Love Redeemed, Book 4 (5 page)

I couldn’t believe she was making this about race. Although I’d made baseless accusations in
the past, Michelle’s family has never displayed an ounce of racism—blatantly—towards me. In my younger years of knowing them, and because of their history with Michelle’s mother and her inclination to date black and Hispanic men, I held myself protectively against them. However, when I sit back and evaluate things, Michelle’s family, those that I’d been exposed to, had been nothing but generous to me, on the surface.

My better judgment
is telling me that Amber’s using all the ammunition she can conjure because she’s that livid. It doesn’t make sense. You can’t admire and look up to your big cousin, and yet hate her ethnicity at the same time. That is the trickery of racism; it is always easy to resort to—to incite hatred, pain, and anger. It’s always easy for folks to find themselves accused of it because they unknowingly fall into the bowels of ire with a party of another race and use the most convenient and absolutely wrong weapon to fight with.

“…it doesn’t matter. My point is you’ve moved on to another victim; one that we’ve clearly assisted
with seeing that he owns the property that the LBC branch is on. Yeah, I heard about the nice piece of change he donated at the charity. And let’s not mention the debt he paid off to Sebastian Adams.” 

This clears
up how she’s learned of Azmir. She wasn’t at the annual fundraising ball, so she didn’t learn about his donation first hand. It also clears up her familiar usage of the word
benefactor
. She did mention Adams was her field supervisor—George Adams, Sebastian’s father.

“I’m still waiting to see how you’re going to get out of this viral
pornography of you on your knees. You may have sicced your Sugar Daddy’s lawyers on the firm, but as soon as it’s proven that you are the classless woman on the tape, your tenure with
Smith, Katz, and Adams
will disintegrate.” Amber cocks her head to the side, “That tape only further demonstrates your trashiness…your low class, ‘round the way girl essence. Yeah, Michelle got hooked by your
woe is me act,
but here’s where the buck stops.” She points behind her to the house. “She’s where the gravy train ends for my family!” A fling of saliva hits the tip of my nose as she edges closer and closer to me in her tirade.

I
feel hands gripping my arms and I defensively snatch away, then wildly peer over my shoulder to find Ray.

“I think it’s time to leave, Ms. Brimm.”

In the midst of my escalating feelings of deprecation sponsored by Amber, I jerk my head towards him. Without words, I ask him to back off. Ray’s eyes pointedly divert to my hands. I glance down to see they’re balled into clinched fists, and I mean rock-hard coiled bunches. I haven’t felt this familiar fight or flight phenomenon in so long. I’m perhaps seconds away from hauling off and clocking Amber clear across her face. I’m suddenly aware of my heavy breathing, and I’m sure it hasn’t just started. I’ve been so wrapped up in being the catchment of her venomous words that I haven’t been aware of my instinctual reaction to them.

Apparently, neither
is Amber, who’s catching her breath as she brings her fist to her mouth, realizing her state of fury. This little tête-à-tête has grown into a near physical bout, at least for me it has.

“Look…just get the hell out of here!” Amber
hisses. “And I don’t care if you come with gifts instead of empty-handed or in a chariot instead of clunker, you’re not invited here. Stay the hell away from my family. With time, she’ll forget about you. She’s still young; by this time next year she’ll pass you up on the streets you’ll eventually be begging from.” She then steps closer. “I don’t care how dressed up and polished you appear, you’re nothing more than a ghetto, trashy, manipulative, conning, leaching whore. Erin deserves better than your kind.”

“I will—”
I jump, but don’t advance forward.

“Ms. Brimm, it’s time to leave,” Ray calmly and firmly murmur
s as he holds me from behind by my upper arms. He pulls me around to walk to the car. After he closes the door, I watch Amber give me a bidding shaking of the head before turning for the house.

I arrive
at the marina wounded beyond repair. I don’t remember much, as I’m still floating, nerves atwitter. Time eludes me. I have a strong recollection of crying at some point. And not just any crying; bawling my eyes out, sputtering out breaths, boo-hooing, gulping in air—completely sobbing. I vaguely recall pouring myself a glass of
Mauve
—now that it’s hit the home-shelf of A.D.—perhaps two. There is a little memory of me grabbing a box of tissues as the salty streams of self-pity came running down my face. Yes, I’m upset by how my visit to Erin had turned out, yet, in all honesty, I’d experienced a huge degree of disappointment in myself for being so affected by it.

I’
ve been making great strides with my newfound resolve of inner-strength. And still my adapted mission of
Regaining the old Rayna Resolve
has been a monumental failure. How could I have allowed myself to get so upset by the words of someone who thinks so little of me is beyond me. Still, when I think of her logic, the way she gave her distorted estimation of me, it makes sense. I made a horrible decision in accepting that money from Sebastian. And it’s still haunting me. But I didn’t use Michelle. I was not leaching off her family. I haven’t acquired a Sugar Daddy. I did not influence Michelle to behave the way that she did on video—
God, I could kick her for that!
I am not wrong for Erin.

Not that I need affirmation of any of this, but it would be nice to
talk with someone about this. Someone who knows me. Clearly and painfully, Michelle is not an option. I no longer have to my
go-to
person, my sounding board.

My body shiver
s.

Out of nowhere
, I feel a sense of comfort. This perceptiveness stems from an abrupt reminder of
his
essence. It’s so potent that I can swear to smelling
his
enthralling and all-consuming fragrance. It permeates even my subconscious.

He
’s my sanctuary, my home-base. He’s my duvet against the cold world, a soother. Azmir is my lover, my partner. He is my friend. My home. He’s enduring and compassionate. Loving beyond what I deserve. He’s understanding and keen to my temperaments, my needs. He’s my enforcer for whatever obstacles that has presented since I’ve known him.

