Love Redeemed, Book 4 (13 page)

Naturally, all eyes
land on Samantha. I don’t know if this is a good conversation to take on. Rayna has already been anxious. That’s the strange thing about Rayna; she enjoyed hearing my mother’s stroll down memory lane, but I can tell right away that she doesn’t relish the attention of her memories. This is
complex Rayna
.

After a long pause, Samantha perk
s up, “She was bright…real bright. And she was a helper.” Samantha’s gaze rises to Rayna, whose eyes stays trained to the table. “She helped the other kids in her class that wasn’t getting their studies like her. She talked a lot. The teachers always said ‘dat she was gonna be one of ‘dem.”

Samantha’s smile c
an’t be ignored. She’s proud…a proud mother. I sit and try to imagine my Rayna as a beautiful school-aged girl. I bet she had long ponytails that were twisted into barrettes at the end. I wonder if I could’ve bagged her had we grown up together.
Would we be together today?
Nah, I ran the streets too fucking hard back in the day. I wasn’t checking for a real relationship. I just wanted ass and never found a shortage there. I would’ve broken her heart. Hell—I feel like I’ve been doing that since I’ve met her, and no one has ever meant so much to me in my life.
Nope.
It’s good we didn’t cross paths before I was ready to give her the world and she deserves nothing less.

“So, she was a good student? Mir was, too
, before ‘dem hormones got ‘da best of him,” Yazmine jeers, referring to the streets. They begged for me…still do, but I’m done. As I turn my gaze to Rayna, I realize that I’ve taken on a new addiction, a healthier one.

“Oh, yeah, before my days turned…dark all of my kids made good marks, but Rayna…” Samantha’s eyes
go adrift again, only this time it’s obvious there’s guilt behind them. “…she was special. My little fighter. She was strong and bold. Never took no mess off’a nobody. Not even her daddy…”

The table g
oes quiet and I become uncomfortable and can imagine what my girl is feeling. It’s my turn to grab her underneath the table. Her hand is cold.
What the fuck?
I slowly bring my eyes over to her to find her staring straight ahead as she scrapes her bottom lip against her teeth.

S
amantha’s abrupt croaky voice tears my attention from Rayna. “I ‘memba one night I was tryna’ talk her daddy into moving us out the projects and he shot my idea down. It was sad…I didn’t understand why he said no. I had a good plan. We coulda been outta there in no time. But more than I was mad at Eric for saying no, I was hurt for my baby girl. See, everything is in her eyes.”

Samantha’s eyes locks with mine, as she speaks to me directly. “I’m sure you know ‘dat ‘bout her by now.” Her eyes grow big, “She wasn’t always like ‘dat. Before ‘dat night, she let everything come from her mouth. Rayna always told you like it was. Memba, she was bold.” Samantha lets out a chuckle that quickly dissipates. “Until ‘dat night. Since then, I had to find a new way to find out what was going on inside. I saw everything in her eyes,” she nods. “But then I fell off. Traded my pain for numbing—that crack demon. I decided and faced ‘da consequences. I would wake up from time to time, though …outta the fog.”

The table is eerily quiet. Rayna’s eyes will not find their way to her mother. She continues eating her food as she has been since Samantha started speaking. I don’t know how to respond to this emotional stirring. I will protect my girl at all cost, but I can sense no malicious intent coming from Samantha whose eyes are now in her plate.

“The first time I stayed in it for months. I fell in there hard…real hard. When I woke up, my baby boy was in county
.” Samantha’s eyes rises to Rayna. “And my big girl was gone.” 

Rayna cough
s and grabs her throat. It isn’t loud, but definitely concerning for me. I hand her a glass of water, which she takes. She gulps it down, but then sharply rises from the table and head out of the small dining room. I follow on her heels. When we reach the powder room, her glazed eyes tell it all.

“Azmir—”
she whispers, fighting a cry.

“It’s been a long day for you. I’ll go say
our goodnights and get our coats.”

“I don’t want to do this to Yazmine,” she
implores, straining the tears within.

