Cocky

Chapter 27 Et Tu Brute?

twenty-seven

et tu brute?

Jabari.

I don’t know how long I stand outside their door before I actually knock.

Long enough for the apology I practised in the car to stop sounding like an apology

Long enough for me to wonder if this is even worth it.

Long enough to realise that if I leave without trying, I’m exactly the kind of man she accused me of being last night when I called her.

A coward.

That’s all she said before hanging up and not returning my calls.

So I knock.

Properly.

Footsteps answer after a while and when the lock turns, the door opens.

Frankie stands there barefoot in one of my oversized sleep tees she refuses to admit I gave her, locs tied up in a loose bun that looks like she just woke up from a nap.

My jelly-bean does love her sleep.

For a second, I forget what I came here to do.

Then I remember when she shrugs her shoulders, beckoning me to state my reasoning for appearing in front of her as if it wasn’t obvious.

“You look tired.”

“Yeah well, I was up all night comforting my friend.”

My eyes move past her automatically.

“Is she here?”

“No.”

I frown. “No?”

“She’s at the rehearsals.”

My brain takes a second to catch up with that information because I came here prepared to face both of them and explain my actions once.

“Oh. That’s fine,” I correct quickly. “I’ll wait.”

“Wait outside.”

She says it like it’s not up for discussion as she starts to shut the door.

I stop it with my foot. “Can I come in?”

“No.”

“Jelly—”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Okay, okay. Francine,” I push the door open to reveal my face. “Please, let me in.”

She hesitates.

And that hesitation wrecks me because Frankie hasn’t hesitated to let me in in a long time.

She steps aside anyway.

I walk past her into the flat and look around.

Everything smells the same.

The kettle must’ve been on recently because the air is warm. There’s two mugs on the coffee table, one of which has lipstick on the rim that I know isn’t hers.

It looks normal but it feels anything but.

She shuts the door behind me.

“Please don’t tell me you’re looking around for niggas. Because dealing with your nonsense is enough.”

“No, it’s not that.” I look at her and shove my hands in my pocket. “I just was kicking myself for fucking this up so quickly.”

She folds her arms, not going for it.

“You can just say what you came to say,” she says. “I’ll pass it on.”

“I didn’t want to leave a message.”

“Well, Za’s not here and I’m busy so...”

There’s a shrug in her voice that makes it sound like she doesn’t care whether I stay or go and I don’t matter either way.

I swallow. “I just came to apologise for yesterday.”

She doesn’t even blink. “You mean when your mum embarrassed your sister in front of the entire party and you defended it?”

Here we go.

I run a hand down my face. “You don’t know what it’s like to be in that position, Francine.”

“I know what it’s like to keep your word,” she bites back. “You said you had her back.”

“I do have her back.”

“You didn’t yesterday.”

“Because it wasn’t that simple—”

“It is that simple!” she cuts in. “You either stand up for your sister or you don’t.”

“And you think it’s easy for me to do that with my mum? Or my parents on a whole”

“I think you shouldn’t have promised something you couldn’t follow through on!”

“I was going too! I swear I was, baby. I just— I— didn’t,” my breathing feels off. “I couldn’t.”

She stares at me for a moment. Then walks towards the kitchen.

“Francine—”

“Sit,” she nods towards the couch. I still stand there awkwardly breathing as she pours me a glass of water.

She walks over and ushers me to the seat, placing the glass in my hand. “Sit down, Jabari. Calm yourself and talk.”

I nod but don’t take a sip, the cold in my hand feels nice though.

“I got so much to say and no place to start.”

“Pick somewhere,” she sits next to me, close enough to touch yet far enough that I’d have to reach.

“When I was primary, yeah?” I begin. “I always used to play after school with my friends.

Sometimes they would have their older brothers join us and they were brutal.

The way they spoke to one another, the way they played, it was just mental really.

I remember this one senior, he was a friend of one of my friends' brothers. His name was Tjay.”

“Jabari, what does this have to do with anything?” She drags.

“You said pick somewhere and start so this is where I’m starting now hush.”

She sucks her teeth and flips me off but lets me continue.

“Anyway, Tjay was a real footballer. I looked up to him a lot. Like, he never played when it was muddy, and he never let anyone touch his kit. Not even to clean it. I remember thinking this brudda is crazy. But no one else thought that because he earned his respect on the pitch. The way he played demanded respect even. When he graduated, I thought maybe I’d fill his spot when I got older, you know what I mean?

