24. Wyn
Wyn
This time, the studio cleared out with the excuse of going to smoke, leaving only me, Grime, and Cochise.
There’s a small patch of gray in Grime’s beard that makes him look seasoned, but other than that, he looks the same. Still wearing a wife beater as a shirt. Still keeps his hair in four silky cornrows.
He’s sitting on the dashboard, only because Trippy isn’t here to berate him about it.
“You ready to work?” he asks before throwing some sunflower seeds in his mouth.
“Yup,” I smile.
He stands, nodding, before leaving the room. On his way out, he squeezes Cochise’s shoulder.
And then, there were two.
Before our accident, the guys didn’t want him anywhere near me.
I knew he had a crush on me, but I also knew that being a First Nation Prince meant like arranged marriages and birthrights and shit I’d seen in fairytales.
And yeah, I’m an Ice Princess, but that's very different from a First Nation one.
Our accident trauma bonded us something fierce. The only other person in the car with us was dead, and for a while, it felt like no one understood us. How it felt to have to learn to walk again. Fighting opioid addiction, but being in debilitating pain.
Cochise and I spent hours on the phone, every day for months.
I recovered in Northupton, while he recovered here, but we never went more than an hour without speaking, especially since neither of us really slept.
He and Set were the only two people I told about wanting to go to rehab the first time.
After I was back in the city, he was the first person I saw.
I guess I like men whose interior is nothing like their exterior.
Cochise is massive in both height and muscle mass.
Beautiful dark skin that resembles marble, from the ritual he did that carved intricate scars into his skin.
Deep, deep waves, and a full two-inch long beard.
The makings of at least a player, at most a menace.
And yet, Cochise Beverly is one of the most genuine, soft-spoken men I’ve ever met.
An accident like we had, where he was paralyzed for the better part of a year, would have made anyone mean and resentful.
He was only in the car with us because we were going to hook up, otherwise he would have stayed at the party.
But he never blamed me, or brought that up, even in the ugliest argument.
In another life, one where I’d never met Rico, I would have been his wholly.
“Hey, Coach.”
Cochise’s lips twitch, before he sighs. “There’s something I gotta tell you… I’m, uh, engaged.”
“Engaged?” I parrot like an idiot.
He bites the corners of his mouth before sighing again. “It’s such a long fuckin’ story, but basically–”
“Your dad?”
“My dad.” He chuckles mirthlessly. “It’s been six months, and we haven’t killed each other, even though I’ve come close. And get this; she’s a slob.”
“No!” I breathe. Years of being around the guys means I picked up a few words, so I know Cochise means his fianceé is a blood. “I would have thought Apache would set you up with an Italian beauty.”
“Oh no, she’s Italian, too. And Black. And has roots here, too. She’s… everything.”
I feel like he didn’t mean to say that, because he averts his eyes to gain some composure.
I fold my arms. “You like her, huh?”
“I don’t hate her,” he volleys, but I can read between the lines. “She’s not who I would have picked for myself, by far, and I know for a fact Pops would have rather you than her. But, I mean, I knew one day I would have to bend the knee, and shit’s calmed down from the first uproar, so…”
He’s doing that thing where he rambles, so I cut in. “I get it, Coach. Seriously. I’m okay.”
“I just don’t want you to think I forgot about you, or that I wasn’t waiting for you. I was, Wyn.”
I take a few steps until I'm right in front of him. “Don’t feel guilty about getting engaged. Like you said, we both knew one day you’d have to do it, and we both knew I wasn’t trying to be First Lady of the First Nations. Besides, I… I, uh, I guess he’s not new but–”
“Set?”
“No,” I say, maybe a little too harsh. But, knowing Rico, I don’t need that in the air at all. “No, it’s um, someone else. My first boyfriend, actually.”
“He’s gon’ be cool with you in the Land?”
I smirk. “If your fianceé gonna be cool with me being here?”
“Man, cuz,” Cochise chuckles, “hell naw. Especially after I went hard about her exes still having access to her. But, the way I gotta be cool about her lame ass play brother, she gon’ be cool about you, too. Not like I’ma be around too much after Pops passes the torch.”
“She sounds strict. I like her already.”
We both do that weird awkward laugh that tapers off, before we’re just staring at each other, smiles just as shy as they were the first time we met.
“We’ve held onto each other since the accident, Coach.” I unfold my arms and take one of his hands, feeling his tribal scars under my thumb. “It’s okay to let go now. We’ve landed on our feet.”
“Funny you say that… I hardly ever use my cane anymore.”
“See?” I blink away tears, before meeting his gaze again. “Don’t go making problems. Marriage is for life, you know. Don’t feel guilty about leaving me behind. Put your all into it. Be the lover boy you try to hide.”
