Chapter 30
Justice
In a dreamy voice that disentangled my standards, Brody had said, “I’ve nae desire to marry Erika McFarland.” He deflected. Every day, the world goes round, and another person enters a loveless union—marriages of convenience. Case in point, a few days ago, Brody had skirted around my question of will he marry, not if it pleased him to.
I’d loved Lance for a long time before I read between the lines. I had to distinguish what he said from what he meant. There was always something. Lance had to warm up his voice for a chorus or a hook. He had a photoshoot to attend or a club to promote at. He had a flock of females to show around, an entourage, ya know?
But he was my best friend and first love. All the firsts wrapped into one lousy package. I handed out freepasses to Lance like my body, my mind, and my soul were a board game for his amusement.
While Marcus LeRoux was Lance’s manager, producer, promoter, and sometimes rapper, I blamed him for the change in Lance. However, I shoulder some of the guilt. I’d enabled Lance and hated myself for it too. By the time I met Chevelle, I had a soul full of bitter fruit. My poetry had no rhyme but was a mantra of vicious man-bashing.
These days, I admire the sway of my hips, the extra oomph in my legs. I live by one mantra—Love thyself. While loving me, I teach others how tolove me too.
“Brody won’t get with the program,” I mutter to myself, glancing at my ringing cellphone. While telling me he didn’t wish to marry Erika, he was brutally honest. His soul spoke to my soul and flat-out declared, “I don’t value you. I can’t keep it real with you, Justice.”
Yesterday, Brody arrived in Scotland. Now, I’ll keep it casual. We had phone sex. Once he hung up, I placed him in the box labeled for a good time only. I slide the phone onto the oak nightstand in my deluxe hotel room. Again, I envision his rock-hard body wrapped around mine as he declared, “I’ve nae desire to marry Erika McFarland.”
The bastard!
“Hey, Mia,” I call out to the jumping tot. In footsie pajamas, Mia’s sky-high on the bed from the sugar rush obtained at the Lincoln Park Zoo.
Continuing to bounce, the shortie turns around and looks me in the eye. “Did you see, Auntie Justice!”
“Yes, sweetheart.” She’s referring to the animal cartoon on television. She points to the pink caricature, then shakes the stuffed red panda she screamed bloody murder for earlier today. “That’s my panda!”
“Yes, baby, he’s on TV.” I grin.
“She! Me-Mia. She-Mia, too!” She proceeds to give the stuffed animal a concussion and falls on top of me. All her bony bits slaughter my softer ones.
“Oomph!” Hiding a grimace, I hug Mia and help her to her feet. She bounces to the foot of the bed, her curly hair obstructing the screen. What did I get myself into? I suggested the sleepover, so tomorrow morning, Chevelle could visit her parent’s gravesite for the first time in ages.
My cellphone vibrates across the smooth wood again. With a bite to my lip, I reach over and grab it. “At least Brody doesn’t keep up pretenses.”
I recall how Lance would be too busy to call me back. Marcus’s studio had this odd L-shape where one could view the production while everyone else was unaware. Often, I stood in the corner and watched him glance at a text of mine while he was sitting and chatting. Without answering, he’d slid the phone in his pocket.
I answer with a subtle, “Hey, you.”
“Lass,” he groans. “The sound of yer voice made my entire fecking day.”
“Isn’t it still before noon?”
“Aye, but I planned on doing what I do best today.”
This is where I segue from my attempt at a hard exterior and am possessed by a dose of jealousy. I snap, “What? Fuc—”
“Och, nae!” Laughter resonates over the line. “Not fecking, just—”
“Don’t have to tell me.”
“Nae, it’s probably best I tell ya.” He’s still laughing softly. “My hobby that ye compared to hunting. Ewan’s got his place locked down tight.” The remnants of Brody’s being entertained at my expense fade. There’s no amusement in his tone when he adds, “The guards say I need an appointment for a talk. I was gonna give the bawbags one last chance to try me. Then I heard yer voice.”
“Oh, nice. So, I saved a life?”
“Aye. A couple of them, mine included.”
A chortle teeters out of me. “Sheesh, that was not supposed to be funny.”
“But let me tell ya, Justice. There would’ve been more of them deid than me.”