Loving Jacob Read online

  BREATHLESS 5

  LOVING JACOB

  by Shani Greene-Dowdell

  Copyright © 2017 Shani Greene-Dowdell

  All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise), without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above stated publisher. The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental

  ~STALKERS WANTED~

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  Breathless 5: Loving Jacob: This Installment

  *Book 1 is free on Kindle.

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  Chapter One

  Destiny

  Like You Used To…

  I looked at the old, run-down building Tasha had called a lounge and shot a disgusted look in her direction. “I don’t know why I let you talk me into coming out here. I should be in bed after the long day I had with Junior’s game, so I can get up and take care of my family tomorrow.”

  I had no clue what it would take to make the latter come true. With the raging feeling in my gut that Jacob had done the unthinkable with Justine, I wouldn’t rest well until the truth was unveiled, or the nagging thought got put to bed, once and for all.

  “It may look a little worn on the outside, but trust me, Destiny. This is exactly what you need right now,” she assured me. “And, you’ll see it’s not a bad place when we get inside,” she added as she strutted ahead of me wearing a pair of cute, six-inch heels and with a head of curls cascading down to her ample bottom. My cousin, Tasha Baker, had dolled up like she stepped off the pages of a fashion magazine, just to take a walk through the pearly gates of hell.

  “Tasha, I don’t want to be here!” I protested.

  She stopped walking and spun around to face me with fire shooting from her eyes. “Destiny, you’re the one that said you needed to relax and clear your mind. That’s what we’re going to do, so stop putting the place down.” Just as quickly as she faced me, she turned and stalked across the street.

  “Well, I tell you I’m suspicious of Jacob and Justine, and you bring me here to get mugged? I can see how this is what I need,” I stated sarcastically, smacking my teeth like I used to as a little girl, while continuing to follow her. Our heels clacking against the gritty pavement only reiterated my discomfort with the dingy, broken down venue.

  There were probably fifty cars in the parking lot and a few parked alongside the road. The streets were dark, except for one dim lamppost. Jacob’s security detail was nowhere in sight, which meant I successfully ditched them on the drive to Tasha’s house earlier. I had intentionally zigzagged through traffic and made sudden turns to lose them. Thankfully, it worked. I needed a breather from Jacob’s protective watch.

  “I’m getting tired of your bitching, Destiny!” Tasha said, bringing my attention back to her. “You need to come down a notch. You may live in The Hills with Jacob now and have forgotten where you came from, but I haven’t forgot your lil’ snotty nose trotting around following me everywhere I went on Benson Ave. So please, miss me with that highfalutin mess. It won’t work with me, because I know you,” she said as she slowed down to walk by my side.

  “Where I live has nothing to do with this bummy place, Tasha. I’m just saying, why did we have to come here?” I hopped over a puddle of water in the walkway…well, at least I hope it was water. It could’ve been—hell, no. I just hoped it was water. “Really Tasha?”

  “Wait until I tell Moneefa that you act like you haven’t seen a water puddle before. I remember when we used to pray for rain so we could play in it, and in the water puddles. Now you’re too bougie to step over a puddle,” Tasha said as we reached the door where a big, burly man started running a metal detector over her purse.

  “I am not bougie!” I said, as the man took his wand and started waving it over my bag. I snatched my purse from his reach, and he humped his shoulders. “This is just a sleazy place,” I added.

  “Hold up lady. I have to pat you down, too,” Mr. Burly said, and I was one hundred percent sure he was harassing me as retribution for my harsh words about the death trap of a building he guarded.

  After nearly every orifice of my body was touched by a man I didn’t care to ever see again, I walked into the smoky club with my stomach churning with revolt over the dank mixed with cigarette smoke that filled the air. Women barely had clothes on and dread heads were everywhere, including posted up against the walls.

  “This is your idea of what I need right now?” I mumbled loud enough for Tasha to hear as I stomped behind her like a petulant child. “I’m starting to think you don’t know me that well, Tasha.”

  Tasha stared at me with a dead look. She pursed her lips together as if she were willing herself not to respond. Just like she knew me well, I knew Tasha. She was ready to strike with venom.

  “We’re not going to be out here, Destiny,” she finally said. “I’m taking your uptight ass to the poetry lounge in the back, but if you keep bitching and moaning about it, I’ll take you back to my house, so you can get your car and go home. I’m tired of hearing about it.”

  “Whatever.” I looked around at the collard green colored walls that had more paint chipping away than remained.

  Maybe I am acting a little bougie. Maybe I have forgotten where I came from.

