Page 78 of Own It

“You even give a fuck?” I tried to abate my anger because I was ready to deck this nigga.

My father and I had gotten into plenty of fights when I was coming up, and I could admit, I didn’t always come out on top. In fact, I got my ass beat religiously, losing badly, but he hated to go against me in combat because I was the type of nigga who never gave up. So even though the six-foot-eight-inch, 380-pound Nate Godfrey’s punches felt like bricks to the face, it didn’t stop a nigga. By saying that, when I fought other muthafuckas, it was no competition.

He sensed my aggression and tried to soften his tone. My pops wasn’t afraid of me in the least bit, but I knew he lacked the energy to scrap with me like he used to. The last time was shortly after I got out of jail, and that shit ended in somewhat of a tie.

Walking over to his couch to plop down, he replied, “Truthfully, I stopped giving a damn when Zaire wouldn’t pull it together. I mean, what did he think would happen? Nigga didn’t even buy from you all.”

“I don’t sell pills.”

“Well.” He shrugged, puffing on his cigar some more.

“I need to find out who Zaire got that shit from,” I said.

“I will not and never have indulged in street politics and games, so I won’t start now. However, do whatever you need to do to avenge your brother’s death, Rakim.”

For a moment, I just stared at this nigga, wondering why I expected for a muthafucka who sat stoically in the front row at his own mother’s funeral to give a damn about his son. I wasn’t sure what Nate showed us growing up, but it wasn’t love. The only time that nigga began showing any interest in me outside of punishing me was when I showed some promise in boxing. And since Josias and Zaire never boxed, he never paid them any mind. Now that Ayan was the only boxer, he was Nate Godfrey’s golden boy.

At a loss for words, I exited the den and then the house altogether, feeling fucking stupid for even trying.

SEVENTEEN

daylin

BURIAL OF ZAIRE GODFREY

Today was Zaire’s funeral, and the church had been packed out. There were so many people that the entrance area along with the outside and street blocks were filled. It was crazy to see how loved Zaire was.

What was even crazier was seeing Ayan sob almost as hard as Josias. He seemed to be a terrible person with no regard for other people’s feelings or lives; however, witnessing him in the church today made me see him differently.

It caused me to think back to the things Rakim told me about his father and how they were raised. I spent so much time despising Ayan, that I didn’t even take into account that his childhood had affected him just as it had Zaire, Josias, and Rakim. True enough, Ayan was still a bad person, but I could now see there was more to him.

Per usual, LaMia had her eyes on me almost the entire service, which I expected since I was seated with Rakim, who was adamant about holding my hand. Unlike his father’s party, he didn’t want to pretend he barely knew me. He wanted me on his arm, and it felt so right I kept having to remind myself about Shaun.

LaMia was so gung-ho about stealing peeks at her ex and me that she could barely rub a broken-up Ayan’s back.

“You hungry?” Rakim asked me as soon as we stepped into the repast. We’d just left the burial where there were even more tears from the boys.

Rakim kept it together as much as he could, only allowing tears to rush down his cheeks and nothing more. Ayan and Josias were the opposite, experiencing body wracking sobs while Mr. Nate Godfrey was extremely impassive. Even his speech about Zaire at the funeral lacked emotion, and if I hadn’t known he was Zaire’s father, I would have assumed he was some random man off the street who was paid to speak.

Even creepier, when Nate spotted me, he grinned widely, winking as if that was supposed to make me scream and faint. He looked a lot like Rakim, just bigger and scarier with a creepiness that Rakim didn’t possess. I was sure to stay away from him and up under Rakim the whole time.

“A little.” I peered around Rakim’s large stature to see the table of food.

“So what is this?” LaMia appeared before us, drink in her hand as she gestured between Rakim and me.

“None of ya fucking business, LaMia,” Rakim tossed out, eyeing the room as if she didn’t matter in the slightest.

“This is his brother’s repast, and you’re worried about what he and I are?” I hiked a brow.

I tried not to judge people because I wasn’t perfect either, but it was hard not to when it came to LaMia.

“Girl, shut up. I don’t know who or what Rakim has you feeling like.” She scoffed.

“I think you need to be more worried about your man and his wandering eyes than what me and Rakim are doing. You gave him back to the streets, and he was fair game, baby. Guess I should thank you for that.” I spoke lowly when a man who Rakim referred to as his cousin walked up and engrossed him in a quick conversation.

LaMia looked horrified at my words as if I’d called her a racial slur, and that only made me smile innocently.

“Let’s get ya food.” Rakim talked against my temple before kissing me and pulling me toward the table that Josias was sitting at, appearing desolate.