AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“They don’t need my permission. Just like I don’t need Fylox’s when I’m alone with Kamila. Nothing they do upsets me. I want them to be happy. I can’t wait for this season to be over. I want to be home while she’s pregnant this time,” my son reveals.
“Is it… Your kid?” I ask. We haven’t discussed this, and it’s been months. The baby is coming soon, and with Kamila’s belly showing now, we can’t avoid the subject much longer.
“Does it matter? It’s my child, whether it’s Fylox’s sperm or mine. These are our children.” I squint my eyes. I don’t want to know the details. “But, yeah, Dad. It’s my child, and she’s a girl. You’ll have another little girl with you soon.”
I can’t wait.
“Fylox likes being a parent with Kendrick… Don’t tell him I said this, but he doesn’t want toimpregnateKamila.” An Aaliyah song plays, and I feel like swaying for the first time tonight. “He needs a little more therapy for that.”
“I didn’t mean it like that,” I tell my son, rubbing my forehead. I feel naked without my beanie. I went to my barber downtown after work, and I got myself a fresh cut for the party. Nobody can say a thing about my hairline.
“I know you didn’t. Listen, I’m sorry that I couldn’t be there.”
“Don’t even think about it. I want you to get your next ring. That’s what matters most now.” I wait for my son to respond, but I hear him sigh instead. “What is it?”
“Happy Birthday, Dad.”
“Son, don’t bullshit me,” I warn him. “You’ve missed my birthday before. I’ve missed yours.”
“Kendrick is growing, and I’m so far away. I’m scared that I’m missing out,” he confesses.
“Win your fucking games. Stay on top of the scoreboards. If you start failing, and you can’t pick it back up, then I’m dragging you home. You worked hard for this, and you won’t let anything take this away from you. You’re not the first absent—”
“I know. I learned from the best,” Alex says, gutting me. It all goes back toher. “It’s okay. I still love you. I worry about Kendrick, that’s all.”
When I don’t say anything else, he continues, “I’m going to win. If I don’t, all of this was for nothing. Enjoy your party. Have some fun, and don’t sit around like a grumpy old man.”
“Hey, watch your mouth.”
A couple of chuckles later, the line goes dead.
I need something stronger than the Hennessy on the table in front of me. I want to spar with somebody and knock them out cold. I need to add a body to the 3013.
That’s why I do therapy. I’m messed up.
Neither my family nor my therapist knows, but I’m more than a little OCD. There’s something wrong with me, and it starts in my heart, that son of a bitch.
An hour or so passes, and I leave the party. I can’t take it any longer. The kids party among themselves, celebrating my birthday, but I feel out of place.
Summoning one of my men, I let him drive me to my favorite bar in the city center. The Gold Necklace is the most Westerner-friendly space on Katantia. In there, the world is the way I know it. Fucked up, but at least, it’s the fucked up I’m used to from the States. They have themed weeks, Hollywood. I Love New York. Country Diners. Cowboy Specials. They even had a Hood week where everyone dressed like 50 Cent and Lil Kim. I had to speak to the manager about it. As expected, he had never been to thehood. I warned him that if he ever did that shit again, I’d drown him in the ocean before he could saybeef jerky.
“Ring me up when you’re done, boss,” my employee tells me as I exit the car. I feel a light buzz from the Hennessy, but it’ll fade soon. I didn’t drink enough to get trashed this early.
“You got it. Don’t let Måns take the car. Either you or Ren do it, all right?”
He nods, knowing his place. I watch as the car leaves, and then I enter the bar, flashing my smile at the bouncer at the door. They’re familiar with my face now, and I’m not afraid of it anymore. They know me, and they’re scared of me. I’m the head of palace security. I can fuck up their shit in an instant if the mood strikes me.
Once inside, I’m not surprised at the empty bar. There are only a few people here, the nostalgia driven Katantia residents. They dream of America or wherever they’re from. They come here to find a piece of it. Sports play on the television. There’s light music playing in the background, but I find myself reciting a Pac song in my head.
I’m still in my outfit from before, overdressed for the occasion. The other customers are in jeans. Nobody bats an eye because you don’t talk back to me. I don’t lose my temper often. I keep reminding myself of that.
But I wouldn’t mind losing my temper right about now.
I want to let out my anger on something. Somebody.
I need an outlet.
When you think of Pac, he appears. The music changes. Pac and Snoop bless my ears. I signal the bartender to turn up the music. I find my seat at the edge of the bar, where I don’t need a lot of effort to oversee the rest of the bar.
