Church Girl

Chapter Five

Five

“I can’t kill my boss. I can’t kill my boss. But God didn’t say anything about maiming in the Ten Commandments...”

Aaliyah

“G ia, you have ten more minutes in the bath, okay?” I call to Von’s adorable little girl from the other side of her bathroom door.

“Okay!” Then the humming starts back up.

Is that “Bongos,” though? What she know about Cardi B? Shoot, I barely know anything about Cardi B.

Shaking my head, I move across Gia’s bedroom, locate her pajamas in the top drawer of her dresser and lay them out on her Bratz-themed bedspread. Then I go about straightening up the room, putting away the games we played after returning home from Sloomoo and finishing her schoolwork from her e-learning day. Who would’ve thought there was a whole place devoted to making slime? There were interactive displays as well, but the main draw was definitely the slime. I smile. Gia had loved it. And truthfully, so had I.

She’s lovely. Funny. Sweet. Talkative and a little bit demanding but not so much she’s rotten. Must take after her mother in personality as well as looks.

In spite of her father’s, uh, rough disposition, I can tell Gia’s well-loved and maybe a wee bit spoiled. Still, I’ve enjoyed my first day. Hopefully, the rest of my time with her goes this smoothly because I need this job. I can’t live off Tamara forever, no matter what she says. I came to Chicago to be independent, to finally discover what it is to stand on my own two feet. I can’t do that leaning on her for something as basic as where I lay my head.

My phone vibrates against my butt, and I pull it from my back pocket. Speak of the devil. This is probably Tamara checking in on me, even though she should be heading to the club by now. When I called her earlier to let her know I wouldn’t be home until after nine, since Von texted earlier to see if I could stay because his last appointment was running late, she hadn’t been happy about me taking a rideshare late at night.

I glance down at the phone’s screen, and my stomach bottoms out. Dread rushes in like the Coosa River during rainy season. I suck in air like my head just broke over those rushing waters, making me lightheaded. I stumble over to Gia’s bed and sink down onto it.

My mother.

It isn’t the first time she or my father or Gregory has called. Oh no. In the first week after I disappeared from the church, they’d called nonstop. Almost as if they could bully me into answering. But they obviously underestimated my fear of talking to them. I’m afraid that if I did, I’d cave and let them convince me into returning home. I’m not foolish enough to believe that just because I’ve been out from under my father’s thumb for a couple of weeks, I’ve suddenly developed a backbone when it comes to him.

No, I’m still weak. Still that daughter desperate to please him. To win his approval.

Maybe deep inside, I’ll always be her.

But I’m determined to give myself a chance to find out if that’s true. And I can’t do that by speaking to Bishop Timothy James Montgomery. The commanding, imposing Bishop of Greater Faith Christian Ministries. And as one of his flock, he would expect me to obey.

I sit there, staring at the phone long enough for it to stop ringing. Just as I exhale a relieved breath, it begins ringing again.

This is silly. I can’t not speak to them forever.

If I came to Chicago for change, to stand on my own, then running and avoiding calls isn’t the way to start off. Here I am at my new job, a week away from college starting. I did these things by myself, no help or input—or demands—from anyone. I can talk to my parents. Mom anyway. She’ll be an easier place to start than Dad.

Closing my eyes and offering up a small prayer for strength, I press Answer. “Hey, Mom.”

A beat of silence passes then, “Aaliyah Renee Montgomery, where have you been?”

I pinch the bridge of my nose. Not only is she using my full government name, but her voice is raised. I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve heard Georgia Marie Montgomery use her outside voice. And one of them was when a bat flew into the house and the other when...well, there was that other time.

Skirting away from that thought, I clear my throat. “I’ve missed your calls, Mom. I’m sorry about that.”

“Missed my calls,” she repeats, her volume down about half a notch. “That would imply you mistakenly turned your ringer off, misplaced your phone or didn’t see all the missed calls. No, Aaliyah Renee, you’ve been avoiding me and your father.”

Since she’s right, I don’t say anything.

Her heavy sigh echoes in my ear, and the disappointment weighing down the sound settles on top of my chest like a soaked blanket. Forget Catholic guilt. My mother has sackcloth and ashes down to a perfect science.

