The Brooklyn Way

Chapter 2

2

C ameron

It was a thirty-minute ride from the airport to my home in the Harbor Mist section of Jackson Island—a small barrier island off the Southeast coast of South Carolina. Growing up on the ocean had made water the thing that comforted and calmed me the most. Ever since elementary school, I’d promised myself that one day I would purchase a home on the water and I did. My house was probably larger than what I needed, being a single man and all. It wasn’t a mansion, but it was large and it did happen to have a guest house that was the size of some people’s main houses on the property. The main house had views of the ocean waterway from almost every room. The guest house overlooked the pool.

For years, my twin sister lived in my guest house. It was constructed and decorated to her tastes. Recently, she and her future husband completed a custom build on their own house, so she moved out. I thought the guest house would remain empty indefinitely, but Carrington had apparently taken it upon herself to offer it to her former college roommate. I couldn’t remember if old girl was in an abusive situation or if her ex was just an asshole, but Carrington insisted that her friend needed to get away.

I had a thing about saving women, so I went along with it and let the young lady have my place. My therapist probably wouldn’t agree with my decision. He was trying to get me to get out of the habit of trying to save women and I was working on it. But I didn’t feel like this was that. I felt like this was general human kindness. Carrington’s homegirl needed a helping hand. I offered her one. I wasn’t trying to save her. I was just trying to be kind.

Shit. I didn’t know. It was whatever. If I was feeding my dysfunction, then I would deal with it in therapy. Otherwise, the woman was welcome to stay until she could get on her feet, providing that she wasn’t a crazy stalking fan or that she didn’t fuck with my peace.

When the driver pulled into the driveway of my place, I couldn’t help but notice the bright red Range Rover already parked there. I got my bag from the trunk, wished the driver well and watched him pull away, keeping one eye on the Rover.

In Chicago, I had two security guys who went wherever I went. But that was Chicago and this was Jackson Island. I knew almost everybody who lived here. I didn’t feel the need for security at home. But that unidentified Rover was giving me pause, especially with the fact that the windows were basically blacked out. I couldn’t see who was inside. Slowly, the door of the red truck began to open.

I waited.

A pretty woman—tiny, skin the color of toasted caramel, bone-straight, shoulder-length dark hair, dark eyes, and lips painted a juicy pale tan—exited the truck.

I matched the smile that she gave me, showing all thirty-two of her pearly whites.

“Welcome home,” she sing-songed before practically throwing herself into my arms.

“Thanks.” I dropped my bag to the ground, then caught her. I crushed her in a hug, taking note that she felt almost exactly the same as the last time I’d held her.

There were women in our graduating class who had gained weight since leaving high school almost ten years earlier. Then there was Tiara Smith. She was still the same fairy-small woman she had always been.

She finally released me, stepping back to take me in. Her eyes raked over me slowly as she unabashedly let her gaze rest on my… middle before dragging it up to my face.

“You good? You see everything you need to see?” I questioned.

A devious grin appeared on her face. “Hey, don’t judge me for looking when you’re out here dressed like a little slut. Your mama see you in these pants? I know she and the good doctor raised you better than this.” She gestured to the gray sweatpants that were haphazardly hanging from my waist.

“And I know that the major general and his wife raised you better than to be staring at my dick so hard that you could hardly greet me.” I teased her back.

Tiara was the daughter of a strict career military man.

“My daddy is a chief master sergeant, thank you very much. Get his title right.”

I stepped closer to her, mushing her in the head lightly. “Shut up.”

She tried to punch me, but I caught her wrist, pulling her back into my arms for another quick hug.

“What are you doing here? How’d you even know I was coming?” I questioned.

“Your dad mentioned it.”

That made sense. Tiara’s father and my father were friends and golf buddies.

I nodded before bending down and grabbing my bag from the ground.

Tiara followed me as I made my way to the front door. It was a combination of southern hospitality and the manners that my mom drilled into me that stopped me from making up an excuse as to why she couldn’t come into the house with me. I wasn’t really up for entertaining company. All I wanted to do was crash on the nearest soft surface and get some sleep.

Still, I unlocked the front door and led her inside, before taking a good look around.

