Love In the Red Zone (Connecticut Kings Book 1) (2 page)

“Yeah,” he muttered with his back to me. “Mmmhmm.” His little head nodded.

No matter how many times I’ve told him not to answer with gestures, he would slip up every once in a while. I wouldn’t check him on it tonight though. These circumstances were extenuating. It was clear in the slump of his narrow shoulders. My eyes drifted out the living room window where I’d opened the curtains for the corner street light to provide a dim light into the small apartment. I sighed again at forgetting to buy a new lighter from the dollar store earlier today. Right now, I just wanted to hurry up and get settled for bed. Get this night over with like the ten before it.

“Yeah. I know,” his little voice carried, reminding me of his age and mood.

I couldn’t believe he was six already. Seemed like months ago, I carried him into the apartment for the first time since delivering him in the hospital. Life could pass you by that easily when you were always living for the next moment, hoping it was better than all those before it.

“Okay, dad. Yeah,” he answered on a mumble, and I knew they were ending the conversation.

Kyree trudged over to me, his head in front of his narrow shoulders as he handed me the phone.

I swallowed as I licked my lips. “What did he say?” I took it from him with my heart ripping in my chest.

“He said to stop playing around and I could be the next Trent Bailey.”

I gave a slow nod to dismiss him, I didn’t know anybody by that name, but figured that guy was a football player. I told his father how the coach complained about Kyree’s behavior. That was one event I kept him up to date with. He insisted that our son play football for the past two years. He even managed to pay for it from prison.  

“Yeah,” I answered, the phone to my ear while watching Kyree dump himself on the bean bag in front of the window. He grabbed his Kindle Fire and went to playing a game.

“Yeah, that dude gonna be a’ight, man. Just gotta stay on his ass and not spoil him.” Ryshon chuckled. I felt my nose flair. “He gonna be taller than you in a few years, Jade. You gotta prepare for manhood.”

“Yeah, I’ll do that after I find out how this rent is getting paid. You know…” I added for dramatic effect, consciously lowering my tone. “Even the back rent. There was an eviction notice on the door last week.”

“I’m tryin’. I swear I am. Things just a lil’ dry out there now, but Little X told me to give him a few days for shit to start rolling in.”

“That’s what you said three weeks ago when we last spoke.” I sighed, rolling my eyes.

“Listen, you think you the only one in my pockets? You forget I got three other baby mothers with the same damn crying game, needing shit I’m pulling out my ass.”

My neck snapped back. “And yet I’m not aware of any of them or their kids about to be thrown out on their asses. I could have left this place when you went in, but you insisted that we stay here.”

“Don’t go white girl talk on me, J. Leave that stuck up bullshit for the people who believe you. You ain’t the only one draining me.”

“Shontel just got a brand new Benz, but I get evicted?”

“Don’t start that shit about her. You don’t know what she got or how she got it. Just focus on yourself. Make sure your shit correct for when I come home.”

Shontel was his latest baby mother; I was number two. I was no fool. I understood there was still an affair happening between them, where with Ryshon and me, there were dying residual feelings from when we were together four years ago. A lot had changed since then, including my level of dependence on him. I stood for the bathroom, taking the one lighter I had with little gas in it to start with Kyree’s shower.

I snorted. “My “
shit
” has been correct for a while now.”
In more ways than one.
“I have a son to look after, and no one to look after me. I’ve been making sure we eat and have a place to stay and will continue to.”

“Damn, Jade. It’s only been a few weeks since shit dried—”

“No. It’s been three months since you’ve sent rent money. But it’s all good. We’ll be fine.” I swallowed involuntarily, giving away my self-pity. My fear.

“Just hold it down till I can get you something. I’m gonna be out soon anyway. And you know when I do, shit gone be correct with us, right?”

I snorted again as I stood straight from lighting the candles in the bathroom and started the water. I remembered lighting candles in here for Ryshon and me, an act of romance. Now, I’m lighting them for our son to see as he showers.

“C’mon, Ky!” I shouted out of the bathroom before returning to my conversation with his father. “I have to go. I need to get him down for the night.”

And I knew it would be another long one with him. Kyree had been haunted since our electricity was cut off last week. 

“There you go.” Ryshon snorted. “Babyin’ him again. Let that lil’ nigga be a—”

CLICK!

I disconnected the call.

