Chapter Eleven
HARD TRUTHS
HASSAN
T he hard knock I’ve heard for more years than I can count sounds on my door, making me look up just as my brother strides inside my office. He does a brief perusal with barely any interest of the room that would have been his had he not abdicated for Lovie-Belle Howard the director of the two of our films Just Us and a romcom action movie staring a new promising new actress BiBi and the box office powerhouse, Kris “The Kronic” Kirakos who somehow managed to get the third and youngest Howard sister, Miracle to marry him shortly after.
“I don’t have you on my schedule,” I say drily, watching him. His long form taking up one of the chairs in front of my desk.
“As if that would matter. You know you’ve missed me, little brother. Though it wouldn’t seem like it with the way you have been avoiding my calls.” Crossing one leg over the other, Sadiq looks on with a benign curiosity that belies the subject I know he’s champing at the bit to talk to me about.
More than talk — lecture as only one who knows me the best in the world can. I’m definitely not in the mood for this bullshit. I have a country to run.
“In case yesterday was not indication enough, big brother, I’ve had my hands full securing the succession and making sure my wife and son are safe.”
Lying the pen I’m holding down with care, I do my best not to give myself away. My identical twin more than anyone knows my tells and the buttons to push to get me riled.
Meeting his gaze with a steady one of my own, I wait for him to continue.
“As to that.” He quirks an eyebrow. “Lyric? I didn’t think you cared for her. At least not enough to bed her. Let alone marry her. You could have easily arranged something that would have allowed you to keep Khadijah and Lyric, her career,” he muses. I can tell just from the way he’s broaching the subject, he sees far more than he should.
“Ayaan is the rightful heir. Securing the throne comes first. I would not have him denied his birthright, no matter who his mother is. Jhori Bin-Saladin made it more than clear he would accept nothing but his biological grandchild, so I was left with no choice. Plus, Khadijah has always been more like a sister to us than anything else. Would I have grown to love her? In time, maybe. It is more likely we would have just been good friends or worse case, she would have grown disillusioned with the match.”
“You’re saying you can grow to love Lyric? Care for her, even? I thought you couldn’t stand her. The diva like behavior?” He challenges with a shrewd spark in his eyes.
“She’s a wonderful mother to our son.” Admitting that fact, I take up the pen again, shifting it against the sheaf of documents needing my signature as a way of dismissing him.
“Hassan.” His voice is soft and chiding. “I’m not only your brother, but your best friend. Why did you take her off that plane? You ruined her career in one irrecoverable action.” I let his words fall between us. Twirling the pen between my fingers, the metal is cool, my expression colder as I regard my brother.
He stops, his eyes widening. “You’re punishing her.” Slowly he shakes his head, dismay and disapproval spreading over his face.
“You punished Lovie-Belle.” I remind him of when he denied her the job of a lifetime, because he couldn’t stop obsessing over her.
“Yes, and I regret it. You can’t take her dreams from her. Father tried that with us and you see where that got him. He was left with nothing until Lovie-Belle convinced us all these years later to relent.” His reminder causes a chink to form in the armor around my heart. Until the reality of what she did ices it over. Just as it does every time I dare to think about it. I’m not sure I will ever forgive her treachery.
“And what would you have done if she kept your son from you?” Challenging him in return, I watch his jaw flex before he spears me with a look of resignation. “We share the same DNA. You know exactly what the fuck I’d do — the same thing you did. So is that why you made her a consort? To leave room for a true queen?”
“Fuck no,” I snap. “Lyric is the only wife I will ever have.” Heat suffuses my neck. The flush is as hot as our lovemaking last night. I was late making it to my office after having her right after my morning prayers. The way I watched her sleeping form as I dressed is a thing of legend. Like some lovelorn janissary watching a maiden he knows he should not have. I had to drag myself away.
No matter what happens between us. I would not bring another into this marriage, knowing the turmoil it would cause my son and his mother. Yet, consort she shall remain until she stops plotting with Prosper Shipmoore to leave with my son. Putting another baby in her will solve that problem. It’s only a matter of time.