“I don’t understand any of this,” she says, and I can imagine her shaking her head, a confused frown wrinkling her forehead. “What can you possibly be thinking to just up and disappear like this? And without a word—”

“I texted you and Daddy to let you know I was safe,” I interject.

“Two days after you left,” she snaps, and a moment later, I catch her quiet but audible indrawn breath. “Do you know what those two days were like for me? For your father? Torture. Not knowing what happened to you. If you were safe or dead on the side of a road somewhere.”

“I’m sorry, Mom,” I murmur. “That was selfish of me not to contact you sooner. I didn’t think.”

“No, you didn’t,” she says. Another pause and another soft inhale. “Okay, baby. What’s done is done. Where are you now?”

On a reflex that’s inbred in me, I part my lips to tell her my location. An elder asks you a question, you answer. That’s how I was raised, and you better be quick about it. But at the last second, I snap my mouth shut and swallow the information. No. That was the old Aaliyah. This one is in self-preservation mode. And it’s only the fear that she’ll show up here, my father and Gregory right with her, that keeps me quiet.

Fear. I tell you, it’s a motivation stronger than love.

One of my father’s favorite Scriptures to quote is 2 Timothy, chapter 1, verse 7. “For God has not given us a spirit of fear, but of power, and of love, and a sound mind.”

Well, in this moment, I don’t have any of those virtues. Fear is definitely driving this bus.

“Aaliyah, you don’t hear me talking to you?”

“I heard you, Mom.”

“Then answer me. Where are you?”

I swallow, staring at the closed door of Gia’s bathroom, her innocent humming—now Beyonce’s “Cuff It”—a discordant soundtrack to this conversation.

“I can’t...tell you that, Mom.”

Silence buzzes in my ear. I close my eyes, waiting on the explosion. I don’t have to wait long.

“Excuse me?” she asks, her tone low, angry. Even a little confused.

Join the club. I’m confused about where I found the courage to disobey her.

Obedience. To the Lord. To my father. To my future husband. To my mother. That’s the hierarchy that’s been drummed into me from the time I could grasp the meaning. Obedience above all, and to not submit is an offense not just against my parents and now Gregory, but also against God.

The nearly instinctive urge to give in, to surrender, rises within me so strong, if I wasn’t sitting, I might sway on my feet. But I look around this little girl’s room, and it’s pink-and-purple color scheme symbolizes the new beginning I’m trying to carve out for myself. That gives me an iota of strength, just enough to hold out and not buckle under the weight of expectations that have sat on my shoulders and chest for...well, forever.

“I’m sorry, but I can’t tell you where I am.”

“You mean you won’t tell me.”

I shrug although she can’t see it. “That, too.” Before she can speak again, I say, “I don’t mean to hurt or embarrass you and Daddy, but this is a decision I made, and I’m sticking to it. I’m sorry for the way I handled it—”

“Handled it like a thief sneaking out in the middle of the night.”

I blow out a breath. She’s right. That’s exactly what I did. And though I did what I had to, I am a little ashamed of how I went about it. I was in survival mode. But Mom wouldn’t understand that if I tried to explain my reasons. She’s perfectly content as first lady of my father’s church. As his wife. With her voice being an exact reflection of his. And I’m not looking down on her for her choices. But they’re not mine. Not any longer. Maybe not ever.

“I did, and I apologized for that. If you need for me to do it again, then I’m sorry.”

“I don’t want your apology, Aaliyah Renee. I want you to use the money I just sent you to buy a plane ticket and come home. Everything else we can talk about when you get here—with your family. Gregory has been at his wit’s end, but he’s willing to forgive and reschedule the wedding. Although because of the wasted time and money, it will be decidedly smaller—”

I commit the cardinal sin of interrupting her and say, “That’s not going to happen, Mom. After leaving Gregory at the altar, there’s no way he’s forgiving me, and he most definitely isn’t forgetting.” I have zero doubts he’d go through with the wedding anyway. But it would be less about being madly in love with me and more about being related to the great Bishop Montgomery. But I’ll keep that to myself. “And I don’t want to marry him. Which is why I left in the first place.”

Part of the reason, but a major one.

“You don’t know what you want.” She sucks her teeth, and in my head, I can easily picture Mom rubbing her forehead. “You never said anything—”

“I did, Mom. In so many ways. You just weren’t listening. But I definitely said it when I left the church.”

