A Different Breed (BLP Breeds #8)

Chapter 1

“It’s your weekend, Victor, and it’s the third weekend you’ve canceled, on top of skipping your Wednesdays, which means you haven’t seen your son in almost two months.”

“I have to work extra hours because you put me on child support.”

“I didn’t put you on child support, the judge did. If you have a problem with it, take it up with him.”

“You could tell the court you don’t need my money, and I’ll still pay you in cash,” he suggested.

“You must think you’re talking to the old Naryah. She might have fallen for something like that just to keep the peace. The new me has wised up. If you have a problem with how much you were ordered to pay, I’m not the person you should be talking to.”

“You’re always pissing me off. Just tell my son I’ll see him in two weeks. He’ll be fine.”

“He sure will be because he has me.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Exactly what I said. You repeatedly let our son down, and I’m here to pick up the pieces.”

“Whatever, man. I’ll buy him something big, and he’ll forget all about the visits I missed. I’ll call him later and tell him something.”

“Sure you will.”

“Aye, don’t be over there pouring salt on my name to my son.”

“Why would I do that when your actions show him everything he needs to know? Bye, Victor.”

Talking to my ex-husband gave me a headache, so I ended the call before it became worse.

Victor and I separated two years ago and divorced a year later after a six-year marriage.

He wasn’t a good husband or father for the majority of our marriage, and since we separated, he only liked being a father when it was convenient for him.

It was cool, though. I liked it better this way, and although Keelan never said anything, he did too. His father lacked the skills needed to be a good human, so being a good father was way down on his list of qualities.

Legally, I couldn’t keep Keelan away from Victor, but the less my son was around him, the less of a chance he’d become a narcissistic asshole like his father. I was so grateful to be free from the mental, emotional, and verbal abuse I suffered during our marriage.

It was Friday, the beginning of yet another weekend I had no real plans. Now that Victor had confirmed he wouldn’t be picking up our son, I’d see what Keelan wanted to do when I picked him up from school.

I had a lot of fears about being a single mother raising a Black son, primarily alone. My fears were what kept me in a toxic marriage for so long. Single motherhood had its ups and downs, but it was 100 percent better than raising him while married to a man who did nothing but tear me down.

I didn’t realize how much Victor’s treatment of me affected Keelan until I finally decided to take him and leave. His self-esteem suffered a great deal, and he doubted himself a lot more than the average kid his age. Since he started therapy, I noticed a positive change, and I was grateful.

I glanced at the clock and realized I only had thirty minutes before I had to leave to get Keelan from school. After finishing some paperwork for my last client for the day, I closed my work laptop for the weekend. I was an account manager for an insurance company and was blessed to work from home.

Not having to commute to and from work was great, but I had to set some clear boundaries for myself to ensure that I didn’t allow my work to consume me.

I worked from 8 a.m. to 3 p.m. and took a forty-five minute lunch.

I didn’t take work-related calls outside of my work hours, and once my work laptop was closed for the day, I didn’t open it again until the next workday.

As soon as I stood from my desk, my German shepherd, Herqueles, who we affectionately called Que, stood with me. He’d been lying on the floor next to my chair since I last took him out. I could barely make a move without Que following me, especially when Keelan wasn’t around.

“What’s up, big boy? You ready to go get your brother?”

He barked as I rubbed the top of his head, then followed me to my bedroom door as I grabbed my purse and keys.

He wasn’t allowed inside, so he stopped at the door.

We went to the kitchen, where the door to enter the garage was located.

A few minutes later, I had him secured in the back seat of my truck, and we were on our way to Black Elm Elementary to pick up Keelan.

When I arrived about ten minutes later, I parked behind another parent in the pickup line, turned off my engine, and picked up my phone from the cup holder. School didn’t release for twenty more minutes, so I scrolled through social media to pass the time.

Que began barking, pulling my attention away from my phone. I saw Keelan walking toward my car and got out to greet him. I noticed his sad expression, and my mother’s instincts kicked in.

“Hey, Keelan.”

“Hey, Mom.”

