by Mj Fields
A rap on the window saves my ass from answering the question … or so I think.
He doesn’t look away. “Well, do you love her?”
A woman knocks again.
“Someone’s at the window.”
I start to open my door, but he stops me.
“Trucker?”
“One blunt object to a heart can destroy it. It can kill a man, Hines. But I sure as fuck did once.”
She hasn’t let me close enough to figure out if I still do. She keeps fucking hurting me, telling me no, lying to me. I don’t do lies. Fuck that.
I walk around the car and look at the older black woman. “Can we help you?”
She cocks her head and laughs a deep belly laugh. “You Trucker Cohen?”
That fucking laugh, that smile, they could knock a man off his feet.
“Sure am.”
“You the one here about the storage unit?”
I nod. “I suppose I am.”
“Can I ask why?”
“Keeka pays for something she doesn’t need to. We thought we’d save her some money while we were in town.”
“Keeka …?” she begins.
“Hello, ma’am. I’m Maddox Hines.”
“Oh yes, you are. How do the two of you know my girl?”
“How the hell did I miss that?” I laugh. “You’re Shakeeka.”
“Are you confused, son? You just said you were here for me.” She laughs again.
“Keeka, Carmen’s daughter?”
She looks at me in confusion. “You mean Brooklyn?”
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Angels and family
Keeka
We’ve spent four days in Blue Valley. Two with London, and two without. Lucas played chauffeur and blessed us with a playlist that consisted of every rock song from the 80s until now with word angel in the title.
While there, I spent a few hours behind my grandmother Josie’s bar and met some of her regulars while she showed Leddie off like she was the most amazing creation on this earth, and she is. The bar is in the country, on a small lake, and was nothing like the one I worked at. But the people who came in and out of it were treated like family, which was similar. No, it wasn’t the same as a sports bar, so there wasn’t a lot of sports talk. It seemed as though their “football,” their passion, their sport, was fishing.
I met more cousins, uncles, and aunts. A family I never searched for but somehow found, or did they find me?
At the bar, I got an idea that it had been set up that way to meet more family, and when I asked Josie, she nodded.
“I’m as social as they come when I’m in my element. You’ve seen me with my people, our people, but put me in a crowd of strangers and I’m as uncomfortable as a size six shoe on a size nine foot. But when I’m back behind a bar, those people are coming to me. It makes it so much easier.”
I couldn’t agree more.
When I left the bar that evening, I realized how much I missed Lou, and the pseudo family I had at the bar. I hope to have a job still, even though it was Logan who had contacted him when I had Leddie.
I feel just as guilty about that as I do about having not told Shakeeka I have a baby. But every time I think to do so, something comes up. And honestly, I don’t want to tell her. I want to show her, and it’s the same with Lou and Reda, and even Gary and the other regulars.
Earlier today, before Lucas and Harper, Maddox’s wife, brought us home, he drove me around town, showing me where everyone lived that I didn’t already know, including Trucker.
The home was nothing like the others Lucas had shown me. And when I saw a little boy outside the home on the other side of the tree line, sitting in grass just as tall, crying, my heart broke for him and made me want so much more for Leddie than I ever had, than he ever had.
Inside the apartment, I smile at Lucas, who brings another load of baby gear inside.
He laughs. “They need so much.”
I smile. “They need so little.”
His eyes narrow a bit, and then he nods before grinning. “But baby gear is cool as fuck, Keeks. I love it.”
Harper walks in and nudges him with her hip. “Just think of all the money you’ll make at a garage sale because Pop-Pop buys everything ten children could need.” She leans toward me. “The truth is, he needs it. He’s a giant child.”
“Hey! I heard that, Harper Ann.” He pretends to act annoyed, but then starts laughing as he walks down the hall toward my room. “She asleep?”
“She is.” I nod, knowing her sleeping won’t stop him.
Harper sighs. “Pretty overwhelming, isn’t it?”
I nod.
“You handle it better than I would. Being a new mom is so insane, overwhelming, emotional.”
“You all make it so much easier, and I appreciate it.”
“Are you kidding me? You’ve made it super easy.”
“I came with something irresistible.”
“That’s true.”
“We’re out.” Lucas gives me a one-armed hug and a loud kiss on the head. “She still is, too. You’re welcome.”
Harper gives me a hug. “We’re a phone call away.”
“Thank you … for everything.”
I run back and check on Leddie. It’s habit, and one I am pretty sure I will never break. Then I grab the hand-held monitor, even though I have an app, and walk out as I look down at my sleeping angel. When I run into a wall, I look up immediately, hoping my senses are off and it’s actually Lucas.
It’s not.
“What are you—”
I stop when I hear Maddox say, “I’ll leave this right here. If either of you need anything, I’ll be around.”
“What? No—”
“We’ll be fine.” His hands are still on my hips, holding me in place, and I feel his eyes burning a hole into me.
When the door is shut, I step back.
I feel betrayed, sick to my stomach, afraid? And I am afraid of him.
“What are you doing here? Why would he leave you here with me?” I finally look up at him. “I want you to leave.”
He looks down at my hand, his face contorts, and then he closes his eyes.
