hours to get to her and he had been sitting there, engrossed in thought, for half an hour longer. He knew she was waiting but his conscience had him glued to his seat. His heart thundered in his chest as he finessed his beard, mind zoned out as his thoughts swarmed him. He rested against the head rest. He had to take a beat. He had to pause. To think. He was in deep. He was drowning in Morgan Atkins and neither of them wanted to be saved. They hadn’t even taken a moment to come up for air. What they were doing was reckless. His heart was involved. Hers had been from the start and he didn’t want to fumble, his or hers. He didn’t want to ugly up something that had been beautiful thus far. He felt like turning around because once he got out the car he would have to take it all the way. She had called him. Requested his presence in the middle of the night. There was only one thing she could have wanted, but now he questioned if he should oblige. Conflict swirled in his chest. He saw her legs first as she descended the steps. Heels at midnight, silk boy shorts, and the tiniest silk spaghetti strap negligee. The color was the same as her skin. He could barely tell that she had anything on at all.
“Damn,” he whispered. Morgan Atkins was beautiful. Ass for days, thighs that trembled, and full breasts that bounced with every step. Flashes of his lips around her areola as he palmed them entered his mind. They had just done this. She had just called him for rescue days before and he had dropped everything, to get to her, to save her. He had explored her depths just hours ago, not even a full day had passed and already she needed him again. It scared him. This was becoming a need. It was becoming serious and his heart pounded. He had witnessed this pull. He had seen Messiah get lost in it. Like a black hole Morgan had sucked him in. Now he understood. Now, that it was him, now that his mind was telling him to cut the shit off, but his heart was laughing at the request, he got it. She was irresistible. He was gangster, but she was godly. She called the shots. She was the coach and she was making him put up a thousand shots. Ahmeek was a fucking shooter. Three points, all net. Her franchise player. His dick jumped. Ahmeek couldn’t do anything but shake his head and appreciate the sight as she folded her arms across her chest, forcing the mounds of her flesh to peak as she walked to his side of the car. She pulled open the door.