Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 72980 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 365(@200wpm)___ 292(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72980 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 365(@200wpm)___ 292(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
His lips brushed closer to mine. Thick, dangerous, and intoxicating when our mouths touched.
CLICK!
The front door opened, swinging wide. I lurched into Washington’s arms, straddling him now.
“Maddy?” Lynetta snarled. “What are you doing?”
“This is … uh … a blackmail date recap?” I murmured, my lips close enough to Washington’s thick mouth to lose all control.
“You told her,” Washington growled in my ear.
I glared at him. Obvi! I snitched. Add that to all the self-ratting out I’d done throughout my life. It was that or my sister reinvented ways to torture me. Waterboarding. Check. Execution. Check. Check.
“Get inside, Madison!”
“She’s a grown-ass woman, Lynetta, chill,” Washington said, not even trying to help me disentangle myself from him.
“Ah, Judge Babineaux, the hoodlum. Do you talk like that around those foster kids? Is that how you judge?”
“Hey,” I snapped, twisting the skin at the back of his hands, so he had to release my hips. I jumped down with a groan and turned toward her. “Too far, sis. I let you lose your mind for an entire year during the divorce. It stops now.” I glanced back at Washington.
He stood on the welcome mat, tugging his beard to keep from saying something that I was sure he’d never regret. I offered him a smile. “See you in a couple of weeks.”
“What? Negatory. Maddy, we have to prepare.”
I closed the door, leaving him outside. After fanning myself, I leaned against the door and slapped the back of my head against it. Thump. Thump. Thump.
“Madison! I see you’ve forgotten how he returned to work right after they hooked Elijah up to life support. After one week. Five business days! Probably wanted to pull the plug then.”
That wasn’t right. Not in the slightest. His momma had been by my side the entire time, praying our child woke up. First thing after work, Washington arrived.
My throat tightened, and by the time I’d mustered the strength to defend him, she’d walked away. Was it because I still harbored animosity over Elijah’s death?
Another thump.
Shame joined the rage in my chest, ripping my heart in two like a blade. Wrath burned at the corners of my vision. But underneath sat vulnerability so raw, so terrifying, it rippled, cold and achy. Because for hours tonight I’d forgotten about my son. A part of me loved living in the pain of it all.
That pain said, I see you. I will never forget you, Eli. That pain made me a good mother. A loyal mother.
But tonight?
I’d forgotten Elijah. Why couldn’t I be miserable in peace?
washington
. . .
Two Weeks Later
Ihadn’t taken Madison seriously when she limited our meetings to DuVall events. But she’d been true to her word, ghosting me for the past two weeks. It felt awkward contemplating slinking up her fire escape as if I were thirsty.
Hell, I was.
But after the fire I endured with her thighs wrapped around me on her sister’s porch, I expected her to play hard to get. A little. The woman had forgotten I existed. Madison had me checking to confirm I had even reached out and tried to call her. On March first, I left her the most pitiful voicemail. I hoped we could talk about Elijah, but she never responded.
Texts? Not even left on read.
Now, Momma had taken over my Sunday. My entire day, to be specific. First church, then she had dragged my ass to City Park, and I carried her tote bags with the Hot Chicken & Peach Pit Maison brand on them, like a walking billboard.
“Get them collards from dat bébé in the straw hat, Wash,” she said, squinting in the sunlight. “He’s the one with the good soil. You can taste it.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Yep. I was a whole grown man, four law degrees, and not ashamed to take orders like a twelve-year-old with a five-dollar allowance.
After I made the transaction, I scanned the oak trees across the street that stretched out overhead, long as God’s reach. Clusters of folks buying everything from honey to pralines moved around me. Man, this took me back to my fourth year at Stanford. Searching for any glimpse of …
“Madison?” I murmured, brows pinched. My ex-wife wore a bright yellow sundress, sunglasses too big for her face, and that smug little smirk like the sun itself owed her rent. Her hair had grown. The blunt cut touched her shoulders, and bangs half concealed those big-ass sunglasses. She always called that hair low maintenance. Liar. She’d learned how to maintain it like it was a full-time job in college. Of course, that was before she damn near burned down my dorm room.
She had that I ain’t buying a damn thing, but I’ma touch everything energy, running her fingers over purple soap.
“Pitié,” I groaned, which was short for I ain’t ready for this test, Lord. I needed this woman like oxygen, but what if she snatched off those glasses? Her gaze would turn sharp and piercing, as if I were an unpaid bill. I missed the good old days.