The house was a 3,200 square foot single story, 4-bedroom, 4-bathroom home. I chose it specifically because the vibe was exactly what I wanted in a beach house—low frills, wood floors, clean lines, and a view of the water from every room in the house.

From where we stood in the foyer, I could see the great room, the dining room, and the floor-to-ceiling windows that offered the million-dollar view of the ocean. Everywhere I looked there were windows. It was almost difficult to tell where my house ended and the outdoors began. The entire aesthetic gave new meaning to the phrase, “bringing the outside in.” If a person could love an inanimate object, then I loved my house. It was the most peaceful place on earth for me.

“Daaaayyyyuuuummm,” Tiara said softly, following that with a wolf whistle. “I can’t take my eyes off of the view of the water.”

“Me either.” I agreed.

“Or the interior.”

All the walls were painted a creamy, warm white. The only color I had agreed to allowing the designer to incorporate in small touches was blue. The trim was white oak. The furniture was high-end and comfortable, but not fussy. It was a modern space, but it wasn’t sterile or cold. I knew why Tiara liked it. We were beach babies, born and raised in a town that was butted up to the water. My house was the epitome of a beach house. It offered a familiar vibe and aesthetic.

I made my way to the wall of windows so I could reacquaint myself with the view. The view was my shit—calm, deep blue water under a peaceful pale blue sky. While I was standing there, Tiara spoke. Honestly, I’d forgotten that she was with me.

“You wanna show me the bedroom?” She took my hand in hers, intertwining our fingers.

Way back when, in another lifetime, Tiara and I dated. We were high school sweethearts… sort of, anyway.

Between schoolwork, the strictness of her father, my dedication to basketball and her dedication to cheerleading and dance, there wasn’t a lot of time for the two of us to be together. Still, we did manage to occasionally sneak away. We found opportunities to hang out together… to have sex.

I genuinely liked Tiara back then. She was pretty, athletic, perky, and sexy. What she lacked in stature, she more than made up for in personality. If the two of us didn’t have dreams and aspirations that would take us out of our hometown, we probably could’ve gotten married, had kids and made a good life for ourselves on Jackson Island. But that wasn’t in the cards for us.

I looked down at her. “What are you asking me, girl?”

She batted her eyelashes. They were those numbers that a lot of the women were wearing nowadays. The ones that were unnaturally long and fluffy.

The ones that caused me to stare rudely because I never could get used to them.

The ones that as a man, I couldn’t understand. I didn’t get where women were going with those. Were they trying to bring attention to their eyes? As a dude, I didn’t judge it; I just didn’t get it. I finally pulled my gaze away from the lashes and looked into her actual eyes.

“You know exactly what I’m asking you, twin. Stop playing in my face and show me the bedroom… so we can bless it. Or do you wanna get blessed right here?”

Those eyelashes were moving again. Distracting me again.

While I was busy wondering how those things didn’t poke her in the eye or at least make her eyes water, I almost missed her dropping to her knees. But when she reached out and grabbed the waistband of my joggers, I came out of my reverie.

“Nah. Nah.” I shook my head in the negative, while simultaneously catching her hands and stopping their movement.

I wasn’t new to how women moved. I got what she was trying to do. She was trying to establish herself as my person for the summer. The person who would have my attention. The person that I would fuck. The woman that all the other women would have to move out of the way in order to get next to me.

I wasn’t interested. I came to Jackson Island to chill. If I decided to fuck while I was at home, I didn’t want some ill-begotten, misplaced loyalty to Tiara to interrupt that. Whatever agenda Tiara had needed to be foiled.

“What?” She sounded so innocent as she kissed my dick through the fabric of my pants, mouthing at him.

And his showboating ass started to grow.

“Awwww,” she crooned. “He still likes me.”

I took a few steps back so that I was out of her reach. “Go smash whoever you were smashing before I got here… two minutes ago, Tiara. Don’t you belong to Ethan Washington? You know nothing can stay a secret on this island.”

“Ethan and I mess around occasionally. As far as ownership, I only belong to Tiara Smith.” She paused as she finally stood to her feet. “But I would be willing to negotiate with Cameron Field, if he wanted his name to be added to the deed.”

I laughed out loud. “You’re wild as hell, Tiara. So, you’ll put me on the deed?”

“You know you can get it, Cameron. I’ve been about you.”