I look down and see the monitor. I see Leddie, and all I can think of is keeping her safe. All I can think of is he’s going to take her away, and they are going to help him.
I turn toward the room and start to run.
“Brooklyn, stop.”
All the air in the room is gone. My body freezes, and I can’t will it to move. In seconds, I’m numb and feel like I’m going to pass out, and then I am off my feet, unable to yell at him, tell him to put me down.
He sits me on the couch then sits a foot away from me, holding up his hands. “I’m here to talk.”
I shake my head.
“Well then, I’m here to sit until you’re ready to talk.” He leans back, crosses his arms over his chest, and looks around the room. He acts as if he hasn’t a care in the world, whereas I’m sitting here with the weight of it on my chest.
I look at the monitor and realize I don’t get to be paralyzed with fear anymore. I don’t get to do anything but fight for her, for us. In order to fight, you have to know what you are up against.
“How?”
He turns and looks at me. Then he stands up, walks to the fridge, grabs two bottles of water, and walks back over, sitting on the cushioned coffee table facing me.
My natural instinct is to sink back into the leather couch, but I have to fight that, too.
“I set up this double-date shit so Logan had to face me. Turned out, London was our date. Also turned out, Maddox was a chaperone.”
I shake my head and ask again, “How?”
“Yesterday morning, Maddox decided he had a better idea than a couple’s massage. Said his sister”—he points at me—“was paying for a storage unit, and it was a waste of her money. So instead of a relaxing massage, I was going to do manual labor.”
I shake my head as I try to
think of what would have been in there that would have given away my name, and then I realize … everything.
I look him in the eyes now.
“Hi.”
“Don’t,” I warn.
“Okay, fine.” He sighs and leans back, looking down at my chest. A smirk plays on those damn lips of his, and then he looks back up.
“Welcome back,” I snap, and he smiles as big as the sun.
“Just had to make sure that I wasn’t tainting the—”
“What do you want? Why do you act like this isn’t a big deal? Why—”
“It’s a fucking huge deal, Ray.”
Ray.
“So, as we’re waiting for verification to go into your storage unit—which, just so you know, I had nothing to do with. Your brother, Maddox, can’t be fucking trusted. He’s British.”
Why is he making jokes? This is not a joke. My life is falling apart.
“Asshole got your key from the apartment without so much as asking you.”
“What do you want from me!”
He leans in again. “To talk. That’s what we’re doing, right? We’re talking.”
I shake my head again.
“Okay, you’re right; I’m talking, but boy, do I have so much to tell you.”
“Just say it. Say it and go.”
“Verification came in the form of a beautiful smile and a kick-ass laugh from a woman named Shakeeka.”
Broken, my heart is broken.
I cover my face and begin to cry.
“You never told her about little Lulu.”
I wrap my arms around my knees and feel my body shaking.
“Ray,” he whispers softly. “She knows about me now. Hell, she knows about Maddox and Troy being your dad. But she doesn’t know about Lulu.”
I look up and expect him to be joking.
“She doesn’t, but you and I, we’re gonna make sure she does.”
You and I? You. And. I?
He winks, stands up, and walks toward the door. “She also knows you call yourself Keeka, which she thinks is endearing. I prefer Brooklyn myself.” He stops and looks back. “But I would give anything to see Ray again.” He turns back around and continues walking toward the door. When he stops, bends down then turns around, I see a box in his hands.
I shake my head, and he nods.
“This shit, this won’t be easy, but it is necessary.”
When he sets the box on the table and opens it, he pulls out a journal. It’s hers.
Fight or flight kicks in, and I stand up, toe to toe with him, and poke him in the chest. “I’m not her. I’m not crazy. I know who I am, where I came from, and what I ran from.” I poke him again. “I was given a name that became a slap in the face.”
He wraps his arms around me, and I try to push him away, but I can’t. He’s just too freaking strong.
I look up. “And as you now know, and so does Maddox, that name was a punishment to me from day one.” I start to shake. “Do you know how Emma, Brody, London—all of them—are going to feel when they know I was named after a bridge because she was? And when they know that she told me the Brooklyn Bridge was stronger than the London one because it never falls down?”
“Brooklyn,” he sighs.
“No, no, no, no!”
I start pushing him away, this time harder.
I get turned around, and then he pulls me down onto his lap.
“You’re gonna wake Lulu.”
“Her name is Leddy!”
“You need to chill the fuck out, little fighter, because I’m about to make this easier on you.”
Exhausted and realizing he holds all the fucking cards, I stop.
“Maddox knows about your name, okay? But he’s a smart guy. He knows you didn’t name yourself. And the whole bridge thing’s pretty fucked up, but no one knows that but you and now me.”
“But you’ll use it against me. You’ve already turned him against me.”
He moves out from under me and turns to look at me. “No. No, I won’t.”
“They—”
“That stays between you and me, regardless.” He leans back and rubs his hand over his chest. “Jesus Christ, she was fucked up, huh?”
“So is your mother,” I snap.
He sits forward and smiles. “Yeah, I know.”
“Why is that funny?”
