Page 70 of Played
“I get it, honestly.” She smirks. “I wish someone would put their hands on me or my mother. My father and brothers would flip all this shit over. They don’t play about us.” Her smile softens, then disappears, and her face sobers. “She had you, but I can’t help but wish she hadbrothers, a father. Hell, cousins. But it doesn’t sound like she had that support system.”
I shake my head. “No, she didn’t. Most of her family still lives in Virginia, and even then it’s just her, my grandmother, a couple of uncles, and some cousins. Her side isn’t that huge. And my father’s side ...” I comb my fingers through my beard, heat starting to prickle at my skin. Thoughts of those assholes never fail to elicit that response. “His family, especially his parents, didn’t want anything to do with their son’s Black wife or children. Nah, we were on our own. Not that we didn’t have a tight-knit community in Halifax. Where we lived—North Preston—is Canada’s largest Black community. And it’s just that, a community. We take care of each other, and after my father died, the people in our neighborhood gathered around Mom and us. So in a sense, I had a big-ass family of aunts, uncles, and cousins. I believe if my neighbors had known what was going on in our house, they would’ve shown the fuck out. But Mom didn’t say anything. Didn’t ask for help. And Dad’s side for damn sure wasn’t coming to North Preston to find out about their son’s wife and kids.”
“I’m surprised they didn’t come out the woodwork when you went pro,” she mutters, and a glance at that lovely face and the fire in those eyes gives me a smile that would usually never grace my mouth when talking about the Youngs.
Turning back to look at the play area, I find Khalil and am completely unsurprised to find more children gathered around him. He’s like a magnet and, even at five, a leader. The confidence in him, the intelligence, the loving spirit—I’m in awe of him, and the fact that Kendra and I created him. How anyone could look at that beautiful, amazing boy and dislike him on sight because of his skin? I’ve been on this earth thirty years and it still astounds me.
“My father’s brother and a few cousins did,” I quietly say. “But I didn’t have shit for them. How’re you gonna show up for me, your Black nephew and cousin, but ignore my mother, my sister? Theygot me fucked up. And make no mistake. I’m a Black man. How did Obama put it? I’ve been seenandtreated like a Black man all my life by society. And I’m fucking proud of it. And here, in this climate, that’s how I’m raising my son. I’ma teach him to move and operate as a Black man in this world we live in. Damn if I’m going to have him out here unprepared for how people come for him simply because of who he is.”
Mia, on the other hand, identifies as biracial. And hell, I’m cool with that, respect it and don’t give her any shit about it. I remember reading a study a few years back that more biracial women identify as such, while more biracial men identify as Black. I can’t begin to unpack why; I only have my experiences in Canada, in the NHL, and here in America to explain why I do. But mine are different from Mia’s, our experiences and our views. And neither are wrong. They just are. And so are we.
“God, I could crawl under this table right now and suck your dick. That was sexy as hell.”
I stare at Adina, shock rippling through me in waves. At her grimace and “Fuck. Did I say that out loud?” shock gives way to my loud bark of laughter.
I draw more than a few glances my way, and even when recognition crosses several of those faces, I still can’t stop laughing.
Can’t stop my shit from bricking up either.
She smiles, shaking her head even as red stains her cheeks. “And if I didn’t say it before ...” She pauses, then after a brief hesitation, reaches back across the table and grasps my hand. That touch arrows up my arm and burrows into my chest. “I accept your apology. Gladly. For the record, I’ve never been afraid of you. Wanted to punch you in the throat to shut that big-ass mouth up? Yes. But afraid? No. Never.”
I chuckle again, and damn. It hits me that this is the most I’ve laughed in ... well, a long time. Two years, to be exact.
Should that have me running scared? Yeah. More than anything that has happened with us today, that should have me terrified. And tomorrow—long after she’s gone and it’s just me, Khalil, and my thoughts as I lie in the bed I shared with Kendra—I will be.
But now?
Now, I’m just going to be.
Chapter Fourteen
ADINA
I’m going to kill him. Forget solidarity and all that other brotherhood bullshit. Matt isn’t my brother—and never will be. He’s a pain in my ass who’s acting like a baby denied breast milk. Oh. He’s also a bitter bitch.
“You good?” Michael, a member of my crew, asks, voice low as I strip out of my turnout gear next to our engine.
I nod, head bent as I shrug out of the flame-resistant coat and pants. Looking into his face and spying his concern is beyond my ability at the moment. I’m doing everything I can to hold it together and not cry out of sheer fury and frustration. Out of powerlessness. My eyes sting, watering.
Fuck.
Not here. Not in front of everyone. Definitely not in front ofhim. I refuse to give that asshole the satisfaction of seeing my tears.
“She’s a big girl, Mike. No need to baby her.” The Asshole walks by us, and the condescension practically drips from his words. “If she can’t accept constructive criticism without crying about it, then she’s in the wrong profession.”
“That’s enough,” Cam orders quietly. All activity in the bay stops, and a glance up reveals the lieutenant staring Matt down.
A sneer curls Matt’s lips. “No disrespect meant, but, Lieutenant, we all know we’re only as strong as our weakest link.”
“I said. That’s. Enough,” Cam reiterates, his expression hard and brooking no more of Matt’s lip.
Matt balls his face up, but he wisely deads whatever more he wants to say and stalks out of the bay. An uncomfortable, tension-filled silence fills the area. I’m too pissed to try to ease that tension. Sorry, but I’m busy trying to convince myself that yes, homicide is bad.
I’m not there yet.
Eventually, the bay empties out, everyone heading to the showers. Everyone except for me and Malcolm.
“Dina, I want you to be honest with me,” Malcolm says, cupping my elbow and halting me gathering up my turnout gear. He waits until I meet his solemn gaze. “Is there something going on between you and Matt?”
