Grip Trilogy Box Set - Kennedy Ryan Page 0,259

Angie said that I missed because I’ve been caught mid-drool. He leans back, his casual posture a thin veil over the coiled energy always waiting to spring forth. The Run DMC shirt fits the lean musculature of his chest and arms. I smile at the cheap black plastic watch on his wrist that he’s never without, the one I won for him that night years ago. Qwest may have more in common with him—culture, music, challenges—but that watch reminds me that Grip and I have a history and a future.

“Grip, you’ve always been socially conscious,” Angie says. “But ‘Bruise’ kind of put everyone on notice and started a lot of dialogue. Can you talk a little about what went into that song?”

“Yeah, sure. I grew up with that tension.” Grip leans forward, elbows propped on his knees and eyes lit by conviction. “Needing law enforcement because I lived in such a dangerous place, but fearing cops because we never felt they were checking for us. I didn’t write the song to take a side as much as to represent both sides, and hopefully show that we’re more alike than we are different, find some common ground to negotiate the most difficult things. It’s not right when unarmed black men are shot in the back for doing nothing and then officers walk away with impunity, but it’s also not right when good cops are judged by the same stripes as the bad ones. It’s not right to ambush good cops to make a point. Nina Simone said it’s an artist’s responsibility to reflect their times. That’s what I want to do.”

A wide grin hangs between my cheeks, pride swelling in my chest. His intelligence and passion are evident every time he answers a question. Angie has assembled a great group, each of them incredibly talented and popular, leveraging their moment for causes close to their hearts. I’m even touched when Qwest talks about Our Girls, the initiative she works with to raise awareness about women of color who go missing and the fact that they receive less media coverage and less attention.

“Grip, you’re here in New York now, right?” Angie asks near the end of the allotted broadcast time. “At NYU?”

“Yeah, for the semester.” Grip grins. “I love New Yorkers because they don’t give a damn about me most days. I walk to class and grab coffee and go home like everybody else. There’s an anonymity here that I really enjoy.”

“And what are you studying?” Angie asks.

“I’m taking Dr. Israel Hammond’s course on systemic bias in the criminal justice system. He’s a guest professor this semester.”

“Now that’s a woke brother.” Approval shines from Angie’s eyes. “I read Virus when it came out. It should be required reading for everyone.”

“He’s brilliant and cool as a fan.” Grip returns her smile.

The open curiosity gives way to a calculation I’ve seen on faces like hers on shows like these a hundred times. Even before she asks her next question, I sense the interview about to take a different turn. Call it premonition, or call it one ruthless bitch recognizing another, but I know.

“And you’ve been sighted with your girlfriend here in the city,” she says. “She moved here, too, right?”

Grip must recognize that look, too. He shutters his expression, but keeps smiling. “Yeah, she grew up here.”

“I keep it real, Grip.” Angie spreads the look to the rest of the panelists. “Every person here has been on the receiving end of my real. It’s your first time, but I’m not gonna treat you any different.”

Oh, God. What is she about to say?

“You sound like you understand and want to raise awareness about the issues facing Black people.” The “but” is all over her face before she even says it. “But, really how woke can you be sleeping with a white woman?”

All the air freeze-dries in my chest, just stalls and is enveloped in cold.

“What did you say?” Grip’s brows bend like an accordion into a disbelieving scowl. “What does that have to do with being woke? With wanting to make a difference?”

“I’m just saying we get sick and tired of watching men like you talk about the cause,” Angie says, her polite mask falling away, the indignation she must have been hiding rearing its head. “Talk about what our community needs and esteem Black women from one side of your neck, and then go and choose a white woman as your partner. You out here playing in the snow. It’s a little hypocritical.”

“How is