And yet here she was, on my phone, ordering me to return home and consign myself to a stifling life that would suffocate me, silence me. No, she still wasn’t listening. I’d literally run away , and she still didn’t see.

“You are not four, young lady, you’re twenty-four. Much too old to be throwing temper tantrums and acting rashly. Our God is not one of confusion, Aaliyah. He keeps His word, and doesn’t go back on it. We are supposed to model our own lives and actions after Him, and this is not godly. It’s not righteous. We’ve raised you better than this.” She tsks. “Your actions don’t just affect you, Aaliyah. Your father, the church, Gregory, his family... Do you have any idea how it makes them—us—look? You’ve humiliated us by this behavior—especially your father in the eyes of the church. How do you expect people to believe he can lead his flock when his own daughter doesn’t follow him? No, ma’am, now isn’t the time for childish excuses. You have to be an adult and make it right. So buy that ticket and use it. I don’t want to hear anything else unless you’re telling it to my face. I will see you in two days when we pick you up at the airport.”

She hangs up on me, and for a long moment, I hold the cell to my ear, listening to the silence that echoes with her cutting words. Her disappointment in me is a physical thing, and I lift my other hand to my throat, rubbing it. As if the gesture can open my lungs and expel the grime that’s impossible to wash away. It’s embedded in my skin, my heart...my soul.

“Aaliyah!” Gia’s voice penetrates the cloud wrapped around me in the wake of that phone call. “I’m finished!”

Slowly exhaling, I stand and move toward the bathroom. The heaviness doesn’t evaporate from my chest, but I can’t dwell on that or the two-day ultimatum Mom issued. I have a job to do.

“I’m coming, Gia.” Knocking on the door, I wait a couple of seconds before entering.

Forty-five minutes and three bedtime stories later, I close the door on Gia’s room, her nightlight spilling a soft glow that pushes back the dark. Smiling, I head down the hall, detouring to the kitchen. I’ve had the stove fan blowing since my, uh, attempt at cooking Gia dinner. I flip the switch, shutting off the noise. I sniff the air several times. Nope. I think the lingering odor of burned ground beef has finally dissipated. Note to self: if I’m going to be here late and have to make dinner again, DoorDash it. It’s not only more edible but also not a fire hazard.

Sighing, I make my way to the living room and sink down to the couch, grabbing my bag. Removing my sketch pad and pencils, I settle down, losing myself in the drawing of Gia I’d started while she went wild with slime. Not a long time later, the front door opens and Von walks into the foyer.

Or stalks.

This man doesn’t do anything as simple as “walk.” With power and sexuality that wraps around him, he charges ahead like the perfect male animal he is, expecting everyone to get out of his way.

Perfect on the outside anyway.

That inside could use a little work, though.

Just thinking back on how he talked to me at the tattoo shop earlier makes my whole head itch. I can honestly say I’ve never met anyone like Von before in my life. Someone who doesn’t seem to care what flies out of his mouth or if it’ll offend. Who commands a room just by walking into it and expects everyone to bend to his will.

He reminds me of Dad in that, but while Dad uses Scripture and a paternal affect, Von uses the handiest four-letter word and that intimidating growl.

And then there’s the way he has of making everything sound so...erotic. Dirty.

I shiver as I recall his threat from earlier.

You might want to kill that shit, ma. That and the little attitude you call yourself having gon’ get you in trouble you don’t want .

I might be inexperienced, but I’m not na?ve. I know the “trouble” he referred to. I’ve seen 365 Days and have read my fair share of urban fiction. All on the down-low since I didn’t feel like being shamed by my parents, but still...

Knowing what he’s talking about and experiencing it? Two totally different things. And while my mind is all, Girl, please. You pass out after one flutter of that rose against your clit , my body—okay, my vagina, my whole vagina—is yelling, Assume the position and get your back broke!

It’s very disconcerting.

Maybe a tiny, secret-even-from-myself part of me didn’t accept the...vanilla kind of relationship I would have had with Gregory. But I would’ve walked down that aisle even if I wasn’t fully content. Satisfied.

And that’s the problem, isn’t it?

Just one look into Von’s beautiful gray eyes has my poor kitty cat throbbing in a way that makes me acutely aware of what I’ve been lacking.

As he moves into the living room, that silver gaze centered on me, it takes every bit of control not to lower my eyes to avoid the intensity that seems to be part and parcel of him.

