Chapter 5
Verse Five
It had been almost a month since Kaleela had made amends at the studio and crossed paths with the two little boys she never knew she needed.
There were times, though, her mind traveled back to that day, especially after she’d ignored Scooter.
He’d been nothing but kind and supportive, and she’d repaid him by putting up a wall.
He felt snubbed, but instead of being in his feelings, he and Donovan had been working nonstop.
He was the beatmaker, the deejay, and the heart of their sound.
When Donovan rapped to it, his delivery had a quick tempo akin to that of Busta Rhymes but with a rasp sound similar to that of DMX.
They brought a sound from the south that was unique, their own.
They both knew they had no choice but to make it, and they had.
However, anytime he was alone, she’d crowd his mind.
He thought they’d made a connection; he liked her vibe, too.
She was like the perfect homeboy he could kick it with, yet so easy on the eyes that all he could imagine was eating her pussy.
He knew it was untouched. It had to be, and he wanted to be the first nigga she gave it to.
“Scoot, you don’t hear me talking to you?” his baby sister, Mango, yelled. She was excited she’d finally booked an appointment at The Palace. She’d been on a waiting list for months, but jumped to confirm an appointment once the receptionist reached out.
“Damn, girl. I do now. Why you have to be so loud?”
“Because you’re about to miss my turn. I told you, Tram is taking me out tonight, and if I’m late, it’s cancelled.
I need my feet and my hair done. All day, you’ve been zoning out.
Who did it?” Rarely did he ever allow shit to bother him, so when he half-listened to her rant about wanting to go off to college and needing a car, she knew something or someone was bothering him.
“Mango, mind your damn business.”
If anything, he regretted agreeing to drop her off before he knew the salon was on the north end.
It was saturated with high-end stores and tourists who came for the beaches, despite the many robberies, carjackings, and even murders that happened in that part of town.
The cops were eager to put a nigga down, and he didn’t want to be that nigga.
He kissed his teeth, then turned up the music on the radio.
“So rude, ugh.” She pulled out her cell and texted her boyfriend.
“I’ll just have Tram come pick me up. I can’t take this little attitude.
Whatever girl has you in your feelings will get her ass kicked by me.
If you plan to wife one, at least teach her how to behave.
And trust, I know it’s not Serita. She annoys you. ”
She smirked, easing into his face, mostly because it was true.
In fact, Serita was the furthest from his mind and still would’ve been had Mango not brought her up.
She was his old work, who went to college in Georgia, and didn’t know she was old news.
After two years of being away, on top of two years of dating, she became too damn clingy.
He couldn’t keep up with all the FaceTime calls and lives where she proved Solomon “Scooter” Black was her man, along with rapper Lil’ Dread Man, or Dread Man, being his cousin that she grew up with.
“Everything ain’t about a woman, Mango. There’s more to life than fucking, getting your hair and nails done, and going out. You would know that if you did more than watch reality TV and those damn lives on IG or TikTok bullshit. And if you’re serious about college, all that has to come second.”
Mango, or Monesha from birth, was the baby and almost eight years younger at seventeen. His other two sisters, Leah and Erika, were just as spoiled. She, however, acquired her nickname because it was the only thing she’d eat without teeth as a baby that would keep her quiet.
Years later, her mouth operated off attitude sprinkled with lots of sass, yet Scooter wouldn’t change a thing about his baby sister.
She was yet another reason he was motivated to push his role in the music industry to the next level.
He wanted her to see life outside her immediate environment, and he had every intention of ensuring that occurred by the time she went off to college.
He opened the door as Mango walked inside the salon, and was immediately impressed.
She might have gotten on his last nerves, but one thing he appreciated was Mango’s desire to have the best in life, even if her methodology of acquiring better annoyed him.
Oftentimes, he had to remember that he was once her age and had done far worse than wanting the latest pair of Jordans or to be clad in the latest high-end fashion.
“Got damn,” he whispered. He nodded as he took in the coral and shell-colored marble, Italian tile floor, white washbowls, pedicure chairs, and hair stations.
In the waiting area, there were several white, leather sectionals, tables, and an eating area with fruit, cheese, crackers, and glasses filled with a beverage he assumed was wine.
