In the Nick of Time (60 page)

In his mind, Nick worked out the man’s next step, his reaction…

He’s gonna get mad again. He is going to keep fighting a bit, though deep down, he’s already made up his mind to trust me…

“What do I look like letting that mothafucka walk, man?! What kinda man would I be?! Fuck this shit, man! I’m going to get my son some justice! Something most of you police officers ’round here know nothin’ about! Y’all don’t even respect us…out here killing us, fuckin’ with us! That’s one reason we have the organizations and cliques that we do in the damn streets, to protect ourselves from mothafuckas like you! Protect and serve my ass; neglect and harass, that’s what tha fuck y’all do!”

…And bingo. He gave me what I wanted…
SHOWTIME!

“You really don’t want to go there,” Nick smirked and slowly shook his head. “I’ve never used deadly force towards anyone, including black men, in my entire career, Trey, and you best believe, the few times it was an option, it would have been justified. Your gang has killed more black men than the NYPD has in their entire history of existence. I know all about you guys. Let’s not do this…please…let’s not play this game.”

He was met with resolute silence.

“Don’t lose focus now, don’t get off track. This isn’t about racism and I’m not the enemy right now. I’m trying to help you.”

“Help me? How?! By letting that mothafucka that molested my son go to some damn country club?”

“You want to get revenge, Trey?” His brows gathered. “You get revenge by raising that boy up into a man! You get revenge by encouraging him to stay in school and get good grades! You get revenge by him being successful and him being able to say, ‘My father was in my life; he raised me and loved me enough to stick around!’ Too many of us out here can’t say that, hell, me included! You are one of the guys that’s in your child’s life, so don’t steal yourself away from him. Don’t rob him of the best thing in his life, and that’s YOU!”

Trey scratched at the table, his short nails digging into the damn thing, leaving marks in their wake. Nick knew not to stick around too long after his final statement. He’d set the stage, and believed in his heart Trey had heard him loud and clear. There was too much at stake, too much to lose, and the biggest loser would be Isaiah, the innocent bystander.

So, he hightailed it out of there, closing the door softly behind him…

Later that night, a note was slipped under his door as he sat in his bed reading a fitness magazine. He saw the damn thing appear out the corner of his eye, the daunting sliver of a shadow disappear just as quickly as it had came. Getting to his feet, he grasped the thing from the floor, unfolded the tiny piece of paper, and read the simple words written in black ink:

I TRUST YOU. – Temper

Nothing more. Nothing less…

Nick was pushed out of his thoughts as Frieda came up to him, gave him a light pat on the back.

“I want to tell you again how proud I am of you, and I know that you’re going to make a difference. Please keep in touch and call me anytime, Nick. I’m here for you.”

“Thank you, Frieda. I appreciate that.”

She leaned in closer and whispered in his ear, “And thank you for your observations. We’ve been addressing the issue. You were correct in your assessments.”

“I know I was. And you’re welcome.” He smirked, causing her to do the same before she walked away. He stood there alone, said his final goodbyes. It felt like déjà vu as he indulged in a thick piece of sugary cake, the same kind served as when Taryn was rejoicing in her last day there, too. That was the day his heart broke so fucking bad while it fought with mixed emotions, mainly depression and elation. Many of the same people moseyed about, and the voices talking amongst themselves sounded similar as well, like residual ghosts singing low murmurs or earthy hymns. He took in the moment, breathed in and out, relaxing his tension, letting go.

I’m just going to embrace this second, not worry…try to enjoy it. I know that I will be okay. I’m not perfect; some shit may go down, a challenge that seems too much, but I’ll deal with it when it arises. I can’t worry about ‘what
ifs’; I can only focus on ‘right now’, one day at a time. And right now, I feel pretty proud of myself. Right now, I managed to do the hardest thing in my entire life. I can do this…

Mamá, esto es para mí, y para usted. Es por Jonathan y Frederic y mi jefe, también. Es por el amor de mi vida, que necesita un fuerte soldado. ¿Si yo fuera obstaculizarla, me haré a un lado porque la quiero tanto. Eso es lo que el amor verdadero es … es amar a una persona tanto que uno nunca quiere verlos heridos, incluso si usted es la causa …

Y yo la amo, mamá … ella me ayudó aprender cómo salvar mi vida!

