Saved and SAINTified (67 page)

What was he going to do?

“Help me,” he repeated.

He was crumbling and felt like a chump. He’d heard Saint’s speeches, read his books—a lot of it struck home, but he still felt uneasy. Was there an extra helpful word somewhere waiting for him? He was afraid, embarrassed, and wanted more than just someone to warm his bed at night. He was having sex, he wasn’t making love, and he’d lived long enough to know the difference. He was busted.

Saint looked at him sternly at first, but then his expression softened. The man made a big deal of clearing his throat and stuffed his hands into the loose pockets of his baggy pants.

“I’m going to tell it to you like this, Jagger.” Saint removed a pair of sunglasses from his pocket and slipped them on. “You’re a man. Act like one. I debated giving you a pity party, because I understand what it feels like to love someone who isn’t really feelin’ you anymore.”

Saint seemed to temporarily disappear within himself. Jagger couldn’t figure out what the guy was thinking, but whatever it was, the memory of it still appeared to tear him apart.

“Luckily for me, that situation resolved itself, but for quite some time, my heart was torn to shreds. I felt sorry for myself for a while. I was sure I wouldn’t make it—some days I didn’t even get out of bed—but then there comes a time when either you are going to fix what is broken or just walk away. She walked away from you years ago, Jagger. Come on, man.” Saint took a deep breath. “Aren’t you ready to live again?” Saint didn’t wait for an answer.

“Do the shit you need to do now, to leave your mark—a legacy. Scared men don’t get fed. Our bodies don’t get intimately nourished. Our minds don’t get to eat and our souls stay starved. I’m greedy.” Saint laughed huskily. “You need a woman, Jagger. It’s in you. This ain’t got shit to do, with being a playa, loverboy, Mr. Romance or whatever else you want to call it. This has to do,” Saint’s voice rose as he pointed at him, “with you getting over a bitch that fucked you over.”

Noticing his smart-alecky smirk, Jagger faced him head on, seething with anger. He’d never heard Saint refer to a woman that way before, and even though his ex-wife really
was
a bitch, it unnerved him all the same. At one point in time, he’d worshiped that woman.

“Watch your mouth, Saint,” Jagger fumed. “She was still my wife, man! Show some respect.”

“Jagger, fix your fuckin’ face! That’s right, I said it! She
is
a bitch because only a bitch would cheat on her man with his friend then let him raise a kid that wasn’t his—knowing full well he wasn’t! I was a hoe, she was a bitch, Traci is a little naïve but sweet, you’re an asshole but loveable. We are what we are! You need to embrace the truth so you can move on.” He hmphed. “...Telling me to show some damn respect. Respect yourself first, man! You were neglectful of your marriage, that is a given, but you loved that woman with all your heart and soul. What she did was inexcusable. It’s one thing to cheat, but damn!”

Jagger felt a headache coming on. He bunched his brow and rubbed his head, turning away from Saint. He was angry—wanted to run across the damn court and make his fist meet the egotistical man’s jaw, but what good would that do? The son of a bitch was right.

“Children are sacred! Look at the shit I’ve been through, trying to protect mine. I don’t sleep, Jagger! I watch Xenia sleep; I go in my kids’ rooms all hours of the night even though the cameras are right there. I still need to physically go in and touch them, make sure they’re all right. I have agents and military men from the Rainbeau Knights around my house all damn day and night, now! It’s hell! I’m arguing with my woman all the time about this shit. It’s a nightmare. You think I like this shit, huh?! Having to tell my kids they can’t go to certain activities and I can’t tell them why?! Besides being angry with me, Xenia is miserable. She is the type of person who likes to be out and about, but I can’t let her do that—she could get hurt!

“I’m like a damn guard dog, now! I walk around the house all the time, wishin’ a
mothafucka
would
!” Saint balled up his fist and shook it in anger. “Anyway.” He took a deep breath and calmed. “Back on task here ... she let you form a bond with that child, and didn’t give a flyin’ fuck about anyone but herself. What? You thought I was going to have some mercy on her because she is Asian?” Saint laughed. “Race ain’t got shit to do with this. Jagger, you don’t even love her anymore yet you still let her fuck up your future.” 

