31. Wyn
Wyn
Today is the day I might actually relapse.
The skin on my cuticles are peeled back so bad that the A/C blowing in Rico’s car burns my fingers.
He won’t turn it down, opting to blow it fully even though it’s not hot, because I slapped on a blonde wig and covered my freckles expertly.
My bare arms folded across my chest aren’t enough, even after rubbing them with my fucked up hands.
I’m freezing.
He’s in a thick hoodie, humming along to his playlist as he drives us to my parents’ house. I told him I could go alone. I even told him I could have Auty get me.
He told me to get my ass in the car and stop playing with him.
At first I thought he was doing the most to distract me from being around my parents, but he isn’t that unorthodox. No. He’s really mad I wanted to wear my new romper because we had decided to go out after this bullshit lunch.
A hating ass non-boyfriend if I’d ever met one.
I reach over to turn off the A/C. He turns it back to up the max.
I reach over again. He takes his gun out of the small of his back and uses the barrel to turn the knob, before resting the gun in his lap.
“You’d shoot me to keep me freezing?”
Rico glances at me as he turns onto my parents’ street. “You know the answer to that.”
“You get on my nerves–”
“Bro!”
My hands slip off the gun, and he overcorrects, narrowly missing a parked car as he holds it away from me. His rims scrape on the curb before he throws his car in park and turns to me.
“You gon’ act right in this fuckin’ crib?”
“You didn’t have to come!” I shriek. “In fact, don’t. Auty can take me home.”
The doors lock before I can swing open the door, and I look just in time for him to activate the child lock.
I hate that he’s so fine. Even now, with his forest green hoodie set from some local designer I don’t know. His face is healed to where his bruises can be taken for him just being tired, and he has the nerve to have grown out his mustache and goatee in the days I haven’t seen him.
That pink tongue I love to sit on licks his lips, leaving them glistening. Honey eyes roll before they settle on me, hooded, and muted.
“Snow,” he starts, his voice shooting straight to my already painfully hard nipples.
“It is literally taking every iota of energy I have not to run up in this fuckin’ house and kill these muthafuckas.
I have managed to avoid Aaron and Amani Shaw for almost fifteen years, but because you decided to humor Haze and Turk, I gotta sit up in this fuck ass house, eat some dry ass food, and not react to blatant disrespect aimed at the woman I love.
Gotta be cool with you covering up some of my favorite things ‘cause they chasing ghosts. And then gotta listen about how they shared psychosis is somehow yo fault.” Rico sits up, and gently takes my hands in his.
Hearing him say out loud that he loves me will never cease to make butterflies take flight in my middle.
He examines my cuticles, placing kisses on each one of my fingers before meeting my gaze once again.
“You got a lot on ya plate today, Snow. A lot. I’m so proud of you, I know it’s hard as fuck right now, and I’m here to support you in any way you need.
But in turn, as my woman, I need you to support me.
Please, kill all that bullshit. I ain’t got time nor energy to give you no act right when I’m already holding back from lighting up they crib. ”
I lean forward, grazing my lips on his.
Rico melts instantly, enough for him not to notice me unlocking the child lock.
I bite his bottom lip hard enough for him to hiss.
“Nigga, I ain’t seen you in weeks. Talkin’ ‘bout some ‘act right.’ Yo act is putting you right in the dog house!” I unlock the door and get out, over him and the lunch I planned.
One day, Auty will wash her hands of our makers. If today isn’t that day, I will at least be going back to weed.
Popping a piece of bubble gum in my mouth, I breeze up the driveway to my parents’ house. After theirs got shot up a few years back, Turkey moved them to Thunder Hills thinking it would score Auty some brownie points.
An arm snakes around my waist just as I ring the doorbell.
“You need to use yo words when you miss me,” Rico whispers in my ear, punctuating his lame ass line with a kiss.
I go to elbow him but he dodges it, laughing softly beside me. Glancing behind me, I catch Turkey parking across the street, but turn around when the front locks disengage and the heavy wooden door swings open.
Amani Shaw looks old as fuck. Laugh lines, worry wrinkles, the works mar her once youthful cheeks and forehead. The makeup she’s using to cover them isn’t doing its job, and the way tears spring out of her lids, I’m sure her makeup will be gone in the next twenty minutes.
That, and tired ass wig aside, she looks the same as she did the last time I saw her.
Hope and wonder fill her irises as she takes me in. Her lips part and everything. To an outsider, I’m sure it looks like I’m the second coming of Jesus to her. She probably would have fainted if I’d worn my natural hair and didn’t cover my freckles, which is exactly why I didn’t.
