Mr. Down for Whatever, page 10
part #1 of Baes of Juneteenth Series
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Want to know how I ended up in this predicament? I wish I knew because I definitely wasn’t looking for it. Maybe it’s the way she takes care of me? By listening to the things I say and everything I don’t say.
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Want to know why changing our relationship dynamic is a bad idea? I’m not the only one who wants her. Which makes it very complicated.
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Want to know another reason why this is a bad idea? My track record speaks for itself. And she deserves someone good. I’m… not.
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The choice is hers, though. I hate to lose so I’m playing to win. And I will show her that it’s not him that she needs. It’s me.
Excerpt: It’s Not Them, It’s Only Her
Young In Love, Book Four
The first hit didn’t faze me. Because that muthafucka was weak. Always had been a punk. I was able to knock his ass out before his brothers joined the fight. I held my own for about ten minutes before I felt the blade slice into my side. Dropping to my knees, I placed pressure over the wound as another assailant knocked the wind out of me with a swift kick to my stomach. When I reached out to grab his ankle, I noticed my hands were covered with blood. My blood. Shit.
“Stay the hell away from my wife,” the weak muthafucka spat from behind his brother.
I snickered, even as a sharp pain radiated down my leg. “Maybe if you knew how to take care of her, she wouldn’t be trying to get in my bed.” The right hook to my jaw caught me off guard, but it wasn’t delivered by that asshole. Once again, one of his brothers had delivered a devastating blow. “The fact that you can’t even fight me yourself tells me all I need to know.”
I lunged for him, getting a few punches in before another brother—the one who looked like he spent his days lifting weights—slammed me onto the ground. In my attempt to shield my head from the hard cement, I landed on my hand, causing sharp pain to shoot from my finger to my elbow. Shit, it’s probably fractured. I groaned, rolling over onto my back. And his big ass laughed. “You just don’t learn, do you?” he taunted.
“Fuck you,” I growled. “You better hope you kill me, because when I find yo’ ass, when I’m not potentially bleeding out, I’m not coming to play.”
His answer was a kick to my other side.
After taking several more severe hits, I couldn’t find the strength to get up. As I struggled to catch my breath, I wondered if this was it for me. If the brutal beating and blood loss didn’t kill me, dehydration and this damn Louisiana heat would. Them dusty-ass niggas probably thought the same because they scurried away like the pussies they were. I forced my eyes open but could only see out of one. The excruciating pain in my side had dulled to a small ache, but it still hurt to breathe. Probably a broken rib. Or several.
A moment later, I’d given up on driving myself to the hospital or even walking to my car. Luckily, I couldn’t even feel the sweltering hard concrete beneath me anymore. My brief time in medical school made me acutely aware of my precarious situation. Dizziness. Shortness of breath. I was cold. And tired as hell. If I lost consciousness, I could die.
I managed to lift my arm, relieved that my Apple Watch wasn’t damaged. Using all my energy, I asked Siri to dial the first name I could think.
She answered on the third ring. “What the hell is wrong with you? Calling this early in the morning.”
Under normal circumstances, I would’ve told her she wasn’t doing anything but sleeping anyway. Talking shit was my love language, but I especially loved the banter between us. But because I could barely get a word out, I simply muttered, “Come.”
My arm fell under the weight of my injuries, and I promised myself I would fuck them muthafuckas up the next time I saw them. It took a damn stab wound and five big-ass niggas to knock me down. But is this going to take me out?
As the minutes ticked by, I found myself thinking of my family, of my parents, Always so giving, so understanding. They’d given us a blueprint to live by, taught us how to navigate the world while Black. They’d shown us unconditional love in action every day. Never made me choose between what they wanted and what I wanted. They’d only encouraged me to go after what made me happy.
My mother once told me to stop taking so many risks, to stop tempting fate. If she only knew the shit I’d done… Aside from this particular situation, I’d fucked up more times than I’d ever admit to her. What would she do if I died in the street alone over some bullshit? I chose to mess around with a married woman and now bore the brunt of her husband’s anger. In my defense, she’d told me she was separated. I didn’t believe her ass, though. I just didn’t care. Maybe because I was young and cocky. More likely because she was fine as hell, and I was a man-whore. At least, according to my sisters and Skye.
In my weakened state, I sent up a silent prayer, going through the Lord’s Prayer and asking for forgiveness and protection as my mom and Sister Pearl had taught me back in the day. All those years in Sunday School mattered. A moment after I sealed my prayer with an “Amen,” I wondered if God even heard me. It wasn’t like I’d spent so much time talking to Him. But I wanted to plead my case, though, to argue that my brothers and sisters needed me. Well, six of them needed me. Not Tristan. He didn’t need shit, but I could imagine even he would be devastated if I was no longer here to blame for his shortcomings.
