Love's Ineligible Receiver (Connecticut Kings Book 5)

by Love Belvin

  Then I was straddled over him. His arm lay possessively over the small of my back. Again, instead of protesting, I willfully succumbed to a new round of siesta.

  “Hey there, lil’ buddy!” I spoke in my special voice exclusively for him. “You miss ol’ Rut boy, ain’t ya!”

  Sharkie groaned like a man nutting in the best trap. His eyes were squeezed closed and tail wagged in a frenzy as I massaged his head.

  “I been away a lot lately, huhn? They been taking care of you?”

  I knew they were. Kings Courts had a pet sitter right here on the premises. Whenever Fats had to be away with me, we’d take him there and they’d tack his stay onto my rent. I, myself, had been away a lot lately, especially last week. I had to remember this place was new to Sharkie and me. We hadn’t been here a full two months yet, and I’d been leaving him for most of the day.

  I pulled him closer to me as I sat on the couch in my living room, giving him the attention he craved. Attention that calmed me, too.

  “Well, ol’ Rut missed you too, baby boy.” I massaged his stomach, jealous as hell I had no one to do it to me.

  I was tired as fuck. Being up two days straight, drinking, and mourning had caught up with me today while training. I performed my ass off, but it wasn’t my best out there. I got to the field late this morning because I woke up from the heaviest sleep that didn’t have shit to do with being drunk.

  Now, I was ready to go. I knew it was crazy of me, but as I massaged Sharkie, I knew on the other side of this call I’d been waiting on was my therapy. And hopefully my comfort.

  The house phone rang and for some reason scared me at first. Then excitement mushroomed in my damn belly and I reached for it.

  “Yeah?”

  I listened to the automated recording of FCI Oxford’s prison system and waited for the prompt to accept the call. After sometime, I heard the voice that had brought about mixed feelings for me since elementary school.

  “Peace to the god,” his tone was the same.

  Guarded.

  “Peace, god.” I rubbed my head from back to front, already feeling uneasy.

  There was another pause, but his energy was thick. This call wouldn’t be filled with silent stretches. It wasn’t his way.

  “Who is the devil?”

  I rolled my eyes, already over this bullshit. But I had to answer.

  It was his way.

  “A devil is a grafted man, which is made weak and wicked. Any grafted, live germ from the original is a devil.”

  “And answer this: Would you hope to live to see god’s taking the devil into hell in the very near future?”

  My eyes closed and body tensed all over. I didn’t know where this was going but felt like a sheep being led to slaughter. This was his way.

  “Yeah.” I had to answer. Had to answer and lie, “In the words of his Prophet, W.D. Fard, I fast and pray, Allah, in his own good time, takes the devil off our planet.”

  It was a joke. We didn’t subscribe to the Islamic religion. He understood I was being an asshole with it. In the heavy moment, I could use any tactic to lighten the conversation.

  “Then why the fuck is you wasting away in contradictory, walking around with a devil on ya arm like she your equal?”

  Emily. Fucking. Erceg.

  I took a deep breath.

  “I don’t believe she’s my equal.”

  “But you posing and shit with her!” he shot right back. And I waited. “You know what her bloodline is?”

  I tucked my chin and murmured. “Syrian.”

  “Yeah. That’s what her daddy was. Her momma’s Anglo-Saxon.”

  “I know, pops. This is all a PR front. Divine—”

  “Divine did this? The dirty-blond, blue-eyed Jesus worshipping Azmir Divine Jacobs got you into this shit?” His temper heated up, tone peaked.

  “Not exactly. I’m signed to a sports agency. A dope one that’s working to get my name out there—cleaned from all the bullshit they tryna throw on it,” I tried explaining. “They tryna position me to get a better deal next season.”

  “And Divine got you with these people?” I closed my eyes again, trying to remember how much longer we had on the call. “I bet they devils, too. They all working together to get my only seed to be the main clown in they fuckin’ circus.”

  “They’re black. From the top,” I emphasized.

  He got quiet.