The owner, Shonasia, had elevated the salon game, and it showed.
He felt the presence of elegance as he sat down and rested his arm on the back of the sofa.
It was soft leather too, yet firm enough to support the traffic that came in and out daily.
On any given day, The Palace served at least thirty to forty patrons with eight beauticians, three barbers, and three nail technicians.
After Shonasia and X became an item, he started sending clients her way, which naturally expanded her visibility and demands to service men.
He even secured two of the barbers that were former clients of his.
They’d acquired their trade during their time of incarceration.
One thing Shonasia and X knew was that the streets took care of their own.
“I have to use the restroom.”
“You don’t have to announce it, Scoot. Just go,” she roughly whispered. She then covered her face with a magazine from embarrassment. “That way, to your right,” she relayed, code-switching. He noticed and smirked.
“Straight catfishing.” He stood up and thumped her forehead before he heard laughter.
Out of nowhere, two boys came rushing in his direction before their little bodies crashed against his body.
Crazily, they continued on with their banter, playfully swatting at each other as they giggled and panted.
“On God, Trav and Rell, I swear, if you two don’t—” Immediately, Kaleela was speechless when her eyes landed on Scooter, and he did not disappoint.
He stood easily six-foot-three, dressed in dark gray jeans, a plain green T-shirt that showed off his defined, tatted arms and two chains, one larger than hers.
A cross was on one, while a crown hung low on the other.
On his feet were a pair of green and black Nike Air Force retros.
She figured Retros easily occupied his closet.
He was a sight to see as she felt her pussy thump.
“Aye.” He smiled, both hands lifted. “Y’all, calm down. This is a nice establishment.” She noticed he fought to suppress a chuckle, watching them play a game he was quite familiar with as they yelled, “You’re it.”
Soon, they stood on each side of him, sweaty, pushing out bouts of air as they fought to catch their breath.
All the while, Kaleela sat there with mixed feelings from guilt to admiration, especially when he ruffled their hair and knelt in front of them.
They’d come to get a haircut but hadn’t sat long enough for one.
“Be careful before you all get hurt, understand?”
“Yes, sir,” they sang in unison before Rell dashed and plopped in Kaleela’s lap. Travis had gotten beaten out again, but he settled for wrapping both arms around her neck, pushing his face into her neck.
“What’s up, Miss Kaleela?” He looked down and smirked. “That cell out of commission or something?”
“N-Naw,” she stammered, then gulped.
Travis stood and fumed, watching how Scooter looked at Kaleela. He knew that look, had seen it plenty of times when a man was interested in a woman. She was all they had, and he’d be damned if Scooter would mess it up. He stood with tiny, balled fists.
“So, these are your shorties?” he asked. Just when he thought he knew all there was to know, if social media and the streets rumbling counted, she popped out with two children.
“Well—”
“You trying to talk to Miss Kaleela?” Travis intervened. He pushed out his chest in front of her like a bodyguard. “Well, she ain’t trying to talk to you.”
“Travis!” She lifted one hand, then closed her eyes as she silently counted to ten. Gentle parenting wasn’t working as much as it did when they first moved in with her. Truthfully, she was putty in their hands, and they knew it.
“Yes, ma’am?” His large, brown eyes lifted, tugging at her heart.
“What did I tell you about how you speak to adults?”
He shrugged at first, then looked at Scooter.
“I apologize for talking to you like you’re not an adult, but I still feel the same way. She ain’t talking to you. We ain’t never seen you before, so I need you to back up.”
A few cackles were heard, causing Kaleela to cover her mouth with both hands and stretched orbs.
His natural, protective nature quickly extended to her after the first week they came to live with her.
She’d wake up, and there he’d be, sleeping on the floor next to her bed with Rell underneath him.
By week two, they’d managed to stay in their bedroom but only if they fell asleep with the television on.
“Thank you, Travis, but that still wasn’t nice.”
“I’ll do better.” He mean-mugged Scooter, who lifted his hands in mock surrender.
“In fact, can you both go check on the towels in the dryer and get to folding? I heard if someone folds them, then they earn an extra allowance.”
“What about candy instead?” Rell quickly asked.
“Boy, if you don’t—”