Page 23 of The Brooklyn Way

“Oh my goodness.” The words spilled from my mouth with reverence. “Your house is my dream home. I’ve never seen anything as beautiful as this.”

His chuckle was light. “Thank you. You want something to drink before we head to the deck?”

I shook my head.

He led me to the kitchen, where he grabbed two bottles of fancy water, then I followed him out to his deck.

“It’s so gorgeous.” I couldn’t take my eyes off the view. Just the prettiest blue water as far as the eye could see.

He motioned to the comfy-looking outdoor furniture that was arranged with a decorator’s touch. “Have a seat.”

I selected one of the swivel chairs and sat. “If this was my home, I would never leave.”

“Yeah.” He dropped down into the seat right next to me. “Growing up here on the island in a beach house always made me want to own one. This place was a present to myself after we won our third championship and I renegotiated my contract.”

“You play for The Bison and I’m originally from Chicago.”

He looked over at me. “Get the fuck outta here. You’ve been friends with Carrington all of this time and she never mentioned that.”

I cut my eyes at him and sucked my teeth. “She probably did. But since you never noticed me, there was no reason for you to commit facts about me to memory.”

“Wow.” His smile was wide. “Wow. Talk your shit, mama.”

“Don’t worry. I will,” I joked.

4

Cameron

Watching the sunset was one of those things that brought me a sense of calm. With a life as hectic and stressful as mine could be, having simple, free things that brought calm was a gift from God. I didn’t take it for granted.

The coloring of the sky had moved from pale blue to varying shades of pink, purple, and orange. The sun sat just above the horizon, looking like a sunny side up egg. I took a deep breath, then took a swig from my bottle of water. A light breeze skirted across my skin as I took in another deep breath.

“There’s something about the air on Jackson Island,” I mumbled.

The words from her that followed mine came out in almost a whisper. “It’s beautiful here. Carrington was right. When she was trying to convince me to move here, she told me that I would love it. And I do. I really love it here.”

“Where’d you move here from? Chicago?”

“Nah.” Her head shook back and forth in the negative. “I haven’t lived in Chicago in many, many years. I went to college at Walker University in Indiana for undergrad and for grad. After he finished medical school, my ex got an offer for a fellowship in Londynville, Kentucky. So, we moved to the other side of the Ohio River.”

“You’ve been staying in the guest house for what? A few months?”

“Since March. Initially, I was just trying to get away from Vince, my ex, and to a lesser extent, his girlfriend. I wanted to lay low and try to rebuild or re-brand or something. But no sooner than I moved into your guest house, did your mother start riding me about making dresses for her cotillion girls. I hadn’t sewn in months and wasn’t even really sure when I would go back to it, but your mother was—”

“Relentless?” I questioned. “Listen,” I said when she gave me a surprised look, “you don’t have to tell me about my mother. I know that lady. When she wants something, she won’t take no for an answer. How many dresses did she talk you into making?”

“Six for the cotillion. I loved it, though. I’m thankful she kinda forced my hand. Being around the energy of the girls, the excitement of the parents, and the atmosphere of the community center was… everything. I needed it. I needed somebody to celebrate me. Champion me. Your mother did that. The girls and their parents did that. Then there was the fact that when the mothers of some of the debs saw the cotillion dresses on your mom’s Instagram, they started reaching out, wanting to hire me too. Before I knew it, I was back in business.” She folded her legs underneath herself and curled up in the oversized outdoor chair.

“You back on the Gram? Have you posted the cotillion or deb dresses?”

“Nah. I’m not really ready for that. I’m not ready to open myself back up to that. The ex-client, the one Vince cheated on me with, I told you that she’s a fellow influencer. Her fans would probably attack me and post shit in my comments and in my DMs.”

“Fuck ’em.” It was the first thought that came into my mind. “And I mean that shit with my entire chest. Fuck them! The two of them conspired to take you outta your God-given space. Let them know that they didn’t succeed.”

I could tell that she wasn’t convinced.

“Ay, Brooklyn, if you’re gonna hang with me… be out here on my deck, enjoying cool breezes and sunsets and shit, you’re gonna have to be willing to stand on your shit. Gimme your phone.”

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