  I took a deep breath.

  “You out there cooning for the fuckin’ devil with the fuckin’ devil and ya cousin in homeland losing his life.”

  “That ain’t my fuckin’ fault, man,” I muttered, wanting to do more.

  “That ain’t the point!”

  I sucked my teeth. “Then what’s the point, my G?”

  “The fuckin’ point is you need to take advantage of this opportunity. I made sure—pushed goddamn hard to get you to the league—”

  “And I’m here—”

  “To continue with the legacy, not to parade around with a ass-eatin’ devil in heels, Kadar!” He was there. The highest point of anger. Dude was now basing at me. Hard. “I know I left you to Azmir. Told him to carry out my plan—”

  “And he ain’t?”

  “Oh, he did. He did,” he shrieked, making it clear. “What he ain’t is your father, Kadar! I am. You my fuckin’ legacy. That lost, devil lovin’ nigga can go throw his seed in the damn sideshow for the white man to be entertained by. But as far as mine, he only entertains on the field. Other than that, them devils can find a new clown to laugh at.”

  “That’s kinda fucked up, don’t you think?”

  “Nah. It’s called karma. I heard about the documentary. That man done sold his soul for fame. When he blew the hell up in Cali, I knew that nigga was gonna fall for the lights and cameras. One day I hear he quit the game. The next, he left the Nation of Islam and now a fuckin’ Christian. What a joke, man.” He scoffed. “You can’t be an enlightened black man all ya life then claim you found Jesus. What the fuck type of Illuminati brainwashed shit is that? I been tellin’ you for years now, that ain’t the way of the righteous black man. The Asiatic man…”

  Fifteen minutes…

  I finally remembered and lifted the cordless to see how long it had been. Then I let out a long breath, counting down until dinner: the other side of this call.

  “I’m so sorry!” Her little hand reached across the table, covering mine. Her faced folded as though in pain and her head leaned to the side. Parker’s voice was soft yet strong. Comforting. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  No matter how much I needed it, I wasn’t comfortable with a female’s sympathy. Not real sympathy anyway.

  I pushed my plate away. “Dinner was good.” I cleared my throat.

  “Don’t do that!”

  My eyes snapped up to her. Parker shook her head again.

  “If there’s one thing I can’t stand at my age, it’s a man who can’t express hurt and pain, believing it to be a sign of weakness. I’m a woman, yes. But my shoulders were strong enough to get you settled while drunk in my bedroom last night. They’re strong enough to show compassion for your pain.”

  That shit shocked the hell out of me. I’d never seen her so snippy. Her cute lips pouted and eyebrows drew together. I wasn’t a crying or complaining type of man, but that “comfort” she was offering was tempting.

  “It’s all good.” I shook my head, sitting back in my seat at her table.

  “No. It’s not. You said it yourself: this B-Rocka was like a brother to you.” This time Parker shook her head, her eyes falling to the table. “I should have known something was up. I know I don’t know you well, but you being drunk like that last night… Your whole disposition.” She lifted her head. “It all makes sense now. He’s your father’s nephew, you said?” I nodded. “How’s he taking the news?”

  My brows lifted, thinking about that. “The best way he can. Ain’t shit he can do about it.”

  “Well…” She hesitated. “I mean… Of c
ourse, he’s powerless like we all are, but I’m sure he’s had a reaction to it.”

  This was getting uncomfortable. “My pops is locked up.”

  “Locked up?”

  I nodded again. “Feds got him up in Wisconsin.”

  Her eyes dropped again. “Sorry, Rut.”

  I groaned, “Don’t say sorry. Ain’t your fault.”

  I hated pity. Didn’t need that shit. I was Rut Amare. The fucking prince. I’d been good my whole life. My pops made sure from Wisconsin.

  “How long has he been in there?”

  “Since I was in elementary school.”

  “How much longer does he have to go?”

  I shrugged. “Months.”

  “Months?” her voice perked up. “That’s great!”

  Stretching back in my seat, I let go of a long breath. “I guess so.”

