Page 2 of Fire & Roses: Harli

Chapter 2

Travis “Trench” Sinclair

I gripped the throttle as I waited at the starting line. My mind focused on the race I was prepping to run instead of the madness going on in my life. I looked over at my opponent for the night. The goody-two-shoes role I was used to playing faded away, and my true self came alive at night. When the flag girl dropped her arms, we took off, and the wind hit my face, almost suffocating me.

As we continued down the road, we lined up neck and neck before I noticed my bike pulling farther ahead of his. Refocusing on the race, I noticed I was coming up on the designated finish line. With a thousand dollars on the line, I was looking forward to my payday. Although I didn’t need the money due to my family ties, it felt good to earn money off of my own talents. When I won the race, the biggest smile spread across my face. It took the nigga a minute to cross the finish line, but he was a man of his word and gave me my money.

“Good race,” I lied as I accepted his cash.

“That’s a fuckin’ lie,” the guy chuckled. “If it was a good race, it would’ve been closer than that.”

“I’m glad you know the truth. I guess I should say better luck next time.”

“Don’t hold yo’ breath.”

He got back on his bike before driving away as my homie, Roscoe, also known as ‘Scoe, came over to me. We’d been friends for about two years, and in that short amount of time he knew me better than anybody in my family. I came from money, but I didn’t act like it. I hated everything from the uptight ass attitudes that my uppity ass family had, to the PWI schools I was forced to attend growing up. I understood there wasn’t any glitz and glamour of the hood, but I preferred being around my own than trying to pretend to be something I wasn’t.

“Not you runnin’ these nigga’s pockets tonight,” ‘Scoe boasted.

“You know I don’t play when it comes to this racin’ shit,” I asserted as I placed my winnings in my wallet with the rest of my money. “Ain’t nobody fuckin’ with me when it comes to this racin’ shit.”

“I don’t know they said some nigga named H used to be dominatin’ before you showed up on the scenes.”

“I bet that nigga ain’t gonna show his face around here because these my streets now.”

“I’ll put out some fillers to see if I can get you a race with that nigga, Trench. I’m surprised you’re out here racin’ tonight. When I last talked to you I thought you had some gala shit to attend with yo’ folks.”

“You know I hate them shits, but they really fucked up when they tried to play matchmaker. I ain’t tryna marry no uppity bitch they set me up with. Plus, I want my kids to be one hundred percent melanin and knowin’ my folks, they probably were trying to set me up with some white girl. I ain’t no Carlton Banks ass nigga. I know I’m black and damn proud of that shit, so my lady will be black too.”

“I can’t see yo’ ass with no snow bunny either, cuz. I just hope they don’t trip out on yo’ ass when you make it back.”

“And if they do I’ma get a room with the money I just won. I ain’t tryna be dependent on their asses but I gotta time that cut off just right.”

“Not cut off.”

“Hell yeah! I ain’t gonna just stop fuckin’ with them completely just to where the control they think they have is cut off.”

“I feel that. Aye, look, I’ma get up with you later. I gotta get back to my babies and baby mama.”

“Bet.”

We dapped up before dispersing; I loaded my bike on the back of my custom-painted Toyota Tundra truck. Once I made it to the storage unit, I parked my Suzuki Hayabusa under lock and key before heading home. On the ride home, I wasn’t ready for what was probably waiting for me. Although I was twenty-five, my parents still treated me like a child. That infuriated me, but I took it to the chin because I didn’t want to risk being cut off.

“Travis Fitzgerald Sinclair,” my dad’s, Bruce, voice boomed as soon as I set foot inside.

“Ah fuck,” I cursed as I shook my head.

“Watch yo’ mouth,” my mom, Tiffany, chastised as they appeared in my view together. “Where the hell are you comin’ from?”

“Hang with some friends,” I answered as I took my shoes off at the door.

“At this late hour?” My dad countered.

“Yeah, because there’s only a few things you can get into at this time of night. Between a girl’s legs or some kind of trouble.”

“I wasn’t with no girl, nor did I get in trouble. However, I’m twenty-five years old, and I don’t have to tell you where I’ve been. I’m a grown man.”

“More like a growing man,” my dad corrected. “Because last time I checked we still funded yo’ whole life. Even after you went to college and got your degree in business, you’re still livin’ at home with us. And a grown man keeps his word, and you didn’t this evenin’. Had me and your mom lookin’ like fools to our friends.”