“Don’t sweat it. She knows what time it is,” I retort, knowing how perceptive my mother
is. I’m not about to risk Rayna having a meltdown just to save face. I want to get her to bed and resting if that’s what she wants.

After leaving the dining room, explaining that Rayna
isn’t feeling well to the women, I make my way to the closet to retrieve our coats. I feel a timid hand on my shoulder and turn to find Samantha.

Damn. What do I say if she asks for
more of an explanation?

Samantha appear
s humble and warm when she whispers, “Don’t give up on her.”

“I would hope that you wouldn’t either
,” I offer. “She just needs time, I’m sure.” I know that’s what upset Rayna.

“She ain’t always been so
…fragile. She changed, but I saw when it started…know it’s my fault. But I thank gawd that she got you. ‘Dat help me close my eyes at night.” Samantha chokes back on her tears. “I don’t think I be alive today if you ain’t help me out. When I wake up in the morning, I still can’t believe I live in my child’s house.” Samantha waves her arm randomly behind her, towards the living room.

I st
and silently, not having anything more to offer. All of a sudden, I see Samantha’s face warp into an expression that I’m extremely aware of, considering she’s given Rayna so many of her distinctive features, many of them cause my chest to tighten. It’s pensive and I know she’s stewing on her next comment.

As she
’s passed down to her daughter, Samantha has caramel skin. Only while Rayna’s skin glows in its radiance, Samantha’s is dim, likely due to her chronic addiction. She’s an inch or two shorter than her daughter, and although her hair doesn’t reach the length of Rayna’s before she cut it, I can tell by the roots that Samantha has the same texture and ability to grow it in the mass and volume that Rayna does. Her shoulders aren’t as poised and don’t hold the air of femininity that Rayna’s does. In fact, Samantha holds no feminine grace at all, similar to Yazmine. It’s as if at some point during their days in the wilderness, they ceded refinement for survival; Yazmine from her years in prison and Samantha, from her forfeiture to heroine.

In our private conversations over the
past few weeks, Rayna and I concluded that both Samantha and Yazmine are just a fraction of the women—the beings—they were when we were children. The most obvious indicators being in their postures and poor dialect. We both agreed to being aware of their broken argot. It was a sad fact, but common when you assent to the dark world. The streets. I know this.

“Azmir, you can’t give
something that you don’t have,” Samantha mutters, calling me back to her presence before me. I wrinkle my eyebrows.

She shakily
wets her lips to try again. “I watched her the few times we been together since I been here. She got a lot of layers around her. She protected. Guarded.”

Now Samantha
’s speaking terms and facts that I
do
recognize about Rayna. Things that are to my detriment.

“Rayna lost a lot when she was so young. Stuff
‘dat you don’t get from nobody but ya’ momma and daddy. We took ‘dat from her, being selfish and weak. Call it unconditional love. ‘Dat child missed out on so much when we took it back. She was almost still a baby. She still messed up in here…” Samantha points to her head. “…and in here.” She then pats her chest; I’m sure, referencing her heart. “When you don’t know unconditional love, you can’t receive no love from nobody. I seen it before in my programs. Heard counselors talk about it. Never thought it applied to me.” Samantha’s eyes squint in pain. “Never thought it would apply to my kids. Make sense now, ya’ know?”

I swallow hard before giving an emphatic nod. Slowly, I
’m understanding Samantha’s argument. Her plea.

“Sometimes people
look past it…sometimes people run away at the sight of love.”
She knows?
I wonder if she’s aware of Rayna’s infamous response to my fuck ups. She squeezes her eyes shut, seemingly painfully and whispers, “I don’t know what her thing is, but I know she got one. And you…” She places her hand on my upper arm affectionately. “…you gotta understand she can’t give what she don’t have…she don’t know.”

We lock eyes in
rapid transmittal of something I cannot explain. Something that happens when two desperate people with similar motives make a connection. When they silently decide on the same agenda. Samantha wants a piece of Rayna’s heart, too. A piece that she forfeited years ago. A place that I want to be a part of like the need of my next heartbeat.