“Hey.” He stops next to the couch, taking in my curled up legs and the pad in my lap before returning his scrutiny to my face. Quickly, I shove the sketch pad and pencils back in my bag. “Gia in bed?”

Grudgingly, I give him cool points for asking about his daughter first. I can’t say he doesn’t love Gia and put her welfare first. Too bad he’s an ass about it.

See? He’s already a bad influence. Got me cursing. Even to myself.

“Yes, she’s been out like a light for the last ten minutes or so.”

He nods. “You fuck my truck up?”

I squint at him. “No.”

“You didn’t reply to my text after you got back here.”

“Sorry about that. I figured the text before that telling you we made it home would suffice.”

“I don’t pay you to ‘figure’ anything. Especially not when it comes to Gia. Until both of us are comfortable with this new arrangement, I’m staying on your ass about my daughter. I don’t play about that one.”

Had I said he was beautiful? That attitude makes him look like an orc.

“I understand,” I say, proud of the unbothered note in my voice.

“How did the day go? You make out okay?”

“It went well. We made slime, had lunch, came back, completed her schoolwork, played some games and then got prison tats to commemorate the day’s success.”

Oh God. Did I say that out loud?

“Yeah, ma, you did,” he says, and though his tone remains even, his eyes narrow on me.

I wince and try to make up for my loose lips. “I’m sorry. Not a good time for humor—”

“No, it isn’t. Not when it comes to my daughter.”

“I’m sorry,” I apologize again and rise from the couch. Now seems as good a time as any to get out of here. While I still have a job. “Well, if that’s all, I’ll get going. What time should I be here in the morning?” I ask, grabbing my purse and my phone. I tap on the rideshare app. By the time I put on my coat and make it outside, my Uber should be here. And I can leave before I talk myself out of a job.

“What’re you doing?” he asks.

“Just requesting an Uber.” I frown. Well shoot. The nearest one is ten minutes away. There’s no telling what might fly out of my mouth given that amount of time. Anything from “Your daughter must get her sunny disposition from her mother” to “You must work out a lot, huh? Tattooing don’t give you thighs like that.”

“Nah, cancel that. You’re not going to need it.”

I glance up from my phone. “I’m not?” Then it dawns on me what he’s saying, and I’m shaking my head so hard, the end of my high ponytail smacks the corner of my eye. “No, I appreciate the thought, but you don’t have to give me a ride. I’m fine. And besides, you shouldn’t wake Gia after she’s already in bed. I have pepper spray on my key chain that my cousin bought me the first day I got here...”

My babbling trails off when I realize that, A , I’m babbling, and B , he’s silently staring at me like I’ve lost my mind. Or I could be projecting.

“You finished?” he finally asks.

“Yes.”

“Good. As I was saying, cancel the Uber and come with me.”

He doesn’t wait for my reply, just turns and walks out of the living room. I frown at his retreating back. He could’ve at least asked instead of ordering me. I mean, is that so hard? To be polite? Sheesh...

“Aye, you can talk shit and walk. Let’s go.”

Heaving a sigh, I slide my crossbody purse over my head and follow him. I move into the foyer, where he stands beside the front door, big hand grasping the knob.

“And to answer your question, that was me being polite. I can show you mean as fuck if you want...” he offers, eyebrow arched.

“No, thanks, I’ll pass.”

He stares at me another long moment, one where I fight not to squirm. I even hike my chin up for good measure.

Ain’t nobody scared of him.

Mostly.

“Anyone ever tell you getting mouthy with your employer is a good way to get your lil’ ass fired?”

No. Mainly because this is my first real job. Babysitting and children’s church didn’t count. One never gave me a W-2, and the other didn’t pay. But this probably isn’t the best time to point that out. I should also wait to point out that addressing me in any manner that includes my ass doesn’t seem appropriate. Since he’s pulling the door open and moving outside, he most likely doesn’t expect an answer anyway.

As soon as I step out onto the porch, Von trots down the front steps and strides over to his driveway. I follow behind him at a slower pace, confusion swirling in my head.

On the top step, I glance behind me at the door he left wide open. If he is taking me home, shouldn’t he be going back for Gia? Anyone could walk into the house. Even in Parsons, we lock our doors, and we haven’t had a murder in our town since ’04.