(Mom, this is for me, and for you. It is for Jonathan and Frederic and my boss, too. It’s for the love of my life, for she needs a strong soldier. Should I hinder her, I will step aside because I love her so much. That’s what true love is… it’s loving a person so much, you never want to see them hurt, even if you’re the cause…

And I love her, Mom… she helped teach me how to save my life!)

“Y
eah, it’s right
there on Union Street…”

Taryn struggled to keep the stained, old-fashioned telephone cord from coiling impossibly further as she jotted down the information and cradled the receiver to the side of her face.

“Rose Water?”

“Yeah, they have really good food.”

It was difficult to contain herself, to sound so nonchalant during such a situation. She hadn’t heard the man’s voice in two months exactly, and now, they’d just had a conversation as if they’d been conversing on a daily basis. Only thing, though—he wasn’t up to speaking much. Rather than sounding excited and amped, he appeared to be a bit withdrawn, not quite himself. That thought took her back to his first days in treatment, to how closed off the man had seemed, yet yearning, stretching, trying. He was determined, yet standing in his own way—the true definition of struggle. Nevertheless, he’d invested in himself, done the work to break free from his own self-imposed confines.

As she listened to him breathing on the phone, offering little in the way of tête-à-tête, she wanted to
push
him, make him crack open like a nut and spill the beans, but she thought better of it…understanding that everyone’s road and reaction to recovery was different, a personal journey that was done mainly within the alcoves of one’s own mind. After a few moments of awkward silence, they both burst out with the same words, which softened the atmosphere, gripping at their hearts and squeezing with affections thirsty to be declared.

“I missed you!” They chuckled after their voices tumbled atop of one another.

“…I missed you more,” he said solemnly, as if he simply had to make himself clear lest there be any misunderstandings.

She sighed as her heart grew larger within her pumping chest, excitement growing higher and higher until it had reached the mountain tops…the same ones she encouraged him to stand upon. She assumed he’d made it, for not only had he graduated, he pushed himself to the limit.

“Okay, well, see you in an hour?” She rested her case, let it go.

“Sounds good. I love you. See you then.” And then, he disconnected the call.

She stared at the phone for quite some time. In sixty minutes, she’d finally be free to touch, kiss, and hug her sweetheart in the open. No more whispers, no palms around screaming mouths during gut twisting orgasms. No more camera dodging and awkward winks hidden behind hoods and partitions. They’d be able to talk to one another for as long as they wished, make plans, and break some, too.

It was their lives joining together, this special moment.

It was
their
world,
their
love, and finally,
their
time…

He’d spent the
better part of the morning standing in Esquire Men’s Wear on Nostrand Avenue. He wanted a new jacket, something casual with a sporty yet ‘well put together’ flair. So, he settled on something soft and navy blue, and matched it with a light gray V-neck shirt and dark blue jeans that could almost be mistaken for black. Then came the shoes… Nick hadn’t bought a pair of shoes in over a year. He typically wore only two types—the ones for work and his sneakers for the weekend and working out. He looked through the displays of expensive kicks, trying to find something that wouldn’t shock his damn bank account but still fit the bill, and decided upon a pair of English Laundry slip ons, marked down on clearance and looking rather polished but not too dressy. When he walked out of the place and headed home, his stomach knotted in an unfamiliar way. He smiled, slightly ashamed…

He was nervous to be around his woman after all this time…

She wasn’t just
any
woman, though, but the lady that had stolen his heart. He’d had no intentions of entering rehab and meeting his soulmate, drowning in her big brown eyes. But… he had.

It happened.

And his heart refused to let her go. He stood in front of his mirror after he’d gotten settled in his place, surprised to see that someone had been there cleaning via the used paper towels in the trashcan, the faint scent of Pine Sol and other cleaning agents he couldn’t quite identify. He knew his boss had done that, set him up proper. He owed that man big time and though he wasn’t exactly certain how, he planned to deliver.

When he opened his refrigerator, he burst out laughing. The top shelf was filled with nothing but assorted juices. Reaching for an apple flavored one, he twisted the cap and guzzled it, accidentally drizzling a bit onto his new shirt.

“Shit!” He paused, looked around in a huff and grabbed for a dish towel that hung slightly lopsided on the stove handle. Dabbing at the stain just so, he smiled a crooked smile, then turned on the water, plunged the towel underneath it, and began to work on the stain a bit more. The irony hit him… On his last day at his place, he’d attempted to clean the spilled lubricant from a sexual tryst he’d barely remembered. Now, his world was so much different…