Page 35 of Saint Baptiste 2

Blaise nodded. “’Preciate it, fré. I am. Very proud.”

Jah popped the cork, poured three shots and slid ours over to us.

In unison, we raised our glasses. “The shit is about to be a movie,” I added.

A lot of time had passed since Jahad decided to bow out of the business. If you asked Blaise, he’d say Jah turned his back on the family. A lot of time passing meant B had a lot of pent of resentment. Resentment that needed to be resolved before we left this bitch.

Blaise was like a pipe when he was under too much pressure; he could only hold back for so long before he exploded. And today, I saw it happening. Vividly. The shit was crystal clear. In every smirk, and at the end of every sentence too. But see… I studied niggas. Sitting back in silence allowed me that privilege. And because I studied this nigga in particular, I knew he wouldn’t just come out and spill. Hell naw. He couldn’t. If he did that, Jah would know he gave a fuck.

I was already hip to how the night would unfold. I had front row seats to the show this nigga was ‘bout to put on. Whole time, I’d been sitting back watching, and anticipating, hoping for the best though. I wanted to have a good ass time. Wanted to laugh. Needed to laugh. Especially with them. It had been far too long since we had a good time. Far too long since I had a good time. That didn’t make sense for me.

“You already know,” Blaise agreed with a smirk before we tossed the shots.

After sitting the glass on the table, I sat back against the chair and stroked my beard, with a grin.

“So, tell me about it,” Jahad said with his eyes locked on Blaise’s. He paused and leaned forward a bit. “Restaurant? Nightclub? Fill me in, nigga.”

He felt slighted. If I read it, Blaise read it. It was expected. I told Blaise to tell him sooner but because the chip on his shoulder was a lot bigger than the one on mine, he waited... He wanted Jahad to feel what he felt. He wanted him to feel left out in the cold. Blaise didn’t tell me that, but he didn’t have to. I was good at reading people, remember? Blaise said a lot of shit, but it was the shit he didn’t say that spoke the loudest. He was a wounded little boy, pissed at ‘daddy’ for abandoning him. Keeping ‘Club Inferno’ from Jahad was his way of rebelling.

Blaise sat back against the chair and shrugged, with his mouth turned down in dismay. “Shit, neither. A speakeasy.”

Jahad nodded with raised brows. “Damn nigga. A speakeasy? Aight, my baby. I see you. I fuck with it.”

“Shocked, huh?” Blaise asked, wearing a half smirk. “Can’t believe I’m openin’ my own spot up, can you?” He laughed. “Shit crazy, ain’t it?”

Jahad shook his head with a shrug. “I can believe it. I never doubted you.” He squinted. “I think you got your wires twisted nigga.”

Here we fuckin’ go.

I sucked in a deep breath, leaned forward for the bottle of Patrón and poured up another shot. Drinking wouldn’t help referee the situation, but I didn’t give a fuck because despite hoping for a good ass time, I had no plans to referee any fuckin’ thing. I was the appointed mediator between the two of them. Did I choose to be? Hell naw. Was thrown into that position too. But, I was gracefully bowing out.

I was drowning enough already. Every week I had to deal with something. Either it was an event, an emergency of some sort, or funeral arrangements. That shit fucked with me the most. Just the other day, I picked out the suit Pops would be buried in. By my lonely. Moms couldn’t because she was detached from reality. She rarely ever left his bedside. Shit was heartbreaking to witness, to say the least. I didn’t bother her with it. I was okay with her staying at his bedside. She needed that.

Blaise was handling business, Natasha on a date with her cornball ass nigga, and… there was no reason to even think about Jah. His stance was respected. So I hadn’t sat still. Couldn’t anyway. If I sat for too long my mind would get to rambling. I’d fuck around and pull up on shorty on some selfish shit just because I was hurting for peace. Since I’d been in this position, peace had been a comfortable, cushiony spot between a pair of tiger-striped thighs. I could just... chill there. Didn’t need to do shit but lay there, with my face against that bow tattoo. But, I didn’t have that anyone. So a nigga was scrambling. Steady trying to find just a little bit of what she gave me in something.

“Naaaah,” Blaise said with a wide grin, roughly running both his hands over the top of his head.

He was wylin. Jah was... thrown. Couldn’t understand why though. Coming from far-left field was what Blaise did. Me? Shit. I was chillin. Probably should have intervened since I wanted peace so bad but... fuck it. Figured the best way to get that peace would be by staying out of the fuckin’ way. I was Observing. Wondered if Blaise would keep his true feelings tucked like a bitch and just tweak out or if he would spill and tell Jah how he really felt. I was banking on the latter. It wasn’t his fault. Running from emotional truths was a Baptiste thing. Eventually he’d spill. Willingly, or unwillingly. Either it would be civil, or shit would get dangerous. Because it was Blaise... again, I was banking on the latter. He didn’t know what the hell it meant to have a civil disagreement. And I chose not to give a fuck about that either. He was a grown ass man. I had my own shit to deal with. Couldn’t help another nigga manage his emotions while I was busy juggling my own.

“Never thought I’d see the day bro kept it anything less than one hundred,” Blaise continued. Pausing, he crossed his arms over his broad chest with a smile. “Say it ain’t so. Sittin’ down did that to you, fré? Sheesh.”

Jah scratched at his cheek before leaning forward, resting his arms on his knees. With a slight cock to his head, he asked, “Did what to me, nigga?”

I smiled and moved to the edge of the chair. With a squint, I focused on the rim of the shot glass as I continued to carefully pour, slowly inching up to the very top. Right at the rim. Wondered if I could get to it before one of these niggas jumped up and made me spill my shit. I took my eyes off the glass for a second, just to glance at them. I wondered who would be the first to jump up today.

Jah. It would for sure be Jah. Yeah, Blaise was on some shit, but it wouldn’t be him because it was always Jah that jumped first. Jahad was levelheaded. Hadn’t always been. Took a minute to get him there, but since getting a better handle on his temper, getting up under the niggas skin was damn near impossible. For most. However, when it came to B? Shit. Blaise was the only muthafucka that could get him to jump fifteen years back into the mind of the nigga he used to be.

“You know exactly what I’m talkin’ about nigga,” Blaise replied, wearing a smirk, arms still crossed, trying to get bro riled up. Blaise wanted Jah to revert. The nigga loved to get him out of that ‘corporate’ shit even if it would only be for a minute.

Shit was ridiculous.

I ran my tongue over my bottom lip as I carefully picked the shot glass up. Once it was safe to, I quickly tossed it back, sat the glass down and looked over at Jah. Sighing, I shook my head. This nigga.

“Don’t doit fré,” I warned, finally inserting myself into the conversation. Dragging my hands down my face, I groaned. “Don’t fuckin’ do it.”

“Don’t do what?” B asked. “I’m just?—”

“Jah,” I stressed, briefly cutting my eyes at Blaise. Turning my attention back to Jah, I continued. “Don’t let ‘em get you goin’. You fall for this nigga shit every time.”

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