Page 15 of Own It

rakim

DAYS LATER . . .

“You ever enjoy the inside of ya house?” I asked my cousin Talid, taking a seat under the humungous cabana.

Though first cousins on my mother’s side, Talid and I were more like brothers. Being only a year apart, I felt closer to Talid than I did with Ayan. And because our mothers, Helen and Holly, were identical twins, by DNA, he and I were brother-cousins.

Despite that, though, he and I didn’t look too much alike since we both mirrored our father’s looks, but we shared the same dark complexion.

Aunt Holly died shortly after my mama, evidently too heartbroken by her death to go on.

“Nothing like fresh air, my nigga.” Talid smirked tiredly, making me watch him a little bit longer than intended. Taking a sip of his beer as he stared out over his vast backyard, he said, “You might have to find a replacement, Rah.”

“Replacement for what?” I asked, knowing what Talid meant but hoping for a different explanation.

Upon returning home from my prison bid, I had to find a way to get a revolving income again. I couldn’t live the rest of my life off my savings. With no college education, a criminal record, stained boxing career, and prison time on my résumé, no job worth anything would have a nigga. So, I turned to the only thing I could, diving back into the streets like I used to back before boxing took over my life.

Using the money I’d made and saved while boxing, I was able to invest that shit into the right product, the right structures, and the right people. Took a nigga a little minute, but I kept my head in the game, never spending frivolously or making moves in haste.

For the past five years, I had conquered the streets, becoming the biggest plug on the West Coast, and with Talid right by my fucking side. Talid had grown tired of living paycheck to paycheck to take care of himself, his wife Shardaya, and their son Khalid, so when I came to him with a proposition, the nigga was more than willing.

Now, I had Talid and my younger brothers living well, using Godfrey Baking Co., a multimillion-dollar bread company, as our front. GBC stocked grocery and liquor stores all over the country, making millions just on its own.

The bakery was something I’d started to pay respects to my gluten allergic mother, remembering how she often complained about the taste, texture, and overall quality of bread that lacked gluten. The Godfrey Baking Co.’s gluten-free bread was one of our most talked about and largest sellers, which I felt my mother somehow had a hand in up from the heavens.

Scratching the beard that lined his gaunt face, Talid responded, “For this shit we been doing, cuz. I’m losing this battle, and we both know it.”

A year and a half ago, Talid had been diagnosed with brain cancer, and it was one of the worst things for a nigga like me to find out, coming second to learning my mama had perished while a nigga was away at boxing practice. The cancer had wreaked havoc on Talid and quickly, because only two months from his diagnosis did his declining health become obvious physically.

I made sure he had access to the best medical care, and though the whole time things had been fifty-fifty, I had faith that God would pull my cousin through. He’d already beat the odds, living longer than the three months doctors had initially predicted. Because of that, I liked to keep it positive. Not to mention, it was the only way I could cope with possibly losing yet another important person.

“Stop talking like that, nigga. You know the tongue is powerful. Them niggas gave you three months, and you still fucking here.” I ranted a bit, hating when Talid got like this but also understanding it.

“Yeah,” was all Talid said as I attempted to read his mind, praying my nigga wasn’t giving up.

Doctors had explained to Talid’s wife that part of Talid’s success was because he was young and had a will to live. But I wasn’t sure how true that was anymore, as I observed him appearing to be beat down physically and mentally.

Changing the subject in hopes of getting my and Talid’s mind off the cancer, I said, “Walked in Ayan’s party and saw him manhandling a woman. Shit rubbed me the wrong fucking way.” I kept replaying it, shaking my fucking head every time I did.

I was thankful it only took eye contact with my twin to make him drop the woman’s arm. I would’ve hated to have to whup my brother’s ass because I was sure Ayan would have a nigga right back in prison, and I couldn’t be sure the judge wouldn’t sentence my ass to life. Because of my childhood, I was never that nigga that would sit idly by and watch a nigga put his hands on a female. Ayan knew that shit and acted accordingly.

“You think he putting hands on Mia?” Talid asked, making me drop my head in thought at how well he knew me.

“Can’t be sure. And as bad as it may sound, I don’t really give a fuck if he is,” I admitted to the only person I ever would.

Once LaMia played a nigga to the left for my brother, any care I had for her left my body. At the moment, LaMia was still with Ayan and had birthed two of his kids, so if he was hitting on her, it clearly wasn’t bad enough for her to dip. By saying that, I was done with saving LaMia.

“Then why you bring it up?” Talid gave me a sidelong glance.

“The girl he grabbed keep popping up in my damn head.”

Talid smirked. “’Bout time, muthafucka.” He gulped some beer. “You need to get back out there and find you somebody.”

“Nah.”

“Nigga, how long you been single? Don’t let LaMia be the last woman you ever have.”

“She ain’t the last woman I had, but she’s the last time I’ll ever be in a relationship,” I stated truthfully.