My Redemption Too: a Second Chance series

by S. K. Lessly

  “When it comes to understanding struggles, it doesn’t make it easier because of the color of one’s skin. A black man can be with a black woman, but she will never understand the struggles of a black man. She won’t understand what he deals with and goes through to provide for his family. A woman may only see that he can’t provide, not the doors that are shut in his face. The same would be for a black woman. There are things that a black man couldn’t possibly understand such as the struggles she goes through to keep her family together while her man is unemployed or not around. Nevertheless, it’s not about color. It’s about what you’re made of.”

  I leaned back and rested my head against the back of the couch as the room fell into silence. My father dropped some serious knowledge on me, and he was right on all accounts. I wanted Paul and I knew he wanted me too. But the question still remained, would our love be enough?

  “Lauren,” I sat up when Brian called my name. “There is no doubt that Paul loves you. We all saw it in his eyes when he waited next to us for word that you were going to make it. He kept a constant vigil by your bed while you slept.”

  My eyes grew wide. Now that was news to me. I vaguely remembered seeing him sleeping by my bed but I couldn’t be certain. I guess I was right.

  Brian seeing the stunned expression gave me a soft smile. “Yeah, I caught him one night sitting next to your bed while you slept. I wanted to do the very thing that first night but found he beat me to it. Lauren, he’s devoted to you. I don’t think he cares what anyone would say about you two. You have to understand that there will always be obstacles in any relationship. It doesn’t make it completely easier because you’re the same race. I think it comes down to what you’re willing to do and how much you’re willing to fight for the person you love. You have to make sure your foundation is strong in order to endure what life may bring. So, my dear sister, you just have to ask yourself is your love strong enough to endure?”

  I leaned back and stared into nothing. The men in my family shocked me tonight, especially Brian. Holy shit, I think he’s possessed or something because damn…

  All in all, each of them had valid points. I had a lot to think about or hell maybe everything was a moot point. Regardless of what Brian said, I still needed to talk to Paul. I wanted to know how he felt about me. I wanted to hear it come from his lips. The thing was I didn’t want to have this conversation over the phone. I had to do it in person. I just hoped that when I saw him, I had the courage to bring it up. The asking wasn’t the thing that scared me. It was his answer. Whatever he said to me would either make me the happiest woman on earth, or it would crush me into little tiny pieces of pathetic-ness.

  Yup, new word. You’re welcome.

  Paul

  “Whoa, that damn Curry is sick with the rock,” Brice said to no one in particular, as we watched the Warrior’s point guard drop his third three-point shot in a row.

  “Yeah, that fucker is a beast but so is LeBron,” Samson added, shaking his head. Brice and I grunted our agreement as we watched said player steal the rock and dribble down to his team’s basket, dropping a smooth three-point shot of his own.

  We were sitting at a local bar in Bloomfield, Samson, me, and one of my boys, Brice Morrison. We were having a few drinks and watching the game doing some male bonding.

  I had called them earlier asking if they wanted to hang out for a few hours. Samson said he was down and told me to give him an hour and he’d be there. Brice told me he was down to meet up as well. He was already in the area, probably coming from some chick’s house since he lived in South Orange, which was about forty miles away.

  Brice Morrison and I had grown up together and had been best friends since middle school. He was about two inches taller than I was with a lean frame, bronze skin, and light gray eyes. His hair was typically a wild curly blonde mess, but today he was adulting and had his hair cut close to his scalp like mine.

  Brice worked as a history teacher at Orange Area High School and coached their varsity football team too. The man was a master at the sport. The first year he joined the coaching staff, he had the team breaking their two-year losing streak. He also brought them a championship his first year. All that happened four years ago, and he's been leading them to victory ever since.

  Despite our hectic schedules, he and I tried to hook up at least twice a month. We'd hit some sports bar, club or we'd hang out at my house. Tonight, I had chosen to get shitfaced with my boys at the bar in hopes that they’d help take my mind off her.

