Love Redeemed, Book 4 (24 page)

I couldn’t top him if I tried, so I kept my gifts simple and practical.
After all, Azmir is Muslim and didn’t grow up exchanging gifts on Christmas mornings. I didn’t want to overwhelm him. After having him open up ties, socks, athletic wear, cologne, and other traditional gifts, I handed him an envelope that contained the deed to my house in Redondo Beach. I explained it symbolized my conceding to his metaphoric chase. I declared no more running, and if I do freeze up, not going very far to where he can’t find and reel me in. I submitted to an infinite future with him.

Azmir must have gazed at the document unseeing for at least five minutes; I nearly held my breath the entire time. Then, in an instance, he pounced on me,
taking me down on the floor, aside the Christmas tree, and sucked my entire mouth into his. It was more feral than his usual style, but I felt the emotion behind the maneuver. Azmir kissed me breathlessly.

“
I swear, I’m going to work so fucking hard for your happiness, Rayna. I swear this with everything I have
,” he murmured into my mouth, his voice was strained and I could feel his racing heart through our clothes.

I choked back on a cry, filled
to the brim with emotions. I felt my bottom lip quiver when I whispered, “
You already do. Beyond anything I ever felt I deserved, you’ve poured so much into me. I now know love on an improbable level. I owe you so much, Mir.
”

There was so much more that I wanted to say, but couldn’t muster the courage, like how he unknowingly was
the catalyst behind me seeking help from a higher power. Azmir makes me experience emotions I’m unfamiliar with and don’t know how to manage. His presence in my life has caused me to see flaws that I didn’t know I’d owned. After experiencing him in my world, I never want the numbness I oddly found comfort in before him. It was a pivotal moment for us. The best Christmas ever for me.

Later that evening, w
e had dessert with Yazmine and Samantha. I’m really trying to open up to my mother, but I need more time. She’d been in town for nearly two months and I was still adjusting. Yazmine is great. Poor thing hinted a request for grandchildren and I went stiff. Perceptively, Azmir redirected the conversation and my mother backed him up. I’m improving, but not quite cured.

Azmir flew
the four of us to the East Coast for the New Year. Yazmine wanted to be with family and friends for the occasion. I guess she missed the folks she left behind to start a new life near her only child. Samantha mentioned visiting Akeem and wanting to be with Chyna, needing to spend as much time as possible with her now that she has a clearer head. She and I agreed to visit Akeem together.

Azmir wanted a change of scenery for the holiday, so he arranged for us to
recite the countdown in a plush suite in the Big Apple. We lay in front of a crackling blaze, wrapped in a fur throw, nuzzling and snickering. Azmir lay on top of me, my thighs clamped around him after he’d exploded from another orgasm. We were competing and he was catching up to me. I warned it was close to countdown time. He refused to move, saying he wanted to toast the New Year just as we were. And we did. When the clock struck midnight, we toasted, kissed, sipped, and eventually slipped back into another amazing lovemaking session.

