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“Sugar, I ain't telling no one, I promise,” she says softly. “I wouldn't do that to you.” She reaches for my arm and I turn back around to face her. “They all miss you though.” She lifts my chin up. “Especially Ri—”
Her words rip through my chest like fire. “Don't say his name,” I whisper, my eyes begging her to stop this conversation. “Please.”
It's bad enough that every time I think about him I take ten steps back and it feels like I can barely breathe...but actually hearing his name and having a conversation about him? I'm just not ready for that...I don't think I'll ever be.
“What time is your flight?” I ask, wanting this conversation to be done with already.
“Tomorrow afternoon.” She pauses. “I'll be gone for a little over three weeks this time.” Her forehead crinkles. “I can cut it short—”
“No,” I say before she can finish that sentence. “I'll be fine. I have plenty of studying to do and I could use the time alone to clear my head.” My heart squeezes. “Besides, I know Tyrone really misses his Momma.”
The last time Momma went to visit him was a little over a month ago, and she only stayed for a few days—most likely due to me. And that combined with the fact that a part of me will always feel responsible for his accident...makes the guilt hit hard.
“You said he was doing a lot better the last time you went to visit him, right?” I blurt out, breaking my own rule about not talking about any of them.
Surprise crosses her features briefly before her face lights up. “Yeah, the doctors say he's doing amazing. They think it's all thanks to them, but they don't know my baby.” I don't miss the gleam in her eyes as she continues. “Or how much he loves Shelby.”
My heart melts and I can't help but smile. This is one of the best things I've heard in awhile. No one deserves happiness more than Tyrone does.
Momma looks like she's about to burst. “Can I tell you a secret?” She clutches one hand to her chest and digs around in her pocket with the other. I've never seen her look so excited before.
“Of course—” I tell her, until the beautiful antique diamond staring back at me renders me silent.
“It was my Momma's,” she says as her eyes begin to water. “He asked if I could bring it with me on my next trip.”
She dabs at her eyes with a tissue. “And then he asked if he had my permission to marry her.”
It doesn't surprise me at all that Tyrone would do that, but it's still so sweet it takes my breath away.
“Do you know when he's pla
“After Jackson's trial,” she replies while clapping her hands. “Tyrone said he needed to have his two best men by his side before they started pla
And just like that my heart sinks again. I refuse to ruin Momma's good mood though, so I muster up the most genuine smile I can before I say, “That's great. I'm really happy for the both of them.”
She nods. “Me too.” Concern splashes over her face suddenly. “I just hope that the jury finds Jackson i
Her mouth clamps shut and my stomach drops.
“What? What's going on with Alyssa?” I ask, hating myself for even caring in the first place.
Momma waves me off. “Nothing, sugar.”
But it's not nothing. When I give her a look she relents and says, “She's thinking about starting her own website and creating her own online news cha
Stuff the jealousy down, I remind myself. I'm not in competition with the girl. But if I was?
She'd be leaps and bounds ahead of me.
I don't even have my high school diploma.
Yet...I don't have it yet, I correct myself.
I reach for my purse and start making my way toward the front door. “I'm go
I try to ignore the multiple pairs of eyes leering at me as I serve them their drinks. I honestly have no idea why some of them are even staring at me when beautiful, naked women are dancing on a stage right in front of them.
I'm in the middle of handing the last guy at the table his beer when one of his buddies reaches for my wrist. “Hey there, pretty thing,” he slurs as his group of friends chuckle.
I plaster a fake smile on my face and attempt to maneuver my wrist out of his grasp as he continues, “Say...what time do you get up on that stage?”
I fight the urge to roll my eyes because it's a question I get a lot, at least a dozen times during every shift I pick up.
“I'm not a dancer,” I reply, forcefully yanking my hand back.
“Well, hell,” he drawls as he sizes my body up and down. “That's a shame.” He then lets out a whistle that snags the attention of all his buddies and I wish I could crawl under a rock. “Hot little number like you.” He licks his lips and disgust washes over me. “That's a real damn shame.”
“Have a nice night,” I quickly say before turning around.
That's when his hand reaches for my wrist again. “Not so fast, pretty girl,” he calls out, spi
My eyes dart around the club for Boone, the security guard, but then I remember that he likes to go outside for a smoke break every five freaking minutes.
I turn my attention back to the table and my eyes co
The drunk jerk stares at my chest for a moment too long before uttering, “How the hell do you say your name?” His finger moves up my waist until he flicks the name badge on my chest.
“No touching,” I remind him curtly.
“Relax, darlin', I ain't go
I'm about to yell but then he says, “I'll make sure to tip you nice and good tonight, beautiful. Just tell me how you pronounce your name.”
“Sindile,” I say, hating that it will most likely raise more questions from this asshole.
His face twists in confusion and he slaps the table. “You mean like the movie? You got multiple personalities or something?”
Yeah, and he's about to see one of them right now.
“No, not Sybil. It's Sindile,” I say, purposely drawing the name out the way it's supposed to be pronounced.
“Sounds like you got some cruel parents, darlin'. What kind of fucked up name is that?” he balks.
I cross my arms over my chest and look down at the floor. “It's not a fucked up name, asshole. It means—“
“The survivor,” a voice finishes for me.
My head snaps up and I look into a pair of honey brown eyes again.
“It's African and traditionally speaking, it's a boy's name,” he continues. “But if you ask me—I think it takes a pretty special girl to be given such a name.” He gives me a warm smile that showcases a deep dimple on his right cheek. “You're little, but you must be really tough.” He laughs to himself. “Like a little survivor.”
All the air gets sucked out of the room and my knees begin to buckle. The asshole at the table starts speaking again but I ignore him.
I barely manage to walk away from the group and into the bathroom that's all the way in the back of the club.
I lock both the bathroom door and the bathroom stall behind me and sink against the wall as my eyes prickle with tears.
I knew that choosing that particular name would be like picking a scab and making myself bleed day in and day out.