Saint was passionate, driven in his purpose. This was deeper than Jagger thought. Saint took Jagger’s love life personally. He became emotionally involved and invested, and that was one of the pitfalls of being an Angel Child of his magnitude. The strong ones always got angrier faster. Saint’s good nature and ability to laugh at himself tempered his inner savage beast, but he was still quite a handful and Jagger had come to realize this in the short time of their developing friendship.

“When someone I care about hurts, I hurt, too.” Saint cooberated his observations without even having to read his mind. Jagger appreciated his skills. “You will never be working with all eight cylinders, Jagger, if you don’t forgive your ex-wife, and move on. You are sick and tired of alienating yourself, but you won’t stop. Now, I’m serious.” Saint shook his finger at him. “If you want to continue on this path, you call that woman right now and tell her you won’t bother her again.”

“I don’t want to do that.” Jagger sighed and looked at the ground. “I can’t do that ... I want to go out with her too badly.”

Saint smiled. “That’s the spirit. Jagger, I know you can do this. I want to be attending your wedding one day. I want you to have a family, someone to go home to. It’s time.”

Jagger nodded and deliberated over Saint’s strong words. “Thank you, Saint. I guess I needed some tough love.” He chuckled.

“Yeah, now get ready to take this tough beat-down! Pass the ball.”

Jagger smirked and threw it across the court. It hit the backboard, wobbled, then fell into the basket. “Nothin’ but net! Who said white boys can’t jump?!”

Saint snatched the ball and dribbled fiercely down the court, laughing and showing off. He then threw the ball and got the shot.

“Firstly, you’re not even all white. Secondly, who said white boys can’t jump? I did! Ya know what I mean?
Yao Ming!”

Saint laughed giddily at his own joke while Jagger watched the silly maniac make another shot, while cursing and dancing around the court.

“And you’re not
all
Asian. Don’t try to pretend you’re the next Ming or Sun Yue. I’m going to win.” Jagger grinned.

The testosterone pumped and both men flexed their muscles, willing and ready to rip each other apart on the court.

“In your dreams!” Saint laughed louder. “Wait, I take that back ... our dreams actually come true.” He was beyond amused.

“Saint, you are out of your mind.” Jagger tried to grab the ball.

Saint snorted as they wrestled over the ball until the damn thing was fumbled and rolled down the court away from both of them. Saint sprinted toward the runaway orange sphere. It was obvious that Saint was too competitive to just let this be a game. It was going to be a long morning, but well worth it.

Saint’s a good man,
a damn good man. Thanks Lawrence for bringing this dude into my life. This is just what the doctor ordered....

****

Osaze placed his reading glasses down on his nightstand after turning off his bedroom television. He yawned stiffly, and leaned back into his pillow.

I need to go out and see my new granddaughter.

He beamed with pride
and smiled in the darkness. A framed photo of the newborn stood on his nightstand and he’d remained online at the library for over an hour looking at the photos Saint had emailed him of the tiny Princess. He could see his Min Jae in her; the similarity in the eyes warmed his heart. He recalled the conversation with his son, when he told him he’d be out in a couple of weeks, but it just didn’t seem soon enough. He was thrilled with the thought of seeing and holding her for the first time.

Since he last saw his son, they spoke at least a few times a week. The relationship was mending, healing, a bit more
with each contact. He knew that they’d always be two vastly different people, but he loved and respected Saint, and was grateful that they had this new beginning. He scoffed at Saint’s suggestion that he sign up for a dating service, but appreciated his son trying to find ways to aid in his father’s happiness. No one would ever come close to his Min Jae, but his son wanted him to have a mate, even if his soulmate was gone—because that was no cause for him to remain completely lonely. So he said he’d take it into consideration, but he honestly knew his heart wasn’t in it.

