Chapter 9
chapter nine
Brayden.
“Where are we?”
“Northern Historic District. It’s the first original district here in Caramel Cove. You’ve never been here?” I glanced over my shoulder, catching Caeli squinting at the bridge. By the time I removed the small cooler from the back seat she was edging closer. I locked my car and joined her, extending a hand. Her palm slid across mine and I swear everything about the moment felt natural. Right.
“That’s the Carter G. Woodson Bridge, right?” I nodded and she smiled. “I’ve heard about it, but never been out here. It’s beautiful.”
“One of my favorite places to escape to.”
“Escape?” She smiled smugly. “It must be bad if you’re coming all the way out here to get away from women.”
“ Woman , not women.” My expression hardened a little. “My mother.”
“Oh…” Her eyes went wide, then softened. “Sorry, I didn’t mean…”
I shook my head. I didn’t want sympathy about the highs and lows of my life. I survived and it wasn’t all that bad. Just not ideal. “It’s cool and not a big deal.”
We approached the massive wood structure and she hesitated, bringing a smile to my face. “You don’t trust me?”
“Not really but I do trust you more than this bridge. It’s old.” I glanced at the massive wood structure, taking in the authentic appeal of the weathered distressed wood and rusted metal arches which towered above head in shades of brown, orange, and black. The concrete pillars held up the framing were aged with mold and divots from years of exposure. The way her face tensed had me laughing lightly.
“It’s structurally sound. They’ve done renovations over the years. Last year was the most recent. You’re safe. Come on.” I started my stride once more and had to gently tug Caeli’s hand to get her moving once again.
We navigated to the center of the bridge, I placed the cooler near the railing and took a seat. She narrowed her eyes as if I’d lost my mind.
“We’re sitting out here, on the bridge?”
“Yeah, man. I told you it was safe.”
“There’s water down there.”
“Then I suggest you not fall or jump.”
She narrowed her eyes into slits. “What about cars? If we sit down there, no one will see us.”
“They will and no one uses this bridge anymore since they built the bypass connecting Caramel Cove and Eatonville.”
She still didn’t budge. “Caeli, sit down. You’re safe, I promise.”
Begrudgingly, she complied and filled the spot next to me, ankles crossed, facing the cooler. I let my legs hang over the side, getting comfortable while she pointed to the cooler. “Picnic?”
“You okay with that?”
A smile blossomed on her face. “I am but we could have gone to a park.”
“That’s cliché as hell, plus I like it out here. You do too. You said it was beautiful.”
“That was before I knew you wanted me sitting above a raging river on a rickety old bridge.”
I smiled through my amusement. “That hardly classifies as a raging river.”
“Maybe not, but it’s deep enough to drown in and falling from up here is certainly a guarantee of death.”
“Nah, it’s not. I could dive from here and survive.”
“Have you?” Her brow inched up.
“No, I’m not that damn crazy.”
“You sure?”
“Very.”
“What’s your deal with being out here?” she asked quietly, staring off into the distance. I studied Caeli, admiring her subtle beauty. Today she was in slouchy jean shorts, which stopped above her knees. They were destroyed style, exposing skin through the rips. She wore a white tank top and even though she elected to wear a bra this time, I could still clearly see the impression of the tiny barbells that pierced her nipples. It was only by a miracle I managed to focus on her question and respond.
“When I was a kid, I wanted to be anywhere but at home. I would get on the bus and ride all day. Once, I fell asleep and ended up out here. It was the last stop. I decided to get off because I was too embarrassed to admit I had no clue where I was. The driver told me not to miss the last bus which came at eight that night. I got off and went walking. Ended up out here. I stayed all day and barely made it back to the stop to head back into the city. After that day, I purposely came out here.”
“To escape.”
I nodded. “Pretty much.”
She turned her head and our eyes met. Her brows were slightly pinched and she chewed the corner of her lip before asking, “What’s the deal with your mom and if you don’t want to share…”
“It’s cool. Nothing too complicated. She had me young, before she graduated high school. Nox’s mom was the same but he was born a year before me. Our grandparents gave my Aunt June a hard time after he was born. She was wild, not trying to be a parent. When my mom had me a year later, they had pretty much given up on the idea of their daughters doing the right thing. Unlike my Aunt June, my mom didn’t own her shit. She thought she was better because she pretended to be a good parent, went to college, had a good job.”
Caeli frowned. “I don’t get it.”
“She had it all together, on paper, but not in reality. She regretted having me but thought doing so would keep my dad.”
“It didn’t?”
I shook my head. “I don’t know him. He left, moved away and never looked back. She kept a rotation of men in her bed which meant they were in our lives. When I was younger, I didn’t have much say. The older I got, I had too much to say. We argued all the time, to the point where she kept the men under control but then the resentment shifted in different ways. I ruined her life. I was the reason why she couldn’t have a man. Never mind the fact that she only ever dealt with men who wanted a temporary fix and not a real relationship. Regardless, I’m her biggest regret. Sometimes you just need peace. This…” I motioned to open space with a nod. “… was my peace.”
Caeli smiled. “I’m glad you had this.”
I nodded sternly and reached for the cooler. “Me too.” I removed the packed sandwiches and container of fruit I prepared. I also had bottled water and apple juice. This time of year was too hot for heavy food and soda while outdoors.
“You made these.” Caeli accepted the container that held her sub.
“I smoked the turkey last night and shaved it this morning.”
“Oh, I feel special.”
“You should, it’s not burnt.”