  I popped some peanuts into my mouth and slouched further into my stool. Yeah, this was exactly what I needed tonight— to hang out with my boys, throwing back a few. I knew this night was going to be a good one when I walked inside the bar to find my boys had beat me to the spot and had a drink waiting for me.

  See what I mean? What would I do without my boys?

  “So, have you spoken to her?” Brice asked me, his eyes glued to the screen in front of us.

  My beer bottle was in mid-air when he spoke, and I contemplated on answering him. But someone beat me to the punch.

  “Yeah, he spoke to her, but hasn’t laid down the law yet and claimed his woman.” That was Samson by the way, just in case you didn’t know. I looked to my left at his hunched over frame as I drank some of my beer.

  “Oh yeah,” Brice answered. “Well, what in the fuck is he waiting for?”

  I looked at Brice then turned to look at Samson, waiting for the answer. After all, he was speaking for me.

  Samson, not taking his gaze off the TV simply replied, “Hell, you know how white boys are. He’s probably waiting around for her to make the first move.”

  I rolled my eyes, in a manly way mind you, and slammed my bottle down on the bar. I signaled for the bartender to bring me another beer and more shots. I had already thrown back three shots of tequila a bit ago, but clearly, I needed more to deal with these two.

  Brice chuckled and looked over at me. “Yeah, I could see that. He probably thinks he needs to be careful with her and take his time. You know, make sure he doesn’t spook her.”

  Samson grunted and again I rolled my eyes.

  Despite what they thought, I wasn’t the pussy they were making me out to be. The woman asked for time and considering the shit she’d been through I was giving that to her. Plus, the woman in question was in Philly with her family. What in the fuck did they expect me to do? I started to ask that very thing when Samson spoke up.

  “Well, B, this is his first time dealing with a sista. He doesn’t know what to do.”

  The bartender placed a new bottle of beer in front of me. I gave him a nod as my thanks before I chugged down the rest of the almost empty bottle of beer in front of me. I passed the bartender the empty bottle and grabbed the new one. I would need more alcohol to deal with these two, much more.

  As if I wasn’t here, Brice pointed at Samson and nodded. “Exactly! As his boys, I think we should educate him. He can't handle her like he handles white chicks. He needs to use a little finesse.” Brice smiled.

  Samson nodded and smiled back at him. “Exactly brother. It’s our duty to make sure he doesn’t fuck this up, because knowing him, he will fuck this up.”

  I shook my head, grabbed my shot when the bartender placed them down in front of us and threw mine back.

  “Yeah, if he hasn’t done it already,” Brice retaliated.

  They both finally looked at me, disappointment laced in their eyes. I gave them both a fuck you look before I took both their shots down. They didn’t deserve them. Assholes.

  I slammed down the last shot glass, grunted from the bitter taste, and shook my head. I regarded my so-called boys.

  “Are you two finished yet?”

  When they were silent, I glanced at them both before saying, “To answer your original question, Brice. Yes, I’ve spoken to her. We’ve actually spoken on the phone every day since she's been gone. And before you ask, no we haven’t talked about us yet.”

  “Why n
ot? What’chu waiting for?” Brice asked.

  “Seriously? Why would I talk to her about that shit over the phone? I’d rather talk to her in person. Plus, she’s been through a lot. Now’s not the time to get into whether she wants to get back together or not. She was attacked for fucks sake.”

  “Yeah and you saved her,” Brice said in a wry tone. “You came on the scene just in time, and you saved her life. You’ve also been there for her in ways she doesn’t even know. Why can’t you talk to her about your future?”

  I shook my head and brought my bottle to my lips.

  When I didn’t reply, Brice looked to Samson. “Help me out, man? What am I missing here?”

  Samson shrugged. “I don’t know, B. I told him to tell her how he felt about her a long time ago. He’s been in denial for months, trying to forget her by dating and shit. I didn’t agree with that shit, not one bit.”

  I frowned and folded my arms in front of me. “Since when did you say that shit to me? I recall you telling me to do what I had to do to get over her.”

