Love allowed second chances. Only, I saw no second chances for Vick. His mind was made up when he walked back into this room; he was siding with that witch he called mother. Fake bitch! All that smiling she did in my face just to shit on me and my character.
One thing I should've recognized was that I'd changed who I was to 'fit in' with Vick's life. I came from the hood and was proud that I could stand on my own. Faking like I wasn't the bitch that would mop the floor with Mrs. Cole just played itself out.
"Leave, Vick. I don't need any explanations, nor do I need your apologies. Just get the fuck outta my face, 'fore I turn into that hood rat, ya mammy just called me."
Vick's eyes bugged.
"Sweetheart—"
"I said leave! Goodbye! Don't even utter my fucking name for the rest of your life! Coward!"
Blinking stupidly, this nigga did exactly what a weak ass niggas did. He walked back out of the door, taking his sorry-ass life with him.
CHAPTER 1
NAOMI LONDON
Fourteen Months Later. Late April.
Mystikal blasted through my earbuds as I attacked the punching bag. Sweat poured down my back and trickled between my breasts, but I paid it no mind. The only thing I was focused on was letting go of some aggression.
Sometimes, I wished I could go back to the days hoes would try me. Then, I could actually feel like I was doing something productive with my hands besides punching on this bag, but the bag would have to do. I couldn't afford to get into any trouble. Number one, I was too old for that shit. Number two, I was too old for that shit.
Faith London harped on my ass daily about acting like a lady. There was only so much sway I could put in my hips to make her believe that Ididact like a lady. My mother swore it was an issue just because I dressed how I wanted to dress.
Ever since I was a child, I'd been tall. I was taller than every child in my class, including some of the boys. By ninth grade, I stood at five-nine. The fuck boys and jealous bitches used to tease me, calling me a light-skinned nigga. Mind you, even at fourteen, my body had been far from boyish. I developed early and carried it well.
Still, I got in so many fights that I was expelled from two separate high schools. My parents put me in private school to see if I would do a little better. I was still subjected to teasing, but it never resorted to fighting. Most of my teachers liked me because I was an exceptional academic student.
One teacher, Mr. Boutwell, encouraged me to go out for the girls' basketball team. I was skeptical at first because I couldn't deal with females on that level. Besides my sister, PJ, I didn't fuck with any females. Still, I gave it a shot at Mr. Boutwell's urging. Discovering that I enjoyed playing basketball, I used it to help guide me through high school. Playing helped keep me focused on staying out of trouble. Trouble still found me sometimes, though. Whether at the skating ring, or the mall, bitches always found a way to come for me.
Finally, I made it through high school and had done so well on the court that I received several athletic scholarships. PJ was a year behind me and already committed to going to UCF andplaying basketball herself, so that's where I ended up. It was only a couple of hours from our hometown, Lake Worth, which worked perfectly for us.
Four years later, I graduated summa cum laude with a degree in biology. Somewhere in my mind, I thought I'd pursue a doctorate and maybe go into medicine. Currently, I was the starting point guard for the WNBA team Pensacola Pelicans, formerly known as the New Orleans Gators.
The team was forced to relocate after ownership was changed to some wealthy Floridian, who refused to allow the team to stay in Louisiana. Fans were upset about the move. However, management swore it would be for the best. Either way, I was going into my third pro year and loving it. Well, the basketball side of it. All that other shit these muthafuckas could’ve kept.
A call interrupted Mystikal but didn't throw me off as I jabbed the bag.
"Mimi, your meetiinngg," PJ sang into my ear.
Chuckling, I hit the bag once more before I called it quits, breathing hard as I rested my fists on my hips. "Peeg, I'm well aware that I have to be downtown soon. While you're talking, have you finished your paper so you can accompany me?"
She groaned.
"Yeah, I didn't think so." I chuckled. Removing my gloves, I rubbed at my hands to ease off the soreness I felt from going at the bag too long.
"Why did you talk me into going for my master’s? Playing pro basketball and dealing with classes is not the look, sis. You should be going through this shit with me," she complained.
Scoffing, I replied, "Shit, I am!" I wiped my bag down with a dry towel and some spray so that our home gym wouldn't be funky as fuck the next time I came in here. "How often do I stay up with you to help you with your shit?"
She grumbled.
"Mm, hm. We're gonna get you through this, sis," I promised. "Now, if you can, please get off my line so that I can get ready to go handle business. You know I hate meetings, which is why I need you, baby girl."
"I know, I know." She sighed. "Ten minutes. That's all you got! After the meeting, we have to meet Brianna at her house, so we can help her put her bed together," she stated and hung up the phone.
My face balled up. Brianna was my very best friend, aside from PJ. Brianna had a whole ass man but needed us to come help her put a bed together. These niggas were just trifling nowadays.