  “You don’t want him home?”

  My neck jerked. “Sure, I do. They need to free him. But I can tell now he don’t get I’mma man. I ain’t got time to be ‘fathered’ by two dudes.”

  “What do you mean?”

  I struggled. My reluctance wasn’t because of what I was about to say but about who I was going to share it with. I never talked about my pops or Divine. Definitely not to a chick. Not even to my head doctor.

  “When I was nine, my pops got fifteen years Fed time for trafficking and distributing heroine. He don’t know I know what I’m about to tell you. My moms don’t even know I know, but I do. He worked for one of the biggest drug lords at the time. Dude came up in Brooklyn and worked his way to Chicago then Cali. My pops was one of his soldiers for years. He started out with dude and worked his way up to top dog in Trenton. Pops was making low-level millions.” I flicked my fingers over the table.

  “He got knocked. The feds started down the chain in Trenton and worked their way up. When pop-dukes got his sentence, he made some kind of deal with the man at the top of the organization. Because they went way back, he asked the dude to look out for me. I wasn’t there for the conversation, but between the two of them over the years, pouring this ‘pact’ down my throat, I get the ‘General’ was supposed to keep me outta trouble.”

  “Did he?” Parker asked with wide eyes.

  I gave her one nod. “He did. He even did me one better: he got me into sports. When it was obvious I had a talent at football, my pops wanted me to stay with it.” I dipped my chin. “The General put more money into that. Had me in camps and shit. My pops heard and was down with me pursuing it, so that’s what we did.”

  “But how can the ‘General’ push you from another state…across the country? You mentioned Brooklyn, Chicago, and California,” she explained her point.

  “He had my moms as his enforcer. See, when my father got sent up, the General kept us fed. He made sure my moms had money, a house we owned, cars, and most of all, influence.”

  “What do you mean by influence?”

  “I mean, I’ve been the prince of my hood since I was born. My pops was the fuckin’ man in our hood. He ran the streets—literally. He owned blocks and blocks around my way. Did he have rivals?” I shrugged. “Yeah, but the organization he was down with had arms and legs all over the damn country. Pops had ammunition so local rivalries wasn’t the biggest threat in his day. The Feds was. When they snatched him, the General took care of him by way of his family. Even after the Feds cleared my neighborhood, the ghost of the General and my pops was remembered. I was his only seed and nobody really fucked with us. His rep lived on.”

  “So you mean to tell me that’s how cavalier ‘Rut’ came alive? That’s where this big ‘I’m the king of the world and don’t worry about consequences’ persona derived from?”

  My head rocked back. “If that’s what you wanna call it.”

  Her eyes rolled away and she mumbled, “I’d love to hear what your therapist calls it.”

  Something was with her. Parker had been different tonight. Since I showed unannounced again and even as she fixed my plate, her shoulder had been colder than usual. I didn’t ask her about the little shade I’d been picking up. A small part of me thought it was because I showed up to her place last night drunk and then again tonight like last night never happened.

  “Anyway…” I decided to finish. “Dude made good on his pact with my pops and here I am. But things between them ain’t on the up and up.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Pops is a Five-Percent’er. It’s how I got my teachings. The General was a member of the Nation of Islam but has converted to Christianity. My father’s had a hard time with that.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it’s unheard of for a black man to go from all knowledge to following a so-called prophet from over two thousand years ago.”

  “Jesus wasn’t a prophet. He was the Savior,” she argued.

  “I was actually being generous when I said he was a prophet. He wasn’t shit to me.” I looked her dead in the eyes to be clear of my position. “My point is you can’t go from believing our former slave masters are obligated to provide a separate state or territory either on this continent or elsewhere to people whose parents or grandparents were descendants of slaves, to worshipping a prophet the slave masters told you was the savior. That shit’s irrational.”

  “Let me guess: Your father’s issues with your surrogate father has been influencing you.”

  I didn’t like that.

  “First, I only got one father. Plus, I’m my own man. Nobody influences me. Either you’re right with your opinion or you’re wrong.”

