Page 7 of Meet Me at the Altar

“Right. So, what’s the problem?”

“Nigga, you know that’s my hometown.”

He crossed his arms over his chest and angled his head. “You sure you want to do this? You ready to go back home?” Silas asked warily.

He was the only one in my new life, outside of my family, who knew why I left home all those years ago. Whenever anyone else asked why I had relocated to L.A., I simply answered “school and new opportunities.” Even the women I’d spent a significant amount of time with over the last few years received that same answer, including the one who fucked over my life for three years.

“It’s time. Next year, it will have been ten years since I left. I’ve already bought some land, hired a firm to build my house, and put my current one on the market,” I declared.

“Damn, G. Sounds like you’ve put some thought into this. When were you planning to tell me?”

“When the time was right.”

“So, I’m guessing that’s now?” He chuckled.

“Yeah.”

“How long you been thinking about this?”

“For the last year.”

“The fuck? This got something to do with Mercedes?”

“That bullshit gave me a lot to think about over the last year. I didn’t want to make any sudden moves, but yeah; it influenced my decision. Other than that, it’s been a decade, man. I always knew that I would be returning home next year.”

“You’ve stayed away all this time. What’s changed?”

“I made a promise to someone special, someone I would never lie to. I’m a man of my word, if nothing else. My heart can’t rest until I do what needs to be done, . . . what I want to be done.”

“Sounds serious.”

“It is. I don’t believe in letting the people who mean the most to me down. Not anymore.”

“That’s wassup.”

We bumped fists, and I thought back to a year ago.

“Wassup, baby? You good?”I asked my girlfriend, Mercedes.

We had been dating for three years. Of those three years, we had been living together for one year. I had given up my bachelor pad with Silas for an upscale penthouse to live with her.

“Not really, Drè.”

“What’s going on?” I asked, sitting back in my seat and setting my fork down.

We were eating at Seashells, a popular seafood restaurant on Manhattan Beach. Our social lives were busy, and we were always out and about, being seen. She deemed us as a power couple who was going places in the world.

I just liked networking and building my constituent list, and she was a popular lifestyle influencer.

She sighed. “These last three years have been great, but I think it’s time that we call it.”

“Call what, baby?”

“This relationship.”

My chest tightened, my jaw clenched, and I frowned because I thought things were going well. This came out of the blue. What the hell was really going on?

“Is this about marriage?”