“Well alright then.” He smirks with a knowing that only one who shared a womb with me could have.
“Fuck you.” I tell him, my eyes narrowing, not liking the smug ass expression on his face.
“Oh, you’re doing that all on your own.” He tells me just as another knock sounds on the door and this time, my errant secretary pops his head in the door.
“Your Highness, Mr. Carrington is here.” He informs me of the appointment I was actually getting ready for — FADE.
Sadiq stands to move to my side. It doesn’t matter if he doesn’t agree with my actions. In public, we always show a united front no matter who, no matter what. It could be no other way. He’s been my boon companion since we made our presence known. From the time I could remember, my brother has been my defender and I his. Even from our formidable mother when we would get into mischief when we were toddlers.
FADE’s tall form strides into the room dressed in his signature all white attire of low-slung jeans, Henley and jacket. The diamond and platinum necklace he famously wears to honor Delightful’s brother and his best friend, Justice, sparkles on his neck. His only other adornment is his wedding ring.
“The fuck, man,” he snarls, coming to stand before my desk. Cocking one leg over the other, I lounge back regrading the man who gave me and my brother the start that helped us build an empire when he let us produce his music videos. He took a chance on two unknown producers when no one else would.
The man who is as close to me as a brother. The best friend I’m not sure betrayed me. Lyric is also his best friend. Their history runs much deeper. One he never talks about. He is her first champion and, in many cases, her only defender when it comes to rumors of her diva like behavior.
“My exact sentiments — friend,” I growl with equal vehemence. “You want me to believe you knew nothing about my son when your life and my wife’s are so intertwined?” I scoff. “Get the fuck outta here, man. You’re lucky to make it out of my country without being sent to a black site, motherfucker.”
A low chuckle meets my words. “You’re wild as fuck, man. You know that? Think I haven’t already anticipated that shit? But Imma let you slide because I understand you’re upset over your family. The thing you need to understand about Lyric and will probably serve you well. Maybe even save your life — she’s a survivor. She knows how to handle her business and hold her secrets. Ain’t shit you gone know about her, she doesn’t want you to know. She operates on level that none of us as men have ever had to understand or deal with. When I asked her why she kept this from me, of all people, she said it was because she knew I would tell you because you’re my boy and she knows how much we hold each other down. She was scared you’d take her baby and damned if you didn’t. Then you disrespected her by making her consort when you know she’s only ever been a queen.” His anger is palpable as his hazel eyes rake over me with barely held violence. “The blogs are eating this shit up. You’ve made her a laughingstock, man. They out here calling my girl, “the queen of nothing, the royal side chick.”
The scathing words take me aback. I’d not thought outside of the fact that I didn’t want to empower her beyond her household, especially after I found out about her reaching out to that nuisance, Prosper Shipmoore.
“I’ll handle it,” I tell him.
“See that you do. She was wrong not to tell you about Ayaan. Sometimes our women have to go to extremes when dealing with motherfucker’s like us.” he stands his gaze is unwavering leaning forward to offer his fist he adds. “Your son is beautiful, man. Despite having your ugly mug. Makes sense why she didn’t show him to anyone. He’s both of y’all’s splitting image.” He nods to me and Sadiq for emphasis.
Reaching out, I dap him up. “Thanks man, I’ll set you straight on any blow back with the tour.”
“Just treat her right, motherfucker. She’s had it harder than all of us coming up.” Waving my words away, his own are solemn.
Saying nothing, I wait for him to fill me in on the rest.
“She, Justice, and me were the three musketeers from Headstart onwards. We used to say, “From the knee high to the tree high.” She could always sing, man. Singing “This little light of mine,” on the way to and from school. Said her real daddy sang it to her. Her daddy and mom were real young. Then he died in Iraq by a roadside bomb. But since they hadn’t got married yet, her mom didn’t get much because she wasn’t officially on any paperwork. When they finally got everything squared away and her moms finally started getting a little stipend, Rob was on the scene always fucking it up doing dumb get rich quick schemes or gambling it away. Whatever you gave him in bride price will probably be gone within a year and he’ll be back on your door step.”