He laughed inwardly upon reminiscing over one of their previous chats. 

“Look, everyone needs friends,” Saint said. “On the serious tip, I understand what it is like to be with your soulmate and then not crave anyone else. I’m not telling you to get married again if you don’t want to, but ... Pops, you ain’t been laid in years, man. I couldn’t imagine! That’s your problem, you’re all clogged up. You need to release that. Go find a girlfriend immediately, please, and if you do, take it easy on her that first time! Damn!”

He chuckled.
As he slipped further in thought, his phone rang. Osaze looked at it, and a feeling of forlornness cloaked him. His tongue felt swollen, his mouth went dry, and queasiness overcame his gut.

“Hello?” he answered. Before anything was said, he realized who it was
and his fears were confirmed. “Goodness, what do you want, Nizsm?!” He shot up in his bed.

Nizsm
laughed. “Now, that’s no way to treat family, Osaze.”

“You’re not family.
Why are you calling me? Don’t make me ask you again.”

“I think you know what I want
. I know all about your son’s treachery; he is a sneaky one, isn’t he?”

Osaze hesitated. “You leave my
—”

“Or what?! Leave your son and granddaughter alone or what, Osaze? Now you listen to me,
you old fool. You tell that son of yours, my wayward cousin, that he needs to have a transition meeting with me.”

“Transition? You must take him for a
n imbecile! Everyone knows damn well you’re not interested in transitioning. That would be the noble thing to do, the right thing, but we all know you want no part of being an upstanding person!”

“Save your moral speeches for someone who gives a damn, Osaze. You and my father can philosophize all day, I don’t care
. Right now, I need your son to prepare to take the reins. Look, I’ve accepted defeat. I’m mad as hell, but things must proceed forward, regardless.”

Osaze knew better. He understood
the hand that Nizsm was playing, and it was a crafty and dangerous one. Saint had been invited to carry out his obligations, but it would lead to his death, if Nizsm had his way. The transitional training had to occur wherever Nizsm said it was to happen. He was in charge of the location—and cornering Saint in Egypt would be deadly. There was no way that the fiend had any plans of doing what he declared with him. It was a trap, a cruel, ugly trap to snare Saint, then torture and murder him.

“Call him yourself
...”

“Now you know better than that, elder.” Osaze could almost see hi
s self-satisfied expression over the phone. “I have to talk to the father first,
you
. Now, do what you’re told and don’t make me have to contact you again.”

Osaze slammed the phone down
and looked around frantically in the dark. His stomach balled in tighter knots, as if an invisible hand reached within and squeezed his intestines, pushing and pulling and pounding—making him wonder whether he’d throw up or pass out. He held his stomach tightly and winced, his body feeling like a twisted version of itself. He couldn’t lose his son ... not
now
, not after they’d gotten so close. He loved Saint so much, he’d give his own life for him—of that, he was certain. He’d always felt that way and it was even stronger now, if that were possible.

I’m no coward,
Nizsm. I just don’t play the game the way you do. You’ve underestimated me, boy. I will not let you do this to my family!

Osaze picked up the phone and called
Saint. On a loud exhale, he swiped the back of his hand across his damp forehead, trying to push his anger aside and get through the dreaded conversation.

****

“Nah, I’m serious, watch this! Bam!”

Saint
swiveled in his chair, booming out a laugh when Xenia jumped two feet in the air. She gave him a death glare from over her shoulder as the silver quarter rotated on its axis then lay still on the wood floor. Her naked body glistened under the beveled chandelier ceiling light fixture. He watched her oil her skin moments before in preparation for bed, giving him the sophomoric idea.

She
stormed up to him, her finger in his face. Her expression attuned to that of a teacher scolding a naughty child. “If you throw
one more
damn quarter at my ass, Saint, I’m going to hurt you.” She turned back away, lifted her pillow and fluffed it. Moments later, she jumped again, screaming profanities as the third quarter launched off her derrière. She was once again greeted by Saint’s boisterous laughter.