Chapter 15
T he sun dipped low over the horizon, melting into streaks of coral and indigo as the Dixon and Bennett families made their way down to the beach.
The sunset cruise had been canceled at Brooklyn’s behest—she had to make sure Davion was nice and calm—but she’d insisted they still go through with the bonfire. Daisy was skeptical, but they didn’t pay her the big money to argue, so naturally, she did what the client wanted.
She prayed nobody got to fighting out there.
Indeed, the tension from their earlier game night still hung in the air like a storm cloud. Except for the boys. They seemed oblivious to anything but their phones.
The chefs had already set up a large grill and were hard at work preparing platters of skewered shrimp, lamb, buttery corn, and roasted vegetables. The wine was chilled, old-school R&B music was playing, and a large fire crackled at the center of it all, its flames licking up toward the darkening sky.
Brooklyn stared into the flames, digging her bare toes into the cool sand. Her mother loved these bonfires. Memories flooded her mind—her and her brothers running around the fire with sparklers in their hands. The fireworks her father commissioned at random times of the year because he knew how much she loved them. The night swims.
She stared down at her toes, wiggling them as her eyes filled with tears.
“Hey.”
Davion hugged her from behind. “You okay?”
“Are you okay?”
He kissed the side of her neck, pulling her in tighter. “Yeah, you got me together.”
She chuckled at that. “Sex always gets you together. The question is, how long will it last?”
He breathed in deep, exhaling in her ear. “I said my piece. I’m good.”
Her eyes went to Orion, who had taken up a spot on a log with a bottle of rum in his hands.
“Today was a lot,” she said. “You handled it well. I’m proud of you, babe.”
“’Preciate it.” He nuzzled her neck with his nose. “And you didn’t answer my question.”
She blew out a sigh. “I miss her.”
“I know you do.”
“I’m okay,” she said softly. “Just feeling nostalgic.”
“As you should,” he said. “Baby, you can feel however you wanna feel. There’s no timeline for emotions.”
She smiled. “I see you’ve been doing your homework assignments.”
Pastor Bell’s pre-marital workbook was due on Saturday morning. Completed, he said, or there would be no wedding. It was a non-serious tradition every couple he married took very seriously.
“You ready to eat?” she asked.
“Not yet.” “He tightened his hold. “Let me just be here with you for a minute.”
She closed her eyes, bringing her hands to where his were locked around her waist. Together, they swayed back and forth to the rhythm of the waves and Luther Vandross’ voice, which seemed to be synced, at least in her head.
This was one of life’s beautiful moments.
A few feet away, Mark watched the couple, grateful that in the midst of the earlier foolishness, they still found a way to be present with each other. He turned up the last of his bottle of Budweiser, then plopped it in the sand at the same time his little sister plopped down on the log next to him, a glass of red in her hand.
“How you holdin’ up?” she asked him.
He shrugged. “I’m good. Ain’t my wedding.”
Mishon pursed her lips. Tight.
“You know what I mean.”
“Here you go.” He dragged a finger through the sand, feeling the grains swirl against his fingertips. “I miss her. Okay? Is that what you wanted to hear?”
“Not really,” she said. “I knew that. I wanna know if…you know…if being here is painful.”
“I’m here every few months, Mish. It gets easier every time.”
She nodded, turning her attention to the waves cresting against the shore. “I miss her, too.”
They sat in silence for a while. Mark thought about his late wife, how much she loved it out here, how empty it felt without her, and then he realized how much space he still held for love. He’d been convinced he’d never fall in love again, resigned to maybe a partnership or a companionship that met his physical needs. But this, what he saw when he looked at Cici…it was feeling a lot like love.
“How’s the practice?”
“A fucking mess.” He dragged his fingers through the sand again, this time sifting it, searching for a shell. “I’m suing Sterling’s ass right back.”
“Damn. He’s coming, right?”
“Yeah.”
Mishon blew out a breath. “Keep your cool.”
“Please. I ain’t lettin’ that fool get me off my square.”
She cut her eyes at her brother before something else caught her eye. Her gaze shifted to Sunny at the grill filling up her plate while her ex-husband stood a little too closely behind her.
“You really think nobody notices how you look at her?”
Mark frowned. “Who?”
Mishon tilted her head, twisting her lips. “Don’t do me, Markez. You know exactly who.”
He chuckled softly. “I’m a red-blooded man and she’s a beautiful woman. Alert the media. News at eleven.”
“It’s more than that,” she said. “Which, again, is obvious to anyone watching.”
“Then I guess it’s a good thing everybody’s too distracted by the wedding to pay any attention to little old me.”
She leaned in closer, lowering her voice. “I bet that don’t apply to her husband.”