“Aaliyah.” The impatience he pours into my name is etched into his frown. “I’ve been standing here for fucking eighty-four years. Could you bring your ass?”

I can’t quit. I need this job. And I can’t cut him . If leaving Gregory at the altar embarrassed my father, going to jail for assault with a deadly weapon will send him to the upper room. I remind myself of all the consequences as I—cough—bring my ass down the stairs and over to him.

“Here.” He dangles a key chain in front of me.

“What’s this?” I return his frown. “I don’t need a key to your truck. I appreciate it, but I don’t feel comfortable driving it home. I’m not even on your insurance—”

He snorts. “Yeah, like hell that’s happening again. Today was a one-off. Here,” he repeats, but this time, he grabs my hand and drops the keys into my open palm. “These are for that.”

He nods to the jeep behind his truck, and nope, I’m still not getting it. Partly because my brain short-circuited when he touched me. It was the first time we had contact of any kind, and that hard, calloused hand cupping mine sent a bolt of lightning through me. Residual currents still crackle, and I force air through my lungs. As if he’d stroked that big hand over my breasts, my nipples and between my thighs?

I’ve never gone instantly wet. Even with my clit vibrator, it takes a few minutes to get to that point. But with one platonic touch, he’s done it. High and deep, I throb, ache.

Oh God. This isn’t good. Not good at all.

I step back, knocking his hand from mine, the uneven edges of the key denting my palm. If Von is wondering about my odd reaction, he doesn’t show it. He opens the driver’s-side door, reaches inside and pulls out a couple of papers.

“Here.” He extends them toward me, and when I don’t immediately take them, he shifts closer. “Take them, Aaliyah.”

Without my permission, my fingers grab the papers. I don’t know. Maybe it’s years of being obedient that has me unconsciously reacting to his demand. I glance down at the sheets, and three words across the top snare my attention.

Bill of Sale.

“What is this?” I’m staring at the form, but the meaning of it... “Why are you handing me a bill of sale for this—” I drop my gaze to the sheet again “—2021 Jeep Grand Cherokee Laredo X?”

“Because it’s yours, Aaliyah,” he enunciates as if he’s speaking to a kindergartner who’s learning syllables. “And you’re going to need to keep that paperwork in the car while I get your permanent tag and the final title.”

“What?” I gasp. “Nope. Nopenopenope. You can’t try to make me sound like I’m crazy because I’m questioning why you’ve bought me a car .”

I promise, I didn’t mean to yell at him. On my mama, I didn’t. And when his chin jerks back, I pinch the bridge of my nose, silently praying for the patience of Job and Jesus.

“Who you yelling at, lil’ mama?” He mugs me. “I know you gon’ take that bass out your voice.”

I exhale, long and low. Dropping my arm, I meet his glare.

“Excuse me for being a little shocked when someone—a someone I’ve known a matter of hours—gifts me with a car.”

“That’s the most fucked-up way I’ve heard someone say thank you.” He crosses his arms over his wide chest. “Look, Aaliyah, I haven’t forgotten that you start school soon. What if you get out of class late and my daughter has to wait around while you get a ride? Nah, at the end of the day, this ain’t got shit to do with you and everything to do with my daughter. This isn’t Bumfuck, Alabama. I told you before, bad shit can and does happen.”

“And I can’t let you just give me a car . ”

When his brow arches higher, I turn down the volume of my voice. “Sorry, but even in Parsons, Alabama , we don’t just gift people with vehicles.” I blow out another hard breath. “Look, Von, I appreciate the gesture but—Hey! We’re not finished talking!”

“I am. And I’m also tired and hungry,” Von throws over his shoulder as he walks toward his house, not even glancing back at me. “Get your Parsons, Alabama , ass in that car and go home. And be back here no later than 7:15. School starts at 7:45, and my baby hates being late.”

“But we’re not finished—”

“’Night, Aaliyah.” He climbs the front steps, and seconds later, the front door slams shut.

I stand there in the cool night air, hearing only the faint sound of traffic from several streets over and the cheerful chirping of insects. I wait a couple of minutes, certain he’s going to come back outside so we can discuss this like rational adults. But not only doesn’t he return, he shuts the porch light off, casting me in shadows.

This mutha —nope. I shut the thought down. He will not take me there. But whew, was I close.

