Niya yawned. “I’m pooped already.”
I rubbed her shoulders. “Probably jet lag. And you’ve got to adjust to the time difference.”
Her eyelids drooped. “By the time I do, we’ll be back home.”
“You just need a good night’s rest and you’ll be good to go. I know we’re here for a sad occasion but I can easily get tickets to a game or something if you change your mind?”
I phrased my last word as a question. Niya had been insistent we didn’t need to go anywhere. She was there to help me through my friend’s funeral. But I hoped to persuade her to enjoy Los Angeles.
“No. You don’t have to do that,” she said. “Like I said, I came here to support you. I think you’ll have to be strong for the other sailors and I intend to be your ride or die.”
Her willingness to put my needs first increased my desire to be everything and more for this woman. Niya had some rough edges but she was a diamond. I couldn’t wait to help bring out that shine. I wasn’t one of those guys who would try to bury that sparkle. I intended to gloss it up for everybody to see.
In less than ten minutes, we arrived at our destination. We thanked the Uber driver and exited the vehicle. I retrieved our carry-ons from the trunk. Niya brushed her hands across her white dress.
“We’ll only be here about an hour before we head over to the Westin Bonaventure.” That hotel had been the site for many Hollywood films. Niya would get a thrill out of that, especially since I had booked us a really nice suite. With separate bedrooms.
“We can stay as long as you need,” she said, snaking her arm around my waist.
Together, we entered Ms. Maizie’s house. I knew from experience it would be unlocked. I swear once I crossed the threshold, it was like I had stepped back in time. Everything looked the same. The sky blue walls and the huge portrait of Simmonds from first grade hanging in the foyer. I remember the first time I came here with Simmonds, I had teased him about that picture. I swallowed. We would never laugh again.
“Do we just come in like this?” Niya asked, interrupting my thoughts. “I don’t want to get capped my first trip to LA.”
“Yes,” I said, with a small chuckle and took her hand. “It’s cool.” I sniffed. There was a distinct smell of charcoal in the air and my stomach grumbled. I hadn’t eaten before our flight. “Let’s head into the backyard; everybody’s there. If I know Ms. Maizie, even though she’s grieving, she’s cooked up enough soul food to feed a fleet of ships.” We entered the living room and I led the way toward the kitchen. There was a door that led to the backyard.
“I can’t imagine she’d be cooking when her son died,” Niya whispered. “If one of my family members died, I would be in my bed crying for days.”
“People handle grief differently,” I said. “When one of my cousins died, my aunt insisted on making, like, fifteen pound cakes. She gave them to everyone who came by for a visit because she said baking made her relax and feel like everything was still going to be all right.”
Niya nodded slightly, as though processing a new way of thinking.
Marshall entered the kitchen, coming from outside, with a plate in his hand and stopped short. His mouth popped open when he saw me, but if I knew Marshall, he wouldn’t be silent long.
“Chief,” he shouted, placing his food on the kitchen island and lunging toward me. Niya released her grip on my hand.
Marshall and I hugged before I broke contact. His stocky build, red hair, and green eyes declared his Scottish heritage. I noticed his belly had rounded and jabbed him in the stomach.
“I’m so glad you’re here,” he said. “Ms. Maizie has been cooking nonstop and none of us can get her to sit down. You’ve got to talk her into getting some rest. She’s manning the grill. We’ve all tried to take over, but she refuses.” Before I could answer, Marshall cocked his head toward Niya. “Who’s this pretty lady?”
I sidled close to Niya. “This is my girlfriend, Janiya. Niya for short.”
His eyes went wide and he took two small steps back. “Niya? Is this the Niya you were always talking about from your hometown? Your best friend’s sister?” I could feel Niya giving me the side-eye, but I wouldn’t look her way. Instead, I focused on the window with the wooden shutters I had helped Simmonds install.
I didn’t care if she knew I had been talking about her for years, but Marshall reminded me how he’d earn the nickname, Strainer. I don’t know how he made it far in the military talking like he did. He couldn’t keep a secret past 24 hours. Make that 24 minutes.
Marshall tapped the bridge of his nose. “What was his name again? Your best friend?”
“Jhavon,” Niya supplied, holding out her hand. “Pleased to meet you.”
Marshall wiped his hand on his khaki shorts and shook her hand. I told myself to ignore the rip in his shorts and the newly added BBQ sauce stain.
“I’m Collin Marshall, but you can call me Marshall like everyone else,” he said. “Chief told me all about your brother and how he died… It’s a shame that—”
My stomach clenched. “Marshall,” I interjected with a warning tone, “I don’t think Niya wants to relive that history.”
Marshall went red. “Right. Sorry about that. I just never imagined you two would get together. I mean, considering how everything went down.” He shook his head.
Why would Marshall mention anything in front of Niya? The things my close military buddies and I shared—in those sweltering, endless hours during Navy SEAL training in the middle of a Louisiana swamp or in a Georgia forest waiting to be found after we’d failed a mission and been fake-killed—were things that shouldn’t be repeated. Ever. Least of all now.