“ Ex .” He allowed himself a passing glance in the Dixons’ direction, his expression hardening. “I ain’t worried about that nigga.”
“See.” Mishon wagged a finger at him. “It’s starting already.”
He waved that off.
“You’re not the old Markez. I don’t think so, anyway. But I know he’s in there somewhere. Don’t bring him out this weekend.”
“Whatever, Mish.”
“I’m serious. You have too much to lose.”
“I can handle myself,” he insisted, staring into the fire.
But even as the words left his mouth, he felt unsure.
He thought he’d outgrown his temper and jealousy back in college. He’d spent close to thirty years in remission. But now?
The old Markez was making his presence felt.
Like now. Watching her. Watching him. The way he leaned in. The way his eyes followed her every move. The way she laughed at whatever dumb shit he whispered in her ear.
Mark’s jaw clenched so tight, it ached.
He pulled his phone from his pocket, mentally preparing his message, smiling when he saw that she’d texted him a few minutes ago.
Tonight?
She was definitely bolder this time around, and Mark was feeling it.
Of course. Casita?
Okay. Midnight
Yes ma’am. If I can wait that long.
Satisfied, Mark returned his phone to his pocket, raising his hand to signal for another beer. Mishon elbowed him, inclining her head in the direction of the boys.
Mark shook his head as he watched Drew stagger his way.
“That’s your nephew,” he remarked to his sister. “Couldn’t hold his liquor if it had a handle on it.”
She laughed. “Daddy’s side of the family are annoying drunks.”
“And Mama’s side are quiet drunks. Much better.”
“Less fun, though.”
He shrugged.
“You know what we should do?” Drew said, much too loudly for the occasion.
“What, Drew? “Brooklyn looked to her father for assistance, but he just smiled.
“Sit around the campfire and tell ghost stories!” he announced, followed by a goofy giggle.
“First of all, “Mark said, “this ain’t a campfire. And second, sitcho drunk ass down somewhere before you embarrass yourself.”
Being laughed at by everyone around him wasn’t enough to deter him, though. He kept on talking. Brooklyn shook her head in disgust, prompting Davion to put a protective arm around her. But truth be told, he was enjoying the slight dysfunction. It was nice not to be the only family on some bullshit today.
“That was the funnest part of camp,” Drew was saying. “Telling stories. Why doesn’t anybody wanna tell a ghost story with me?”
“Boy, sit down,” Mishon said.
“I am sitting,” Drew yelled as he stood near the fire, earning more laughs.
“With your knees bent,” Mark said, glancing over at Sunny. She was tickled, he could tell.
“Fine.” Drew gestured toward Mark with his bottle, splashing beer onto the sand.
But in his drunken state, he miscalculated the distance between his standing position and the log. Somehow, he overshot his landing and fell forward, rolling right into the fire.
“Oh my God!” Brooklyn and Mishon yelled at the same time.
“Somebody grab him!” Sunny cried out.
Mark and Vince dove forward at the same time. Mark grabbed him, yanking him out of the fire by his arms as Drew flailed and screamed, “Halp! My ass is burning!”
It wasn’t.
But the seat of his linen pants was singed, leaving a large, dark patch and small holes with glowing embers around their edges.
Drew rolled from left to right before finally going still on his stomach. Vince threw a handful of sand at his brother’s backside. It didn’t do much good, but it didn’t hurt, either. Everyone else stood completely frozen. The silence seemed to drag on for ages until it became clear that Drew was completely fine.
Then, the laughter was uncontrollable.
Most of them laughed until tears ran down their faces. Mark, still on his knees in the sand next to his son, let out a hearty, bellowing laugh that was equal parts amusement and relief.
The only person not laughing was Brooklyn, who stood, glaring, her arms crossed, her posture defensive.
Drew rolled onto his back and stared up at the sky.
“I’m okay,” he said. “I’m okay, guys. I regret nothing.”
“Bruh.” Vince kicked his brother’s foot. “How the hell did you even manage to do that?”
Drew’s eyes were closed.
“Did he just pass out?” Sylvan said.
Mark blew out a sigh. “Vince. Amari. Yall take his ass inside. Put him in bed. On his side or his stomach.”
“We gotta undress him?” Vince said, his lip curling.
“Nah. Leave them chargrilled pants on his ass so he can wake up and relive this stupidity.”
Sunny burst out laughing again.
Brooklyn stormed off, prompting Davion to follow her.
Mark stood, brushing sand off his pants. His eyes immediately went to Sunny again, glowing with a different type of fire.
Pure, unadulterated lust.
She shivered, forcing herself to look away before she ran and jumped on him right here in front of everyone.
And Orion? He might have been drunk, but he wasn’t oblivious.
The doctor had designs on his wife.