Love In the Red Zone (Connecticut Kings Book 1) (34 page)

“Them boys always used to fight!” Cora Mae cried, sounding nearly as alarmed as I felt. “I didn’t get it. Ever since Trevor died, I remember having to make them sit like that when they wanted to act a fool! And seemed like Trick lil’ ass was always startin’ it!” Her spine jerked with each syllable she hissed.

My regard automatically skirted to Trick. He glanced down at his plate, conspicuously piled with
my
pineapple pudding while he chewed. I looked back at Trent, sitting beside me to find him staring ahead blankly at the screen. His leg rocked beneath my palm, foot wiggling on the floor. He wanted to hide beneath the awkward moment, so I let him. My eyes then felt pulled to an adjacent area and landed on Shank, who gaped at me, but not in a distasteful manner. An observant one. I blinked my sights away, returning to the screen.

I caught what could have been the only visual of Brenda dancing with a school-aged boy.

“Rest in peace, Trevor, baby!” Cora Mae cried to the screen.

I felt Trent’s leg still under my touch. This time my regard didn’t make it past his extended leg. That was his big brother. The one he lost to violence when he was looking for Trent. A sharp sound of pain forced my attention to Brenda, who hugged her frame as it vibrated, perched on the armrest of the loveseat. She didn’t cry, but was visibly shaken. I couldn’t help my automatic swallow.

A picture of a half-naked Shank in what looked like a club, teasing April in a dance lifted the spirits of the room. Laughter rang out all around me. It was cute. April was small—a lot smaller.
Whoa!
She had a curvy shape similar to mine, just taller, being a woman of average height. How had April put on all that weight over the years? Apparently Shank didn’t care. He had married and now cherished her. There were a few more humming “rest in peace” throughout the room for subsequent video footage and images. Largely, it confirmed the love in the room and gave the odor in the house richer substance, making it bearable.

“Awwwww… I remember taking that picture in Cherry Hill,” April cried this time. “Look at lil’ Trent!”

It was a picture of Trent, who could be no more than nine years old, leaning against a tree with his arms folded. This time, he wasn’t crying. He looked sad, but trying to fight through it.
But what was “it”?

“Look at Tri-state!” Cora Mae sang. “He still look good, you know?” She gestured to Brenda briefly. “I saw him a few months ago, downtown on Mt. Ephraim.”

“That was back in ninety…” April stalled.

“Eight,” Shank rasped from his wheelchair. “Ninety-eight.” His tone was clipped, telling me the photo held a bad memory for him.

It made me scan in closer to the picture before it left the screen. Then I caught it. It was a fine Shank in the left corner, well out of focus, but still in the frame. He was crowding over another man, who was counting dollar bills into Shank’s outstretched hand. The man was just as tall as Shank, but with lighter-toned skin and handsome and familiar features, but not as muscular was what ran through my mind. The moment the picture left the screen, it hit me. That man was Trent’s father. Shank was likely collecting child support. My mouth dropped and eyes went back to my hand where suddenly, I felt the individual cords making up the major muscle groups in his powerful thigh go rigid in a bundle, hard as stone. It revealed that Trent probably had the same revelation I had. Shank’s nod over his tented hands while gazing coolly at Trent to the right of me packed a robust message. He’d always looked out for Trent. In many pictures, Trent was never too far from Shank.

I squeezed his thigh, so badly wanting to massage it, but Kyree was too close and I didn’t want to cross that line with him yet. Trent wasn’t technically even my boyfriend, just someone I was dating, to my son.
Whatever that meant.
My heart bled in my chest with the need to comfort him. Where in the hell was Bitter Brenda while her brother was out making child support rounds with her child?

I sat stock-still as we watched the rest of the video. Kendal explained that he’d collected his grandmother’s old VHS tapes that she loved so much, and converted them to DVDs so she could have better quality videos and not lose the footage on technology heading for extinction. He added pictures and had done a great job. Even I was proud of his initiative.  We clapped for him as he unhooked his things.

Trent stood and stretched.

“Well, time to hit the road,” he spoke out loud, but to no one in particular. “Gotta get up for work in the morning.”

I resented his reminder of having to leave the state, even if for ten hours. He had intensive weightlifting with the
Kings
. It was what he was paid to do, unfortunately.

“Okay, baby,” Cora Mae replied. “Want some food to go? I know how you is ‘bout Ernestine’s potato salad.” She turned toward the kitchen and said to no one in particular behind her, “Somebody fix Trent a plate to go, hear?”

The potato salad? I had to get that recipe from Ernestine. One good thing I had going for me with the big man was my cooking. Trent cleaned his plate when I cooked. If a damn potato salad would up that advantage, I’d pursue it. Just as I stood to find this Ernestine, Trick shot up from his seat.

“I’m out, too,” he informed. “I gotta check in with my P.O. first thing, so he won’t beat on my ass.” He produced a wry smile, I guessed feeling his excuse was inferior to his nephew’s.

“Oh!” Brenda leaped from her arm rest seat on the same sofa. “You want me to fix you a plate to go?”

Trick shrugged with his lips and chin and at that, Brenda took off. Shank called for Trick and Trent to get ready to take him to his car. They were going to have to carry him out just as they’d had to carry him in hours before. Apparently, there was a wheelchair ramp in the back for Cora Mae, but Shank was too full of pride to use it, believing his condition to be temporary. But before they did the deed, he huddled them together with a reminder.

