“Just give me a chance to make it right.” Bash pulled her into his arms. The feeling of his hands around her waist didn’t repulse her but the embrace didn’t warm her like it should. There was no safety in his touch, no power, no aggression … just desperation. He was desperate not to lose her. Morgan was full of regrets. She should have never allowed him to sneak out of the friend zone. He had helped her through some of the hardest days of her life and she felt obligated to give him something in return … she was repaying a debt to him by giving him partnership, promising him marriage. She had never even said yes. Not to the proposal, not to the relationship, not to any of it. She had gone along with things because nothing was worth caring about. She had been caught in the grips of depression and grief while Bash made plans for the rest of her life. He had taken her silence as permission. Bash had coerced a space in her life when she was in the worst of states and now, she felt trapped. Morgan never expected to find someone who made her want to love again. She had been okay with settling before. Now she wanted greatness. Now she wanted someone else and guilt was eating her alive because Bash had done his part, he had been a support to her and it still wasn’t enough. She wondered if it were true … if she could learn to love him. If she could be happy one day with Bash the way she was when she was with Ahmeek. She still couldn’t believe that she felt that way about a man she should have no feelings for at all, but it was so potent, and it made her not want to accept anything that came with dilution.
“Okay,” she said, giving in. He deserved the chance. That was the least she could do. “But this is a lot. It’s too much fighting and yelling. I need some space to think. Just a day or two. Please.”
“Whatever you need, Mo. Do I need to worry about you? With him?” he asked.
Morgan looked him in the eyes and shook her head. “No. It’s done. I’ll end it.”
3
“So, it’s nothing fancy. Four walls, one bedroom, one bath. Rent is eight hundred dollars per month. I’ll need first and last, plus deposit.”
Messiah looked around the small space and pulled in a deep breath. This was a far cry from what he had once possessed. He had fallen so far from the throne he didn’t even remember what it felt like to be on top. He had given every dime he had to Morgan. He didn’t regret it. She deserved it. He hoped it had done some good. A consolation for breaking her heart. He was down but Messiah had no worries. He could get to the money in his sleep. He wouldn’t be down long.
“I’ll take it,” he said.
He peeled off $2500 from the small knot he had in his pocket. It was half of what he had to his name. He had clothes, his car, his bike, a handful of guns, and $2500 left. A legit man would sell the toys for cash, but Messiah was an outlaw. The all-white BMW represented a status he once held in the streets. A king. The king. He would rather grind up than get rid of them.
The woman placed a key on the countertop and pulled a lease agreement from the folder she clutched to her chest.
“I’ll just need your signature on a few pages and you’ll be all set,” she said.
Messiah took the pen and signed his name.
The leasing agent walked out, and Messiah hopped up onto the countertop, looking around the empty space. It reminded him of Mo’s place … of the day he had moved her into her apartment all those years ago. He was so close to her. In the same zip code, but he couldn’t reach out, not yet. Ethic had been clear. Messiah needed to wait until the right time to approach Morgan because she had been through a lot. He wondered what a lot meant. How had she coped after he had disappeared? It tore him apart thinking of the ways she had hurt after he left. He knew she would have a hard time, but he had been in a situation where life and death trumped emotions. Leaving her felt less cruel than making her watch him die. If he could go back he would do things a bit different, because when things became unbearable he would have given anything to hear her voice. He had made a mistake by abandoning her. He just wanted to make it right. He would be unsettled until he saw her face. Seeing Ethic, gaining his forgiveness so easily gave him hope that Mo would accept him back into her life. She would be mad, but he would take that. He would take whatever energy she was giving as long as she let him come home. Messiah grabbed the key and flipped up the hood of his sweatshirt before walking out. He couldn’t sit around, waiting. If he was going to come back for Mo, he wasn’t coming empty handed. He had to have more to offer than just himself because he knew he wasn’t worth shit in her book. He couldn’t let anyone else know he was back before telling Mo. Even Isa and Ahmeek had to wait. He would just have to keep a low profile until Ethic gave him the green light. Until then he would put in work to get back on his feet.
4
The money machine was the soundtrack for the evening as Ahmeek and Isa sat around the living room table counting up. Isa balanced a short blunt between his lips as his hands flipped through the bills in front of him. A knock at the door lifted Isa from his seat as he reached for the chrome pistol that laid on the money covered table.
“That’s Beans?” Ahmeek inquired, as his chocolate fingers ran through the money in his hand.
“Dropping off the bag. His block’s going crazy,” Isa stated. He peeked out the blinds before reaching the door and then pulled it open. A handshake amongst gangsters was the formal greeting before the mountain of a man lowered his head to step inside the house.
“Murder Meek,” the man greeted. Meek stood briefly, dapping him up with one hand before reclaiming his seat.
“Beans, baby what’s good?” Meek acknowledged.
“Shit, everything,” Beans said dropping the duffel at Meek’s feet.
“We got to bust this down?” Meek asked unzipping the bag to reveal that it was stuffed to the tip top with banded rolls of money.
“Nah that’s all you. That’s your cut. Not a dollar short,” he said.
“Square bi’ness,” Meek answered. Ahmeek resumed counting, glancing up at the 65-inch screen on the wall. The Lakers game played in front of him, but his hands flipped through the bread while he watched, never losing count. He was accurate at all things money. All things logic. Ahmeek was all G. He could bang with the best of them, but he was well aware that his biggest weapon was his mind.
“Bron letting off tonight,” Ahmeek noted.
“I had the shit playing on XM on the way over. He going for the triple double, ain’t he?” Beans asked as he pulled up his pants and took a seat on the couch.
“Hmm, hmm. Homie bringing that bag home for a nigga. I got five bands on the first half. Lakers minus two,” Isa said.
“You covering that,” Ahmeek stated, surely.
Isa held out the blunt and Meek grabbed it, placing it between his lips, pulling hard before passing it back. He held it in for an extra beat before blowing it out.
“What’s good bro? You grim than a mu’fucka,” Beans noted.
“Nigga spell grim,” Ahmeek shot back as he put the weed in rotation, passing it to Beans.
Beans laughed and took the blunt.
“Mo Money got this nigga in his bag. Mo crazy than a mu’fucka, man,” Isa said, snickering. “I don’t never want no bitch like that. One thang go wrong and a nigga whole world fucked up? Nahhh. I’m good, G.”