Always Wrong - Xyla Turner Page 0,54

Sheryl and Jacquez Costa, weighing seven pounds and three ounces. It was then that the father knew two things. One, there was no way he could take an authoritative role with his princess and two, he would have to get bodyguards. As he held her, holding Sheryl’s hand as she softly slept after having their child, he laughed at the absurdity of his original thoughts. His mom had called it. The revelation hit him as he held the treasure that he tried to fit into his Baby Planning Project II proposal.

Thank fuck, Sheryl put a stop to that shit.

Now, he had the sun and the moon and would do everything to protect them both.

The End - but get a sneak peek of my next novel, Lucas: Across the Aisle Series Book 4.

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Thank you for reading Always Wrong. Jacquez and Sheryl have been with me a long time now, but I’m glad that you were able to meet them. Tell me what you could relate to or identify with in a review.

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Lucas: Across the Aisle

Zion Delaroo

Something was wrong, and in my gut, I knew it, but I would not accept it. It was like a dark cloud over my head that only I could see. Nobody else knew about it, and the last person that was close enough to know, I got rid of him. He wasn’t a keeper. Yeah, he was literally the boy next door. Better yet, we were the high school king and queen. Not because we were popular, but because our GPAs were the highest. The school I attended did not go by those traditional mechanics of popularity. Your work is what spoke for you, which fueled the conqueror in me. My motto was about being original, ethical, and the hardest worker in the room. I did not accept defeat. As an option, but as I stared looking in the mirror, I knew, this one was out of my league. I tried to outsmart this thing, but it was coming back with a vengeance and that was not something I could accept. They say fate is a fickle bitch, but this thing. She had nothing on fate. Especially for a black woman. This was just fucked up.

As one of the few black women in Congress, I prided myself on standing up for my people. My motto was, I was born to do this. Period. I had not made a lot of friends, but I had a strong few. This was a new season for me, my first term actually, and it was going to be great. I was meant for this. Nothing, and I mean nothing, would stop me from succeeding at this. I worked hard and would work harder. My dad’s voice was in my ear all the time. He was the town’s coach for years, and he produced more Division One players than almost the whole league. He and Coach Carter were close friends, he used to be the head coach for the semi-pro league, but now he had his own.

“Who outworks you?” my dad used to drill in me.

“Nobody. Ever.” Was always the answer.

It was the same chant he gave to his players, who would have to do the suicide exercise until they were throwing up or they could not physically do it anymore. They deemed him to be excessive, but he argued that excessive won championships. After his third warning, he was let go from the team, in which shortly after that, while I was away at college, he passed away in his sleep. I maintain that he lost something that he never would get back. Or maybe he got tired of working so hard for people that didn’t want him. I will never know the answer, but I was crushed. No one could console me, I had to take off of school for a year, and I don’t think I could function for months. Mom had people coming over to pray for me, then she had therapists and counselors. But one day, somehow this coach, not the athletic kind, but a life coach came. I’ll never forget the words she said, because pure rage ran through me.

“How long do you plan to sit here and wasted your life away like this?”

My head slowly turned to look at her. She was a short woman, maybe five feet and four inches. She looked in shape, dressed in khakis with scrunch bottoms and a