23. Wyn
Wyn
I peel Auty off me and pad out of the room to the guest bathroom. My bladder is about to explode, but I couldn’t move until Auty was asleep.
I’ve been back in Kenton for about six hours. Five and a half of them were spent listening to Auty catch me up on everything I’ve missed in the last year, before she tired herself out and fell asleep.
Patience and Turkey left us alone. Deucey, thankfully, was asleep when I got here, or I know I would have just had to pee on myself.
After emptying my bladder and washing my hands, I tiptoe to the back, where the nursery is.
My eyes stretch, as all my teeth show. “You knew I was coming, huh?”
Rue Bea is standing in her crib, eyes as wide as mine as she peers at me. She’s so chunky, chunkier than Deucey was. One of her socks is off, and her hair is sticking up in two different places.
I walk up to her crib, keeping the lights dim. Her eyes track me, and when I’m close enough, she lets go of the crib, opening and closing her little fists in the air.
I pick her up, pressing her close to me. “Hi, niecey pooh.”
She lays her head on my shoulder before fisting my shirt. I rock her gently, taking the slowest steps I can as I look at every nook and cranny in her nursery.
It’s like a rainbow threw up in here. Rue Bea is painted in a loud pink on the wall behind her crib. I’m sure when she gets older, she’ll want to paint over that.
“Don’t tell your brother this, but I always wanted a niece. I can’t wait to make you a diva in training.” My cheek leans on her head briefly before I stop at her changing station.
“Oh great. You’ll change her.”
I turn around and frown at Patience. “Um, no.”
Patience shakes her head, but she comes and grabs her child from me. She’s dressed in an athletic set, her hair barely pulled back in a bun.
“Are you about to work out?”
“Uh huh. A light jog around the neighborhood.” She places Rue on the table and glances at me. “If you wanna come, you got five minutes to change.”
Not knowing anything else but morning workouts for the past year, I hightail it back to the guest room, where my luggage is, and pull out some leggings and a shorts bra.
After brushing my teeth quickly, I rush to the living room, where I saw a beanie hanging off the couch.
I know my hair needs some product, but I’ll deal with it later.
Patience grins, deep dimples denting her cheeks as she fiddles with her wired earplugs. “Ready?”
“Yup.”
She stops by her front door to really take me in. Instinctively, I cover my nipples. They’re always hard from my very expensive boob job courtesy of Set, but I still don't wanna give Patience any ideas.
It would be just my luck she tells Auty I liked her checking me out.
But Patience just nods appreciatively. “You look good, Wynter. You’ve put on a lot of muscle. Let’s see if you got some endurance, too.”
I scoff at endurance. Six hours, and I miss that lunatic already. My stomach caves in, and my hands itch to call him. He’d be up at this hour, too. Mars wouldn’t let him sleep in.
But he gave me a year. Surely, I don’t think that means I won’t see him for the actual year. But to be honest… I don’t really know what he meant by that.
No fucking for a year? No being crazy? I’m the lone female rapper of a label imprint–my labelmate is my… boyfriend? Is Cochise still my boyfriend?
“Wyn? You still coming?”
Patience pulls me out of my head, concern growing over her features.
But when I grin, I disarm her completely. Strolling out of the open front door, I gently rub my thumb and index finger down her jaw. “Try to keep up.”
“Keep your hands to yourself,” she playfully scolds, locking up.
A light jog around the neighborhood for Patience Fox is five miles in just under an hour.
It’s not the beach, so I keep up easily, but I’m still drenched by the time we make it back to the house.
She’s more excited than anything to have a workout partner, rambling about how Auty’s busy schedule and Turkey’s new obsession with calisthenics has left her without a running partner.
I don’t have the heart to tell her that I won’t be here as long as she thinks, so I just stay quiet.
I’m sure she’ll see on her own in the next few weeks.
A lot of things have changed. Yeah, I’m sober, blah blah…
and Auty is hopefully in some therapy or on someone’s medication and all happy in love with her husband and wife and their kids.
But there’s no way we could last more than a month under the same roof.
We walk right into the kitchen, where there’s some remnants of breakfast waiting for us.
On the whiteboard on the fridge, Auty’s messy handwriting tells us that she’s taking the kids to school and daycare, and Turkey’s in his office.
I pick over half a waffle before giving up to go get dressed.
I know I have a lot of ground to cover today, but the most important thing is to go to East Kenton.