  Those thoughts made me pull about ten stairs quietly behind my bestie cousin who never led me astray before. And, I was met by an entirely different vibe once we went into the poetry lounge. A lady with a long, curly afro stood at the mic in front of a vibrant crowd in a rustic, culturally decorated small room. Everyone was laughing, talking, sipping drinks and enjoying the vibe.

  “Oh damn y’all, help me welcome back one of Miami’s adopted finest, Poetically Tash!” the emcee shouted in our direction and the crowd roared with applause and whistles. Tasha halted to blow the emcee a kiss. “We need her to grace the mic tonight, so y’all gotta do a little better than that,” she said and the crowd clapped even louder.

  Well, I’ll be damned.

  Tasha didn’t tell me she was a spoken word artist. There’s a lot of mystery about my favorite cousin. When I figured my own life out, I planned to take the time to spend more time with Tasha, peeling back her layers. Maybe even find out why she had no trace of a man.

  We found a table in the center of the room and sat down, after ge
tting some much-needed relaxation in a glass. I ordered a margarita, and Tasha ordered a mojito.

  “So, you come here a lot?” I asked as we got comfortable in our seats. My interest raised, wanting to know more about the type of woman my first female role model that was close to my age had grown into.

  “Yeah, I do actually.” She nodded in the direction of a man sitting across the room waving at her. A girl stopped by our table wearing a dashiki shirt, fitted jeans and African designer shoes to hug her neck, and they briefly caught up. The people in that room knew and loved her.

  “Oh. I didn’t know you were into the spoken word,” I said once the colorfully dressed woman left our table.

  “Yeah, and stop looking at me like that.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like me spitting poetry is something insane. I like writing and getting shit off my chest. This is a good outlet for both,” Tasha said.

  “I didn’t say there was anything wrong with it. I’m just astounded by the fact that you are into the arts like that,” I said, taking another sip from my glass.

  “Whoa, little cuzzo is astounded…”

  “Yes, I am,” I giggled, “…and I’m even more ecstatic that I’ll get to see you perform tonight. In that case, I thank you for bringing me here, and I take back every other thing I said about this…place,” I said, for the first time feeling good about being at that club.

  “Uh, not going to happen. I brought you here so you can listen to some of the other uplifting, righteous poets in Miami. I’m not gracing the mic though,” she said, shaking her head as if to shake the thoughts far away from her.

  “I know you’re not chickening out because I’m here. If you’re scared, say you’re scared,” I said, waving her off.

  “You calling me scared? That’s funny, when I’m the one who’s been on that very stage in front of knowledge hungry woke people more than you have ever spoken publicly. How about you get up there and spit something?” She crooked her neck and tilted her head as she sneered at me.

  She hadn’t asked me a question. She issued a threat.

  I scanned the room, clearly intimidated by the group, some sporting afros and wearing dashikis, others wearing braids and the latest fashion trends. It’s a crowd of mixed backgrounds and mindsets, and I wasn’t afraid of them from where I sat. Getting up on that big stage and having them all look to me for something thought provoking was a different ball game. The thought sent shivers ricocheting through my chest.

  What would I say?

  My lips moved. A lie exited. “I’m not scared to speak in front of these people, girl. Are you serious?”

  Tasha challenged it with, “Prove it and go sign up for open mic.”

  “So, the open mic is open?” I asked, almost babbling the words on top of each other. The last thing I wanted was get up there and make an utter full of myself. I would sound like a gibbering idiot if I did. “I mean, is it open to anyone?” I corrected myself.

  Tasha hit the table with the palm of her hand as she laughed uncontrollably. “Ha! You’re funny, and you’re scared as shit. Of course, the mic is open. That’s why they call it open mic,” she said the final two words slowly with air quotes.

  Laughing along with her to show that I could take her joke, I took another sip from my drink. It was damn near empty now.

  I need another one…

  “Now, what are you gonna do, Mrs. Bougie?” Tasha said, breaking into my thoughts. “You going to get up there and say what’s on your mind or are you going to back down after all of your big talk?”

  I looked at the stage and took in a gulp of air. I had made the faux, bold assertion that I was braver than she thought, so I had to roll with it.

  “I’m not backing down, smart ass,” I told Tasha. “I’ll speak my mind on the ‘open mic,’ no problem.”

  What was I saying?

  Of course, I was backing down. As in right now backing down…and leaving this place in my rearview, even if that meant calling a cab.

  “Well, go sign up then,” Tasha urged, pointing to the sign-up table near the door. I had missed the lady standing there all together, when we arrived minutes earlier.

  “I think I will go sign up, just to show you that you’re not the only one who has talent.” I stood up and stalked little by little toward the lady standing by door. I didn’t write poetry, much less perform spoken word, so I had no valid reason to be chunking myself out into the void of the spoken word world. I suddenly felt like a kid again, back on the playground with Tasha and her friends being pressured to do something I had no desire to do, but knew I could do anything if I pushed myself to do it. I always showed her I could do anything she could do.