Opening my hand, I stare down at the keys then shift my gaze to the bill of sale. Then over to the Jeep Cherokee. Then back to the paper again.

“Holy...”

My eyes bug out of my head. No. No way. He paid eighteen thousand dollars for this car! I shift through the other papers, praying I see something about financing and him putting down like two or three—and even that is way too much!—for a deposit. But no, he paid out all that money, and I own the car, free and clear.

Who does that? No, seriously, who. Does. That?

Drug dealers .

Oh, so he got to be a drug dealer ’cause he Black and has available cash .

No, because who you know got that much cash just sitting around?

This successful Black man who owns and runs his own business. Stop counting his money!

While the voices in my head go back and forth, I stare at the new-to-me car that’s still there. Not going anywhere.

My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I pull it free and glance down at the screen.

Bad Boss: If I have 2 come back out there & put u in that truck u not gon like it. I will but u wont

Dammit.

Completely inappropriate excitement filters through my veins at that not-so-subtle warning. My belly bottoms out, and not from hunger. What is wrong with me? I should be angry, offended that he just threatened to manhandle me, not, not... turned on .

Forget him.

I’m his nanny, not his property. I’m my own person. I have free will, and he can’t steal that from me. He’s the boss of my job not my life.

“And I’m taking this damn car because I want to, not because he told me to,” I mutter, marching over to the Jeep and climbing in.

Great. Now he’s had me curse two times in as many minutes.

That man is a menace.

“And no, the new-car smell isn’t amazing.” I let loose a squeal seeing its keyless ignition, but quickly cut it off. “No, that’s not cool. Heated seats? Get. Out,” I whisper, cringing at the awe in my voice.

The 2015 Camry my parents bought for me to use, but did not put in my name, didn’t have all these amenities. I feel like I’m sitting in a luxury car.

I mean, it’s aight.

Shifting the car into Reverse, I carefully back out of Von’s driveway. The car has a navigation system, but for now, I’ll use the GPS on my phone to get back to Tamara’s.

Speaking of Tamara...

I pull up to the stop sign at the end of Von’s street, head to my Favorites list and tap my cousin’s name. The phone barely rings once before her voice pours through the cell’s speaker.

“Girl, you need to be glad you called me when you did. I was about to tell these people fuck that pole and come find you. Where you been, Liyah?” she demands.

Though her irritation pours out of each word, so does her concern. And it’s that last emotion that has my lips curling into a smile. Her worry is so different from my mother’s during our earlier conversation. Mom’s had been smothering, guilt-inducing and controlling. But Tamara’s is genuine and not selfish.

“I’m sorry, Tamara. I intended to call you back. I’m just leaving work now.”

“Now? It’s almost nine thirty. I don’t like you having to take a rideshare so late. Not when you’re still new here. Is this going to be a normal thing?”

I shrug and slowly roll out into the intersection. The GPS instructs me to keep straight for another quarter mile.

“I don’t think so, although he did warn me there would be a few late nights a month. It’s fine, though. The little girl is sweet.” Unlike her daddy. “And once we had dinner—”

“Aw, hell no. Please tell me you didn’t cook for that baby.” She sounds truly appalled and about six seconds away from calling CPS.

“Really, Tamara? Really?”

I huff out a breath. Tamara must’ve been Sherlock in another life because that DoorDash cover story didn’t work for long. The spirit of deduction is strong in that one.

“Listen, you can do a bomb-ass banana pudding. But I don’t know what the fuck you called yourself trying to fry the other night.”

“Chicken.” I frown. “It was chicken.”

“Mmkay. I’ma let you make it. Make that delusional shit you talking, that is. But not chicken. You can’t ever make no more of that. Had to take my damn curtains to the cleaners,” she mutters.

“It wasn’t that—” I cut my own self off from uttering that lie.

“Ma’am? It wasn’t what?” Tamara snorts. “Uh-huh. For the life of me, I don’t get it, though. I’ve had Auntie Georgia’s cooking. She can throw down in the kitchen. How that gene just skip a generation?” She chuckles. “How you Black, Southern as hell and can’t cook? That’s like breaking some law, ain’t it?”

“Don’t you need to get to work?” I grind out.

“Yeah, I do. And can do it in peace now that I know you’re good. How close are you to home? Do I need to stay on the phone until you make it there?”

