Page 186 of Own It

“You right.” He smirked almost inconspicuously. “I do like her, but I feel fucked up because she pregnant by Zaire. He was like a little brother to a nigga—at least through you.”

Setting my drink down after polishing it off, I said, “I get that, but you gotta own yo’ shit, Mylo. If you like her and want her, don’t half step that shit. Being double-minded over some blind loyalty to my brother is only gon’ make you look like less of a man and make her hate you eventually. I’d rather be a shady muthafucka who owns what I do than play both sides.

“I know you love Zaire, but you love him ’cause he my brother. Y’all didn’t get a chance to really forge some deep ass bond, but I appreciate the respect you got for him regardless. And to keep shit real, she was a one-night stand, Mylo. Maybe he did like her ass a lot, but we will never fucking know. All I ask is that you don’t have one foot in and one out with her. She pregnant and with my blood, so I don’t want shit stressing her out right now.”

“I hear you.” He bobbed his head for a little bit as if he were chewing on everything I said still. “I do like her. I told her all the same shit you just said, but she disagreed, and it got me to thinking that maybe she was right. But won’t be no half stepping, especially since I got yo’ approval.”

“I don’t know about approval.” I chuckled subtly, refilling my glass. “But we all grown, and I got my own shit and problems to be focused on. I ain’t about to be policing a grown ass man and woman, unless it’ll harm that baby she carrying.”

“Real shit.”

* * *

THE NEXT AFTERNOON . . .

“Hey, Mr. Fine A—I mean, Mr. Godfrey.” Chari, the receptionist, gave me a five-finger wave.

“Better relax ’fore you mistakenly say that shit in front of my girl,” I scolded, and she scoffed but nodded to say she understood.

I could only shake my head as I ascended the stairs of the Godfrey Boxing Gym, wondering if Chari’s husband knew she was up at the job flirting and shit.

As soon as I made it to the second floor, Ayan and I made eye contact as he stood in the ring, chest heaving as his trainer waited for him to catch his breath.

I didn’t say a word to the nigga as I spoke to different muthafuckas on the way to my office. As I neared my door, I could sense someone following me, and I knew there was only one person in the building who would be foolish enough to trail me without words.

“I ain’t in the mood today, Ayan. I’m liable to lay yo’ ass out,” I spoke truthfully, slipping the key into my office door before entering.

He followed behind me, shutting the door as I rounded my desk to take a seat.

“Can I sit?” he inquired, and his relaxed tone was enough to shock the shit out of me. I couldn’t remember the last time this nigga didn’t talk to me like he was a participant on a reality TV show.

“Nah. Fuck is you in my office for? You lucky I let you work out here,” I said.

Taking a seat anyway, he replied, “I thought the baking company and the gym were for our Godfrey legacy.”

“Our meaning me, Zaire, and Josias. Not you. Last time I’m gon’ ask you to state why the fuck you in here, Ayan.”

He sighed, peering down into his hands that were no longer covered with his boxing gloves.

“I’m tired, Rah.”

“Go home and curl up like the bitch you are and take a nap then.” I frowned, powering on my computer. “Fuck you telling me for?”

Ayan snickered humorlessly while nodding.

“I deserve that.” He sniffled, picking his head up to look me in the eyes finally. “I meant that I’m tired of being at odds.”

“I don’t think being at odds is an accurate description of our relationship, Ayan. You been a fucking hater since birth, turning everything into a pissing contest and doing everything you could to make an enemy out of me. And you should be tired, considering we thirty-three, and you started yo’ bullshit probably shortly after we were potty trained.”

Again, Ayan bobbed his head, eyes downcast as he fidgeted.

“Fuck. You right.” He ran his hands down his face, regaining eye contact with me. “The shit has never been worth it. Even when I did win, it didn’t feel as good as I thought it would. And now with Zaire gone, it’s become even less worth it. Shit feels dumb. I’m tired of being bitter and hateful, sometimes even forcing the shit because I don’t actually feel that way towards you.

“Ain’t gon’ say I ain’t been harboring jealousy and envy, because that would be false. But I don’t hate you as much as I let on, Rakim. You can believe that shit or not.” Clearing his throat, he continued. “If I had to choose between being close with you and Jojo over being close with Pop, I would choose the former.”

“What brought this shit on?” I inquired, genuinely curious.

Understand that Ayan had been the way he was since we were children, so for him to turn over a new leaf decades later was puzzling and hard as fuck to believe.