Promise Me Forever (Top Shelf Romance)

by Kate Stewart

  Walk a mile or two

  Might learn a couple things

  I’m no different than you!

  You call for the good guys when you meet the bad men,

  I’m wearing a blue shield and I still feel the reactions

  When I patrol the block, I can sense dissatisfaction

  There’s distrust, resentment in every interaction,

  Whether the beat cop, lieutenant, sergeant or the captain

  We roll our sleeves up and we dig our hands in

  I joined the force in order to make a difference,

  Swore to uphold the law,

  protect men, women and children,

  These life and death situations,

  we make split-second decisions

  All for low pay, budget cutbacks and restrictions

  We’re ambushed in Dallas, now where’s all the chatter

  Gunned down in Baton Rouge,

  don’t blue lives need to matter?

  Not just a job—it's a calling, a vocation,

  My wife’s up late pacin’, for my safety—she’s praying,

  And yet you call me racist?

  You wanna trap me with your phone?

  I’m just a man with a badge

  trying my best to make it home.

  We all BRUISE,

  It’s that black and blue

  A dream deferred,

  Nightmare come true

  In another man’s shoes,

  Walk a mile or two

  Might learn a couple things

  I’m no different than you!

  Grip

  “You were amazing.”

  Bristol’s soft encouragement soothes some of my uncertainty about the performance. Performing “Bruise” in a roomful of cops and community activists is much different than in front of screaming fans.

  “She’s right.” Greg, who is dressed in his uniform, smiles, even though his eyes remain solemn. “We still have a lot of work to do so people feel like we’re a part of the community. To protect them, not out to get them. ‘Bruise’ is exactly the kind of message both sides need to hear.”

  They’re holding a reception for me to meet and greet people. I think I’ve shaken every hand here tonight. The stream of traffic is finally slowing down some, but I smile when I see my mom walking toward me. I didn’t even realize she would be here tonight. The smile freezes on my face when I notice who walks with her. My cousin Jade and my Aunt Celia, who hasn’t spoken to Greg in years.

  “Hey, Marlon,” Ma says softly, reaching up to hug me. “Bristol, Greg.”

  Greg lowers his eyes to the floor, not meeting my mother’s eyes and certainly not his mother’s.

  “Hey, son,” Aunt Celia says, her voice hesitant.

  Greg looks up, and suddenly, he isn’t the decorated officer. Not the strong man in uniform. In his eyes I see the young man he was all those years ago, wailing on my front yard with his brother dying in his arms. That young man’s guilt and pain saturate the air around us. The look he gives his mother seeks something that only she can give him, and she does. She stretches her arms up, and he doesn’t hesitate, folding his height in half to burrow into her neck, his tears and hers making peace, forgiving.

  “Let’s give them a minute,” Ma says softly, tilting her head for us to step away.

  “It’s good to see you, Ms. James,” Bristol says once we’re a few feet from them. “You, too, Jade.”

  “Thank you for sending the tickets.” Ma says.

  Surprised, I look at Bristol, who just nods and tells my mom it was no trouble. I didn’t know she sent tickets. Even after Bristol’s “moment” with my mom, we haven’t talked as much as we should. I’ve been giving her room to get used to me and Bristol. Maybe she was giving me room to change my mind. I hope she’s starting to accept that won’t be happening.

  “That song ‘Bruise,’ it is dope,” Jade says softly.

  “Thanks,” I answer. “I still want to get you in the studio writing. For real, Jade, it’s past time you put all that talent to use.”

  “I’m always looking for new talent,” Bristol interjects with a hesitant smile. “I won’t know if you don’t show me anything.”

  Jade’s almond-shaped eyes narrow, like she’s ascertaining if we’re tricking her. I’ve never met anyone warier than Jade, but she’s had lots of reason in her life to mistrust. She and I finally talked about what happened on that playground all those years ago. I won’t say it changed everything overnight, but things have been a little easier between us.

  “A’ight,” Jade finally says, adjusting the Raiders cap she’s never without. “Maybe this week.”