  “That’s because you weren’t listening to reason. I had to let you learn the hard way. And don’t forget, I told you to go after her the same day y’all broke up. Don’t get amnesia.” Samson started to take a drink of his beer when he stopped and looked at me. “You have learned your lesson, right? I mean you told me you were done seeing Bridgette, but are you having second thoughts?”

  Brice chimed in, his eyes wide. “Please tell me you aren’t torn between two women cuz let me tell you, that shit won’t end well.”

  I furrowed my brows. “What in the hell, Brice? No, I’m not torn. And no, I’m not having second thoughts.”

  Brice shook his head. “Man, I don’t know what you were doing with that Latin chick in the first place. I’m with Samson, that shit was a waste of time. No wait, maybe it wasn’t.” He grinned mischievously. “That babe was hot as hell. I bet the sex was off the chain.”

  I gave him an indifferent look as I lifted a shoulder. “It was fine.”

  Although sex with Bridgette was good, there was no way I was going into detail.

  Brice's eyes bulged out of his face from my comment. “Just fine? That doesn’t seem right. Did you see her lips? They were plump and blowjob ready. And let’s not forget about her ass? I bet she could—”

  I raised my hand to stop him. In the past and when I was single, I didn’t mind talking about the women we banged, but I felt weird talking about Bridgette that way. And I damn sure wasn’t going to talk about Lauren.

  “Let me stop you right there and say this… Was being with Bridgette worth it? Sure. She and I had a great time together. Were we compatible? No. She and I both knew deep down it wouldn’t work between us. We wanted different things. But yeah, as you said, the woman was hot as fuck and sexy with an ass that was beautiful. And yes, sex was pretty good, great even. But if I had to choose…”

  “You'd prefer Lauren,” Samson finished for me.

  I smiled at him, my eyes gleaming with pride. “Man, there is just something about that woman.” I blew out a breath, and immediately felt my dick stir in my jeans.

  Samson shook his head and chuckled. “You’re pussy whipped.”

  I folded my arms and grinned, staring back at the basketball game. “Aren’t we all?”

  It took a few seconds for him to reply, and I could hear the smile in his voice when he did.

  “Hell fucking yes!"

  “If you are still breathing, you have a second chance.” -Oprah Winfrey

  17

  Lauren

  It was the middle of the night and, as usual, sleep wouldn’t find me. I was lying on a very comfortable queen size bed in my brother’s spare bedroom staring up at the ceiling. I was going home in a week, and I was very nervous. It wasn’t that I wanted to stay here in Philly, no I wanted to go home. I just wasn’t sure what was in store for me when I got there.

  Let me quickly recap what’s been going the last week or so.

  I had been scheduled to return home last week, but two days before I was to leave, Maria went into labor. She wasn’t scheduled to go in for her planned C-Section for another week. Needless to say, the surprise birth of my nephews pushed my departure back. I decided to stay another week just to be with my nephews Logan and Joshua.

  Yup, that’s right, my brother named his sons after Paul. How amazing was that? My heart swelled with love, pride, and reverence when he told me that he named his sons after the man that saved his sister’s life.

  Just so you know, Paul’s full name is Paul Joshua Logan—a sexy man’s name for a sexy man.

  Naturally, I was a blubbering mess when Mark told me why he named his kids after Paul. Yes! I cried my eyes out, which was something that I was doing more and more of ever since I almost bled out and died. I needed to cut that shit out. I had a reputation of being a hard ass, and my family was turning me into a cream puff.

  Surprisingly, extending my stay was easy enough. My job had already started without me this semester. I had told them what happened to me and they were very understanding when I asked for some time off. I knew I needed to get back to my own life; per my two shrinks. It was time I faced my fears.

  Being with my family really helped me heal, but my mom and sister were right, I needed to get back on the saddle. Besides, I was getting sick of being around Hillary. She was extra with her niceties, which was making me sick to my stomach. I had told my brother, I drew the line with her. I’d be cordial, but if she said anything I didn’t like, I was clocking her.