“No, that won’t be necessary. I’m, um...” I hedge, flicking my signal light on to turn right toward the interstate exit. “I’m not in an Uber.”

Tamara’s quiet for a beat. “Why didn’t you tell me you were in that man’s car?” she hisses.

“Von isn’t giving me a ride home.”

“Yeah, I give in. I’m lost.”

“Tamara.” I slow down at another four-way stop and scan the dashboard, console and passenger seat like it’s the first time I’ve seen them. “Why this man buy me a car?”

Another beat of silence. This one so long I catch the faint sound of music and the loud chatter of women in the background.

“Say what now?” The noise in the background dulls, and I’m guessing she must’ve moved to another room. “Now, repeat that. He did what?”

“He bought me a car.” I huff out a laugh and guide my new Jeep toward the on-ramp. “I don’t care how many times I say it, I still can’t believe it. And I’m sitting in the thing!”

“Bitch! Girl, not you. Mind your business.” I’m assuming she didn’t direct that last part toward me. “Sorry ’bout that. One thing I can’t stand about working around a bunch of women is they always in your business with their petty asses,” she mutters. “But anyway... Bitch! You’re driving home in a new car? Right now?”

“Yes! With seat warmers!” I shake my head, hearing myself sounding like a country bumpkin, but I can’t help it. Dad’s Rolls Royce Ghost has heated seats, but I’ve never driven it. Shoot, he barely lets me sit in it. And this is supposedly mine . “And he paid eighteen thousand dollars for it.”

I don’t know why I’m back to whispering that when it’s just me in the car and her on the line. It just feels like that amount of money needs to be uttered with some kind of reverence.

“Now, cous...” She clears her throat. “I’m not judging, I promise. But you taking care of more than his daughter?”

“What?” I gape at the car in front of me on the interstate. “You don’t mean... Hell no!”

“My bad, damn. I’ve made you curse.” Tamara cracks up, and my frown deepens at her laughter. “I had to ask. These men in here have handed me thousands in cash, vacations, Chanel purses, red-bottom shoes and even the key to a time-share. But never gifted a car. Shiiiit, I wanted to ask for pointers.” She cracks up again, and after a moment, I snicker. “But for real, though. What did he say? I mean, I knew Von Howard was paid but damn .”

“He brought me outside and just handed me the keys and a bill of sale, saying it wasn’t safe for his daughter to be riding back and forth in Ubers. And then he threatened me into taking it. God, how can a man be generous and so rude at the same time?”

Tamara laughs again, and I’m glad one of us finds this amusing. I guess she didn’t hear the part where I said he threatened me.

“Aaliyah, you’re so damn dramatic.”

Dramatic? Me? I mean, yes, I did run away from the altar like I was about to be sacrificed on it, but that was the most dramatic thing I’ve done in my life.

“Listen, real talk,” she says, “this is like the third time you’ve mentioned him being rude or mean. Babe, you’re no doormat. That may be hard for you to remember given you’re on the run...” I snort, and she chuckles. “Where the lie? Like your ass in witness protection the way you got me lying to the family about if I’ve heard from you. But I mean what I said. You have issues standing up to your parents, especially Uncle Tim, but you’ve never had that issue with anyone else.”

I stay quiet because, right now, contrary to what she’s said, I can feel the footprints marching up and down my back.

“Yeah, you’re on the quiet side, but you always checked anyone who mistook that for weakness. I remember that time Mother Johnson came at you and asked when you were going to lose weight, that men didn’t want big women. You looked her straight in the eye and told her that if God had a ram in the bush for her then, surely, He would find one for you, too.” She cracks up. “The shade! Your ass even smiled like you were complimenting that old biddy.”

“She kept trying me,” I mutter. “Thinking just ’cause she older she got a pass to say whatever she wants. Age should give you wisdom not a license to be hurtful. I said what I said, and I’m still not taking it back.” Chuckling, I switch lanes, obeying the GPS’s directions. “She didn’t say anything else to me, though.”

“That’s what I’m talking about, Liyah. When you get out of your head and feelings, you don’t take shit from anyone. You’re a helluva lot nicer than me and use less profanity, but you have a mouth and a backbone. I overheard what you told Von this morning when he called asking for your help. That he couldn’t speak to you any ol’ way. Stand on that, babe. He seems like the kind of man who will roll right over you if you allow it. You need to start that job how you mean to continue. You a bad bitch, but if you don’t believe it, how you expect anyone else to?”