  “Good.” I hook my elbow around her neck and kiss the top of her head, making her squirm and punch my arm. “Rhyson will be in the studio with me Thursday. Why not come ready with something for him to hear?”

  Jade’s eyes stretch. She may prefer hip-hop to Rhyson’s modern rock, but she knows he owns Prodigy. She knows how famous he is, how successful.

  “Seriously?” she asks.

  “Seriously.” I grin and drop another kiss on her head, one she doesn’t dodge this time.

  “I was hoping to see the baby,” Ma says. “Where is Rhyson?”

  “They left right after I performed,” I say. “They needed to get Aria home.”

  “Since you’re the godfather,” Ma laughs. “What’s that make me? The grand-godmama?”

  “I’m sure they’d love that.” I glance at Bristol, who usually gets quiet around my mother. “Bris, that would make your mom the grandmother and the grand-godmama. It’s a mouthful.”

  “True.” Bristol smiles stiffly, her fingers tight around mine.

  “Guess that’ll have to do for me,” Ma says. “’Til ya’ll give me some grandbabies of my own.”

  Bristol and I share a shockwave as my mother’s words sink in. It’s been a few weeks since that first Sunday dinner, and we haven’t gone back. I’ve seen my mother, of course, but after that first disaster, we haven’t been back at her table. I’m not subjecting Bristol to that kind of treatment again. I need to be sure it won’t happen, and when we go back, we can make new memories that eclipse the painful ones Bristol has now. Is this my mother signaling that she understands that?

  “Um . . .” I’m not sure what to say, but it probably needs to be more than this.

  “Marlon tells me you liked my greens, Bristol.” Ma interjects, her expression softened, smiling. “I even heard you tried to make them yourself.”

  I casually mentioned that once to my mother, hoping to show her how sweet and funny Bristol can be. I feel Bristol’s irritation reaching out for me. Shit. It might be angry sex for us tonight. No sex is not an option ever.

  “Yes, well they didn’t turn out very well.” Bristol looks at me pointedly. “As I’m sure Grip mentioned.”

  “They couldn’t have been any worse than the first time I tried.” Ma cackles, shaking her head. “My mama took one bite and threw them in the trash.”

  “She did?” Bristol’s smile comes a little easier.

  “Oh, yeah. They were awful.” Ma pauses and offers Bristol a tentative smile. “Why don’t you come over a little early on Sunday, and I’ll show you how I make them?”

  Bristol’s mouth drops open a little, and she blinks several times. I elbow her on the sly.

  “Um, yeah. Yes. I mean, that would be awesome.” Bristol’s mouth stretches to its maximum smile capacity. “I’d like that very much.”

  Ma nods, her smile not as wide but sincere all the same. She turns her eyes to me, and they water. Even when we’ve spoken recently, this has stood between us. Her inability to accept that I plan to spend the rest of my life with someone she saw as wrong for me and perceived as an insult to the sacrifices she made for me.

  “I’ve missed seeing you on Sundays, Marlon” She offers the words like an olive branch.

  “I’ll be there this week.” I reach down and pull her small frame close. “We’ll be there this week. I wouldn
’t miss you teaching Bristol to cook collard greens for the world.”

  She laughs against my chest, but her arms tighten around me, and I know she’s missed our easy closeness as much as I have. She pulls back, sniffing, but still linking one arm around my waist.

  “Bristol, I owe you an apology.” Ma never has been one for wasted time and bullshit, so I shouldn’t be surprised that she dives right in. “What Marlon said tonight is true. I’ve treated you like a ‘they’. I don’t anticipate my son giving you up anytime soon, so it’s time we fixed that. Time we get to know each other.”

  Bristol blinks several times, her eyes filling.

  “I used to pray that God would send my son a fighter like me,” Ma continues. “A woman like me. I thought she would have to look like me, but that isn’t true. When I saw what you would do for my son, I knew God had answered my prayers in you. I’m just a stubborn old woman.”

