Page 37 of The Price of My Sins

“Henry ain’t your daddy, Boris,” Grandma said quietly. “Never was.”

I turned back to my mother. “So… you've been lying to me my whole life? Why?!” I yelled, making her jump, spit flying out my mouth.

By this time, some family members came into the house, including Olivia, Lexi, Deuce, and Boston. But I didn’t give a fuck.

My mama stood, lips trembling. “Because…”

“Because, what?!” I raised my voice again, my jaws locking.

“Baby… at the time, Charles was married and…”

“So you was this nigga’s side piece?” I chuckled angrily.That smart remark earned me a slap across the face from my mother.

“Watch your damn mouth!” My mother snapped, voice shaking with a mix of anger and guilt. “Now, I know what I did was wrong, but you will not disrespect me!”

Before I could fire back, the man Charles cut in, trying to play peacemaker.

“Aye, let’s just calm down. Young man, I may not have been in your life, but you’re being real disrespectful right now. That’s your mother. Have some respect.”

I turned on him so fast he flinched. “Nigga, respect these nuts! You don’t know me!” I barked, chest rising and falling with rage I couldn’t even name yet.

His jaw flexed. “You got every right to be angry, son?—”

“Don’t call me that!” I snapped. “You don’t get to use that word with me.”

My mother stepped in between us, holding her hands out, eyes pleading. “Bo, please. I know this is a lot, but…”

I didn’t let her finish. I slammed my hand through the wall, creating a big hole. Olivia came and stood by me. She placed her hand on my shoulder, but I knocked it off. I didn’t want to be touched. I know this wasn’t her fault, but right now, it was fuck everybody.

I walked past the crowd without saying a word, down the steps, and around the side of the house. My blood was boiling, and my fists were clenched so tightly my knuckles cracked. I didn’t stop until I hit the garage, yanked the door up, and stood staring at the only thing that ever gave me peace when my world got too damn loud: my bike.

The matte black Harley Davidson sat there like it had been waiting for me, untouched, just like I left it months ago. I didn’t hesitate. I snatched the keys off the hook, grabbed my helmet hanging from the wall, and threw my leg over the seat in one fluid motion.

My chest rose and fell with each breath, and I could feel the heat still burning under my skin. I needed to get the hell out of here before I said something I couldn’t take back or broke something I couldn’t fix.

As the engine roared to life, I caught Olivia walking into the garage. I raked my hand down my face, trying to hold the pieces of myself together. My jaw clenched, and my chest tightened. I just needed some air. Some distance. Something to outrun the betrayal clawing at my insides.

“Baby…” Her voice was soft and careful, like I was a grenade with the pin halfway out. “I know you’re hurting, and I know you need space, but please, please be careful.”

She came closer with no hesitation in her steps, and placed her hands on either side of my face. Her fingers were warm. Anchoring. Then, she kissed me slow, deep, and full of everything I couldn’t give her back at that moment.

I could taste her tears as they slipped between us, salty and honest. But even her love, real and raw as it was, couldn’t fix the hole burning in my chest.

“I love you, baby, and please don’t shut me out…” Her voice cracked.

My only response was sliding my helmet on and giving her one last look, before revving the engine and speeding out of the garage with the weight of the world on my shoulders.

The sight of Bo’s Harley tearing down the block echoed in my chest as I stood in the doorway, heart lodged in my throat and hands trembling at my sides. It hurt me to see my son so broken, and I was the cause of it.

I leaned against the frame of the door, my eyes burning. I wanted to call out for him, but what good would it do? The truth had landed like a bomb, and I’d dropped it too damn late.

My mother’s voice came from behind me, low and heavy. “I’m sorry, baby, but it needed to be done.”

I turned to face her, arms folded tightly across my chest. “I know, but not like this. You had no right to do this, Mama. Now my son hates me.”

I walked back into the kitchen, my feet heavy, like I was dragging years of guilt behind me. Charles was still standing there, motionless, like the ghost of every mistake I ever made had come to life and was now staring me down. His face was turgid, like his mind hadn’t caught up to what his ears just heard.

By now, Mama was ushering folks out of the house. Her voice floated through the hallway, soft but firm, clearing the space with practiced ease. My sister and a few of the ladies were moving back and forth, gathering the leftover food, coveringpans with foil, and scraping plates into the trash. Nobody said much, but I felt their side glances burning holes in my back.

---