I was surprised that she could get that lie out of her mouth with a straight face. Tiara wasn’t about me. Tiara was about Tiara. Always had been.

“Cap,” I commented.

“It’s not cap .” Her arms were folded across her chest, her right leg jutted out while her weight rested on her left leg. It was the international black woman I have an attitude, now stance. “You left me, bro. I didn’t leave you. I was willing to…”

I cut her off, “With your revisionist history writing ass.”

“Shut up.” She hissed.

“Nah, talk your shit, Baby Ti. Because the way I remember it, we both had scholarships to Booker University. Booker wasn’t even my first choice, Tiara. I wanted Virginia Colony. I wanted to play ball where my idol, CJ Upton played ball. But you wanted Booker.” I looked up at the ceiling. “You did that shit that you knew I loved with my dick in your mouth and convinced me to commit to Booker. Then, ten days before we were supposed to leave, you told me that you’d accepted a scholarship from…”

She jumped in to keep me from completing my thought. “Stop bringing up old stuff, Cam.”

“Virginia Colony,” I finished.

The two of us stood there in an awkward silence… until she broke it.

“You still haven’t forgiven me for that? It’s been almost ten years.”

“I forgive you. That was fucked up, but I forgive you. I just don’t trust you or fuck with you like that.”

Her mouth dropped at my honesty. “Are you serious? You don’t fuck with me like that ? What does that even mean?”

“It means that everything with you will always be surface level. I would never… never let you get next to me in any way other than associate/homey.”

“It really was a last-minute decision. The full scholarship to Booker was predicated on me pulling up my calculus grade during summer school. It didn’t happen. The summer-school teacher gave me a C, just like Mrs. Thurmon had. Booker was reducing the amount of the scholarship from full to partial.

“Virginia Colony was giving me a full ride. My father made me take it. You know how he is. You know once he said what it was gonna be… that’s what it was gonna be. He said Virginia Colony. I didn’t have a choice.”

“You did have a choice, though. You could’ve just chosen Virginia Colony from the start. You could’ve not pushed so hard for Booker, when you knew all along that your father wanted you at Virginia Colony. In your need to be defiant with your father, you talked me out of my first-choice college, Ti. Then you went to that college. It was kind of a slap in the face.”

“It was never my intention to—”

“I know.” I held up my hand. “I know. That’s why I forgive you. I should’ve pulled my dick outta your mouth and went to Virginia Colony. I should’ve told your ass ‘no’ when you brought up Booker. That’s on me. But that situation did teach me that when it comes down to it, you’re the type that chooses yourself. You’ll do whatever it takes to sway people—to talk them into doing what you want to do, even if it’s not what’s best for them. For obvious reasons, I can’t be in intimate relationships with people like that. I have too much to lose.”

“I’m not the same little girl that you used to know, Cameron. I’m a grown woman.”

“Cool,” I told her. I was ready to get her out and have my space to myself. “We’ll see each other around,” I assured her as I led her back to the front door.

“As small as this island is? I have no doubts.” She smiled softly. “See you, twin.”

After locking my door, I walked to the kitchen with a still semi-hard dick. That was something I was willing to deal with in order to maintain my boundaries with Tiara. She was the first of many Jackson Island residents that I was going to have to be firm with. Actually, she was the second of many residents. My mother was the first.

Jackson Island was a small oceanside beach town with less than twelve thousand full-time residents. Most of those people had known me since I was little. In their minds, I would always be Little Cam Field—baby boy of Dr. Cannon and Madeline Field. They felt justified in taking liberties with me and saying things that were better left unsaid. I knew it was going to be a summer of subtly putting people in their places. My mother and Tiara were just the warm-ups.

Pushing Tiara from my mind, I walked into my kitchen. Carrington had promised to stock my refrigerator, and I was starving. As I rifled through the contents, trying to decide where my tastebuds were leading me, my phone rang.

I checked the screen, then smiled at the name displayed across it. “Genesis Upton, what are you doing calling me? Shouldn’t you be somewhere laying down… mothering that brood of babies that you and CJ have?” I teased my teammate’s wife, who also happened to be my personal chef.

“And I was calling to tell you about something nice I did for you,” she told me.

“Word? Let me apologize. What’s good, Genesis? How is motherhood treating you?”