Scrubbing his face like he wants to erase the memory he presses on. “Anyway, she was always performing at churches and little talent shows. Her parents didn’t want her singing with us because they felt rap was sinful or whatever. Then we got this chance to open for Tone Rich, the biggest promoter at the time after he saw us on YouTube. She and Justice were going to get married. We were all going to pursue our music — Ahem.” Clearing his throat, he takes a moment. Retelling Lyric’s much rawer, unfiltered part of the story than what we brought to film. “His being killed nearly destroyed all of us, but at least DiDi and I had our families. Lyric had no one. She ran away and joined me on tour a few months later and the rest is history. Her parents never forgave her. To be honest, I was surprised to see them here.” Finishing the abbreviated history, keeping as many secrets as he tells, he sits down, clasping his hands in a tight fist, facing me.
“All that diva shit is her way of making sure her fans get their hard, earned money’s worth. She loves them just as hard as they love her. She will give you that same loyalty, but you gotta come correct.” He shrugs like the ball is in my court.
Nodding, I go over to the locked cabinet taking out my hookah. A smirk spreads over my twin’s face. “You’ve had good hashish, but you haven’t had it this good.” I nod to Sadiq, “Brother, you do the honors.” I hand it over to him, opening the doors to my private garden. Following them out, I take a seat in the small private area just outside my office. From this vantage point, I can see Lyric and Ayaan playing outside of our private suite. They are far enough not to hear us and the way my terrace is elevated makes it so I can watch them unobserved like I do every day when they are outside and I have to work.
After we all toke from the pipe, I settle back, allowing the aroma and my friend’s words wash over me.
Perhaps I misjudged her. Still, keeping Ayaan’s existence from me is a bitter pill to swallow, yet I know there is no way of moving forward if I don’t. She has some proving to do in the trust department as well. Like the constant messages of her attempting to flee that my attendants intercept.
“That’s what’s up,” FADE says taking pull from the prepared pipe.
“Man,” he says, impressed, looking from me to my brother.
“Told you,” I say letting my brother have a turn first.
Later after seeing Lyric’s family and our friends including FADE and his family off on the royal air fleet, sending them back to America’s shores with no black site detours, I come to the suite I now share with my family looking on my son and new wife cuddled together sleeping in our bed.
Careful not to wake either of them, I pick up Ayaan, taking him to his room.
After tucking him in and making sure he doesn’t wake back up, I head straight to my bath, washing the day away.
Nothing removes the singe of shame that I’ve caused Lyric. After smoking and kicking back with my best friends in the world, I took time to look at the blogs and Tiktoks speaking on Lyric, paying close attention to one particularly vicious entertainment influencer.
Seems like there were several clips from DiDi’s cousin, Joi, who, though gossipy with exclusives she’d could have only gotten from her cousins, was not cruel or mean. Her little Shelby-Love Chronicle was one of the few places that showed us in a positive light.
Resolving to give her this one thing. I made the necessary calls to wipe those stories from the internet.
Rubbing the towel through my curls, I stand over my wife watching her sleep much the same way as I did this morning. She’d probably be shocked to know she snores.
I can’t seem to stop being fascinated by the way her nose scrunches up in her sleep or the way she clutches the cover like it’s a lovey.
She’s too grown to be called adorable, but that is exactly what she seems like to me at the moment.
Sighing because there is nothing for it. I take off the robe climbing into bed.
“Hassan?” She mumbles sleepily, struggling as if to make sure it’s me and not anyone else. Her hypervigilance makes rage snake around my heart. That night when she hid from me under those mountains of pillows is never far from my mind. I have not pressed her. I haven’t earned the right to demand she tell who hurt her but when I do and I will; I will not stop until I have wiped that motherfucker from this earth.
“It’s me habibti,” I murmur the endearment I never meant to use for her, but it seems so right in this moment. Pulling her into the safety of my arms, I hold her long moments, resolving in some way to make this work.