“Did you?” he blurts, before combing his bottom lip with his teeth. “Did you… care about me? I know it’s some simp shit to ask, but it’s just us, and I wanna know.”
“Present tense–I love you, Coach. I know that’s what you wanted to ask, and yes, I love you.
You don’t come out of the shit we’ve endured and not love the person you endured it with, but even still, you need to know I love you, and I always will.
But you also know that we both should have listened to Grime and never tried to creep… did you–”
“Duh, cuz. Of course I love you. Hell yeah I care about you.” Cochise takes a step forward and engulfs me in his arms.
I’ll miss this. He always curled himself over me whenever I needed a hug. But the feelings bubbling up make it that much more clear we cannot be anything more than labelmates.
“I’m so fuckin’ proud of you, Wyn. You don’t know how scared I’d be, that one day you’d OD. You came back from the dead just to keep killing yourself. But you did it. And I need you to know that from a distance, I’ma forever be rooting for you.”
“Thank you,” I hiccup, squeezing him tighter. “Thank you for never giving up on me, Coach. Thank you for holding onto me. Thank you so much for trying to be my everything. Your fianceé is a lucky woman.”
We separate, waiting until the last moment to break contact.
We’re still mirroring watery smiles when Red bursts through the door, holding a phone.
“Ay, cuz, y’all not gonna believe who the fuck is in the stu wit’ me! My twin, fasho, Wynter Snow.” He takes big steps, and I hurry and wipe my face before I’m in the camera.
Cochise scoffs and pushes him hard, leaving the phone in my hand.
With one blink, Wyn takes the back seat to Wynter Snow. “Wassup, y’all. Ay, you hearing it here first; I’m back, and there will be a comeback show this week in my city. Follow my IG, ‘cause I’ma post more info on there.”
Red’s recovered by the time I hand his phone back to him.
“And don’t trip; I’ma be in that muthafucka–”
Trippy snatches the phone and ends the Live before scowling. “You are one dumb-ass nigga, cuz. Gotta get that shit from ya mama side fasho.”
“The fuck you say about my mama, cuz?!” Red pulls up his pants to square up. I back up all the way to the wall, next to a smirking Shad.
“Are they always like this?” I whisper to him, as Red and Trippy yell in each other’s faces while Sheisty tries to separate them.
“Every time I’m here, they get into it at least twice. Red do some stupid shit, then Tripp says some shit about his mama.”
Trippy reaches over Sheisty and palms Red’s head, shaking him. Sheisty gets out the way, and Red digs his fingernails into Tripp’s wrists, making him howl.
“You big muthafucka! Get off me!”
“You worth more dead than alive. Hold still so I can snap ya neck.”
“Let the lil’ nigga go, Tripp,” Grime chuckles. He glances at me, his smile brightening. “Yo fuckin’ ass. I ain’t even realize you kicking your habits meant I can’t even smoke around you no more. I’ll be in my office.”
“Grime, you don’t have to–”
“Nah, he does,” Shad interrupts me. “Niggas not smoking nor drinking around you, period. So if these potheads gotta excuse themselves every five minutes, that’s what the fuck they doing.”
“Yup. It ain’t shit, really. I’ll be back when it’s some actual work going on.”
Grime and Coach dap up Shad, before leaving. Sheisty finally gets the brothers separated and in the farthest corners from each other.
“Y’all ready to work?” Shad chuckles, going over to the computer screens with Tripp. I stroll over to Red, who is mumbling to himself, scrolling on his phone.
“You know, I have a twin already. She’s not a ginger like us, though.” I take the other seat on the couch and snatch his phone from him.
Red kisses his teeth. His locs cover his face, but even I can tell from his side profile that he’s a cutie patootie. Strong jawline, broad nose, thick brows, even if the sandy hair nearly blends into his skin.
I move his locs out of his face, and peep the GPE tattooed on his hairline.
“What’s that mean?”
Red grins as he leans away from me. “Some Eastsida shit. I gotta get it removed.”
“Why?”
“‘Cause,” Red sighs, leaning forward. “Shit gon’ get me killed… you back for good?”
“Yup.” I hold his screen out to unlock his phone with his face.
“And while, clearly, you’re only here because the guys missed me, that doesn’t mean you up and get yourself killed.
I just got you, you know?” I lock in my number, then search GPE on his phone.
It leads me to a car profile, with videos of takeovers, races, and Red himself hanging out of a window of a Lamborghini.
“It’s a car club?”
“I mean… I could tell you, but then I’d have to, you know.” Red pulls his thumb across his neck, then cackles when I push him.