“Motherhood is beautiful and exhausting.”

“You and my guy gotta slow down. Three babies in three years would exhaust anybody. Enjoy this little break from cooking for your clients.”

“I will, even though I miss cooking for my clients… even the complainers and the picky, OCD ones.”

“You’re not including me in the group, are you?”

“Absolutely not, Cameron. To be honest, you’re one of the most easygoing clients that I have. You never complain or have special requests. Whatever I make, you eat it. You never give me any problems. That’s why when I found out that you were spending the summer in South Carolina, I put together an end of the season gift for you. You should receive a refrigerated package from me at some point today. Open it as soon as you receive it and get the contents out of the package and into the fridge.”

“Aww, ma. I’m flattered,” I told her sincerely. “I can’t believe you sent me the good shit all the way from Chicago.”

“Actually, the good shit is coming from Virginia, because that’s where the Upton family is spending their summer.”

“Well, I wish y’all a relaxing summer. Hope my dude gets the opportunity to get some much-needed rest.”

“Thanks, Cameron. I hope he does too. I hope he takes some time to unwind and relax. Right now, he’s stressing over the fact that this upcoming season is gonna be a season of rebuilding.” She sighed. “Even if it wasn’t, I don’t know how much energy he would have toward legitimately going for a sixth win. He’s completely exhausted, in every sense of the word.”

“No cap.” I agreed with her. “Me too. Not only is my body protesting the thought of being put through those kinds of paces this season, my mind can’t even fathom it. I’m tapped out. I have nothing to give. Low-key, a season of rebuilding might be what we all need before we get back to chasing these rings.” I took a beat. “Don’t tell ya man I said that, though. Tell him that I’m ready to go for ring number six as soon as he is.”

She giggled. “Whatever, Cameron. Enjoy the summer and enjoy your food. Don’t forget to refrigerate it right away.”

“I won’t.” I ended the call, walked over to the sofa and plopped down. My intention was to watch the water and chill for a minute. That didn’t happen because sleep wrapped its tentacles around me, pulling me into a deep slumber.

I awoke what had to be a few hours later to someone ringing my doorbell like they were crazy and beating on the door like the damn cops. I rubbed my tired eyes, pulled myself up from the couch and made my way over to the door. There was a limited number of people who even knew that I was in town, so I was lost as to who would be laying on my doorbell.

“Who is it?” I swung open the door.

“This answers my question. Celebrity motherfuckers do answer their own doors on Jackson Island.”

I looked into the face of one of my closest friends, who also happened to be my cousin, Will. “Shut up,” I said, as he brushed past me and invited himself into my spot. I closed the door and followed him as he made his way to my kitchen.

It was then that I realized that he was carrying what looked like a big cooler.

“What’s that?” I watched him place it on the counter.

“Hell if I know, cuzzo. It was on your front porch.”

“Daaawwg.” After removing it from his hands, I looked around for something to open the packaging with. “This must be the food from Genesis.”

At the mere mention of her name, my stomach started to growl.

“Who’s Genesis? Some little shawtie you fuck with?”

I eyed him, before chuckling. “Nah, dawg. She’s my personal chef in Chicago. She sent me a care package, and I’m hungry as hell.”

“Me too. Bust that bad boy open.”

I started opening and closing drawers until I found the silverware. I grabbed a steak knife, slicing along the seam of the container. “So, you ready to get this work, cousin?” I asked Will as I worked diligently.

Will had recently been through a rough patch in life. He and his longtime girlfriend had just suffered the tragic loss of their daughter, who was born too early and didn’t survive. Their relationship had been a casualty of the trauma and the chaos. Will hadn’t been the same since Sharmia had taken her things and relocated to Biloxi.

I couldn’t imagine experiencing a loss the magnitude of what my cousin had gone through and was still dealing with. All I could offer Will was my sympathy, my compassion and distraction in the form of the opportunity to work with me for the summer. He was doing a lot of the administrative work for my summer basketball camp.

“Ay, I came through to see what you’re getting into tonight. It’s your first night back. You wanna fall through some spots? Pick up some women?” He watched me continue to fight with the package from Genesis. “Which, if I know you the way I know you, all you were planning to do was sit on your couch and watch ESPN or somethin’ like that.”