She laughed and playfully rolled her eyes which shined with appreciation when she pulled the lid off. “This looks good.”
“Try it and let me know.” I was already on the first bite of mine and she stared skeptically which made me add, “I didn’t poison your food, Princess.”
A goofy smile eased onto her face. “How can I be sure? You were the one that handed them out. You didn’t let me choose.”
I reached for her container, swapped one half of her sandwich for the uneaten half of mine and took a massive bite.
“You might have planned for this and?—”
“Caeli, eat the damn sandwich.”
She lifted half and took a healthy bite, moaning her approval. “Oh shit, this really is good.”
“My famous honey barbecue sauce. Nox and I both have one, but mine is better. Don’t ever tell him I said that.”
She smiled into another bite, speaking with her mouth full. “That sounds a bit like blackmailing intel.”
“Your mind would go there.” She shrugged.
“Do you know the history of Eatonville?”
“Not really. We’re from Lake Grove which is like three hours from here.”
“Ah damn, that explains a lot.”
“Like?”
“Like why you don’t know Cove food truck etiquette.” I smiled when those pretty eyes narrowed into slits. “Caramel Cove’s Historic District is new in a sense.”
She pulled the lid from the fruit container and pinched a strawberry between her fingers, which she brought to those damn luscious lips before she sank her teeth into the bright red fruit. I watched until she sucked the rest into her mouth and had all kinds of nasty thoughts clouding my mind until her voice broke my lustful spiral. “A historic district can’t be new.”
“The area, no, but being classified as historic can be. In the fifties, the area now known as the historic district was all Black. It wasn’t really affluent, but the residents were comfortable, owned their own homes and businesses, and controlled the local politics and schools. Near the end of the sixties, early seventies, crime increased. People were getting robbed in broad daylight, their businesses were vandalized and broken into, and drug distribution more than doubled.”
“What changed?” She seemed genuinely interested which I loved because I loved history, more importantly our history.
“Property values.”
Her brows pinched. “Property values?”
“There was an unofficial assessment done back then. It’s documented and on record now but when it was happening, only certain people were aware. The land held value. It was also a prime location considering its proximity to the river and the shopping districts. However, it was legally owned by us, our people.”
“Black people?” I nodded. “They wanted it, so they took it.”
“Not exactly. It was legally owned. There’s a method used to force homeowners to vacate their properties.”
“Such as?”
“Implanting crime and drugs. On the surface it looks like a normal occurrence but in reality it’s set up to make the land less appealing. Corporations slide in and purchase all the properties for little to nothing and miraculously clean the areas, selling off the land for double, sometimes triple, the value, creating an increase in the worth.”
“And that’s what happened?”
“Yeah, but not before they created Eatonville.” I pointed to the opposite end of the bridge. “They offered the residents the promise of a better life, built new housing, new schools, and guaranteed they would police the communities to avoid the same issues they were leaving behind. None of these promises came to fruition. The housing was government-based. To purchase their own houses, they had to meet unobtainable qualifications. Homeowners became renters and they were no longer able to sustain their businesses.”
“Wow.”
“This is a common practice which happened a lot years ago. Still happens today and the worst is all of this is perfectly legal.”
“How is that legal?”
“The residents sold and left the area of their own free will. They weren’t forced out.”
“ But , they moved under the pretense that they were creating better lives for their families based on promises made by those who wanted to steal from them.”
“No one can prove that the drugs and crime were intentionally implanted or set in motion. Even if they knew, it’s almost impossible to document. Enough money changed hands to keep those involved quiet.”
“But Caramel Cove is mostly Black now. How is that?”
“Years passed and a lot of those families wised up. Realized they were screwed out of family legacies. They rallied together using their influence and what little funds they had to buy back their neighborhoods, block by block. The more of us that migrated back to Caramel Cove, the less appealing the area was to some. We took back our communities, applied to make it a historical district, which it now is. Our history is documented there and now the land is rightly owned by the families who initially built the community.”
She stared for a long moment. “You’re interesting.”
“I’m not sure whether or not that’s a compliment.”
She plucked up a few grapes and pushed them through her lips, drawing my attention there when she spoke. “It’s definitely a compliment and you can add history buff to your list of admirable qualities, which by the way is a bonus. I hate history. I failed two classes in college and had to take both in summer school so I could graduate which should be an indicator of how much I loathe all things history. But with you explaining it, I might be inclined to become mildly intrigued by dated facts.”
“Because of me?” I smirked.
“Who doesn’t love a sexy, informed professor?”
I chuckled. “I’m not a professor, Caeli.”
“I have a very active imagination.”
“Fuck that. If you’re fantasizing about my big ass brain, while lusting after my big ass dick, it will be me , all me. Not some fictional version of me you’ve dreamed up wearing ugly tweed blazers and scuffed up loafers.”
She belted a laugh. “Um, you just took that too far.”
“How?”
“I never mentioned fantasizing about any of those things.”
“You implied with your very active imagination .” I leaned forward and gripped the back of her neck, bringing her face to mine for a kiss. When I pulled back I added, “And even if that’s not what you meant, if you get to use yours , I get to use mine and my very active imagination is envisioning you wanting to sit on my dick while calling out Professor Brayden while I make you cum.”
She choked on a laugh and shoved me away. “You need help.”
“Possibly, but you like that visual, don’t you?”
Instead of denying, she rolled her eyes and gracefully moved a few more grapes past her lips and my very active imagination traveled down a very explicit road that had something else pushing between her lips.