Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 74450 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 372(@200wpm)___ 298(@250wpm)___ 248(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74450 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 372(@200wpm)___ 298(@250wpm)___ 248(@300wpm)
Noah helped, placing empty fry containers on the straw-wrapper-laden tray, along with the soiled napkins. Caspian replayed his uncle’s words as he went about his way. He’d heard it all before, but usually only when Uncle Bobby was drunk. Typically, the man was easy to talk to and not fast to anger, but things had begun to change. Especially now that Uncle Bobby was convinced he was trying to turn Noah against him in his time of grief.
They say grief is a strange companion…
Regardless, Uncle Bobby’s mood swings had no effect on him whatsoever. Caspian chalked it up to the rantings of an insecure man who knew the time was nearing when Noah would fly the coop, but he showed him mercy, for he had in fact just lost his wife.
Soon, he and Noah were piled in his car, headed back to his townhouse. Noah’s smile lit up as he played with the radio until he landed on a song he rather enjoyed: Morgan Wallen’s, ‘More Than My Hometown.’ Deciding to make a pitstop, he took Noah over to Nordstrom Rack and helped the guy select a few outfits for his new job, as well as some nice threads to wear on the weekend. He bought himself a new shirt, too—a baby blue button-down number that Azure told him he needed as it would go great with his eyes. Off they went to his townhouse, Noah with a vanilla ice cream cup in hand.
“Noah, you can sit there and watch television if ya want.”
His cousin nodded, plopped down on the couch with his icy treat and immediately tuned in to MTV. Caspian sat on the other side of the room, notebook in hand, rummaging through the box. Later that night, he had another podcast to record and, according to his boss, there were more photo releases he needed to look over for an upcoming story about a missing five-year-old boy. He placed more pictures and trinkets down on the floor, then grabbed the key once again. Noah burst out laughing at something on the screen, then turned in his direction.
“Did you see that, Cas? He threw a spoon at him!” Noah cackled.
“Nah, I missed it, lil’ cousin.” He kept rummaging when he suddenly felt his cousin staring at him. He looked up and they locked eyes.
“Mama would cry… She’d go to the hotel and stay the night sometimes, with me. With a key that looked somewhat like that.” He pointed at the key in his hand, shook his head, then turned back towards the television. Once again, Noah was laughing as if he hadn’t said much at all. Caspian sat there, swimming with those words in the deep end of the mental pool. What in the hell just happened here?
“Why would Aunt Angel be cryin’ and staying all night at the hotel, Noah?”
Noah turned back to him. “I don’t know. She was sad sometimes.”
Caspian gripped the key harder, his mind racing. Just as he was about to ask Noah another question, his phone vibrated. He snatched it out of his pocket and saw an unknown number. As it kept ringing, something told him to answer… Something covered in white feathers, beating hearts, old houses with African art… Something with burning homes of pedophiles, sunset hayrides, and Kentucky mountains covered in ice. Something with big, beautiful, soulful black eyes that smoked silver cigars and had soft, warm thighs…
“Hello?”
“Hey… howdy… is this Caspian Emory?” a deep voice, old and worn with country pride and time vibrated from the other end.
“Speaking. Who is this?”
“My name is Harrison. My son Jasper saw somethin’ online and told me to give you a call. I think I might be your father…”
Chapter Twenty-Two
“A bitch is cute today. The locs were acting right! Look at this hair flow, darlings!” Azure stuck out her tongue and cackled, wine glass in one hand and a cigar in the other while chillin’ in her friend’s hot tub. India and Fatima laughed right along with Azure, all of them in various states of inebriation while bobbing about in the warm, bubbly water. The three women enjoyed the moment, toasting each other and speaking of love, career, and life while Mos Def crooned ‘Sunshine.’ The comfortingly warm waves and foam washed over her breasts, scantily clad in a lime green bikini top and bottom.
“So how are you and Caspian doin’?” India asked, a devious look in her slanted black eyes.
“We’re doing good. He’s crazy.” She smirked and shook her head. Her stomach flipped with thoughts of him… He gives me butterflies. “But I love him. He takes my breath away.”
“He’s crazy? I thought you said you weren’t doing any more drama, trauma?” Fatima scowled, her tone dripping with judgment.
“I’m not.”
“But you said he was crazy,” she repeated.
“Oh, he is. But he’s not full of drama, and he’s got his trauma under control.” She took another sip of her wine and placed the glass down behind her.