“So, we good on the deal for this place, right? They come on Friday.” Shank hummed, no hint of bass in his voice at all. “Trick, you in charge of overseeing the clean-up. Trent, you got some of the tab, right?”

Both the guys mumbled their commitment. Trent had shared with me last week how Cora Mae’s house needed clearing so the floors could be redone with carpeting and tile. Apparently, she’d had what we stood on for close to fifteen years. Trent committed to contributing to the cost of materials. From what I understood, Shank took great care of his mother, and did more than all the siblings combined. Since his health had declined, his income had shrunk considerably.

As Kyree and I stood next to the guys, waiting on their to-go plates to be made, I saw Kendal still packing up the electronic devices.

“Hey, Kendal,” I called out into the living room where he was breaking down his equipment. “You mind burning me a copy for your cousin. I’m sure he would love to have that at home.”

“You got it.” He smiled broadly, unable to hide his pride. “I’ll do it tonight. Maybe have my mom mail it to you tomorrow,” he offered to Trent.

“For sure.” Trent nodded, a cute but bridled smile playing on his lips.

I caught Shank in my peripheral, wearing a perceptive smile. Because he’d been caught staring he gave a short nod. Strange, but I knew he’d caught my motive of trying to forge a family connection for his nephew. I wouldn’t hide it nor apologize. I wanted the best for Trent. He deserved nothing less.

“Here you go, baby!” Brenda shrilled as she walked out with a plastic grocery bag with what looked to be two plates. She handed them over to Trick’s girlfriend. “I made sure to pack lots of ‘Stine’s potato salad. I remember you loved it, too.” She smiled warmly at Trick, whose eyes expressed the same surprise that rang out in the tight foyer.

I felt my fists clenching at my side, my nostrils widening as the air around us went static. For a moment, no one spoke.

“Ain’t you gon’ make one for Trent and his young lady, too?” Cora Mae chirped, astounded as the rest of us. “I told you to do that first.”

“You ain’t ask me,” Brenda defended. “You asked somebody back there. I wanted to look out for my baby brother. He just came home,” Brenda explained with a plastered smile toward Trick.

And so did Trent, a year ago! And you haven’t even been to see him!

I peered up to Trent, whose eyes fell as they were accustomed to doing from her neglect, indifference, and/or scolding over the years. My pulse rang in my ears and blood boiled to the point of pain beneath my skin. I couldn’t help it. I snapped. When Cora Mae didn’t come back with anything, my foot slammed into the floor and I dropped my bag next to Kyree’s feet.

“Don’t worry about it!” I hissed, storming off into the living room where a wheelchair-bound Cora Mae sat. “I got your potato salad. Anything else you want?” I asked over my shoulder.

“Jade,” Trent warned to my back.

“Your mother’s banana pudding? I believe there’s some of that left: they’ve cleaned out
my
pineapple pudding!” I brushed past Brenda, rolling my eyes. I didn’t wait for an answer as I stomped into the kitchen.

While in there preparing his food, I realized the house had gone remarkably quiet. After wrapping the plate with foil, I headed back out to the guys. I noticed when Trent saw me approaching, he motioned for Trick to grab the other side of Shank’s wheelchair and started out the door. Brenda was nowhere in sight when I reached down, air kissed Cora Mae on the cheek, offered her a message of gratitude for her hosting, and said goodbye using few words. I took Kyree by the hand and left out behind the guys with my chin in the air.

Kyree and I were in the truck and I watched Trent have a few parting words with his uncle before reaching down to kiss his cheek. As he approached me in the truck, Trent didn’t peer up from the ground. The tension that entered the truck with him was palpable. It was clear I’d done something wrong. Lucky for me, in the moment, I didn’t care. I was sorry to have upset Trent and his family, but not for checking Brenda. I did regret; however, not kicking her ass. Trent’s mother or not, if she couldn’t respect her son, she needed to stay out of his way or she’d have me to deal with. Plain and simple.

Once we made it in, it was nine at night. I helped Kyree with his shower, Trent read him a book, and I sat with him to hear his prayers before cutting his lights for bed. When I left the room, I found Trent down in the garage, looking under the hood of his pickup.

“Wanna nightcap?” My offering was purred and loaded with invitation to more than just brandy.

Trent didn’t even look at me when he replied, “I’m good.”

That blatant rejection vibrated in my belly and echoed in my chest. He was angry. I’d gone too far. The worst part of it all was I didn’t have a middle ground for my reaction to his mother.
That was my middle ground
. I only wanted to protect him. Trent didn’t deserve to be subjected to mediocre or lackluster love. He deserved to be blasted with it. As I trekked off to the elevator, heading for the master suite, I understood my shooting off at the mouth was too much for him.

I stirred from my sleep feeling hot. My thighs were sealed together by clammy sweat that collected somehow. I tried to roll over, but couldn’t. There was a heavy and extremely warm slab of flesh over me. My eyes shot open and saw the thick knotted muscles of his arm over me. I glanced down and made out his thick hard thigh resting on my little hips.

A mewling pitch spilled from his lips. His eyes were closed, squeezing intermittently. His body tightening around me in spasms from muscle constriction. Trent was in the throes of a nightmare.

“Trent!” I whispered, taking him at the arm. “Trent, wake up. It’s me!” I shoved at him as much as I could, considering he covered seventy-five percent of my body.