Grip Trilogy Box Set

He glances at his watch, unaware of the bomb he just dropped on Bristol’s world.

“You know how she hates it if you’re late.”

“Sunday dinner?” Bristol gasps when Greg climbs into his car, her eyes storming and hands balled at her sides.

I know what’s behind her anger. Fear. Fear that my mom will reject her. Keeping it one hundred, Ma probably will reject her at first, but the woman who raised me will eventually see in Bristol what I see. And maybe not today, maybe not right away, but she’ll be happy for me. She’ll fall in love with Bristol like I did. Even with the humiliating confrontation still smarting like a third-degree burn on my pride, I’m excited about the two women I love the most starting the process today.

“What the hell, Grip?” Bristol demands. “You can’t do this. Not like this.”

I’m determined to shake off the unpleasantness we just experienced. I refuse to let that shit ruin a day I thought would never come. I lean my back against the passenger side door and bring her close until we are flush, front-to-front.

“Are you okay?” I ask softly.

“No, I’m not okay. You can’t just spring this on me. I—”

“Forget dinner for a sec.” I push her hair back from her face. “What just went down with the cop. Are you okay?”

Her irritation fades, concern taking its place.

“Am I okay?” She rests her elbows against my chest, leaning into me. “You were the one in cuffs. That wasn’t fair. I’m sorry if I made it harder for you.”

“You being here made it harder, but only because I couldn’t protect you the way I wanted to.”

“Not my privilege making me clueless?” she asks weakly, her eyes only half-joking. “I’m sorry.”

I don’t need her apologies right now. I need her. I slide my hands down her back leaning in a few inches and hovering there until she comes the rest of the way. As soon as our lips touch, all the tension, frustration, anger, and yes, fear—I let it go. She opens for me, taking me in. The world falls away, and I’m lost in her. We kiss until I feel her lose herself in me, too. Until the tension leaves her shoulders and her hands come up to frame my face.

“You’re still in trouble for springing dinner on me like this,” she says against my lips.

“I did say if you ever gave me a chance,” I drop one last kiss on her lips. “I’d take you home to my mama.”

Chapter 27

BRISTOL

I ONLY HAVE my own vanity to blame.

If I hadn't been so concerned about my makeup, I probably would have realized where we were headed.

I would have demanded he turn the car around, or as a last resort flung myself into traffic on the 5. Now I have no recourse but to endure this. The woman will hate me. She hates the very idea of me with her son. She loves Qwest because . . . Black. She hates me because . . . white. I know that’s an oversimplification. There are a lot of things Mittie James loves about Qwest that have nothing to do with the color of her skin. But I could be Mother Theresa and she wouldn’t approve of me because of the color of mine, or so it feels.

At least having to deal with this distracts me from the clusterfuck of that “routine” stop. I’ve never seen anything like it. That officer cuffed Grip for no reason, with no provocation. It’s the kind of thing I might have doubted at one time if I read on Facebook. I might assume the driver exaggerated for the sake of the story. But I saw it with my own eyes, and I’m still holding my previously held notions up against what just happened and wondering how to reconcile the two.

“It’s gonna be fine.” Grip’s hand braves the space across the console to capture mine.

“You should have asked me or at least warned me.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No, you’re not.”

His wicked laughter fills the car until his shoulders shake and he bends over the steering wheel.

“Yes, by all means wreck us. That would be a reprieve,” I mumble, looking out the window to study my surroundings.

The community teems with life. A cohort of guys riding dirt bikes pop wheelies down the street. Young girls play hopscotch, their braids bouncing as they jump the squares. A man wearing a bright red apron stares appreciatively at the Rover through the steam rising from his front yard grill. I don’t see the war zone Grip has often talked about when he was growing up. But we are sometimes in the most danger when we let our guards down, when we let peace deceive us and trick us into forget- ting. Be

ing at Grip’s old high school, hearing about the funerals, the gangs, the volatility—it all tells me there is more to Compton than what this Sunday drive reveals.