17. Sincere
Two Days Later . . .
I wish I could say that my busy and full schedule has me out of touch with days and time.
But that would be a lie, which isn’t something I pride myself on.
Initially, Journee’s reason for not seeing me didn’t raise any red flags.
Instead, I was hoping that she would be fine and shake off whatever was making her sick.
Now, though, I’m unsure of what’s going on.
Her responses to my check-ins have been vague, if she replies at all.
For a couple in the newborn phase of their relationship, I’m not sure what to make of it.
I’ve also been going back and forth about our interactions, conversations, dates, and everything else, trying to figure out whether I’m the cause of this separation.
But each and every time, I come back to the night we had sex, and none of what I did explains what’s happening now.
I’m not one to toot my own horn, but I know what I do in the bedroom.
None of it warrants a woman to retreat like my dick is two inches long.
“Forget this.” I stand and head to my bedroom to put on some clothes.
I’ve been home from work for about an hour and have been unable to think about anything other than Journee.
At this point, and with the title of her man, I’m about to do a pop-up.
I don’t normally do this kind of thing, but at this point, I’m tired of overthinking and wondering if I’m the problem.
I also don’t like not knowing if she’s good.
It takes me no time to put on joggers, a T-shirt, and tennis shoes.
I walk out of my room and take the steps to the bottom floor two at a time.
I grab my keys from the ceramic bowl by the front door and head to the attached garage.
Less than five minutes later, I back out of my garage, driveway, and head off my street toward Journee’s apartment.
Despite the music that plays around the interior, my mind is occupied with what will happen once I lay eyes on Journee.
A couple of minutes into my ride, my phone rings through the speakers, and I frown at the sight of Jamarion’s name.
“What did you do?”
Jamarion doesn’t call me regularly, so my question is aggressive since I don’t need anything to divert me from my current route. A low chuckle bounces around the vehicle, causing a frown to slide into place.
“Damn, cuz. You don’t have any confidence in me, huh?”
“That depends on the reason for this call. What can I do for you, Mr. Pierce?”
More laughter comes through the receiver as I come to a red light.
“Oh, yeah. You switched to that goofy professional tone. But I’m not in trouble . . . yet.”
My eyes pinch, and I grip the steering wheel a little tighter as I dig for more information since Jamarion is being so vague.
“What does that mean?”
“What did you do to Journee? I’ve been trying to get her on the phone since yesterday to set up something for me to see Mimi, and she’s not answering.”
Jamarion’s information causes my forehead to wrinkle and my thoughts to reel as I process what he’s said. While Journee has replied vaguely to my texts, she hasn’t completely ignored me. She just hasn’t been very open or forthcoming in her responses or in her request for us to get together.
“I haven’t done anything. I’m actually on my way to her apartment to check on them.”
“Great minds think alike because so am I. Silence ain’t like Journee, and I ain’t feeling the shit.”
“Alright. I should be there in about fifteen minutes.”
“Say less.” Jamarion disconnects the call, and my thoughts take flight as I attempt to figure out what’s going on with Journee.
In my experience with women, sickness shouldn’t cause Journee to move funnily or be unlike herself.
If she’s ignoring Jamarion, who she knew first, it makes me wonder if something else is going on.
It also makes me happy that I didn’t decide to wait her out.
Determination cuts my drive by three minutes.
I see Jamarion standing across from the elevators when I enter the lobby.
“Oh, you decided to wait for me?” I say it as more of a question than a statement.
“Yeah. I figured it would be easier, just in case I need to beat your ass depending on how Journee handles this pop-up. You sure you ain’t done anything to piss her off and have her dissing me as a result?”
I wave Jamarion off because the last thing I’m worried about is him thinking I’ll let him kick my ass. I push the elevator button, and thankfully, the door opens a second later.
“I ain’t playing. Cousin or not, I told you not to fuck over my people.” Jamarion enters the shaft after me with a glare that doesn’t faze me in the least.
“My only concern is Sweet Face and Journee.”
Jamarion grumbles, and I dismiss it once the elevator ascends as my mind contemplates how Journee is going to take this double pop-up. The elevator stops on the designated floor for my little family, and I step off, my focus on laying eyes on Journee.
“Open this mothafucking door, bitch. I told you not to play me.”
My eyes pinch, and a glare forms when I see some dude aggressively pounding on Journee’s door.
“I’m going back to jail,” Jamarion declares.
Seeing this man assault Journee’s door causes me to forget about my law degree or my usual attempt to keep Jamarion on the straight and narrow. The man’s next words cause my brain to short-circuit and my steps to quicken as I close the remaining distance.
“Journee! Journee! You got two seconds, or I’m kicking this door in.”
“Do it and wake up dead.” My tone brooks no argument as Jamarion and I reach whoever this is at my woman’s door.