Rayna
opening the powder room door breaks our exchange. Samantha clears her throat as she removes her hand. But before Rayna’s within earshot she whispers, “Be patient. Don’t give up on her.”

Rayna hesitantly approach
es us, not understanding our convening. Quite honestly, until a few seconds ago, neither did I. But I do now. I’ve also grown more tenacious.

“Let’s go, Brimm,” I murmur.

She supplies her mother a diffident smile as she passes her to get to me. I hold out her blazer to assist with putting it on, only to have Rayna take it from my grasp and bundle it in her chest, not breaking her stride to the door. I don’t know what that means, but I offer Samantha a cool nod before turning on my heels to join Rayna’s treads. Samantha returns a tight smile while her eyes face the floor and then closes the door behind me.

Several steps behind Rayna, I click the key fob to unlock the door so when she arrive
s at the truck she doesn’t have to wait for me if she chooses not to. She chooses not to. Before I can grab my seatbelt, once I’m inside the truck, Rayna leaps in my lap and closes in on my face. Her lips move with wild abandon. She’s swift as her hands rove over my head and neck. Her hips rock in my lap as her ragged breath hits my face. She sucks on my tongue, not sparing a moment to breathe. Her tugs at my neck and shoulder are boorish and her kiss is so savage that her teeth hits mine in a cling. I can taste the desperation on her tongue. And can feel the slough of despondence in the tremble of her thighs that are clinging to my waist.

“C’mon,” she rag
s out without a breath to spare, her voice husky. I’ve never seen her like this. She reaches for the buckle of my belt, I know to unleash me. And as ready as I am for her—because no matter the circumstance, my body always responds to Brimm—I cannot do it.

“No,” I
grunt as I pull from her mouth, trying to fight for lucidness while my girl gyrates like a motor on my cock, pussy humming in a way that I intuitively know how to  respond to. How to tame. “No…” I attempt again.

“Yes
.” She retrieves my bottom lip, making it hard for me to resist the waft of
Cool Water
hitting my olfactory.

“Rayna,” I force out, trying to capture her wild hands, roughly caressing my chest, arms and neck. “We can’t do this,” I whisper forcefully, feeling her tongue
. Fuck!
That tongue
—makes its way down my neck via my ear. My breathing is out of control as she grinds so determinedly on my lap. This is hard—real hard. It’s my job to satisfy her—to extinguish her when she’s in heat. To put her ass to sleep when her pussy purrs like a starved cat. I have to regain my fleeting control.

“I want
you in my mouth,” she pants, bringing those lush lips back up to my mouth as her soft hands aggressively go down to my pants, scooting her pelvis back to give herself room.
Shit!
If Rayna’s mouth—or hands—get near my strongman this resistance shit will be over and I’ll be face fucking
and
pinning her ass up against the dashboard in front of our mothers’ home.
Fuck!
I can feel my dick swelling even more at the thought.

Wait…is that a tear I taste?

“Goddamn, Rayna! Stop!”

She’s crying. Growing desperate my damn self, I grab the door handle, opening up the truck. I use my right arm to cross her back, pinning her against my chest, remove the key, and carefully leave the vehicle. I know I’ve fucked her under emotional circumstances, believing to be teaching her a lesson, but I can’t have her believe that sex is a way to communicate her pain or cure frayed emotions. We have to handle this differently.

Feeling the change in climate, on a panicked breath, Rayna
shrieks, “Where are we going? I can’t go back in there!”

“Relax,” I bit
e out as I adjust to secure her on my waist. 

Not wanting to
cross the house and risk being seen by Yazmine or Samantha, I go in the opposite direction. Rayna begins crying into my shoulder, clawing my upper torso. I carry her like a toddler, feeling her need for comfort and soothing. I march down to the beach. Ironically, this was the way I walked after hours of sitting in the car, staking out Rayna’s house during, what she assumed was, our breakup. When I was on “duty,” I’d wait until I knew she was asleep and take this route to the beach sometimes for a run, making sure not to be seen. It seems appropriate at this time.