His tone was very melancholy, and I wrapped my arms around him. He returned my hug, but when he tried to back away, I stopped him. I was five feet, six inches, and at ten years old, Keelan and I were almost eye to eye. The sadness in his eyes didn’t sit well with me.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

“Nothing. Can we just go?”

I knew we couldn’t have a conversation in the pickup line, so I let him get into my truck and did the same. Once we were on the road, I looked at him through the rearview mirror. Herqueles’s head rested on his lap as Keelan stroked the top of his head.

“What happened at school?”

“I don’t want to talk about it, because there’s nothing you can do. Am I going with Dad for the weekend?”

I sighed. “No. He said he’s busy with work.”

“He always says that. I don’t like going with him anyway.”

“Why don’t you like going with your father?”

I glanced in the rearview mirror and caught him shrugging.

“He never acts like he wants me around.”

“Is he mean to you?”

“Sometimes, but he barely talks to me.”

“I always ask you how your visits are with him. Why haven’t you told me he’s mean to you?”

“Because then you and him will argue, and he’ll be mean to you. It’s okay if I don’t go with him again.”

I wasn’t the person who would try to convince my son otherwise. He was very intelligent and could decide for himself whether or not he wanted to spend time with his father. Unfortunately, he couldn’t make the final decision because visiting his father was court-ordered.

“I hope things between you and your dad get better. Unfortunately, Mommy doesn’t control your visits with him, the judge does.”

“Can we go to the judge and tell him I don’t want to go with Dad anymore?”

“Is that what you really want?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll see if we can set something up. Is that what was bothering you?”

“No. I don’t want to talk about that. Can we get pizza and watch movies tonight?”

“Sure.”

I’d leave him alone for now, but before the night was over, I wanted to know what was bothering my son. As soon as we pulled into the garage and I cut the engine, I texted my attorney Keelan’s request, including the fact that he’d missed the last few visits.

She responded shortly after, saying the judge would need just cause to change or remove Victor’s visitation rights. She encouraged me to keep anything we might be able to use against him in the future. It wasn’t necessarily what Keelan would want to hear, so I kept the information to myself.

“Before we start the movie, let’s take Que for a walk,” I suggested to Keelan.

“Okay. C’mere, boy,” he called out.

Que ran to Keelan, and after a minute or so of playing around, he put his leash on. We left through the garage, and they waited for me at the end of the driveway.

“Did you get some bags for his poop?”

“Yes.” He held them up and waved them in the air.

“You want me to take him?” I asked as we began to walk.

“No. I got it, Mom.”

We walked in silence for a few minutes before I struck up a conversation.

“Are you ready for summer?”

“Yeah.”

“What do you want to do?”

“Can I not do basketball or football camp like last year? I hated both.”

“I remember, and I promised you wouldn’t have to go to those camps this summer. It was your father’s idea anyway. You should’ve told him you didn’t want to go.”

“Yeah. He’s nicer to me when I do sports because I’m good at them, but just because I’m good doesn’t mean I like it.”

“That’s true, Son. What would you like to do instead?”

He sighed and hesitated briefly. “I saw a flyer at school about this art class.”

Keelan was an artist at heart. As a small child, he loved coloring and drawing and was exceptionally good at them in comparison to other kids his age. The older he got, the better he became. Recently, he’d become interested in painting.

“If that’s what you want to do, it’s fine with me. Bring a flyer home on Monday, and I’ll do some research.”

“Really?”

“Of course.”

“Even if Dad tries to make me do football and basketball?”

“I’ll make sure he knows you’re interested in something else.”

He looked up at me with worried eyes before saying, “But then he’ll get mad and yell at you like he used to.”

It broke my heart that my son was a witness to some of the abuse I suffered. I wished I could erase it from his memory bank.

“Don’t worry about me. Mommy knows how to handle herself a lot better around your father than she used to. Okay?”

He nodded, but his expression didn’t convince me that he believed me. I knew there was nothing I could say to change his thoughts, so I let it go. We continued our walk, turning the last corner before we arrived back on our street.

Que loved our walks, but he wasn’t a friendly dog. Thankfully, we didn’t encounter anyone this time. He didn’t go into attack mode unless he thought me or Keelan were in danger. He’d bark and growl at everyone we passed, as well as other dogs, making it known that he didn’t play about us.