  Ma laughs, characteristic sassiness lighting her face.

  “Not that old now.” She rests a fist on her hip. “Don’t get it twisted. Mama still got it.”

  Only my mother would manage to make even this moment funny.

  “But I was nearsighted about you.” Ma’s laugh fades, but the smile still crinkles the corners of her eyes. “I hope you can forgive me for that.”

  “Yes, of course,” Bristol says softly. “Thank you very much.”

  “No, thank you.” Ma reaches up to kiss my cheek, patting my back before she pulls away. “Come on, Jade. Let’s check on your mama and brother. I’ll see you both on Sunday. Don’t be late.”

  She takes a few steps before looking back over her shoulder. “Oh, and you can bring my car, too.”

  We stand there for a second after she’s gone, both quiet. An airy laugh from Bristol breaks our silence.

  “Did she really say grandbabies?”

  I turn her into me, linking my fingers through hers and pressing our temples together so I can whisper in her ear.

  “You have a problem with grandbabies? Beautiful, café au lait grandbabies?”

  Bristol pulls back, one brow lifted.

  “Did you just refer to my future children in terms of beverages? Coffee? Milk? I don’t think so.”

  “Babe, that’s what they call kids who—”

  “I don’t care what ‘they’ call them.” She links her arms around my neck. “Aren’t you the one who said no more they?”

  That takes my mind back to the performance tonight.

  “You think people heard what I was saying?” I don’t often show uncertainty when it comes to my music, to my writing, but I can show Bristol every part of me. Even the parts that aren’t sure. “I felt like I was performing on egg shells sometimes. Like they expected me to offend them.”

  “Think about the first time we talked at Mick’s that day.” Her smile grows reminiscent. “I asked you about people using the N-word.”

  “Ah, yes, your Twitter,” I say referring to her analogy of things she didn’t understand, but made them work.

  “Why do you think that conversation worked?” she asks.

  “Because you had a great rack, and I wanted to impress you?”

  “Um . . . try again.” She shakes her head and laughs up at me. “We wanted it to. We gave each other the benefit of the doubt. We wanted to understand. That’s what ‘Bruise’ says. Walking in each other’s shoes. Seeking to understand. They couldn’t have missed that.”

  “I’m the writer, but it seems like you always know what to say to me,” I tell her softly.

  “Is that so?” She kisses my chin and cups one side of my face. “I think you’re just sweet talking me now with all that . . . chocolate charm.”

  Haven’t heard that in a long time. I was a cocky son of a bitch back then. In many ways, I probably still am.

  “Oh, no.” I turn to kiss the inside of her wrist. “If I was spitting game, I’d say something like this.

  A storm could come, the winds will blow

  The rain can wash away

  But what we have will stand forever, to last another day.

  The world can rail, their weapons clatter

  Let them wage their wars

  But peace I’ve found, and all that matters

  Everything here in your arms.

  “Wow,” Bristol whispers, eyes wide, mouth softened into a smile. “That isn’t Neruda, is it? Who wrote that?”

  I tip up her chin and lay my lips against hers. No need to tell her yet that it’s part of my wedding vows.

  “Just something I’m working on.”

  Books by Kennedy Ryan

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  Iris + August’s Story

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  About the Author

  A RITA® Award Winner and Wall Street Journal Bestselling Author, Kennedy Ryan writes for women from all walks of life, empowering them and placing them firmly at the center of each story and in charge of their own destinies. Her heroes respect, cherish and lose their minds for the women who capture their hearts.

  She is a wife to her lifetime lover and mother to an extraordinary son. She has always leveraged her journalism background to write for charity and non-profit organizations, but enjoys writing to raise Autism awareness most. A contributor for Modern Mom Magazine, Kennedy's writings have appeared in Chicken Soup for the Soul, USA Today and many others. The founder and executive director of a foundation serving Atlanta families living with Autism, she has appeared on Headline News, Montel Williams, NPR and other media outlets as an advocate for families living with autism.

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