“Man, I know you showed me the photos of it, but I had to go see it. Blake did her big one with that shit. I know some people whose house isn’t as nice as Travis’s grave,” Grady said.
I took pictures of my boy’s grave to show Grady. Travis’s grave was a work of art. I didn’t want to ask my baby how much it cost her to have the firehouse built. I did ask her parents, though. When they told me the cost, I had to double blink. After I thought about the lay of the firehouse, I rationalized that the $30,000 was worth it. I could only imagine the work that the bricklayers put in.
When I showed Grady the photo of the grave, he said that he had to see it with his own eyes. I took him to meet my boy. Just like I was, he was in awe.
I didn’t give a fuck that Travis died years before I knew Blakeney existed. That was my fucking boy, and I would mourn him in that manner. Anything that was a part of her was a part of me . . . past, present, and future. I chortled at Grady’s comment about how the firehouse looked compared to others’ homes. “Yeah, my boy’s firehouse is one of a kind.”
“I’m happy Blake finally told you what was up. Shit, after she held those people hostage, she kind of had to tell you,” Grady rationalized. “Bro, your woman is crazy. I just want to make sure you know that shit.”
“Not too much on the love of my life, nigga. I know what she is, and I love that crazy shit.” I took a sip of my beer.
We were at Grady’s new house that he closed on a little over two weeks ago. About a month after he got here, he decided that he wanted to make the move here permanently. He wasted no time finding a realtor to buy a house. The condo that he owned in Chicago, he planned to lease.
Grady laughed. “Well, you know, if you like it, I love it. You got a good one, my boy.”
Yeah, I did . . . I had the best one. We continued to talk about my baby for a little while before our subject shifted toTouch of Gold. Derrick secured a plot of land in Pineville-Matthews to have another location built. Derrick wanted Grady to manage that shop. We would shift some of the workers from my shop to that one as well as bring a few more of our people from Chicago.
Like in Chicago, Grady was a vital player in the success of the shop on top and under the table. I’d known him since we were twelve years old. I never had to wonder about his loyalty to me, and the same was true the other way around. We’d bothprotected each other from shady bitches, fuck niggas, cops, and anything in between.
We talked about the new upcoming shop and how that would look. Our conversation was interrupted by my phone. It was Stefy, who was the manager of one of my shops back home. I answered the phone on speakerphone.“What’s up, Stefy?”
He was quiet for a minute. Shuffling could be heard on the other end.“Man, Scotty, you need to come home.”
My face drew up, and my jaw tightened.“What the fuck do you mean, I need to come home? What the hell happened?”
Stefy huffed on the other line.“Lashonda and some nigga set the shop and her house on fire. I don’t know, man. Shit is crazy.”
I jumped up from my seat.“What the fuck, man? How do you know it was Lashonda? Where’s she at?”
Grady stood up and moved around to grab some shit. Stefy needed to tell me something, and now.“Scotty, the cameras. Check the cameras at your house. Both fires were put out, but there is a lot of damage.”
My headache set in my head. Lashonda’s fucking ass would be the death of me or herself.“I’ll be there soon.”
When I disconnected the line, I felt like my head would explode.“Man, let me get to my house and pack a bag, book a flight, and tell my damn woman. This shit doesn’t make any sense.”
“I’m coming with you. We need to see what the fuck your mama has going on. Make sure you check those cameras. I’ll book the tickets and text you the information,” Grady told me.
I told him alright on my way out of his front door. His house was on the other side of town from where I lived. When I got to my place, I saw my baby’s car in the parking lot. That was goodbecause I didn’t want to tell her that I had to take a quick trip over the phone.
Blake sat on my couch in lounge clothes. I told her that we should move in together a while ago. At the time, she told me no. I hadn’t broached the conversation since then. I felt like it was time to. That was a topic for another day, though.
“Hey, baby.” I walked over to the couch, then plopped down next to her. “I have to shoot to Chicago to handle some fuck business.”
She stopped eating her chips and looked at me with a peaked brow. “What fuck business? I don’t like the sound of that.”
I took the next few minutes to tell her what Stefy told me. She listened intently with a scowl on her face. My frustration sat on my face. It was quiet for a few minutes after I finished.
“Well, I didn’t think that this was how I would meet your mother, but I’ll take it. Is your mother on drugs? You don’t talk about her much,” Blake pointed out.
She was right, I barely talked about my mother—or Lashonda. It was debatable if she deserved to be called my mother. “There’s nothing really to talk about. She had me when she was nineteen. My father was some Scottish dude that fucked on her on some try out a black girl type of shit. When she told him that she was pregnant, he gave her abortion money and told her to abort me, then he disappeared on her.”
“How do you know all of that? I know you told me your dad wasn’t in your life, but you never said it was that deep. Did she tell you that?” Blake asked.
Before Blake and I committed to our relationship, we had a light conversation about my past. It was nothing too deep because, at that time, I liked her, but I still barely knew her. I gave her the washed-down version of my daddy’s maybe story.
“Yeah, Lashonda told me that as early as she thought I could comprehend it.” I chuckled. “Man, for as long as I couldremember, my mother made it clear that she didn’t like me. I was her little Scottish burden. That shit is crazy. She thought giving me my father’s last name would make a difference.
“When I was eight-years-old, my mother had this bright idea to take me on the side of the town where all the Scottish people lived and hung out. I wasn’t sure what she expected. It was like she thought we would walk on the block, my father would see me, then suddenly love me. It had been eight damn years, and this man hadn’t even cared if I was alive. Well, long story short, my mama talked her shit about who my father was. They ran us off their fuckin’ block. After that, I was convinced that her dislike of me turned into full blown hate. I learned how to stay out of Lashonda’s way until I was able to move the fuck out.”
