Grip Trilogy Box Set - Kennedy Ryan Page 0,159

to calm down. I know the rules, I hear the mantra.

Do whatever it takes to make it home. Always answer with respect.

But there is no respect, not for me from him. Not for him from me. There is an unspoken feud pitting us against one another, and every cell in my body rebels against following the rules.

I try the old trick from my childhood, reaching for poetry—for Neruda, Poe, Cummings, anyone whose eloquence will calm the clamor of my heart and ease the riot in my chest. But all I find is the revolt of NWA’s “Fuck Tha Police,” chanting that a young nigga got it bad because he’s brown. The lyrics gather in my brain like an unruly mob. Every word uproarious and disorderly. They swell in my head and crack my skull like a Billy club. My wrists strain against the cuffs, and the outrage of a million men who’ve sat on curbs and lay in the streets on their bellies strikes a match in my heart.

If I’m not careful, it could burn me to the ground.

The officer and I face off, an unbridgeable distance between us, when another cop car pulls up. Relief flashes over the officer’s face to see one of his own arriving at the scene just in time. My anxiety doubles seeing another set of blue lights. Another cop to compound my trouble. But when the car door opens, it isn’t just one of the officer’s own. It’s one of mine.

My cousin Greg gets out of the car like a guardian angel, and my shoulders sag. I didn’t realize how painfully tight I held my muscles until he stepped out with his badge and all the tension drained from me.

“We got a problem, Dunne?” Greg triangulates a look between the officer, me, and Bristol.

“Routine stop, sarge,” Dunne says. “I was just about to search the other passenger, but was getting resistance from the driver.”

“That right?” His mouth kicks up at one corner. “You causing trouble, cuz?”

“Cuz?” Officer Dunne looks from me to Greg and back again.

“You know this one?”

“So do you.” Greg laughs and shakes his head. “You told me you liked his song when I was playing it in the locker room this morning.”

“What song?” He searches my face and then looks at my license he’s still holding. “Marlon James. You’re—”

“Grip,” my cousin finishes for him. “Get the cuffs off, Dunne.”

Officer Dunne reaches for my wrists.

I jerk back, trapping his eyes with mine, silently showing him my resentment

“Don’t,” I tell him with deadly calm, my brown eyes locked onto the cop’s blue. “You’ve touched me enough.”

An awful quiet follows my words. I don’t look away from Dunne even while Greg removes the cuffs himself.

“I’m a huge fan,” Dunne says awkwardly. “I wouldn’t have . . . well, I didn’t recognize you with your hair different.”

Like that should make any damn difference. I don’t respond. I can barely breathe, suffocated by my own vulnerability. Living in my luxurious loft, driving my expensive motorcycle, performing for sold- out crowds. This lifestyle insulates me from just how vulnerable I am when it comes down to it. Just breaths away from helpless. Herded and branded like cattle, emasculated, unable to even properly shield the woman I love. Fully clothed but naked on the side of the road, stripped of all dignity. No matter how many albums I sell, no matter how much money I make, I will never forget this feeling.

Officer Dunne mumbles another apology for any inconvenience. When I keep stone facing him, he wisely gets in his car and drives away. I watch his taillights until he turns the corner and they disappear.

“Sorry about that, cuz.” Greg daps me up. “We’re working on it. Retraining the force and making sure we’re in the community, not just policing it. It’s slowly getting better. I hope. Dunne isn’t a bad guy. Just still conditioned to make some assumptions.”

“You mean conditioned to profile.”

Greg doesn’t address my comment. He knows it’s true, but there’s no good answer. He and I both know his colleague was wrong for that. His eyes urge me to let it go. I’m one of the few in my family who has a relationship with Greg. The others can’t forgive him for Chaz. Even knowing Chaz probably would have killed others that day, even if by accident, had Greg not taken that shot. Greg joining the force always felt like a betrayal to them. Cops were in our neighborhood to harass and arrest, not protect