  “So your father’s correct?”

  I shook my head. “I ain’t saying that.”

  “So he’s wrong. Your mentor, the General, has every right to evolve to a new belief system. He can adhere to the slave master’s teachings and believe Jesus is the Messiah.”

  “Hell no!” I was offended. “I ain’t say that shit either.”

  “Then what are you saying?”

  “I’m saying shit ain’t black and white all the damn time. His boy—” I had to be sure not to name Divine. He’d been going through enough with that fucking documentary. I wouldn’t be the one corroborating shit. “—is a stand up dude. All wise. Ain’t no way he should be looked at like a sucker. He still a real one.”

  “So he can be real and still believe in what the white slave masters taught him?”

  “Why the hell are you trying to get me to validate shit the white man pushed down our throats?”

  “Because I think it’s easier since you’re dating a white woman.”

  Rage hit. My face folded. “Man, I ain’t dating no fuckin’—”

  When Parker’s face dipped and lips curled, I knew I’d been baited. She’d gotten my ass; hook, line, and sinker.

  “So that’s why you been so shady with me?”

  “You show to my place after last night, and I serve you food. Again.” Her chin dropped. “And I’ve been shady?”

  “You have.”

  Then she cocked her head to the side. “Can I be honest for a moment?”

  “By all means.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me you were going to see her last weekend?”

  “Because I didn’t go see her last weekend.”

  “But you were on the red carpet with her.”

  Here we go…

  “I was at a red-carpet event for my peoples. She was with me.” I shrugged.

  “Is she your girlfriend?”

  “Is Grant ya man?”

  That staggered her little ass.

  Her head swung to the other side and her forehead wrinkled. “Why would you ask me something so asinine?”

  “And you accusing me of having a girl ain’t asinine?”

  “No! You’re photographed with her…rumored to be with her.” Her eyes swung left to right on the table below. “And I’m quite sure you sleep with her!”

  “I ain’t never put my dick in no Emily Erceg—” Then I thought about the logistics of that. “—well, not
in her pussy.” Her mouth dropped. “Or her ass!”

  “Rut.” Her pitch was too calm.

  “What? I’mma man, sweetheart. And why we talking about my dick? You don’t see me asking you why you going out on dates and shit when Jimmy was in the hospital this weekend!”

  While we were eating, she told me about Jimmy’s emergency visit. That add on had me feeling a way I couldn’t explain. I didn’t give a shit about Jimmy Wright. I mean… May he live a long, peaceful life, but he wasn’t a concern of mine. And I couldn’t give a fuck about who Parker spent her time with. Right? I couldn’t! I hardly knew her.

  “You don’t know me, Rut.” Her voice was shaky but face stone hard. “Don’t mistake me enjoying a break from an otherwise mundane and pre-aging life by having dinner company with me being a whore.”

  I flinched. A whore?

  “I bring up one clown ass dude and that’s calling you a whore?”

  “So what is your problem? Jimmy’s setback, me being friends with Terrance or sleeping with him?”

  “You’re the one jealous over me doing a PR stunt with a chick that don’t matter—”

  “Jealous?” Parker pushed away from the table. She stood and grabbed our plates. “I can’t be jealous over a man, who thinks so little of women beyond the physical gratification they can bring him. I can’t be jealous of a woman living in a universe where a cosmetic enhancement is as common as an educated black woman. I would never be jealous of a woman going down on a man who’s crushing on me but is too weak to at least admit it.” She walked over to the sink and roughly dropped the dishes inside. Then she started for the kitchen door. With her back to me, her voice was loud and clear. “I’ve got to tend to a grown-up’s commitment down the hall. You’ve been here enough to be able to see your way out.”

  Parker was out. She didn’t even give a final look. How had this gone south so damn fast? We were just kicking it about some shit I’d never shared with anyone outside of B-Rocka. She was just expressing her condolences over him! But now I was some asshole with a crush I couldn’t cop to? And she was kicking me out.

  Where the fuck they do that at?