So I just started acting like him. I keep my kit clean myself, playing cleaner, demanding respect off the pitch. ”

“Being a dickhead,” she nods along.

“Oi, you telling the story or me?”

Now I get an eye roll. “Hurry up then.”

“Eventually. It just became a habit. I liked the way I carried myself. I liked the discipline it gave me. I truly believe that it made me play better. It has to be true because in Year Eleven, I got peered up to play with the older boys. And honestly, looking back, even I knew I was doing a lot. But when the captain told me about it… let’s just say I didn’t take it lightly. ”

“Fight?”

“…yeah. Broke his maxilla in two places.”

“Jesus Christ.”

“Yep.”

“Did he press charges?”

“No. But my parents paid for the damages. After that, they shipped me off to Nigeria on a one way flight and almost went bankrupt to keep me there. We never spoke of it ever again”

“… You did all that and they have the nerve to be hard on Za?!”

I scoff, “And can you believe I still had the nerve to be upset with them? Sometimes, I feel upset with them because if they manned up and parented me correctly, me and my sister wouldn’t be going through this right now.

I’m upset with them because I feel so guilty that I put them in that position to begin with.

I’m upset my parents aren’t treating Za right but a part of me feels like I don’t have a leg to stand on because of my own issues with their parenting. ”

“It sounds like you're upset with yourself.”

I pause. “Why would I be?”

“Because,” she scoots close. “You feel like everything that’s going wrong in your family is your responsibility.

But it’s not. Honestly, it’s not Za’s fault either.

The truth is you two were raised by two different parents.

They were passive with you when they should’ve been stricter and they were strict with Za when they could’ve given her some freedom.

With you being here now, especially after you found success, it’s a lot easier for them to point at you and highlight your life against Za’s and you let them get away with it ‘cause you don’t want to be on their bad side. ”

Wow.

“So. I really am a coward.”

She doesn’t speak.

“I’m trying to learn,” I say. “I’m trying to be better for you and Za.”

Still nothing.

“Talk to me. Tell me what you think. Tell me how I can fix it.”

“I really don’t know what to say, Jabari.”

I grab her hands. “Do you think Za will forgive me?”

“I don’t know,” she looks down at our fingers intertwined. “But I don’t think this will make it any better.”

“So what are you saying? We shouldn’t tell her?”

Her lips fold in, the expression on her face saying it all.

“You think we should end this.”

Her eyes close. “I’m sorry.”

“Jelly. I know I messed up,” I continue. “But don’t tell me to stop this. When you told me I’m not the man you thought I was, my heart split in two because I’m trying to be that man right now. Please. Please don’t end this because I got it wrong once.”

I slide out the couch and kneel before her.

“Look at me. Just look at me.”

Her eyes gloss over. “Get up.”

“No.”

“Jabari—”

“I’m not getting up until you forgive me. Until you believe in me again.”

“Seriously. Get up.”

I don’t move.

I stay right there in front of her, close enough that I can see the way her throat moves when she swallows. Close enough that if I lean forward just a little more my forehead would rest against her stomach.

Her hands hover awkwardly at her sides, like she doesn’t know where to put them now that I’m here.

Now that I’m this close.

Now that I’m not leaving.

I lower myself even further, my fingers curl gently around the back of her calves.

Her breath catches. “Jabari…”

I don’t answer. Because if I speak, we might argue again.

If I speak, I might say the wrong thing again.

So instead I press my lips just above her ankle.

Her fingers twitch as I move higher, kissing the inside of her knee.

Her thigh.

Each press of my mouth linger longer than the last, as if I’m asking permission without using words. Like I’m saying I’m sorry in a language we could understand. Similar to her in Za’s own private language, this was just ours.

Her hand finally moves, but not to push me away.

It’s to grip my shoulder lightly.

I pause there, mouth hovering against the warmth of her thighs, waiting. Still giving her time to back out. Her lips part like she’s about to say something but I don’t confess first

“I still have more to go. I’m miles away from the man I was before but I’m nowhere close to the man I wanna be,” I admit.

She caress my cheek. “And who is it you wanna be, Jabari McKingsley?”

“Someone worthy of you.”

She softens. “You’re not as far as you think.”

I sigh in relief, cheeks resting against her thighs. “You’re not gonna leave me?”

“No, Bari.”

“You still love me?”

“Yes. I love you.”

I relax then, finding the nerve to continue to kiss her.