Page 42 of A Trial of the Heart
“That’s not sexual, LeeAnn.”
“Oh, my bad.” She snorted. “Just be honest with him and yourself. Hear what he has to say, say what you need, and whenit’s all done, realize y’all are not a team and may the best man win.”
LeeAnn played entirely too much at times, but I knew I could always count on her whether it be to cry, laugh, fight, give advice, or just listen.
“I love you,” was all I could say.
“I love you more. Now, make sure you do a split on that thing.” She laughed loudly, but it was cut short as I disconnected the call.
I heard all LeeAnn said, and while I wasn’t getting sex from Rashad, I did need to hear him out and then let the best man win as she suggested.
Chapter
Twenty
Rashad:
I looked around the gymnasium of my youth center, ensuring everything was in place for when we opened in the morning before turning off the lights. I had a few hours before I was due to be at Shiloh’s house, so I had plans to run home, shower, grab her some flowers, and head there. When I texted her earlier and she gave her address, I just knew it was a joke until I used Google Maps. Even though the place was real, I was still going in like she may play me in the end, but something about it told me she wasn’t. Stepping out of the youth center, the hot summer night’s dry heat rushed my skin, causing the sweat to instantly form. Virginia typically had hot summers, but this summer had been record breaking, sweltering, unbearable heat. It had been so bad that the kids had to have all inside activities.
My senses were always alert because my pops taught my brother and me to be aware of our surroundings from a young age. My guard had never come down. An eerie feeling took over, so I knew I wasn’t alone. Just as I stood to my full height from locking the door, I turned and looked at Lauryn.
“What are you doing here?”
She looked the same yet so different. Lauryn’s normal bronze skin lacked color, and the 50 percent melanin that her body housed seemed to be nonexistent. Her normal kept hair seemed a bit matted, and her designer clothes appeared to be on its third wear without a wash. Lauryn’s beauty was still there. One would just have to squint with one eye and tilt their head, and it could be seen.
“Rashad, I’m sorry. I fucked up. Please, baby. I miss you.” Even her voice sounded different.
I pinched the bridge of my nose. She had the audacity.
“You sorry? You fucked up? You miss me?” I repeated back in disbelief. “Do you not realize you have fucked my life up, Lauryn? This shit you did isn’t something you can say sorry about. This is my job, my life, my reputation, and you messed it all up because I told you I wanted to end things? Ain’t no way you was brave enough to waltz ya ass here to even give an apology and damn sure not looking like ol’ ‘Holiday I Got the Bike’ head ass.”
Lauryn gasped. I wasn’t sure if it was for the insult referring to her as Wanda fromHoliday Heartor just in general.
“Rashad, please.” She reached out to touch me.
Instinctively, I jerked my hand back like she had the black plague. Lauryn couldn’t touch me any longer. I’d broken up with her, and instead of crying with a friend over ice cream, blowing my phone up, or even slashing my tires, she came for my character and everything I worked for. Even when I beat the case, she couldn’t touch me from miles away with someone else’s body parts.
“Man, get the hell from round here.”
“Rasha—”
“Get the fuck from round her, Lauryn, or you’re gonna be the next one they haul away from here in handcuffs.”
Though no more words came from Lauryn, she didn’t move right away. She stared at me, looking as though she was hoping I’d have a change of heart. I had nothing else for her. Watching her walk away, my mind drifted back to the day I had been arrested in this very building in front of my kids and staff. It was one of the most embarrassing days of my life.
“Go, Mr. Carter, go!” My teammates cheered me on as I rounded the bases swiftly after kicking the ball into the outfield.
It was a Friday afternoon, and like most afternoons, I was having fun. Today happened to be a nice, friendly game of kickball. The youth I mentored at my center ranged between seven and sixteen. I loved each of them as my own.
“I love you, but you weren’t getting a homerun.” Weston, one of the older boys that was the pitcher from the other team, teased as I’d been stopped at second base.
Growing up, I had a great childhood, but because my parents were so big on education, most of my time had been spent inside studying. Being around my youth at the center healed parts of my childhood I didn’t know needed healing.
“Oh, this is about to be easy. Pitch it to her slow, Weston. She can’t kick. Let’s get this last out!” Casey, one of the opposing team’s members, shouted from outfield.
“Bring it home, Precious!” I hollered out from second base. “Don’t let their words get to you. You’re dope.”
Each one of my youths were special in their own way. Some were quieter than others but still amazing. Through mentoring them, I learned how to manage each of them and tailored to their needs.