“Word, dawg. I’m still recuperating from the season that just ended and you know my mother expects me to show up to church in the morning. I can’t be out bullshittin’ with you all night long.”

“Yo’ ass be out bullshittin’ in Chicago every night. I see the pictures on the Gram, Dawg. You can’t show Jackson Island the same love?” He cut his dark eyes at me. “What? It’s fuck us?”

I finally sprang the food from the container prison. Setting the knife on the countertop, I gave Will’s shoulder a light shove. “Shut up.”

“What’s in there?” He peered over my shoulder into the container.

“The good shit.” I started taking food out. When I got to the seafood salad, I already knew what I was about to eat. I pawed through the rest of the food, looking for the… “Bingo!” I pulled out the loaf of French bread. “Let’s eat.”

For some reason that I would never be able to articulate, I let Will talk me into going out. We ended up closing down some club in Charleston. I managed to go home alone, which I considered a win. It wasn’t for a lack of trying on the women’s part, though. Almost every chick in the place had come up at some point to try to shoot her shot. I wasn’t there for that. So while I poured on the southern charm, I still turned down every offer.

Going home alone was the only win I got that night, though. I hung out much longer than I should have and drank more than I should have too. When Carrington called to tell me that she was on her way to pick me up for church, lifting my head from the pillow was a struggle. I stumbled to the bathroom, took a cold shower, and tried to wake myself up.

By the time my sister honked her horn for me, I was in the kitchen nursing the smoothie I’d made for myself. I must not have done as good of a job pulling myself together as I thought I did, because she pulled a face as soon as I slid into her truck.

“Good morning,” I croaked, slowly sipping my smoothie.

“What happened to you?”

“Why? Do I look like shit?” I flipped down the vanity mirror and studied myself.

“You look hungover, boo.” She lowered her voice as she put the truck in gear. “Are you hung over, twin?”

“Hell yeah,” I admitted, leaning my head back against the headrest.

“So, you’re getting drunk by yourself now?”

“Will came through.”

“Tuh.” She sucked her teeth. “I should’ve known… with his bad influence ass. I can’t believe you went out with him or that you tried to hang with him. You’ve been away too long. Everybody on the island knows that Will is a functioning alcoholic. You can’t hang with him when he’s drinking… unless you don’t want your liver to be operable.”

“Will’s going through a thing. He’ll come out on the other side. Right now, this is how he’s handling his grief. He told me last night that he just started counseling. He realizes that his drinking is becoming a problem.”

“Well, that’s good to hear. In the interim you should be encouraging him to find another hobby, not going out drinking with him.”

“Trust, that was a one-time thing. It was my first night back. We kicked it. That’s a wrap. Besides, we won’t have time to do stuff like that again, not with the demand of this basketball camp… and this bridal boot camp stuff that my annoying twin sister has me doing.” I studied myself in the vanity mirror once more. “You think Ma is gonna notice that I’m hungover?”

“Nah, not at all.” Carrington’s voice went up a few octaves in a telltale sign that she was lying.

My mother took one look at me and rolled her eyes long and strong. She didn’t even bother speaking. She just rolled her eyes and walked away. My father laughed out loud.

“Tied one on last night, huh, Cam?”

“Yeah,” I admitted, falling into step right beside him. “Nobody told me that drinking with Will was to be avoided at all costs.”

“Will is going through a tough time right now.”

“I know. That’s why I agreed to kick it with him for the first and last time this summer.”

My father looked me up and down. “Listen, son. If you fall asleep on Bishop Procter’s sermon, try not to snore.”

What my father didn’t realize was that I’d sat through team meetings, film sessions, and all kinds of professional commitments while hungover. Sitting through church wasn’t a problem. Actually, by the time morning service ended, I was starting to feel like myself, which was a good thing. Because instead of there being a line to shake the pastor’s hand, there was a line of island women waiting to speak with me.

As I offered handshakes, smiles, and quick hugs to the women of the congregation, I couldn’t help noticing that the church’s dress code had clearly relaxed since the last time I’d attended service at Sacred Anointing Covenant Church. There were as many tight, short dresses and asses shaking as I’d seen at the club the night before.

“Cameron will be here all summer,” my mother finally told the group.