I don’t have the time. Not right now. Not when I’m fighting every day to be a Wynter Shaw I can look at in the mirror and not cringe away. I can’t be reminded of Summer. Especially not on a day where I stared at my dealer’s IG for thirty minutes.
Rico tightens his hold on my waist slightly, just enough to remind me that he’s here. Fucked up attitude, homicidal thoughts and all, he’s here, and I’m not alone.
That snaps Mom out of her reverie, and when her eyes dart to Rico, her face twists immediately.
“Good afternoon, Mom. Gonna let us in? Auty’s right behind us.”
Her eyes planted on Rico, she opens the door, her feet slowly moving until she’s not blocking us anymore.
My hand plants on Rico’s back firmly and I push him in before me. As soon as I’m over the threshold, Mom throws her hands around me and pulls me to her.
“I’m so glad you’re alright! Who the fuck is that man?!” she whispers loud enough for Rico to hear. His steps falter, but he picks his stride back up, giving himself a tour of their place.
Before I can answer, Deucey runs up to us, pushing Mom out the way to hug me himself.
“Auntie Wynnie!” he squeals, and pressure builds in my eyes. My baby boy isn’t so little anymore, especially since he’s to my shoulder.
“Royce!” Mom laughs off, “Mind your manners.”
He ignores her, which is new. Instead, he hugs me tighter and tells me I need to get on the game more.
“It’s not fun without you saying bad words. Hi Uncle Rico!” Just like that, Deucey leaves me to dap him up.
“Uncle Rico?” Mom repeats, a thin brow climbing as Auty, Turkey, and Patience come up.
Mom hoods her eyes, waving at them halfheartedly before walking off toward the patio. “Lunch is ready,” she calls out, before slithering out of the sliding door.
“I should have just stayed home.” Patience cuts her eyes to Auty, before grabbing at Rue.
Turk turns away from her, a mean mug on his grill. “Daddy need to rehash that lesson again?”
Auty scoffs, and I take that opportunity to grab her away from those horn dogs and pull her into the kitchen. She rolls her eyes at a smirking Rico along the way, who’s amused at her tantrum. Blowing her a kiss, he picks up Deuce, flipping him in his arms to make him laugh.
“Mom doesn’t like Patience?” My head begins to pounds as I sift through memories of them together, but I’m coming up empty.
“Patience isn’t special. Mom hates anyone who goes against what the Bible says,” she spits, folding her arms. Her movements are jerky, her ring snatching in her hair after trying to scratch behind her ear.
If I didn’t know any better, I would think she was on something, too.
“You good?”
She meets my gaze head on, daring me to speak on whatever I find in it. “Yup. Let’s get this over with.”
She turns before I can speak, grabbing my wrist hard and leading us all outside.
Dad’s setting plates of barbecue onto the table.
When he looks up, his eyes find me, before they find Auty.
But when he sees Rue in Turkey’s arms, he lights up, nearly dropping the food before wiping his hands and reaching for her.
“There’s my perfect granddaughter,” he coos, taking her and holding her close. “You’re getting too big, Rue Bea.”
Mom takes a gulp of something that looks utterly refreshing. A panicked noise reaches my ears, and by the way Rico’s gaze snaps to me, I think I was the culprit.
He guides me to the seat farthest from her, on Dad’s right, before taking the seat next to me.
Mom rolls her eyes, before perking up. “I made margaritas!” she sings, jiggling her cup.
“I’m, uh… sober. About a year now.”
“So you were in rehab then?” Dad asks, taking his seat next to me. He grabs a rib off the dish and hands it to Rue, who begins to gnaw on it immediately. “I understand.”
“Well, I don’t,” Mom snaps, taking another gulp. “Why the hell would you need rehab?”
“Dad, can I go inside?” Deucey asks, rolling his eyes.
“Royce–”
“My name is Deuce,” my nephew mumbles, cutting off his grandmother.
“Deucey, mind your manners.”
“I don’t need you defending me from my grandson.” Mom curls her lip at Patience, but it’s Auty who shrinks in her seat.
Turk chuckles mirthlessly, but Patience stands and takes Rue when she reaches for her.
“We’ll be inside. Deucey, can you make our plates?” Patience levels her glare on Mom while Deucey obeys her. The day is mild, but now sweat builds on the back of my neck and I fidget, glancing at the pitcher of margaritas only a few times every few seconds so no one notices me.
“And what are you looking at, little girl?” Mom grits as Deuce walks away.
“Nothing at all,” she volleys effortlessly, before leaving us outside.
Dad tries to shoot a glare at Mom, but she waves him off before finally noticing me. “Girl, just grab some if you want it.”
“She just said she went to rehab, Mommy. Actually, I’ll just take it–”