Always Wrong - Xyla Turner Page 0,7

ran down my face, and I didn’t bother to wipe them. What was the point? The flood gates had opened last night with Jacquez, and now they were back. They might as well be shed, because I was not sure of the next time they would come.

My phone dinged, then the vibrations began to beat on the glass table. It was six in the morning, and no one should be texting me on a Saturday. Snatching up the phone, because it had to be important, I saw it was a text from an unknown number.

Clicking on the dropdown message, I froze as I saw the message. There was no announcement of who the sender was, but I knew.

Oh, yeah.

I knew.

Unknown Caller:

Have a baby with me.

What the fuck?

Was he serious?

Me: What?

Unknown Caller: You read it right.

Me: Are you serious?

Unknown Caller: I would not joke about this. Especially after last night.

Me: This is more than a texting conversation.

Unknown Caller: It’s a decision until we do the act. Have a baby with me.

Staring at the screen, I blinked more tears and looked back at the waves hitting the side of the bridge’s tower base. We were all like the waves, I guessed, coming and going and once in a while we’d hit something significant, or have a good go, but at any moment, we could disappear into calming waters, having no impact on the world and leaving nothing behind. It was odd, but above all else, I wanted my life to mean something. Not how much money I had, how many jets I obtained, or how strong I was.

There had to be more. Before any thought, protest or simple logic could kick in, I began to type my answer back.

Me: Okay

Unknown Caller: Splendid.

My tears for some reason dried up as hope bloomed. It was the weirdest feeling, but I planned to hold on to it with everything I had. This dream was my lifeline, and if he could not come through, God help his soul. I would fry it with fire and brimstone.

Chapter Four

Jacquez Costa

Once I made it home, safe and sound, I poured myself a large glass of bourbon and stood on my patio to watch the waves hit the London Bridge pier. I loved the water and vowed to always live near it, because it put me at ease. Filled me with a calm that was not easily attained. Leaning against the bannister, I remembered Sheryl’s gut-wrenching cries in my neck. Her brokenness pulled at a part of me that reminded me of my mom. When my brother, Mateo, had been shot right in front of our house, I remember her dropping to her knees and pleading for his life. Blood stained her chest, hands, and face as she tried to get him to wake. I watched and remember being too young to do anything besides call the police. They did very little for our community, unfortunately, because it was run by the gangs. Mateo was in one, which meant that there would be blood running in the streets. It was the rival gang that had killed him.

The desperate cries of a woman who lost a child would be something I would always respond to. Which was the only reason why I would ask my no-longer-baby-mother to have a child with me.

Fuck, I hadn’t even thought about children recently. They had always been in the plan, but I guess I’d forgotten. I had been having way too much fun to stop and assess what the fuck was happening with my life. Fucking around here and there, but nothing or no one of substance.

It was time.

Sheryl’s announcement of her pregnancy allowed me to dream a bit. It reminded me of what I wanted. A house with a white picket fence, preparatory school, playing ball, watching sports, and going to the events. Girl or boy, but I saw a boy. For sure. He would be well rounded, far away from gangs, know several languages, and maybe know how to play an instrument if he wanted.

Her announcement brought all of those things back, and I wanted them. Actually, there was a deep need to have them. This opportunity with her was perfect—and then she told me it would not happen.

But her cries.

Another mother losing their child. My mom was never the same after Mateo was killed. Our father passing away when I was four was tough, but he had a heart attack. The senseless killing of her teenage son in the streets—well, that was