I glance up at the camera in the corner before leaning in to lay my lips against his, pouring everything into that brief contact. When my lips would cling to his, I force myself away and out the door without looking back. Tears blur everything ahead of me, and I slam into someone right outside the door in the hall.
“I’m sorry,” I mumble to the person I almost ran down. “Oh, Ms. James, excuse me. I wasn’t . . . watching.”
“How is he?” She skips past my apology, looking over my shoulder to the closed door.
“He’ll be better when he’s out of here.” I brush the useless tears away, reaffirming my commitment to this course.
“This is some bullshit.” Ms. James’ righteous anger shines from her dark eyes. “My boy has never done drugs, much less would be carrying enough to sell.”
Her mouth pulls into an unexpected grin.
“A little dro every once in a while, yes, but slanging ’caine? No way.”
“I know. We all know. It’s a setup, but we’re getting to the bottom of it. I promise you he’ll be out soon.”
“A setup?” Her question is a rapier pressed to my ne
ck, a threat to draw blood if she doesn’t get answers. “Who set my boy up?”
“My ex-boyfriend.” I face her head on, knowing this will only add to the myriad other reasons she has to dislike me and want me away from her son.
“You ain’t been nothing but trouble to him,” she says harshly, tears liquefying the chocolate eyes. “I knew it. I knew him being with someone like you would only mean trouble.”
“You were right.”
“First the traffic stop and turning my son’s community against him.”
“I wouldn’t say they turned against him,” I disagree carefully. “Calling Marlon a sellout?” Her head tips, her brows lift. “Saying he disrespected Black women when he chose you over Qwest? That ain’t turning against where you come from?”
Every one of her accusations is a tiny arrow that finds its mark. “I’m sorry.” I force myself to meet her eyes. “Not for being with Grip, but that being with me brought this on, but I’m going to fix it.”
“The damage has been done. My son’s record—”
“Will be cleared.”
I look at her. I feel so hard right now inside. I’m marbleizing my heart to get through this ordeal with Parker. I do that to protect myself, but I crack the shell long enough to say what I need to say more gently.
“Ms. James, I’m going to do whatever it takes to get him out, to fix this,” I say. “But when he’s out, I’m still going to be with him, if he wants me. All the things you love about him, I love about him. He isn’t a sellout because he loves me. And I’m not just after him for whatever you think the novelty is. We love each other.”
I dredge up a smile and hope she doesn’t notice the tears I can’t seem to clear from my eyes.
“I need to go, but he wants to see you, and our ‘favor’ only extends so far. He won’t have much more time to visit.”
Even with her looking at me as if I’ve committed a crime or personally put her son here, I want to ask her for a hug. For a touch that tells me I can go through with this. That as abhorrent as it will be taking Parker into my body, having him leave his filthy fingerprints on my soul, that it will be worth it. That Grip is worth it. I want that from her because she’s the one who taught him that sacrifice is the essence of love. She’s the only one who would love him as much as I do and would do anything for him, too. I see it in her fierce eyes, in her warrior stance.
But of course she doesn’t offer a touch or a word. She doesn’t know I need it, and if she knew, I’m not sure she would care.
Chapter 36
GRIP
I’VE BEEN IN the LA County Jail all night and most of the morning, but this is the first time I’ve felt truly caged. I prowl the tiny visiting room like a starved beast. And I’m so hungry. I need to feel my sharp teeth tear into Charles Parker’s skin. I want to eat him alive and spit out his bones for putting Bristol in this position. There has to be another way, something I’m not considering.
Like a dark shadow, Corpse looms in my brain. I wanted options for desperate situations. Am I willing to go that far? I can’t even allow myself to imagine what I’ll feel if Bristol goes through with this. She thinks she has no limits? I’m not sure of mine anymore. Fury blots out everything else. I clutch my head, pacing from the table to the wall, back and forth, the problem winding around my brain like a serpent. Looping, coiling, poised to strike. I bang my head against the wall, impervious to the pain. I’m just praying the blow will jolt me; show me a way out of this.
“I always said you were hard-headed.”
My mother closes the door behind her. She crosses over to me quickly and wraps her arms around me, collapsing and sniffing against my chest. She’s the toughest woman I know and only has one weak spot.