“Hurry up. Ky!” I called out again.

“I’m right here, Ky,” I whispered hard into the dark of the night.

I used a small flashlight I came across at
Family Dollar
, next door to my job a few days ago to provide light while I studied at night. I couldn’t see him across the room in the shadows. His sniffling over there grew worse.

“But, Mom, I can’t sleep.”

“You can. It’s not like you’re by yourself!”

I didn’t want to yell. He was only six and had not been used to this type of living condition. I may not have had my shit together, but I managed to stay above water.

…until now.

I’d been desperately waiting for a door to open—hell, a window. I broke down a few months ago and applied for Section 8 Housing, hoping it would come through before not being able to pay the rent caught up to me. Ryshon would have his boy drop off money to me at least every month to cover the rent and a few extra dollars to help with other expenses while I’d been in school. It stopped, and while he may have been honest about things drying up financially in his street game, what he wasn’t willing to admit was that the widest open baby’s mothers’ legs got fed first and the most.

Shontel had still been committed to him. Tanya, baby’s mother number three, was still hoping to be his number one lady. I wasn’t interested at all. I’d been hurt by Ryshon too many times, and quite frankly, I’d outgrown him like baby’s momma number one, LaKisa. She was older than me, and had her own house and car in Bloomfield. She was with Ryshon in high school. And while he had a penchant for running the streets, she eventually submitted to the natural progression of life and got a good job that afforded her independence from the madness.

I sighed, as my eyes roved around the dark room, questioning how I ended up here. Hearing Kyree’s grunting cry broke me out of it. I snapped my book closed and tossed it to the side.

“Come here, Kyree.”

In seconds, he leaped off the couch across from me and took big lunges until he made it to my sofa. I immediately cradled him in my arms, shushing as I rocked him.

To fight back my own tears, I reminded myself of the current sparseness of the place. I’d packed up the apartment weeks ago, knowing I had little time left before something happened. Either we’d get the Section 8 or get put out.  I hoped I could dodge yet another bullet and get out first. Life had never cut this close for me.

“Your sorry ass still coming around, huhn?” he breathed out shallowly from his chest.

I smirked, stretched my legs on the chair next to the hospital bed as I chuckled. He’d awakened. It relieved me he still had his mind. His appearance? Well, I knew to be grateful for the former. He’d been stretching this out for twenty years, according to him. But ol’ Shank was still here.

“Yeah. Well, I wouldn’t be running down here if yo’ attention-seeking ass would take care of yourself,” I muttered, only partially looking at him.

He lay so tiny and fragile in the mechanical bed. Tubes and wires running all across, in and out of him, he was unrecognizable since the last I saw him. And even then, he was a distorted version of his normal self. It was as though he’d aged twenty-five years in the past two.

Things grew quiet, and that gave me the opportunity to silently send up a prayer of gratitude to the Man upstairs. In my regular prayers, I’d included Shank. He’d meant so much coming up. I couldn’t speak out loud how much his sickness had weighed on me all this time. I loved him like I had very few. He’d invested so much in me from back when I was Trenton Bailey, a number amongst many in the Camden city school district and sports leagues. He made sure I was an identifiable source of power on the field when I was in Pop Warner ball. He saw things in me no one had ever spoken. Put his money where his mouth was when I couldn’t afford to pay for my talent. He only stopped when my talent paid for itself, and had never asked for anything in return but to be great. He demanded that shit.

What he didn’t know was I’d been here for close to two hours, waiting on him to come out of the sleep fog from the meds they had him on to relax him. This was a tough visit; this trip to the I.C.U.

“It’s this damn tuberculosis, man,” he spoke with little breath.

I nodded. “Yeah, pulmonary. Trying to take you over, G.”

“That and this damn hepatitis C that won’t shake the hell off,” he spoke with ghosted eyes and lazy lungs.

“Yup, and your CD4 was about 260 when they admitted you.” I nodded again, my eyes out into the corner where the television hung suspended. These were secondary infections; complications of his primary condition. I’d learned a lot about HIV and AIDS in the past five years. As I was knee-deep in my trial, my uncle announced his diagnosis to our family and his friends. It was after a near death trip to the hospital. He’d told me years before in confidence. He’d only told them when he thought he wouldn’t make it. “April filled me in last night when you were admitted. I tried coming then but was too late. They’d cut visitation time.”