The group of women waiting to greet me became younger, bolder and more aggressive. I’d had phone numbers pressed into my hand and my dick had already been rubbed at least three times. I was over it.

She must’ve seen it in my eyes because she placed herself between the group and me. “I said,” she repeated, “Cameron will be here all summer. Please go home now.”

Sometimes, celebrity shit got on my nerves.

Once it was just the five of us—my parents, Carrington, Bryce and myself—I spoke. “I’m starving—”

My mother cut me off with a sneer on her face. “I’ll bet you are.” She made a tsk sound with her lips. “Coming to church hungover.”

I let her get hers off with no rebuttals or attempts to defend myself. She could have it. She was right; I had shown up to church hungover. I bent at the waist, placing a lingering kiss on her cheek. When she didn’t swat me away, I placed another one in the same exact spot.

“I’m sorry. I love you,” I told her.

Carrington rolled her eyes and sucked her teeth before grabbing Bryce by the hand and flouncing away.

My mother turned to face me. “I love you, too. I’m glad you’re home.” She sighed before speaking again. “I appreciate you spending time with Will, checking on him. But next time—”

“I know. There won’t be a next time. I don’t drink like that. My kidneys ain’t set up for it.”

“Good. Let’s go eat.”

“Cool.” That made me happy as hell, because I really was starving. “Where’re we going? Coastal Kitchen Cafe? The Modern Farm? Marshmallow & Biscuit?”

It was my father who answered the question. “Actually, we’re going to your house, son.”

I was lost and it showed when I ran my hand over the waves that sat atop my head. “Yo, am I still drunk?”

My father chuckled. My mother glared at me.

“I’m saying,” I said to them, “there’s no chef at my house. Who’s cooking? You, Mom?”

“Oh, that’s right.” My mother’s pace slowed a bit. “You probably haven’t had time to reacquaint yourself with Brooklyn.”

“Who is Brooklyn?”

Madeline was almost over me. I could tell by the way she glared at me, yet again. She also stopped walking as her hands found their way to her trim hips. “Brooklyn is the girl living in your guest house, Cameron. She was Carrington’s roommate for years.” She put a hard stress on the word years . “You’ve met her several times. She was here, staying at the house on the night that Bryce proposed to your sister.

“On everything I hold dear, no one would ever believe that I operate an etiquette business. If the success of my business was based on how you and your sister turned out, I wouldn’t have a business. The two of you are rude, inconsiderate, and self-centered. When we get to the guest house, please don’t act like it’s your first time meeting Brooklyn. Please greet her with at least a bit of familiarity and maybe tell her that it’s nice to see her again. For goodness’ sake, do not tell her that it’s nice to meet her!”

Originally, I thought it was overkill for my mother to remind me not to greet the woman staying in my guest house by telling her that it was nice to meet her. But when I laid eyes on her, she didn’t look familiar to me at all.

It could have been the fact that everything about her read… dayum! This girl was pressure like a motherfucker. If my sister was rooming with somebody who looked like her, there was no way that I would not have noticed her. As it was, all I could do was stare at lil baby’s curvaceous frame and pretty face.

She wore a pink and white striped number that looked like a polo shirt, except it was a dress. I liked sundresses as much as the next dude, but this dress took my appreciation of the summertime staple to the next level. The front of the dress featured a deep V that was just short of being inappropriate. From it, I could see the tops of juicy, round oversized titties popping out… but classy. The middle of the dress skirted a flat stomach, not tightly but in a way that let you know that she was holding definition in her waistline. The bottom of the dress jutted out over a fat ass and the hem kissed the center point of thick thighs. This girl had my favorite body. I fought not to stare.

She had put out a very colorful and delicious looking spread for us. The vibe was clearly brunch and she had managed to turn part of my backyard into her own little restaurant. My eyes scanned the abundance of offerings. There were chafing dishes filled with waffles, hash browns, fried chicken, biscuits, eggs, grits, and bacon. There were yogurt parfaits, fresh fruit, muffins and cinnamon rolls.

Brooklyn , I thought to myself as I discreetly searched her face. Though she was wearing shades, I could feel the heat of her gaze as she returned my stare. It wouldn’t hurt to have a neighbor who was pretty as fuck and who could throw together a nice spread. It wouldn’t hurt at all.