Page 7 of Kobalt

“It’s cute. It shows a softer side of you,” Mama declared.

“Mama, I don’t think MMA fighters go for softer,” Niagara stated.

“Maybe not in the ring,” Mama declared.

“Mama, in or out of the ring, I don’t want anyone questioning if I’m soft or not. You’re about to get somebody messed up in these streets, trying me,” I commented.

She giggled just as a familiar voice called my name—one I hadn’t heard in years. All three of us froze with different reactions: Mama bristled with anxiety, anger radiated from me, and Niagara gasped in surprise.

“Daddy!” she greeted excitedly.

“Kobalt, you looked good out there, Son,” Edward Harden declared.

My jaw clenched, and Mama’s hand tightened around mine as we slowly turned around. The broad nostrils identical to mine flared just as mine did, truffle-colored skin like mine had lost its sheen, almond-shaped nut-brown eyes similar to mine looked as though they hid secrets, and bow-shaped lips just like mine smiled as though everything was good between us. The man was my twin, though he was thirty two years my senior. We may have physically looked alike, but that was where the similarities ended. I was nothing like that muthafucka.

“The fuck you want?” I barked.

“Kobe, language, baby,” Mama stated softly, moving her hand from mine to grip my wrist.

“I ain’t got an ounce of respect for this asshole, Mama, so don’t ask me to have none.”

“Not for him, but for me—and for yourself.”

My jaw clenched, and I crossed my arms over my chest as Niagara declared, “Hey, Daddy! It’s been a long time. You look good.”

He tossed a cursory, uninterested glance at my sister, and gave her a curt nod before he returned his attention to me. He didn’t bother speaking to my mother.

“I might not have seen all your fights over the years in person, but I’ve watched you on TV. Gotta say, I hated to hear that you were retiring. That was when I knew I had to see at least one fight in person. I knew all those allegations about you was a lie. I said, ‘That ain’t my boy. He’s never done no shit like that.’ I knew it wasn’t in you.”

“How would you know what I’ve got in me? You weren’t around to raise me. My mama did everything, nigga. All you did was donate your sorry-ass sperm.”

His eyes widened, and he pointed a finger at me. “Now I ain’t gon’ have you disrespecting me like that. Things didn’t work out between your mama and me, but I’m still your daddy.”

“You ain’t shit to me, nigga. Things don’t work out between a lot of couples, but they still take care of their kids. You bailed on us for that white girl who was barely of age.” I seethed.

“Now you’re talking ’bout things you don’t know nothing about,” he argued.

“I know enough,” I scoffed derisively.

He turned to Mama for the first time. “Fran, what you been telling this boy?”

“Ed, I didn’t have to tell the kids anything. Your actions spoke loud and clear,” she replied.

“Can we all go to dinner and sit down and hash out our differences? It would be nice if we could heal,” Niagara suggested hopefully.

“That’d be nice, Son,” Edward stated.

“I can’t keep you from doing anything you want to do, Nia, but I ain’t going,” I remarked.

“Well, I guess ain’t no need to go to dinner then,” he stated.

“You can’t have dinner with your daughter?” Mama balked.

“Mind your business, Francine. You’ve done enough,” Edward barked.

I snatched that nigga up by his throat and slammed him against the truck we stood beside. “Nigga, you got one more time to raise your voice at my mama, and I swear I will beat your ass until you look like orange juice in this parking lot,” I warned.

His eyes widened, and he grabbed my hands around his throat. My mama and Niagara both pulled at my arms, trying to pull me off that nigga, but their efforts were no match for my strength.