I was gravely naive because I didn’t consider discussing the dynamics of self-hate among Black people, and I hated that he had a front row seat.
“I guess you haven’t told anyone about this either,” I finally responded.
“No.”
“Keelan, you shouldn’t have to go to school and put up with bullying. I’ll make an appointment with the principal?—”
“Mom, please don’t. I only have a few more weeks of school. I’ll be fine.”
“No. We need to get a handle on this now, Keelan. You shouldn’t have to go to school worried about this kind of stuff. I don’t care if today was your last day.”
“Excuse me,” a deep baritone voice said.
Keelan and I looked in the direction of the voice. It belonged to a gorgeous man who looked like he belonged in a Black movie from the nineties. He was a deep shade of dark chocolate, with deep-set eyes, thick brows, and perfectly kissable lips surrounded by a beard that could use a bit of maintenance.
Although there were a few feet between us, I still had to look up at him, so I’d guess he was over six feet. His hair was parted neatly and styled in flat twists going to the back. Tattoos covered his thick neck and muscular arms, and I found myself wishing he’d lift his shirt so I could see if his abs were covered in ink as well.
“Hi. Umm, how can we help you?”
“Helpingsomeone move thousands of miles across the country is low-key diabolical. Why didn’t you hire a moving company?” my older brother, Dennis, said.
Everyone called him DJ because he was named after our father, and his son, Dennis III, we called Trey.
“Nigga, you own a moving company. That’s what the fuck I did.”
“Yeah, but you requested my help, and I’m beyond helping with the moves. I have employees for that.”
“We haven’t spent this much time together in years. I thought it might be a good bonding experience. Excuse me for wanting to catch up with my big brother.”
I’d recently retired from the Chicago Police Department after twenty-two years of service. I wasn’t ready, but I wasn’t left with much of a choice after being shot in my right hip and watching one of my fellow officers die in front of me.
“No need to get all sentimental. You’re here, we bonded, and my job is done. I’m calling some of my guys to help you unload this shit.”
We got out of the moving truck and headed toward the three-bedroom, two-bathroom ranch-style house I was renting for the next year. My move was sudden, and I didn’t have time to look for something to buy.
I hadn’t lived in Black Elm since I decided to enroll in the Illinois State Police Academy, which eventually led me to become a police officer in Chicago. Family and friends always asked why I chose to work in Chicago since it was one of the most dangerous cities in the United States.
The question honestly answered itself. Chicago was one of the top three best cities in the country. I’d been infatuated with the city since the first time my family visited when I was in grade school. When I decided I wanted to become a police officer, Chicago was the only place I imagined myself fighting crime.
“Can I still get the discount? You know I’m on a fixed income now,” I joked.
“You moved over two thousand miles away. I’m not sure why you think I’m giving you a discount.”
As we entered the house, he pushed past me while digging his phone from his shorts. I stood in the living room, taking in the space, while my brother walked in and out of each room as he talked on the phone.
It wasn’t my dream home, but it would do for now. Per my research, the neighborhood was pleasant, with a mix of young families, retirees, and everything in between. Not to mention, everyone was Black.
I walked through the house, deciding where everything would go. My brother ownedDiggs Moving Company, and I was grateful he agreed to assist me. When he arrived in Chicago, I was prepared to throw everything in some boxes and be done with it, but he and his packing expertise wouldn’t allow it.
After a bit of back-and-forth, I agreed to give him control, and now that it was time to unpack, I was glad I did. The boxes were packed and placed on the truck very strategically, making unloading and unpacking much easier.
“My guys are on their way. I’ll order a few pizzas and stick around to supervise, but I ain’t taking shit off that truck,” my brother informed me.
I chuckled on my way back outside to the moving truck. As I walked around to the driver’s side, I saw a woman and, I assumed, her son in front of the house across the street. They looked to be having a serious conversation, and I watched them for a moment.
“Damn! She’s beautiful,” I said aloud.
“That’s your wife, Son,” a voice said behind me.