What a way to start a new year with the
only man I adore.

~~~~~~~~~~

Azmir

“He’s still of
f the fuckin’ radar?” I ask with incredulity.

Kid’s bouncy pupils le
ave me and make their way over to Petey.

“Yeah,” he push
es out with trepidation.

“Kid, this dude ain’t gansta. He’s a college grad
with a double major, from a two parent home, with a cat, a dog, and a fucking white picket fence. He still has an active Orange County Public Library card! How the fuck can he still be under the fuckin’ radar?” I ask once again as I rise from behind the desk at Petey’s
Drop It
club in the Watts. “He just had a baby. He’s fuckin’ traceable!”

The office i
s stale with papers mounting the desk in no particular organization. The walls are cold, leaving the room temperature chilled to match my mood. It’s the end of January, been two months since the fire in Pasadena, and I still don’t have my hooks in D-Struct’s punk ass.

“I know, but, D, man,” Kid argue
s respectably. “He got some type of money behind him.”

“Could be Big D’s,” Petey offer
s.

“It would have to be,” I concur. “But Big D’s money ain’t longer than mine, and right now his incarcerated arms ain’t
stronger than mine. You feel me?”

It’
s well after the New Year, and though my reign is over, my mission of retribution to this whimpery fuck has not been resolved.

“Perhaps I should pay one of those teens around the fuckin’ block to trap
his ass. Would get done faster I bet. You getting old and slow on me, Kid?” I taunt.

“Hell muthfuckin’ no!” Kid grit
s out. “Ain’t nobody round this way grimier than Ace Kid! Man, I put that on my last stack. Believe that!” he challenges.

As Petey watche
s perched on a stool from afar, I issue him a more challenging stare. I need to channel my sentiment precisely. I know in the past, Kid’s sneaky ass could snatch anybody off the streets. He’s reputed for catching dudes and chicks with their panties down—literally. But I have too much to lose. This has to be dealt with and right away.

“Kid, man,” I spea
k soundly. “My girl is sour as a muthafucka for having muscle with her at all times, not to mention what it’s costing me for the type that I have assigned to her. I really don’t give a fuck about the cost.” My gaze intensifies. “And I can give a fuck less about his life. You want my crown? You want the rights to my throne? Get. His. Ass,” I order before walking out.

That’s the first challenge I issue that day. The second i
s more like a pledge.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Let’s do it,” I murmur then peer over to Rayna who’s sitting next to me.

Her eyebrows narrow before she
asks, “Do what?”

Pastor Edmondson’s head ri
ses from his notes; his facial expression isn’t much different from Rayna’s. First Lady Twanece’s expression is much different. She understands somehow exactly what I’m getting at.

After my meeting with the goons, I headed straight for one of the last of Rayna and my committed premarital counseling sessions. In fact, I don’t know how I’d agreed to them, not that she twisted my arm into it. I just want to do whatever I sense w
ill make Rayna happy and ease her into the concept of being mine forever.

Over the course of the past few months since being engaged
, we’ve been attending these sessions, sometimes weekly. Never in a million years would you have been able to tell me that I’d agree to being counseled for anything, much less in a church by a reverend and his wife, but you also wouldn’t have convinced me that I’d meet a woman who made me do things I’d never consider doing. It’s helped that I’d been able to get to know Pastor Edmonson outside of these high moral walls. We’ve met several times over lunch, even once in
Cobalt
on the floor.

He’s been very easy to talk to. Never once
have I gotten the impression he was attempting to sell me up the river with ideas of a magical being, up in the clouds, neighboring Jack and his Bean Stalk. We’ve talked about life, principles of being a leader on a domestic level. We’ve talk about sports, politics, and then Christian-dome, as he’s put it. I can’t lie, initially it was weird chopping it up with a white dude about the afterlife when we’d touch on that topic, over coffee. Then I told myself, it’s no different than chopping it up with Richard over brews about quality strippers after a nineteen-hour day of negotiations with potential business holders. It’s just that my chats with Pastor Edmonson have more substance and underneath it all, relates to Rayna.

So, when the last two sessions
incorporated biblical references on abstinence and I could see Rayna visibly freeze at the topic, I started doing some thinking; some soul searching. So much of our relationship has involved inappropriate sexual communication: our anxiety of losing ourselves in each other, our apprehensions of falling in love, our expressions of anger and betrayal, and our articulation of fear.