Who’s going to tell everyone when they’re fucking up? Paityn would blame herself, for not being there, for not giving me enough love and understanding. But she’d always been a person I could count on and the only person that might be able to beat me in the kitchen. Maybe. My baby sister, Blake, would probably go to jail or die trying to avenge my death. My chest tightened when I thought of Blake’s twin sister, Bliss. All I could see is her sad face in my mind. Dex and Dallas… They called us “The Triples”. Dex and I were identical twins and Dallas was our fraternal sister. She always thought that made her an outsider, but she was the best of us. Hell, they all were a hell of a lot better than me. And Asa? My baby brother would probably just leave. He was good at disappearing. Guess he got that from Tristan. Demi would probably be quiet. She wouldn’t speak, she wouldn’t cry, she wouldn’t engage. It was her defense mechanism, but also her most comfortable state. And she would retreat to that space. X, Zara, Skye… They weren’t just friends. They were as much my family as my siblings and parents.
Tears filled my eyes. I wanted all of them to be happy, to know how it felt to be in love, to be loved. I hoped someone would pick up a spatula and cook something besides Paityn. Maybe my niece, Raven? I needed my father to know how much I admired him, how he inspired me to be great. And I prayed my mother didn’t blame herself for my mistakes.
As my eyes drifted closed, I whispered my love for them to the night air and imagined their faces in the stars. And then everything went black.
“Duke?”
A voice. Her voice pulled me back to the present.
“Please,” she whispered, emotion in her voice. “Don’t do this to me. Don’t make me explain this to Dallas. And your parents? Oh God.” I felt her forehead against the side of my face. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have left you there. You were drunk, and I knew it wasn’t a good idea.”
I winced as a needle pierced my skin. Coolness replaced the sting and I realized someone had started an IV. Other sounds registered next. Male voices, spouting vitals. A hand wrapping a blood pressure cuff around my arm and another set of hands applying pressure on my side.
“Stay with me,” she pleaded.
It’s not your fault. I wanted to tell her this was on me, that she did nothing wrong, but the darkness pulled me back.
Sometime later, I awoke to unfamiliar voices around me, the sound of a blood pressure cuff deflating, and the consistent beep of the heart monitor. Opening my eyes, I scanned the area and realized I was in a hospital room. Two doctors were off to the side, discussing my care with a nurse while another nurse flushed my IV. And Demi was sitting in the chair next to my bed, her eyes on their movements.
“Not your fault,” I managed to say finally.
She jerked back, meeting my good eye with a watery gaze. “Thank God.” She stood and hugged me. Gingerly.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered.
Demi peered up at the ceiling, before leveling her gaze on me again. “You scared the shit out of me. And you’re right, it’s not my fault. It’s yours.” Tears fell down her face. I wanted to wipe them away, but I still couldn’t move. “I prayed.”
“Me, too.” I closed my eyes.
Demi flashed a wobbly smile. “You need to pray harder, because you look like you’ve been walking through the valley of the shadow of death. Face all fucked up, eye looking like Rocky’s after Apollo Creed won the match.”
I would’ve tried to smile, but I knew it would hurt so I murmured, “You’re silly.”
“Adrian!” she called, mimicking Rocky in the movie.
“Stop,” I chuckled. “You’re killing me.”
The doctors walked over to us and gave me the rundown of my injuries. They’d operated to stop the internal bleeding and started me on intravenous antibiotics to prevent infection. The good news was the knife didn’t hit an artery and my ribs were bruised, not broken. Just like my life.
When they left the room, Demi brushed a finger over my brow. “Are you in a lot of pain?”
I shook my head. “Not right now. Did you call my family?”
She quirked an eyebrow. “Did you want me to?”
“No.”
“That’s what I thought.” Her chin trembled. “You could’ve died.”
“I didn’t.”
“But you could’ve,” she reiterated. “I’m glad you didn’t, though. Get some rest.”
Acknowledgments
God is so good!
To my family and my framily, I love you all! Thanks for having my back.
To my lit sisters… OMG! I couldn’t have done this without you! Thank you!
To Midnight… Once again, you saved the day! Thanks so much!
A special shout-out to the awesome readers , bloggers, and writers that I’ve met on this journey. Thanks for your support. I appreciate you!
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About the Author
There was never a time when Elle Wright wasn’t about to start a book, wasn't already deep in a book—or had just finished one. She grew up believing in the importance of reading, and became a lover of all things romance when her mother gave her her first romance novel. She lives in Michigan.
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Elle Wright, Mr. Down for Whatever
