Page 12 of The Love of Priest

Remy cleared his throat before returning his face back to the smile he had before, not wanting to dwell on the disappointing piece of information Britain had just let slip. "I had just turned 21 on New Year’s Day, and my boy Ronnie threw this big ass party for me out in Queens. I wasn't really feeling it that night since a week before, my little cousin got gunned down by some niggas I was beefing with. Everybody was smoking, drinking, and dancing, and all I could do was just sit off to the side and think about how I had to get justice for my cousin. He was innocent and ain't have shit to do with what I had going on. About an hour into the party, I had downed an entire bottle. I just wanted to get drunk legally and be depressed." Remy paused for a light laugh as he reminisced.

"I remember she took a seat next to me with the snottiest look on her face. She really ain't belong in that type of scene, and everyone knew it. Me being the nice guy I am, I tried starting up conversation to get her mind off the fact that she was not enjoying her time out. I asked her who she came with and why she was there, and she went on to say, "my ditzy-ass friend dragged me up here ‘cause her whack-ass baby daddy throwing this dumb-ass party for his nobody-ass friend from Harlem." That was the first time I laughed that week."

Both Britain and Remy laughed loudly since they were both aware of Seven's mouth. She called it how she saw it. Sometimes, people were pleased and praised by her bluntness, while other times, they were offended. "So, me being me, I go on and act like I'm not the nobody-ass friend from Harlem," Remy continued. "I start asking her who exactly was that cat from Harlem, and she gone say, "who fucking knows, and who gives a fuck? Probably some washed-up-ass nigga who feel like he the shit ‘cause his birthday on New Year’s." I keep on baiting her by agreeing with her. She spent at least fifteen minutes dragging me for filth without knowing I was the washed-up-ass nigga she was lighting up."

Remy laughed hysterically just like he did when everything was occurring. "She finally shut the hell up when her ditzy-ass friend Mya came up to me to wish me a happy birthday. You should've seen the look on her face when she realized she was talking mad shit about me in my face, and I let her. She was about to apologize, but then she caught herself and said, "I meant all that shit, and I ain't taking it back. You really just sat there and took all that? You got heart little nigga." I ain't never had no female speak to me like that. I always used to say if a broad ever disrespected me or talked to me crazy, I would handle her, but when she did, I couldn't help but laugh and brush it off."

Britain tried her best to control her laughter, but Remy was letting her in on her mother's old self, and it was hilarious. Seven was now professional and poised, and she tried her best not to use foul language, but she still managed to keep her authenticity. "My mama did not say all that, now!" Britain shook her head in denial.

Remy nodded with some laughter. "I'm telling you she did. The Seven I knew ain't hold nothing back."

Britain sighed. "She didn't change you know." She could sense her father getting lost in his thoughts of his past with Seven. At one point, Remy thought Seven was the only good in the world. She was the love of his life, but they were going two separate directions in life. Remy was headed toward a jail cell, and Seven was working on a successful medical career.

Remy shrugged his shoulders in a dismissive manner. "Her last name did. That's enough change for me, quite honestly."

Britain could sense the conversation taking a turn down a path she didn't like. The last thing she wanted to do was discuss her mother's business with her father. If things were meant to be, then they would be. Britain felt like it wasn’t her place.

"How do you know Priest?" Britain’s question rang in Remy's ears. His eyes scanned her. Britain kept her head down and her brown orbs focused on her plate.

"Priest?" Remy hiked one of his brows up. "What is it to you?"

"I want to know," Britain eased out, never being one to beat around the bush. "It just doesn't seem like you two come from the same side of the tracks," Britain assumed with a shrug of her shoulders, causing her bob cut hair to sway with her movements.

"What you know about my side of the tracks, girl?" Remy chuckled at his daughter’s assumption.

She smiled lightly before shrugging her shoulders once more. "I don't know, dad. You've kept it open with me, and I feel like I've known you long enough to know you aren't some silver spoon-fed guy. Priest on the other hand… I don't know."

As a journalist, Britain spent a lot of time observing. Although Priest made it clear that his stories were all overThe Times,Britain shied away from reading any. She did, however, graze over a few headlines that were written in the paper. Priest was always being deemed as harsh, crude, and filthy fucking rich.

