“I would never.” Margie clutched her chest, bringing her tone down.
“Oh, yes, you did. You're the one who ruined your relationship with your son, not me. So don't you dare put the blame on me. And if you ever in your life, repeat that I’m the one that had Jovanis killed, I’m going to fuck you up!”
“Uh, I think it’s time for you both to go so we can process this news,” Alain suggested.
Irish rolled her eyes at Margie, who had returned to her crying fit. She’d never had any ill feelings toward her until now. When Jovanis would express his disdain for his mom, Irish always tried to remain neutral. Yet, seeing how her first go-to was to blame Irish for his death really enraged her.
“Come on, Irish. Let’s go,” Cali said, heading for the door.
Irish followed her but stopped when Margie called her name. Turning around, she peered at the painful expression on her face.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to blame you. I’m just hurt.”
Their pain mirrored each other’s. Irish was in a state of agony, too. She had lost one of the most important people in her life. She still had a responsibility to keep it together for the sake of Jovanis. Irish didn’t respond. Accepting her apology wasn’t at the top of her priority list, so she left without acknowledging it. As soon as she and Cali got inside the car, Zavier pulled away, heading back to the condo.
“I almost beat another bitch’s ass tonight. Jovanis’ mama better watch her fucking mouth.”
With her face warped in a frown, Irish asked, “Who ass you had to beat?”
“Girl.” She sat back in the seat, shaking her head. “So much shit happened before I got the news about Jovanis. I was at the beach party with my sister and saw Rozalin there. Guess who she was hugged up on?”
“Who?”
“Rio?”
Irish’s hands flew to cover her gaping mouth. Cali nodded, confirming what she’d just revealed.
“That bitch was all over my fucking ex, like we wasn’t cool. She kissed him, and he felt up on her ass. All I saw was red. I went over there and beat her ass.”
“Did you ask what the fuck she was thinking?”
“Ask?” Cali chuckled. “Girl, I wasn’t asking shit when the proof was in my face.”
“What did Rio say?”
“He couldn’t say shit. He tried to deny that he didn’t use her to get back at me but I know that’s bullshit.”
“Yeah, that’s some big bullshit,” Irish agreed. “Wow, Rozalin really ain't shit. That bitch been plotting on him. I remember when he was in the hospital, she admitted that she saw him as eye candy when she’d go see her mother in Havenwood.”
Cali kissed her teeth. “Why you ain't tell me?”
“Because you were stressed out, hoping Rio would pull through. I wasn’t about to bring something that I thought was trivial to you during that time.”
“Well as you can see that shit wasn’t so trivial.” Cali nibbled on her cuticle. “It woke me up, though. Showed me how vindictive Rio was. I know I fucked up but he went out his way to get me back. I told him we were even. I’m not spending another day mourning our marriage. I’m officially moving on with my life.”
Irish was relieved her friend had come to that conclusion. The depression and isolation Cali had trapped herself in deteriorated her. Irish was proud she had made the decision to fight for her sanity.
“I love to hear that. I wish you could spread that to me. I know the road ahead won’t be easy.”
“It won’t,” Cali muttered, “but I'm here, and we’ll get through it together.”
Irish nodded, wishing it was as easy as Cali made it seem.
“When we go back to the condo, you should try to get some rest.”
Irish chuckled, knowing sleep wouldn’t be her companion anytime soon.
Tuck sat at the table, looking down at the chessboard. For twenty-two hours of the day, he was confined to a 7 x 10 feet cell. There was no window, the scent of fresh air was non-existent, and his cellmate was an annoying-ass white man who didn’t know when to shut up. When the doors were opened, Tuck damn near ran out the cell, hoping to gain his sanity again.
