Hurt marred his features. It would take something out of Montana if his father didn’t show. Something he tried to hide. A shred of vulnerability. The vulnerability that made him switch up his need to flash money in front of his momma while building a friggen palace.
But me? Go … with him? My chest tightened, a mix of nerves and a softness I couldn’t quite name. He could’ve taken a brother. He’d chosen me to stand by him in the face of the man who’d burned his trust to ash.
“You want me there?” I asked, my voice careful not to step on the broken glass behind his words. I clutched the sheets covering me, trying to hide a part of me Montana hadn’t seen. Hell, he’d seen and loved on—at least my delusional little heart wanted to believe—every inch of me. And I’d already decided, following our contract, I’d hunt this man relentlessly, the scent of his cologne a constant reminder. Butthiswould undo … me. I’d feel more connected to him. Tethered. His ride or die while he confronted his dad. I’d hoped for reconciliation between his father and him, recalling the sting of growing up without a dad. “Montana, you sure you want me to go with you? Not Ms. Virginia?”
He scrubbed his hand over his beard and nodded. That was all it took. I climbed out the bed. I hugged him, even though I felt vulnerable around the man who’d broken into every secret place of my heart, and my hands trembled slightly. “Gimme five minutes.”
He drove like hell. Maybe he thought if he was ten minutes late, he’d miss his father?
While his SUV slid over Claiborne Avenue’s cracked pavement, my mind drifted to the sterile office where I asked for my records after leaving foster care. They sealed the records. My parents had posted a Do Not Disturb on the vacation they called life. Montana’s dad better not act like he cared today and then return to vacay mode. I’d do something impulsive. Slap him.Note to self: learn to fight before you catch him off guard!If he thought Montana’s push was something?
Beating drums brought me out of the past. Outside my window, beneath a massive white archway that readArmstrong—for Louis Armstrong Park—a set of drummers had started their day.
“We in Tremé.” Montana finally spoke a while later. Made me jump. “Momma house down the street.”
“Oh? Let’s swing by afterward.”
Montana gave me that slow, half-smile eye roll. “Bébé, she gave that house to a cousin. No sightseeing. We ain’t passing a landmark so you can get a bougie selfie. Nah,chère—they gone come out wanting money.” He muttered something under his breath about his father.
“Hey, try to stay positive.” I stopped twiddling a finger through Diana Redux and took his hand. He lightly squeezed my fingers as if in agreement, driving with the left.
A little while later, we entered Li’l Dizzy’s Café, Montana took my hand, a reminder of how he said I had family—his family. My fingers still remembered brushing over the brown skin of his back when changing his bandages. His muscles had shifted beneath them. Coiled and strong. He’d been strong for me when Iabsolutely needed … of course, it was after I’d picked up a knife, and I hadn’t exactly helped him cut a sheet cake for a hundred hangry people at a potluck.
The delicious food and Montana’s fans overwhelmed me. Los Angeles loved him. But here? Even though Louisiana didn’t have an MLB team, they embraced him. Called him their own.
He signed autographs and did this chill glance around the room. Axel Foley to his John McClane, I scoped out the place from the NOLA art on the tile ceiling to the shiny, block floors. Almost tried to peek past the jazz curtains, which led into the kitchen. We were going to find his daddy. If not here? Hell, I might sleuth on social media, a pastime I never got addicted to.
Montana approached me from behind as I rubbernecked the curtains to the kitchen. He placed his forearm around my chest, hand at my throat to pull my chin up.
I glanced up at him as he leaned over me. “Don’t be awkward, Montana.”
“That’s my line.” He winked, kissing my forehead. “Take it back, or no dessert for you.”
I played along, turning around to hug him and petting Big Country’s ego. “Oh, hush. I will climb … baby …” I glanced just over his shoulder.
“I’m listening.”
“Your dad!” I exclaimed, in shock, as the guy from the video strolled through the door facing two cross streets.
Standing at my own crossroads with my man, I silently prayed that the trigger he held for his father didn’t fire.
montana
. . .
Man went ghost for years, and now he rolled up, talking aboutWe family. Family where? I missed the reunion episode.Sir, I’m Big Country, LLC—not Big Charity.Closest Ezekiel was getting to my wallet? The family resemblance in my jawline when I clenched it shut. I took a step toward him.
Dude was about to beg for his life.
Zuri zipped around me, moving faster than she ever had. Thebébéwas slower than a turtle in high heels. Today, though? Her Nikes could’ve moved in step with a brass band.
“Mr. Babineaux …” She stuck out her hand halfway and did this awkward jog for about five feet past busy wooden tables.
“Mr. Babineaux?” Ezekiel frowned. He better fix that face?—
“I thought …” She began smiling.
“My momma had me and Wash’s names changed after she remarried. A real man.”