“Look, I had a three-hour conversation with Shakeeka—”
I cover my face and start to cry again.
He pulls my hand back. “Maddox stayed for about an hour then took off. She asked me a couple of questions, and apparently, I answered correctly, because she and I talked for three hours. Three hours I got to hear a timeline of events in your life. The fact that you aren’t rocking in a corner, drooling on yourself, is straight-up fucking proof that you’re stronger than anyone I’ve ever met. I get why you used her name. You didn’t want the reminder, and I don’t blame you.”
He reaches forward and wipes the tears from under my eye with his thumb. “I also know you’re strong enough to deal with everything in that fucking box.”
I shake my head.
He wraps his hand around the side of my head. “You are, and if you fall apart like you just did a few minutes ago, I’m gonna hold you together.” He lets go of my face, pushes some hair behind my ear, sighs, and then leans forward.
He holds up the journal. “Shakeeka told me she caught you reading it one day and you were crying. She took it away.”
“I don’t remember that.” I wipe my face.
“Emotional narcolepsy.” He winks.
“What?”
“A joke. Shakeeka said you have a knack for not remembering certain things. All she said would be traumatic. That woman should have a PHD in psychology.
“Like these.” He pulls out a bunch of white sheets of papers folded into booklets. “All sad fucking stories. Most were burnt, but these two, I kept.”
“To use against me?”
“No, to under-fucking-stand you.” He turns and looks at me. “I could go through this box and let you relive all the shit you left. The fact that she told people you were a boy, Brooks—”
“What?” I gasp.
“Shit.” He rubs his hand over his head. “Yeah. Blue blanket or ribbon?”
“Ribbon,” I whisper, rubbing the ends of my hair.
“That was from Troy. She told him you were a boy. Shakeeka thought it was the equivalent to a noose. She said your mom would panic if it wasn’t in your hair, and you would panic if you misplaced it.”
He smiles. Why is he smiling at such horrible things?
He pulls out another booklet. “Kept this one, too. Leddie and Lou?” He leans over and hands it to me. “This, Brooklyn—”
“No.” I hate my name, even more so now that I have London.
He sets the book beside me. “You have never looked like a Keeka. How about Brook?”
I close my eyes and look down. “What else is in the box? I don’t wanna do this. I don’t.”
“Glad you asked.” He claps his hands and rubs them together. Then he pushes his long sleeves up.
Why is he excited? Why is he doing this?
“Shit, before I can keep going, I want you to know that I’m not asking if she’s mine. I know she is. Leddy Lou is my daughter. And before I continue”—he reaches inside the box, pulls out a white cloth, and tosses it at me—“your sister hates me. But part of the date was to go see Waitress, and that’s the moment I decided your attitude sucked and I didn’t care.”
“Excuse me?”
“Telling me I wasn’t her dad.”
“My attitude didn’t suck, Trucker Cohen. I was protecting your dream. And after she was born, I was protecting her and my heart.”
He grips the back of my neck, and then his lips cover mine. When I don’t reciprocate, he leans back.
“Kiss me, Ray.” He lightly rubs his lips across mine, ghost-kisses. “Kiss me.”
“I can’t.” I look down from his beautifu
l eyes.
“Why?” he asks as he lets out a breath, a sweet, intoxicating breath.
“I don’t know what you want from me.” I lean back farther.
“Oh, Ray, don’t you get it? Everything. Every-fucking-thing.” He leans back and closes his eyes, taking in deep, steady breaths.
I don’t even bother trying to catch mine. It was gone the minute I ran into him.
After a few moments, he shakes his head and cocks it to the side, eyes darting from my lips to my eyes.
“Look at the white thing, Ray.”
Still clutching it, I release it and open it on my lap. “A onesie.”
“Flip it over.” He sounds less confident.
I read it, “Lulu’s Pies.”
“The show, Waitress, hated being there, but this little girl, she was so fucking happy, and her mom left a shitbag husband—and I’m talking shitbag loser—and she found happiness, her and her kid.”
I continue looking at him, expecting more. Because, if he was expecting that to gain him a kiss, he was wrong.
When he laughs, I realize I am giving him a look that probably screams what the hell is wrong with you.
“Hell, I don’t know.” He laughs. “You’re happy, Ray. She’s your football. I’m happy. I have football still. Why can’t we be fucking happy together?”
“I was seventeen—”
“Who the fuck cares?”
“You seemed to.”
“You hid it.”
“I did so—”
“In order to get away from all this.” He waves his hand over the box.
“And I told you that way back—”
“I was in love with a girl for the first time in my damn life. Never wanted to be, scared the hell out of me. So my past fucked with me, too. I am forgiving you for every fucking thing. Now, dammit, Ray, do the same for me.”
He stands up and walks around. “Where’s the damn bathroom?”
“First door on the left.”
When I hear the door shut, I grab the box, put it on my lap, and dig inside. I pull out the booklets and open the first. the first page, I see what I think would be a childhood drawing of my mom. She’s with a man and smiling. The next page is her crying and a giant X over his face. The pages continue the same—Mom smiling with a man, and then an X over his face. I have no idea what that means.