Page 59 of Good As Hell

Every press organization is present, and we did an event with them that just ended. I don’t know if it’s my status as the High Consort or because this event is for the people, but they were the most respectful, than they have ever been. None of the diva questions. And not even anything about me keeping my pregnancy secret then marrying him in a shotgun wedding. I know without him even saying, Hassan has been protecting me from all the negative publicity that could possibly emerge from an event like this. Unlike so many times before, my motives have not been questioned.

“She loves the people of Morocco and she wants to help.” The only word from His Royal Highness on record and that has stood strong for the press outlets throughout the world. Nothing more, nothing less.

Never in my life has anyone ever stood ten toes down for me like this man. FADE has stood by my side, but Hassan stood in front — chest out. Taking all the slings and arrows that should have come my way unblinkingly.

I’ve seen proud Black men stand up for their wives many times, yet never have I ever thought a man would put himself at the front for me.

How could I not make a song likeMy Love Habibifor him?

Fi cried when I sang it for her the first time and that was enough for me to know that I should sing it for the world tonight.

“You got this! You see how they love you? The top prices was ten thousand. Somebody paid ten-K to see you, Lyric!” Fi whisper-shouts as we me look on at the act performing before me.

I glance back, seeing Aliah, Indigo, and Fariq in my periphery. My team, loyal and true. All here for me. Whether through loyalty to me or Hassan, they are present.

“Yes, they love me and I love them.” I say with the reverence I feel that encompasses me with every performance. It’s never lost on me that everyone doesn’t get their dream to come true and I’m blessed to be able to do what I love.

As the other artist leaves I’m on their heals striding onstage swinging this forty-inch ice blond buss-down with a Farah Fawcett fringe bang I totally had her copy from my favorite BookTok influencer with the confidence and love first instilled in me by Justice then completed by Hassan. Two very different men that have shown me love in their distinct ways.

Justice was light and Hassan — gray tinged with black. Still, no one who claimed to be light ever supported me like my husband.

This thought is my companion as I step center stage to the crowd of a hundred thousand.

When the explosion hits, it takes me by surprise. My husband covered every contingency. Covered all the gaps. How could this happen?

The stage shakes, shudders, then starts to crash as the foundation begins to crumble beneath our feet.

Flashes go off. I don’t know if it’s guns. Yeah, my mind goes back to living in the projects. Those are definitely gun shots.

A burning pain sears my arm. Bright crimson stains the rhinestone covered white sleeves of the couture jumpsuit Summer made me.

“Lyric,” I swivel, ungluing myself from the spot I’m standing in, trying not to be distracted by the people screaming and panicking. Another hard oscillation and the far right side of the stage crashes like the earth is opening up, but I know it’s not a quake.

“Lyric,” Fi screams again, “RUN.”

I don’t think. Heart pounding. I look toward the press box and seeing smoke pouring from it.

Ayaan. Hassan. The only thing pounding louder than my heart is my need to get to them. Running as fast as I can across the stage, I ignore the shattering of the bulbs. The acrid smell of smoke and sulfur threatens to overtake me. I hear the pinging bullets, and I know they are for me.

Somehow and I know it’s nothing but angels shielding me as I race to the dark corner where Fi is waving frantically with panic urging me to hurry.

Just as I reach her, she darts out to grab me.

“No,” Fariq shouts, rushing toward us. I don’t know what he sees, but Fi twists and her body jerks hard, pushing me forward and down under her.

The breath is knockout of me. Looking up through the smoke and a little dazed, I see Fariq unload his clip in the direction of the shots that took us down.

He reloads, then sweeps, taking out more assailants. Crouching, still shooting, somehow he’s able to get enough of our clothes and drag us out of the line of sight.

“Lyric, are you hurt?” He demands as he checks Fi’s pulse. I notice the trembling of his bloodied fingers. Fi’s not shot, she just took the brunt of the fall. I’m hoping it’s just the wind knocked out of her.

“It’s nothing, just a graze.” Medics swarm in, taking Fi, who starts to move groggily.

Fariq helps me stand.

“Hassan messaged me to come immediately. Said he needed to get Ayaan to safety—” I stare at him, confused. This is not protocol. He seems just as bewildered. “When I stepped away to call to verify, the explosion hit.”

“Sir, we have to take her. Now.” Then they a rushing Fi off. My security team is all in place surrounding me.

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