My blood’s lava hot as I take in the guy once he turns to face Jamarion and me. The urge to pound his face as hard as he’s hit the barrier blocking him from Journee increases once our eyes connect. Jamarion speaks before I can question him or say anything.
“BN? You must have a death wish,” Jamarion barks.
BN? What is a BN, and how does Jamarion know him?
“This is my family, nigga. Fuck you think this is,” BN says.
The more I stare at this man, the more familiar he becomes as another image slams into my mind. Brian Noble. The man I saw in court a while ago was the one who told the judge he wanted to be better for his child.
“You’re the deadbeat,” I say, entering the conversation as everything comes together like a puzzle.
“You look familiar. Who the fuck are you, nigga?” Brian questions.
Before I can respond, my phone chimes with the jingle I assigned for Journee. I pull the device from my joggers’ pocket to see a new text.
My Journee:
Milan is here, and she’s scared.
Shit!
The knowledge of Sweet Face being inside fuels me even more as rage fills my extremities. It also forces me to slow my reaction so as not to add any additional stress to my Sweet Face. I show Jamarion my phone before I exit the thread, lock it, and slip it back into my pocket.
“Whatever your intentions were for coming here tonight don’t matter. You need to tuck your tail and be on your way because there’s no one on the other side of that door for you.” My voice is void of emotion as I assess the little boy in front of me.
A distinct click sounds, forcing me to look at Jamarion as he lifts a silver-plated gun toward Brian.
“The difference between my cousin and me is that words are often a waste of my precious time. He also has to worry about his law license while I don’t have shit to lose. Now, you can walk your bitch ass away from this door, or them folks got a body bag for you,” Jamarion says calmly.
“That’s why you look familiar. I almost hired you as my attorney,” Brian says.
“Not in any version of your lifetime,” I reply.
“Five,” Jamarion says coolly.
Brian’s eyes bounce from me to Jamarion for seconds, and a humorless chuckle falls from his mouth as he takes a step forward.
“This shit ain’t over. They will have to see me again.” Brian points behind him toward Journee’s door and then side steps Jamarion, and heads toward the elevator. “Oh yeah, I won’t forget this unfinished business, Jay.” Brian doesn’t turn to look in our direction as he speaks his parting words.
“Looking forward to it, bitch boy,” Jamarion grumbles to Brian’s retreating back.
My focus shifts to the two people on the other side of the door as I pull my phone out again and send a quick message.
Me:
It’s clear. Open the door.
“I’m gonna speak to Mimi and Journee, then I’m gonna get out of here.”
I don’t get a chance to say anything when the sound of the locks disengaging forces my eyes to shift to the door. When it opens a second later, my words get lodged in my throat. Journee is wearing a tank top and short shorts, with her feet bare.
“Fuck you got a turtleneck on for?” Jamarion barks.
I can’t focus on Jamarion’s words because my eyes are intently assessing not only Journee’s attire but her body language.
Something is wrong, and her uptight shoulders, the tightness around her eyes, and the slight tremble in her hands confirm that this pop-up was necessary.
The air coming out of the door causes my brows to knit together because Journee’s wardrobe choice isn’t indicative of her being cold.
“What are you hiding, baby?”
Journee’s eyes shift from Jamarion to me, and my jaw clenches when her gaze becomes misty.
“N—”
“Don’t stand here and attempt that lie, J. Old lady Sharon can see this lie, and she can only see images through a magnifying glass.” Jamarion cuts Journee off before she can tell me that she isn’t hiding anything.
Journee visibly swallows, and I can no longer take the suspense or the separation as I move toward her.
If she’s not going to tell me, I’m about to find out for myself.
Once I’m in front of her, I pull down her turtleneck as it reveals a purplish ring around her neck that hasn’t been achieved by ravishing her body.
“What the fuck?” I bark.
My eyes bounce from the offending taint of her skin to her eyes as tears slowly trek down her face. My temple vein thumps, and my jaw clenches as murderous thoughts enter my mind.
“Who put their fucking hands on you, J?” Jamarion questions.
“B-B-BN.” Journee stutters before she falls into my body, causing me to wrap her up in my hold as she sobs.
“Cere! Unckie J!” Milan’s happy voice dumps cold water over the tension in the doorway, reminding me of her presence in the apartment.
“Man. I’m killing that nigga,” Jamarion says low enough that only Journee and I can hear him as he shifts his attention to Sweet Face. “Hey, Mimi. Come give me some love. I got to go.”
Journee’s cries are lower due to Milan’s nearby presence as I hold her tight, hoping that some of my strength will seep into her pores.
The problem with that is rage flows through my veins, and the urge to rearrange Brian’s face fills my mind the longer we stay connected.
While I know Jamarion has declared his intent, I will exact this revenge.
Hell, Sweet Face and Journee are mine to keep safe, and Brian violated them in the worst way.