  Brian laughed and said, “You wouldn’t be the sister I know and love if you were any different.”

  To ease me back into my life, my family agreed to come back home with me for a few days. We had made plans to take advantage of the trip and make it a mini family vacation. Unfortunately, Mark couldn’t come with us. He was a proud new papa after all, with twin boys and a wife to look after. Mark Jr. and Maria were coming with us, of course. It allowed Maria to recover without having to worry about her other kids, and it gave Mark a chance to cater to his wife and newborns too.

  We decided to make our way north after the kids got out of school this coming Friday. Everyone was going to stay with me, which I was definitely looking forward to having my family at my home. Paul had told me a few weeks ago that he took care of getting my house cleaned up. I had asked him if my house looked horrific before he had it cleaned, but he wouldn’t tell me. It probably looked like a bloody crime scene or a scene right out of a horror movie, which low key wasn’t too far off.

  My family and I had plans to just relax, once we made it to my house, and maybe watch some movies. On Saturday, we’d make our way to NYC. We had plans to visit the Statue of Liberty, Broadway, Time Square, and the Central Park Zoo. We’d probably grab dinner in the city and maybe ice skate at Rockefeller Center. Unfortunately, the tree wouldn’t be lit, but it would still be an amazing place to visit.

  Sunday was, yup you guessed it, Super Bowl Sunday. And let me just say there was a party scheduled at my place that will last all night. I couldn’t wait.

  I breathed out a long sigh and rolled on my side to check the clock on the nightstand— three in the morning, perfect. I let out a soft groan and pulled the blanket further over my body. I closed my eyes, praying that sleep would whisk me away, but as minutes passed, I had no such luck. I contemplated taking the sleeping pills my sister prescribed me, but I hated the way they made me feel. Also, it didn’t matter if I took a sleeping aide or not. It didn’t prevent the nightmares of getting my throat cut from happening, nor did it prevent me from waking up in cold sweats, with my heart pounding, looking around frantically for my attacker. Believe me that sucked ass every night.

  I reached for my phone, unplugged it, and woke the screen. I searched for Paul’s name and read the last text I sent him. Talking to him and hearing his voice during my time of healing had been a godsend. We’d talk on the phone as often as we could but texted if he was working or unavailable to verbal
ly chat. He had asked me if I wanted to Skype him or use our phones to video chat, and I said no. I didn’t want him to see me just yet. I looked horrendous. I had bags under my eyes, due to lack of sleep, my hair was a hot, nappy mess, and I was skinny as a rail.

  What I really didn’t want him to see was my scar. I didn’t want to see the pity in his eyes. I see that in my own eyes every time I look in the mirror, I didn’t need his pity too. The doctor told me I could look into plastic surgery to get rid of the long, thin line that stretched from the middle of my throat to the side of my neck. I was considering doing it. The memory of that day was embedded in my brain forever. I didn’t need to look in the mirror and be reminded of the day I almost lost my life.

  However, the thought of going under the knife so soon after… well, that scared me even more. It was winter now. I didn’t have to make a decision right away. I could get away with wearing scarves and sweaters with high necklines to hide my scar. My family didn’t agree with me waiting, or better yet my shrinks didn’t agree with me. They felt I should address my issues now instead of letting them fester. They also didn’t agree with the scarfs, but what do they know. They didn’t have to live with the memory, I did. I’d handle this the best way I knew how— I’d hide.

  Paul was very understanding when I told him I didn’t want to Skype. I didn’t tell him why I didn’t want to do it. I let him assume it had to do with me looking a hot mess. Instead of him giving me shit about it, he went out of his way to make me feel good. He’s sent me flowers every week and bouquets of chocolate covered fruit from Edibles. He even sent Uber Eats my way a couple of times, with a cheesesteak from my favorite shop on South Street. He did it through Mark, but it didn’t matter. It was the thought that counted.