Since our blow up after
the Brian Thompson debacle, I’ve begun to feel a bit of guilt for having communicated my anger for her not reciting three single words to me. And what’s more incredulous than my command of her speaking them is I knew she’d felt them. I knew Rayna loved me when I was manipulating her to verbalize it. At the time, I was feeling inept and not in control of a piece of my life that I believed to be important to me. I desecrated her body to make me feel good about the ability to manipulate her because again, I knew Rayna loved me when I was doing it.

I also kne
w that she ended up in Thompson’s arms that evening because of my betrayal of trust when I’d kissed Dawn. A kiss that I engaged in because I needed to the employ the control I didn’t feel I had with Rayna. I was able to identify through that meaningless act with Dawn that I was able to exert a control I wanted with Rayna, someone who is scarred from love having failed her previously. 

I’
m a hustler, an entrepreneur several times over, and in multiple arenas. I’ve been some of these things since before I was a legal adult. Control is in my blood, a keen piece of my governing and overall existence.

Love is not control
. Love is willfully given and received. Love does not rush people who are broken. It’s patient and kind and long suffering. I learned this through a series of premarital counseling sessions.

I’
ve already committed to waiting for Rayna, so taking it a step further and for just a few weeks would prove challenging, but sacrificial just the same. I want to remove the physical expressions, hopefully detox her of the messages I’ve fed to her with my callous behaviors.

Rayna c
an’t chew on too many things at one time. She needs space to think and deliberate, unlike me. I understand that I’m dealing with an embattled woman and need to be satisfied that she comes into what I’m proposing as a lifetime offering. I’d be remiss if I don’t consider the shit I’ve hidden from her. She’s been serious and dedicated to the Christian walk, and while I’m not quite with her on it, I want to support her in whatever manner possible. That’s how much I love her.

And
that
brings me here…

“Let’s pledge abstinence until we’re married
. How long is that?” I glance over to Pastor Edmondson, though I know the answer. I’ve given this hours, days, and weeks of consideration.

Before he c
an answer I hear Rayna caution, “Azmir.” She licks her lips as though she’s salivating at the mention of sex. She gives cursory glances to the pastor and his wife before returning her gaze to me. “Are you…don’t you want to discuss this privately? I don’t want you to feel pressure…you’ve already acquiesced to so much…being at the sessions.”

Her eyes
are wide and filled with anxiety and inquisition. I’ve thrown a curve ball, though it’s not my intent. Shit, if she still wants to fuck up until the wedding day, I’ll be down. But I know Rayna; she needs to feel that she’s followed every instruction to the “T” when trying to do the right thing. She’s been working on herself since losing Michelle and has been pretty consistent with it.

“I’ve given it some thought and think that more than anything, it’ll be a therapeutic exercise for us
,” I offer.

“It would be for six weeks,” Pastor Edmonson quickly add
s.   

The room goes quiet. Rayna’s not happy. Her eyes dance into the distance as she processes all that this means. I don’t want her to feel ambushed.

I’m panicking now. I don’t like seeing her jarred. I’ve entertained this therapy shit because of my support of her, but I’m still a very introspective thinker and planner. I’m quickly deciding on just how divulging I’ll be with what I’m about say.

“Rayna,” I call out impatiently. Her beautiful irises shoot over to me tentatively.

I exhale deeply and find my hands on my head, rubbing profusely. I feel all eyes on me—shit, it’s do or crumble.

“Se
x has been a silent issue between us. From the moment I saw you at
Cobalt
at the dance-off, I wanted to fu—I mean…” I give Pastor Edmondson and First Lady Twanece an apologetic nod. “…lay with you. I guess what I mean is that I’ve always desired you. Who wouldn’t? And even though we didn’t jump right into a sexual relationship, I had not so virtuous motives for wanting…” I’m struggling to keep it clean. “…intimacy with you. I tried the traditional route of flaunting my money and very early on, you made it clear that wouldn’t work. So, I guess I decided on sex. When we finally did, I was curious about you…the mystique of your emotions. I wanted to unveil it, but again, not for noble reasons, only for egotistical ones. Then the more we…were intimate, my motives changed. I desired your heart. I thought sex—good sex would get me there. Yet, I didn’t know what the hell to do with it once I conquered it. My ambitions didn’t reach that far, only my insatiable need for you…to want me.” I exhale, unable to look at her.