He
’s fallible. He’s beautiful. He’s infuriating. He’s mine.

Mine.

He’s betrayed me with Dawn. Lied to me about Tara’s baby. But he’s still with me, sticking it out.
Yes
… He’s caused me to hurt, but isn’t that the cycle of love? The hazard of love? Loved ones will hurt you and disappoint you. However, it is not reflective of their commitment to you. People fail and fall. But the best way to demonstrate love is to return it unconditionally, and that’s what I’ve purposed in my heart to do with Azmir. For Azmir. For me.

My love for him
is so palpable that I can feel him in his absence. I can smell his natural fragrance, the very one secreting from his pores although he’s miles away. My connection to him is that electrifying.

So
cogent that I can even hear his voice, “Awwww…Rayna,” in almost a distant whisper.

I c
an feel the electric pulses from his touch…from so far away. My skin prickles all over.

“Baby…”
His velvety voice causes those trustee currents to course through me.

Then
, I can feel the heat of his hard body as though it was next to me, emanating comfort and solace. 

Being raised in the air jolt
s my subconscious, impelling me to an awakening. My eyes open but marginally; they won’t widen for me at all. I feel the swelling in my face just above my cheeks. But what I can’t miss is the blinding beauty of his face. His classical features are like a light blazing into my corneas, dilating my pupils. Am I dreaming, or is Azmir really here, at the marina?

I gaze motionless into his brown
orbs. I don’t know what signs I need, but I wait to learn if I’m still vacillating or if Azmir has really returned from Seattle.

He d
oesn’t speak as he moves me from the sitting area of the master suite to the bed. It takes a few seconds to discard the decorative pillows. And when he’s done, he gently settles me into the beddings like precious porcelain. Any other time I would scorn him for being so delicate with me. I would spew viciousness to disturb his mood. But not today. Today I will receive his comfort.

Once I’m
adjusted in bed, Azmir scoots back on his haunches from the floor. “Have you eaten? Are you hungry?”

I sh
ake my head.

“Do you wanna talk about it?”

I shake my head again.

At a loss, Azmir st
ands directly at the side of the bed with his fists resting on his hips. He’s wearing a black suit, tailored to his glorious frame. Even clad in dress pants, his thighs presents muscular. Here, in this moment, for more reasons than one, Azmir is divine. Even his voice lulls me.

“
How can I help, baby? Well, what can I do for you?” he asks regretfully.

I want to tell him how much of a sedative his presence alone
is. I want to jump up, kiss him on the lips, and ask about his day and if I can warm his dinner. I want to ask why the change in schedule and is
he
okay. I want to lose myself in his arms and tell him how horrible my day had ended. Share with him Amber’s wrath and cruel summary of my existence. But I’m depleted of energy, even of my appetite. So empty I can’t speak, though I need him to know what I’m in
need of
.

My sp
inning brain commands my languid arm and trembling hand as I extend my index finger to him, indicating what I need. And it doesn’t take him long to understand the gesture. Azmir strips down to his boxers within seconds, adjusts his solid frame behind me in bed, and holds me until I succumb to siesta yet again.

The last thing I remember
is internally asking:
Is this love?

I think it is.

~~~~~~~~~~

Azmir

“Yeah, Jackson, it’ll be great getting together with
cats from back home. Yeah…cool,” I agree, speaking on the phone to a friend of mine from the East Coast.

“That sounds cool to me, too. I’m looking forward to
the distraction, Divine,” Jackson sighs.

“I know it’s rough, man. There are some days that I swear if my Pops were still here, my life would make more sense, you know?”

There’s a tentative pause. I know Jackson is still in a heavy mourning period. If only words could heal the wounds of death. Rayna is still grieving Michelle. As much as she tries to hide it, occasionally I’m awakened at night by her mumbling of words to her dearly departed. And on worse nights, she calls out
J-Boog
. I never ask questions. Instead, I pull her into my arms and whisper affirmations of my love and commitment softly into her ear, telling her that I’m here and will always comfort her. Some nights takes long minutes for her to transition from a body-tensing nightmare to her melting into me, falling into a peaceful sleep. Most of the time I’m positive that my method of comfort is working. I do my best to protect her, even from her nightmares.

“Yeah, man,” Jackson mutter
s, breaking me from my reverie. “I’m good. I’ll get through this.”

“Yes, you will,” I affirm. “Jackson, you’re a strong
man. You can do this. I’m sure your father—”

“Mr. Jacobs,
Sergeant Lombardi has arrived,” I’m interrupted by Tracy, my assistant manager, here at
Cobalt
.

“Send him in,” I request
.

Returning to my call, I sa
y, “Jackson, that’s my one o’clock. I have to go.”

“Okay, man. It was great talking to you, as usual. I appreciate your friendship, Divine,” Jackson proclaim
s. This young dude has always been wise beyond his years. I guess being his father’s best friend since he’s been out of diapers did that.

“That means a lot. We may have lost Quincy, but I’d like to think that we’ve gained a solid friendship as a result.” I watch as
Sergeant Lombardi scrolls into my office, observing every fucking thing, from the windows to the walls, after assessing my person. Goddamn
One-Time
tries to be so intimidating that they’re actually comical. “Listen,” I call out to Jackson. “Why don’t I host a dinner at my house? This way, you knuckleheads can meet my fiancée.”

“That’s what’s up. I’ve heard that she’s brought your Hugh Heffner ass to your knees,” Jackson jeer
s. I won’t deny any rumor of how Rayna’s captured my heart. There’s no sense in it.

“So they say. So they say,” I murmur
with mirth. “We’ll be in touch, Jax.”

“I’ll text you next week.”