Chapter 3 #2
Then, there were the days she was pissed beyond belief.
She was never mean or abusive toward the girls.
Instead, she held her anger in. Sonya walked around with resentment and rage bubbling inside of her because her husband had been so selfish that he would rather remain where he obviously didn’t want to be because he was trying to avoid child support.
If it was possible to dig him up and beat his ass, she would have done it more than once.
Sonya had never done a drug, and she wasn’t a heavy drinker.
She coped with her grief by eating and gambling.
Those were her two vices. More than once, Symphony and Monique saw their mother pacing and stressed because she’d lost the rent money.
There were also the times she hit big, and she would burst in the house moving like a tornado telling the girls to get dressed, so they could go spend some money.
Whenever Sonya hit big, she was smart enough to pay the bills up for a few months, take the girls shopping, and get everything she needed for the house from food to cleaning supplies.
Symphony’s freshman year in high school, her mother won $47,000 in May.
She went ahead and did the girls’ school shopping for the upcoming school year along with the Christmas shopping.
By the time Christmas rolled around, the $47,000 was gone, but the bills were covered, they had a deep freezer filled to the brim with food, and they had the best Christmas of their lives.
Two years went by before Sonya hit big again but that time, it was only $6,000.
Sonya finally stopped gambling when Symphony was twenty.
She was already behind on bills and lost her entire paycheck.
She got evicted, and her car got repossessed.
It took her about seven months, but she worked hard, stacked her money, and got back on her feet.
She started going to church and hadn’t gambled since.
She also cut her unhealthy addiction to food and lost more than fifty pounds over the course of a year.
Symphony was extremely proud of her mother.
Though she never drank or did drugs, she still had vices and for that reason, Sonya tried to be very patient and understanding when it came to dealing with Monique’s addiction to pills.
Monique had a village behind her for sure. She just had to find it in her heart to be genuinely tired and want change. Prayerfully, she would do so before it was too late.
Block strolled out of one of his favorite Miami restaurants with his mouth practically watering.
It had been months since the last time he’d eaten from the establishment, and he was more than ready to devour the food.
It had been a busy morning, and he was famished.
Block also knew that once he got dressed and left his hotel room it was up from there.
His brother’s game and the bachelor party he was attending were two events that he knew he wouldn’t be sober for.
The food he was about to inhale was going to lay the foundation for his day of indulgence.
Block drank alcohol in Diamond Cove, but it was rare that he drank during the day.
There were too many responsibilities in his day-to-day life that made drinking and not being focused pretty much impossible.
He’d been smoking weed for so long that he didn’t look at being high as anything that wasn’t a part of him.
Weed mellowed him out. It didn’t make him act out of character or bring out any undesirable traits, so he didn’t look at being high as a bad thing.
In fact, it was pretty much a necessity when he really thought about it.
When he was out of town, he didn’t have to have eyes in the back of his head watching his own surroundings and trying to keep Mario out of trouble.
His work phone was on DND, so there weren’t an abundance of emergencies and problems from people reaching out to him with wanting him to solve every minor inconvenience.
When he was out of town, Block was only responsible for himself. And that was how he preferred it.
A black Jeep pulled up blocking the rental car Block was driving.
His gaze lifted, and he observed the vehicle as the passenger door opened, and a light skinned cutie hopped out with a scowl on her face.
She was wearing a shirt with the name of the restaurant embroidered on the left side.
Her expression gave away the fact that work was the last place she wanted to be.
She looked to be in her mid-twenties. Her 5’6 frame was curvy enough that she could have been a bottle girl, dancer, shit, something more appealing than a fast-food employee.
But Block wasn’t judging. He didn’t know her story and not everyone cared about those kinds of jobs or the fast money that came with them.
When she noticed him eyeballing her, her facial muscles relaxed, and she offered a bashful smile.
Block’s orbs darted over toward the Jeep to see who was driving.
