“That right?” His mouth kicks up at one corner. “You causing trouble, cuz?”
“Cuz?” Officer Dunne looks from me to Greg and back again.
“You know this one?”
“So do you.” Greg laughs and shakes his head. “You told me you liked his song when I was playing it in the locker room this morning.”
“What song?” He searches my face and then looks at my license he’s still holding. “Marlon James. You’re—”
“Grip,” my cousin finishes for him. “Get the cuffs off, Dunne.”
Officer Dunne reaches for my wrists.
I jerk back, trapping his eyes with mine, silently showing him my resentment
“Don’t,” I tell him with deadly calm, my brown eyes locked onto the cop’s blue. “You’ve touched me enough.”
An awful quiet follows my words. I don’t look away from Dunne even while Greg removes the cuffs himself.
“I’m a huge fan,” Dunne says awkwardly. “I wouldn’t have . . . well, I didn’t recognize you with your hair different.”
Like that should make any damn difference. I don’t respond. I can barely breathe, suffocated by my own vulnerability. Living in my luxurious loft, driving my expensive motorcycle, performing for sold- out crowds. This lifestyle insulates me from just how vulnerable I am when it comes down to it. Just breaths away from helpless. Herded and branded like cattle, emasculated, unable to even properly shield the woman I love. Fully clothed but naked on the side of the road, stripped of all dignity. No matter how many albums I sell, no matter how much money I make, I will never forget this feeling.
Officer Dunne mumbles another apology for any inconvenience. When I keep stone facing him, he wisely gets in his car and drives away. I watch his taillights until he turns the corner and they disappear.
“Sorry about that, cuz.” Greg daps me up. “We’re working on it. Retraining the force and making sure we’re in the community, not just policing it. It’s slowly getting better. I hope. Dunne isn’t a bad guy. Just still conditioned to make some assumptions.”
“You mean conditioned to profile.”
Greg doesn’t address my comment. He knows it’s true, but there’s no good answer. He and I both know his colleague was wrong for that. His eyes urge me to let it go. I’m one of the few in my family who has a relationship with Greg. The others can’t forgive him for Chaz. Even knowing Chaz probably would have killed others that day, even if by accident, had Greg not taken that shot. Greg joining the force always felt like a betrayal to them. Cops were in our neighborhood to harass and arrest, not protect and serve. They couldn’t comprehend Greg crossing enemy lines. I understood why he wanted to change the problem from the inside. Despite the run-in with Officer Dunne, maybe because of it, I still understand, but we have a long way to go. It will take more than him on the force and some “retraining” to fix a system this broken.
“Who’s this?” Greg smiles at Bristol, and she offers a stained smile in return.
“You know my boy Rhyson, of course. This is his sister, Bristol. She’s my manager.” I capture and kiss her hand before she can stop me, pulling her into my side. “And my girlfriend.”
Bristol’s surprised eyes clash with mine. I squeeze her hand, mouthing, “He’s cool,” to her.
“Ohhhhh.” Understanding and confusion wrestle in Greg’s eyes. “I thought you and—”
“Nope. Not anymore.” I convert my grimace into a smile. “Look, we’re keeping this on the low for now. If you can keep your big mouth shut until we want the cat all the way out the bag.”
“Got it. You can trust me.” Greg’s grin grows wide, pride in his eyes. “You doing it big, ain’t ya? Number one album. Got that top spot.”
I welcome the change of subject, chuckling, shaking my head. “Still can’t believe it myself.”
“And this whip.” Greg whistles, running a hand over the glimmering black paint covering the Rover. “Nice.”
“It’s actually for Ma.” I smile at Bristol’s look of surprise. “I’ve tried to give her like four cars, and she hasn’t taken any of them. I’m hoping this one will be too much for her to resist.”
“Good luck with that.” Greg shakes his head. “She’s about as stubborn as you are.”
“I prefer to think of it as determined.”
“That you were. You had to be. It’s in everything you write. And that new track ‘Bruise’ is deep.” He looks at me directly. “Made me proud.”
After what just happened, my own words, the lyrics to ‘Bruise’ that urge us to understand and empathize, mock me. Do I really think I should try to walk in Officer Dunne’s shoes? I notice the impression the cuffs left on my wrists. You don’t see the impression they’ve left inside me, not just this time, but the time before and the time before. How can I walk in his shoes? How can he walk in mine? He’s never lived with this constant threat, and I’ve never lived without it. Living those lyrics is so much harder than singing them from the safety of a stage.
Greg looks over his shoulder at his idling car. “I need to go. I guess you’re on your way to Aunt Mittie’s for Sunday dinner.”