It’s a mild southern California day, so I throw on a black halter bodysuit and slides. Lifting my arm in the mirror, I smile as I rub ointment on my new tattoos. My mind filters through the past year, filling in the random blanks with feelings that can’t be dubbed by my defective brain.
I’m in love again. It’s so different from the first time. The few times I could stomach examining that year and a half Rico was mine, a teenage love that I thought would feel so volatile was the most stable thing I’d had. He was the one thing I could count on until I couldn’t.
And now, it’s the exact opposite. At any second, it feels like I’ll wake up. Our fingers are barely touching, reaching for each other, the first knuckle trying to curl to gain purchase.
Rico is the most unpredictable person I’ve ever met. He’ll say one thing and do another, speaking with such conviction and vitriol, you’ll just know it’s the truth. And sometimes it is. Other times, it is hurt people trying to hurt.
So exhausting. Or it should be. I should block him, and forget about my time in Belize. Forget about him and that very, very special third leg. Forget the highest highs, the gentle touches, the song my heart sings when I’m snuggled into his chest.
But then I think about how I already gave up drugs and alcohol. Without the crazy ass side effects, might I add. I deserve a little sweet treat in the form of a six-two Afro-Latino man whose special brand of love burns me in the best way.
I skip over to Auty’s bathroom and after raiding her cabinets, manage to wash, condition, and detangle my hair. I definitely need a trim, but when I stretch out a curl, it looks about six inches.
Long enough for two puff balls on the top of my head. I bobby pin the back, then finger curl some pieces and swoop my edges.
My hair’s bright from being sunbleached. The brassy highlights don’t help. But I keep staring, alternating between the freckles and the hair.
Soon, I’ll have a platinum unit on this head. Maybe.
What if I don’t?
“One thing at a time,” I whisper, leaving mirror Wyn to stew while I grab my phone.
There’s only a few people in my favorites. He’s the second name.
I scoff when I’m sent to voicemail, but then a facetime call comes through, and I take a deep breath before answering.
Curious eyes squint and try to look around my background.
“I’ll be there in ten.” *beep*beep*beep*
Damn. No hi, how you doing, or nothing.
Pocketing my phone, I put everything back where it was, then grab my new wallet from the guest room on the way out.
The lime green corvette is pulling up when I lock up Auty’s house. I’m thinking I’m just gonna slide in, but Shad has other plans, parking and hopping out like his car isn’t hella low to the ground.
He looks like he’s about business, stomping over to me. I stop and hold my hands up.
“My nerves are already–”
“Man, shut up.”
Huge arms circle my shoulders as he pulls me tight to him, smushing my face into his white tee. I’m glad I didn’t put on any lipgloss.
“I swear to God, bro, on my Nana, if you ever even think about picking up a drink or a joint or anything, I will kill you myself.” Shad rests his cheek on the side of my face. “I’m the only suicidal muthafucka in all my friendships, Wyn. It’s only room for one of us.”
I jab my fists into his sides. “You can’t even play like that anymore.”
“You’re right, damn.”
He’s the first to let go, and the easygoing smile on his face has me tearing up.
We’ve talked about this. So many times, so many nights. There would be a time where he wasn’t wading through his big feelings, and I wasn’t smothering mine. He’d joke about curving his own weed habit if it meant I’d stop everything, or maybe he’d feel better if I’d cry with him.
“So, apparently we’re all healed and shit,” I muse, folding my arms. “Does that mean we can’t be friends anymore? Is the bond more than trauma?”
The smile drops off Shad’s face before he gives me his back. “This is why I don’t claim you. Get in. I’m sure you called me to take you to the stu.”
I skip over to his car and nearly bust my ass trying to squat to get in. “But not yours! To the East!”
He snorts as I hold up my index finger. When the car starts, ironically, some old Grimey is playing, and we take turns rapping the verses and choruses as he defies the speed of light to get us to East Kenton.
I’ve learned to stop complaining. Shad’s a speed demon, but surprisingly, he’s never been in a crash–him, nor Ty. And since I’m super cool on ever really driving, I just play passenger princess and aux controller.
But today, when I know I’ma be most likely crying and begging for my job, I wish he obeyed the rules of traffic.
All too soon, we’re pulling into the garage attached to Get Money Records.
After my and Cochise’s accident, Sheisty built a more secure studio in one of his family’s buildings.
The other studio was still operational, but Sheisty and them would be at this building most likely.
And based on the cars parked next to us, Shad was right to bring us here.