“Are you ready to talk about what happened at school today?”

We’d stopped to let Que do his thing, giving me an opportunity to look at him. His body language told me he’d rather not talk about it, so I was surprised when he agreed.

“Sure.”

“I’m listening.”

He hesitated briefly and looked at me from the corner of his eye.

“There’s this group of boys who keep messing with me.”

“Bullies.”

He shrugged. “Yeah, I guess.”

“Did you tell anyone?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because that’ll just make it worse.”

“What are they doing or saying?”

“They mostly make fun of my shoes and how I dress.”

Although I was well aware of what Keelan wore, I looked at his outfit. Nothing stood out about the black T-shirt, light denim shorts that hit his knees, and black gym shoes. Everything fit well, was in good condition, and matched.

“What’s wrong with your clothes?”

“Nothing, Mom, but they aren’t name brand.”

“Your shoes are.”

“Yeah, but they aren’t the latest or most popular.”

Keelan was ten years old and growing faster than I could keep up.

I wasn’t broke, but the idea of spending a lot of money on name-brand clothes didn’t make sense to me.

He’d only wear the items a few times before they were too small, but I didn’t want him to be bullied because of my conservative spending habits.

“Do you want to get some name-brand things?”

He shook his head before saying, “No. I don’t care what they think or say about me. They’re just annoying.”

“Are you sure? I can—”

“It’s fine, Ma. I know I grow really fast, and I don’t want you to spend lots of money on stuff I won’t be able to wear for long.”

We arrived at our house and stopped in front of it.

“You're such a thoughtful child. Most boys your age don’t think about stuff like that, and if they do, they don’t care about having their parents spend their money. Thank you for being so considerate.”

“I know how hard you worked for us to leave Dad, and to have our own house. I like it much better with just us.”

I pulled him into a hug and kissed his forehead.

“Me too, baby. Is that all that was bothering you?”

My heart sank when he didn’t immediately respond with a yes.

“Keelan, is there something else you need to tell me?”

“It’s not just my clothes they make fun of.” He paused. “They make fun of my skin too.”

I was sure I knew what he meant, but still asked for clarification.

“What do you mean?”

“They talk about how dark I am, calling me blacky, crispy, and stuff like that.”

“Are these kids Black?”

“Yes, Mom. You know almost all the kids at my school are Black.”

I was fuming but did my best to hide it from him. I couldn’t believe that in this day and age, Black kids still made fun of other Black kids because of their skin tone. Black parents needed to do better because this shouldn’t still be happening.

If I’d grown up before the Civil Rights Era, I wouldn’t have passed the brown paper bag test, and on occasion, as a child, I was made fun of for my rich melanin. Keelan was darker than I was because he inherited his shade of brown from his father.

Victor was blessed with smooth, deep chocolate skin, and it was one of the things that attracted me to him before I knew he was a narcissistic asshole.

I’d always taught Keelan to love the skin he was in because I knew he would encounter people who wanted him to think less of himself because he was Black.

I was gravely naive because I didn’t consider discussing the dynamics of self-hate among Black people, and I hated that he had a front row seat.

“I guess you haven’t told anyone about this either,” I finally responded.

“No.”

“Keelan, you shouldn’t have to go to school and put up with bullying. I’ll make an appointment with the principal—”

“Mom, please don’t. I only have a few more weeks of school. I’ll be fine.”

“No. We need to get a handle on this now, Keelan. You shouldn’t have to go to school worried about this kind of stuff. I don’t care if today was your last day.”

“Excuse me,” a deep baritone voice said.

Keelan and I looked in the direction of the voice.

It belonged to a gorgeous man who looked like he belonged in a Black movie from the nineties.

He was a deep shade of dark chocolate, with deep-set eyes, thick brows, and perfectly kissable lips surrounded by a beard that could use a bit of maintenance.

Although there were a few feet between us, I still had to look up at him, so I’d guess he was over six feet.

His hair was parted neatly and styled in flat twists going to the back.

Tattoos covered his thick neck and muscular arms, and I found myself wishing he’d lift his shirt so I could see if his abs were covered in ink as well.

“Hi. Umm, how can we help you?”