Britain was aware she couldn’t always believe the press, but she had to admit the paper had her wondering.

What exactly could Priest have done?

"I've known Priest since he was thirteen years old." Britain eyed her father as he patted the front pockets of his jeans, retrieving a lighter. She could have sworn her father pulled the blunt he had perched in his lips from thin air because she hadn't noticed it before he placed it to his lips. "He was born in raised right here in East Harlem?—"

Britain held her hand up, signaling her father to halt. "I didn't ask for his story. I could hear that from him. I asked do you know him," Britain clarified for her father who seemed to take her question out of context.

Remy’s lips were pulled lightly into a smirk as he sparked his blunt. "He was a little nigga around the neighborhood who always used to get himself into trouble over dumb shit. When I met him, he was at the basketball courts about to throw hands with some other little nigga, but I stopped it before they got the chance. When he told me his name, I knew exactly who he came from, and I’ve been looking out for him ever since." He shrugged before steaming himself out from the intake of smoke he took in from his blunt.

Britain nodded her head. "You're giving me his contact."

Remy took another pull of his blunt. The aroma of the maple leaf intertwining with the sticky ganja filled Britain's nose. Weed wasn't foreign to her, but it always intrigued her how open her father was with smoking it in front of her. Remy was truly nothing like Seven. He was willing to reveal his ugly, dark past to keep people from making the same mistakes he did. Seven, on the other hand, concealed everything.

"I don't think that'll be necessary," Remy shrugged. He had nothing against Priest since he had practically raised the young man since he was thirteen, but Britain was his baby girl. He didn't want her getting entangled in the mess Priest had gotten himself caught up in. The FBI and the DEA were hot on Priest's tail, and they were enough red flags for Remy.

Britain adjusted her posture in her seat before tucking a few strands of hair behind her ear. "I wasn't asking," she clarified for her father.

A smooth chuckle filtrated out of Remy. Britain reminded him more and more of Seven each day, and she had a point. She was a full-grown adult who could do as she pleased. Remy really had no room to hinder her from doing what she wanted. Although he didn't want a connection to form between Priest and his daughter, he extracted his phone from his pocket anyway. Despite his hesitation and reluctance, he recited the best number to get in contact with Priest out to Britain who jotted it down on the dial pad of her phone. Remy watched as Britain saved the number, her face contorted with question and curiosity.

Remy knew that look anywhere. Seven made that same face when he formally introduced himself as Jeremy Demings at his birthday party. It was the look that said, “I want to indulge without knowing exactly what I'm indulging in.” That look was what led to everything. Remy was hoping Britain had acquired her brains from her mother. He didn't want her getting into anything she couldn't get herself out of.

After a few more minutes of enjoying each other's company, Britain wrapped up her morning stay at her father's house, and he walked her to her car. "I'll be back tomorrow for lunch. How does that sound?" she asked as she scanned the empty midday slot in her agenda on her phone.

Remy nodded with a warm smile. "I'll be here waiting." He held the door of her Dodge Charger open for her. Britain thanked her father for his chivalrous treatment before saying goodbye. He wished her a safe drive to her next destination before taking a step back so she could head off.

As Britain drove to the scheduled date she had with Jadey and a few other ladies she really didn't enjoy being around, her mind wandered off to thoughts of Priest. Shockingly, she wasn't simply gawking over how scrumptious he looked the two times she'd encountered him, or how his voice drew puddles into her panties. She was thinking about him personally. His story, the way he grew up, his success, and his potential downfall. He was more complex than anyone she had ever come into passing with, which was crazy since they never got the chance to speak more than ten minutes. Was he that scrupulous?

Arriving at the small boutique that was only ten minutes away from the busy life of Manhattan, Britain parked her car in the parking garage before taking the elevator to the ground level. Upon entrance, Britain was greeted by a welcoming employee who offered her a glass of champagne, which she accepted. Taking a small sip from her glass, she let her heels lead the way to Jadey and the huddle of women she considered friends while Britain considered them a rally of dunces and ignorant Republicans.

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