He wasn’t going to be disrespectful and try to get at her if her nigga was dropping her off at work.
A woman that was equally as pretty as the fast-food worker, was studying him as hard as he’d been studying the passenger of the Jeep.
“What up?” he diverted his gaze back to the person of interest. “You single?”
She had to clock in, and he had to go, so he might as well get straight to the point.
“Yes, I’m single.” That bashful simper returned.
“How old are you?” Block’s head angled to the left.
“I’m twenty-five.”
Had she been any age under that, he would have passed.
There were some mature women in their early twenties, but he wasn’t interested in finding out which side of the coin she would end up on.
There was too big of a chance that they would be extremely childish, and that would irritate the fuck out of him and turn him off at the same time, so he didn’t even bother.
“Word? I’m Block. I’m not from Miami, so I gotta move kind of fast if I want to get to know you.” His eyes trailed the length of her frame. “What you doing tonight?”
“Nothing. I get off at ten. My sister is picking me up, and I’m going home.”
“Let me get your name and number.”
Block pulled his phone from his pocket and locked in the sexy stranger’s information.
Ebony. He repeated the name in his head as he got in the car.
Shorty had on a work shirt and a pair of jeans.
Her braids were pulled on top of her head into a bun, and she had short, clean nails that weren’t done.
Despite her face card being valid, she didn’t fit the typical bad bitch aesthetic especially not for Miami.
But not everyone was like that. Not every female was flashy and over the top.
Everyone didn’t walk around with a face full of makeup every day.
Not all women had lip fillers and faces filled with Botox.
Block didn’t knock any of it, but he liked plain females for some reason.
Women that were that ‘90’s kind of fine.
’ That was and always would be his preference.
Back at the Airbnb, Block was greeted by Lethal. Brazil was with his team at the stadium getting ready for the game. Block had barely set the large bag of food down before Lethal was standing beside him peering into the bag.
“Ugh, what’s that smelling like that?” he frowned. “Bro, you got fish?”
Block mirrored his brother’s expression. “Nigga, I got chicken, ribs, crab legs, and shrimp. Since when don’t you like the smell of fish?” Lethal could literally fry fish better than anyone Block knew.
“I don’t know, but that seafood don’t smell right. It’s making me sick.”
Throwing his head back, Block released a fit of laughter. “Who yo’ ass done got pregnant? Standing over here being all sensitive and shit talking ‘bout some the seafood don’t smell right. Let me find out.”
The situation was hilarious to Block, but Lethal stood staring at him blankly.
Lowkey, he had been wondering why lately, certain smells that never bothered him before were making life hard as hell out of nowhere.
Lethal loved steak but two days before, as he was cleaning the steak, so he could cook it, a whiff of the raw meat made him gag.
To his knowledge, he didn’t have anyone pregnant, but his brother’s comment had scared the shit out of him.
“Hell nah. That’s not what that means.” Lethal’s tone was far from confident. The way his lips were slightly parted, and he was staring at his brother with fear in his eyes made the situation funnier.
“That’s exactly what it means my boy. I hope it’s a girl. I’m tired of looking after males.”
Block continued lifting containers of food out of the bag but just that fast, Lethal had lost his appetite.
He was stressed. Too stressed. He always used condoms. Lethal didn’t have a girlfriend and within the past year, he’d had sex with at least fifteen women.
When he was training, Lethal didn’t smoke, drink, eat sweets, or have sex.
He followed an intense regimen that required focus and discipline.
Six days a week, he was up at four am and in bed by 8 pm.
Once the match was over, he could resume his normal activities.
In the past month or so, he’d only had sex with Charmaine and Sherill.
He’d used condoms with both of them, and Charmaine’s tubes were tied.
She had four kids and never hesitated to tell anyone that she’d never push out another baby.
Lethal refused to stress. He knew he didn’t have anyone pregnant. His appetite was still nonexistent, however, so he followed his brother to the living room empty handed. “You not eating?” Block inquired.