I’ve never seen him in person before, but I’ve seen pictures of him. This was Garrus’s son. He was his Jr. His oldest son, and he literally looked like Garrus had spit him right out. I knew that it wasn’t a friendly visit from the mug that was on his face. He looked extremely angry. My dad noticed it as well, which is why he reached his hand back for me, putting it on my waist, backing me up, as he walked over to see what was going on.
“What’s up? You good? Can I help you with something?” my dad asked.
His tone wasn’t one that was angry, but it was very assertive. I stood here, my heart rapidly beating because this moment reminded me a lot of the moment that took place at my birthday dinner last year. Garrus’s wife walked in, and not even a minute later, she was pulling her gun out, shooting me.
“I’m good man. You actually can help me. You can help me by moving the fuck out of my way,” he spat, and when he saidthat, he tried to cross by my dad, and like a raging pitbull, he was trying to get to me, but my dad was faster than him.
My dad went for him, grabbing at his neck, putting him in a tight tear hug. He had his forearm tightly around his neck, and with his free hand, he felt around Garrus’s son, reaching at his waist, where he pulled out a gun, and he tossed it to the floor, kicking it behind him, having it land at my feet.
“Daddy, stop! Just let him go!” I yelled out, not wanting him to get into any trouble.
I’d literally just got him back home, and I didn’t need him trying to defend me because of the mess that I’d gotten myself in, and now he has to go back to prison.
“I don’t know what mission you thought you came here on, but young nigga, this ain’t that. You raging at my daughter with a gun on your hip. That tells a nigga like me that you came down here to kill her. You got the wrong nigga kid. I’ll keep that weak ass .380 right on the fuckin floor and break your motha fuckin neck with my bare hands. I did thirty-seven years in the pen nigga. I can smell bullshit from a mile away, and that bullshit that you came here on was loud. Get the fuck out of here nigga. You come round here again, or anywhere within the same proximity of my daughter, I’ll have your family frying chicken!” he spat, pushing him hard, making him land right on his face.
This was my first time since my dad has been home seeing him in this element. Granted, I knew that he could read someone to filth because as a kid, I remember my mom having the phone on speaker and the two of them used to be going at it, cursing each other out. Since he’s been home, he’s been so calm. Always laughing, smiling, and joking. Garrus’s son had come in, and lit my father up, pissing him off just that quick. You could tell that he knew my dad wasn’t just making threats because he stumbled on getting up off his feet, and damn near tripped over his ownlegs to get out of the door. He left so fast that he didn’t even pick up his gun.
From what I knew about Garrus’s kids, they were not street dudes by any means. They grew up in the suburbs, always attended these pricey private schools, and they didn’t know what a hood looked like. I’m sure he came down here, thinking that he was going to get some sort of get back on me, more than likely blaming me because of his mother taking her own life while she was in prison.
Everything about that shook me. I backed my body up into the wall, and a few of my employees that were standing around, that noticed what just happened, they came over to me, so that they could see if I was okay, but I assured them that I was fine. My dad picked up the gun that he had kicked, and he walked over to me with it.
“Give it to me. I’ll get rid of it. You’re not even supposed to be holding that,” I spat, reaching my hand out, so that I could take the gun from him. Instead of him handing it to me, he chose to sit it down on the table that was next to me.
“Who the fuck was that nigga?” he asked. His voice was calm though.
“Remember Garrus? That was his son,” I shared with him.
My dad knew all about the mess that I’d gotten myself into with Garrus. Lord knows that I never wanted to share that moment of my life with him, but I had to. I had literally gotten shot, and I was down bad, in a hospital for weeks at a time. I had to tell him because when he was locked up, he would call and check in on me every single day. He was so angry upon hearing the news. That was another thing that him, and my mom had crashed out about because any time that something went wrong in my life, he felt like my mama wasn’t doing a good job at watching me, as if I wasn’t a grown ass woman.
“What he coming down here to see you for? I thought that shit you had going on with his dad was over with,” he said, obviously confused about all of this.
“It is. His mom committed suicide in prison recently. I’m sure that her kids blame me for what happened to their mother. He came down here to kill me. I keep fuckin dodging death,” my voice cracked, as reality hit me that I just almost died.
I dragged my body down to the floor, sitting on my ass, and stretching my legs out in front of me. My dad got down on the floor with me too, stretching his legs out as well, and he let the back of his head touch the wall.
“That nigga didn’t even get close to you. How you dodged death? Stop saying shit like that. Weak ass nigga didn’t know what the fuck to do with that gun. Hire security around here. You got the budget for it. Get on that right now. Next time I come over here, I want to see at least two buff niggas at the door, ready to cave a nigga shit in if he even look like he up to no good. Come on. I’m ready to eat,” he finished, standing up, reaching his hand out, so that he could assist me in getting off the floor.
He didn’t even allow me any time to sit here and have a pity party. Like he wasn’t the least bit disturbed by what just took place, he was standing there, firing out restaurant options, trying to see where I wanted to go. He wouldn’t give me the pity party, so hopefully when I got home tonight around my man, he would give me one.
Hours later
7:39 P.M.
“Tommie, stop giving that shit to her! She going to be bouncing off the walls and not wanting to go to sleep when we get home! I just told you five minutes ago to stop giving that shit to her!” Free’s voice snapped me out of the sleep that I had been in.
Her voice literally made me jump, and I looked around, confused as hell about where I was. I hadn’t even realized that I’d fallen asleep. The last thing I remember was lying on the couch, and at one point, I was playing with my niece, Liberty, but my ass must have dozed off. We were all at my grandma’s house. My mom’s mom. We weren’t over here for any particular reason though. After leaving dinner with my dad, I called Free to see what she was doing, and I learned from her that she, along with Tommie, Liberty, and our mom were all over my grandmother’s house, so I decided to come too. Tank already told me earlier that he was going to be at the shop late tonight because they had another inventory shipment, and he liked to be there, so that he could be on top of it.
My eyes glanced over, and Tommie was sitting next to me on the couch. She was eating sour skittles, and Liberty was standing right in front of her on the couch, begging for the candy that I’m sure she had been giving her, and that’s why Free was fussing at her.
“I didn’t even give her a whole one. I broke it into a tiny peace,” Tommie argued back at Free.
Liberty was whining, begging for the candy, making Tommie take the bag, and hide them behind her. When she did that, you would have thought that Tommie popped her little ass or something because she fell out on the floor, kicking, and screaming, being dramatic like someone was killing her little ass.
“Oh girl, please!” Free said, not fazed by what her daughter was doing.
I reached over, so that I could grab my niece off the floor, and I laid her down on the couch with me, making her face me, as she was still screaming, and crying to the top of her lungs. Her face was turning beet red, and you could see the leftover candy on her onesie that she was wearing.
“Liberty, you better hush all that damn crying before I put your little ass out my house,” my grandma fussed from the kitchen.