She’s right. I know she’s right. About Von and definitely about setting the stage for where our employer-employee relationship will go from here.

“You’re right,” I murmur.

“I know I’m right.”

I smile then huff out a breath. “Can I be honest?”

“Of course.”

“He scares me,” I softly admit.

“Hol’ the fuck up,” Tamara snarls, and her anger streams through the line, damn near burning my cheek. “I laughed off that threatening shit, but were you serious? Has he done something? Did he touch you? Nope, nope, he got me all the way fucked-up—”

“No, Tamara, no.” I laugh. “Please don’t leave that club and pull up on his shop.” I laugh harder as she continues to hurl insults at Von’s head. And dick. Okay, no, not going down that road. “Other than what I told you, he hasn’t been abusive or anything. And by threatening , I meant he told me to get in the truck or he would put me in there.”

An involuntary shiver trips down my spine.

“Oh. Girl, you should’ve led with that because I was about to say fuck this job and go find him. Big muthafucka or not, he was about to see me,” she mumbles.

Since I’m alone, I do nothing to contain my grin. My cousin plays tough, but she possesses the hugest heart.

“So, what’re you talking about that he scares you?” she asks.

I sigh, and a part of me wishes I hadn’t said anything. Not because I don’t trust Tamara. But because I feel kind of silly now.

“Aaliyah?” she presses.

“Maybe scare is the wrong word. He makes me nervous. Like, tonight I started babbling a couple of times. I feel like I don’t even know myself, but at the same time I feel more myself than I’ve been in a long time.” I shake my head. “I know I’m not making much sense.”

“Oh, babe.” Tamara sighs and falls silent. The muted cacophony of women’s voices and the thump of heavy music pulses in my ear. “Don’t fall for him.”

“What?” I practically screech. Coughing, I clear my throat and repeat, “What?”

“You heard me. Don’t fall for him.”

“I wouldn’t—that’s not even... Of course not,” I protest.

“That’s what you’re saying. Liyah, I see the appeal. He’s gorgeous, tatted up, has BDE and is successful. And no matter how much you talk about how rude he is, I bet a part of you even likes that. Or, at least, your pussy does. But I’m warning you,” she says over my sputtering at the casual mention of my...vagina, “don’t do it. He might be fine, but he’s also a shitload of heartache and pain. Promise me you’ll keep it professional and won’t get involved with him.”

“I promise,” I quickly say, and when I’m greeted with a very loaded silence on her end, I repeat, “I promise, Tamara. Even though you have it all wrong. It’s not like that.”

Of course, I’ve noticed how hot he is, and okay, my body perks up like a groundhog seeing its shadow when he’s within breathing distance. But fall for him ?

No. Excuse my language, but hell, no.

I just escaped—a terrible relationship. God knows, the last thing I need is another one. And nothing about Von Howard screams commitment. Call me a prude or an uptight preacher’s kid, but I’m not built for one-night stands, or no strings attached...situationships.

But if I were to lose every God-given sense I own and have sex with Von... What would happen when all that ended? And let’s be clear—it would eventually end. I wouldn’t be able to separate sex from emotion. Then I would be out of a job.

Bottom line. I need this job. It’s making a way for me to stay in Chicago, to go to school, to be self-sufficient.

To be free.

I don’t care how big Von’s dick is or how good he can sling it. It’s not worth my freedom.

And dang it, I have to stop thinking about that man’s penis!

“Uh-huh.” Skepticism drips from her tone. “All right, Liyah, I have to go. If that girl pokes her head in here one more time to see what I’m doing, she gon’ see another side of me. Since I don’t want to lose my job, let me get out there. You good?”

“Yes, I’m not far from your place now.”

“Good. Still text me when you get there.”

“I will. Bye and have a great night.”

I end the call and set the phone in the middle console.

Her concern sends warmth spreading through me like a sip of hot coffee. I’ll make it back to her apartment nice and safe, and I’ll stay that way with Von. I know she’s uncertain, but I can show her better than I can tell her.

I’m here to go to college and stand on my own two feet. Nothing and no one will get in the way of that. I won’t let it.