  By the time I finished my thoughts, my name was on the dotted line of the sign-up list and I was about to make my debut as a spoken word artist.

  Now that you’ve signed up, run for the hills…literally.

  Ignoring the negative thoughts swirling around in my head, I walked back to the table thinking about what I would say once my name was called. A lot of drama was happening in my life that I could address—Montie arguing with me about Junior’s game and pressuring me to be a better co-parent, and Jacob keeping something secret that my gut told me had to do with Justine.

  But, no matter how bad I wanted to pour my woes out of my soul into the thirsty crowd, Jacob was well known in Miami as a real estate billionaire. I couldn’t very well get up there and talk about our marriage without one person in the audience recognizing me. If no one recognized me, at least one video recording would get out and reveal my identity later. Therefore, I had to be discreet in my messaging.

  “There’s my shit-talking cousin,” Tasha had said once I reached the table and my chair went screeching across the floor, so I could sit down. She tilted her drink in my direction and asked, “Did you really sign up?”

  “Of course, I did honey. I do what I say I’m going to do, which in this case should be lots of fun.” I tilted my glass back in her direction with the fakest confidence I could muster. Forget spoken word, I should’ve gone into acting.

  “Listen, Destiny, I talked my junk, but you don’t have to embarrass yourself by getting up there on stage. No one is forcing you to do anything you’re not comfortable doing, so right now is the perfect time to back out. I’ll get my girl to scratch your name,” Tasha was saying just as I settled good in my seat across from her.

  “Oh, don’t worry about me. I got this. I can back up anything that I say. I’m good,” I lied straight through my chattering teeth.

  Jacob’s picture flashed across my phone screen, and I sent his call to voicemail. Seeing his face usually gave me a vote of confidence, but his cream with just the right amount of cinnamon tone in the message didn’t envelop me and warm me to the core like it should have. His deep-set hazel eyes didn’t allure me into another realm of reality. We were off, and until he opened up about Justine we would remain this way.

  Justine mentioned too many details about our home the last time we had a run in with her at Jacob’s mother’s home. Yeah, my so-called loving mother-in-law just couldn’t bear to cut ties with her friend’s insane daughter, but that’s another story all in and of itself.

  Jacob’s eyes caught mine that night we saw Justine, and he could barely hold my gaze. My powerful man who usually wore a poker face broke down on the inside. His body language spoke to me and awakened a million insecurities that I had in the beginning about Justine.

  Later that night, he assured me Justine only knew intimate details about the interior of our home because his mother had told them to her. However, even his mother hadn’t been in or bedroom, or his study.

  Damn you Jacob!

  My heart screamed as I looked down at his picture again. A scowl spread across my face as I internalized the possible indiscretion I had talked myself into believing.

  No way. There’s no way he slept with her.

  “All right, go ahead and be a word gangsta then,” Tasha was saying when m
y mind returned to the room, bringing my attention to my pledge to get in front of a feisty crowd and speak. She tilted her drink toward me for a toast. “I like that about you, Destiny. You have always been willing to take one for the team,” she added and chuckled.

  I tipped my drink her way and downed the margarita. I went to the bar and got a glass of red wine. A few more songs vibrated from the speakers and a few more spirits tranquilized me before the host returned to the stage to send my nerves raving again.

  “We have our roster filled for tonight with powerhouse oldies and some wet behind the ear newbies coming your way. I want to shake things up and bring a newbie to the stage first tonight. Would you guys like that?” she asked the crowd.

  “Bring on the young blood,” a man sitting close to the stage yelled.

  A resounding “yeah” came back from the remainder of the audience.

  “Alright! Let’s get started. The first sister came through the door with Poetically Tash, so I’m sure she’s bringing the heat. Let’s snap it up for her as she comes up here, y’all. Come on up and give us what you got, Lady Des.”

  Yeah, I gave myself a stage name, and my heart dropped into my panties when she called it. But, a woman of her word does what she says she’s going to do and does it to the best of her ability. I rose from my seat and stole one last gulp from my wine glass. I floated to the stage, arriving without remembering the trip there. I took the mic from the holder and immediately greeted the anxious crowd.

  “How is everyone tonight?” I must have spoken too softly because only a few people answered. “I said, how are y’all doing?” I said louder.

  “Goods, fines, and lovelies” returned from the once again lively audience.

  “Well, I’m a little nervous. This is my first time performing at open mic, and to top that off, I’ve never spoken the words I’m about to say to a soul. They are not rehearsed and I’ve never written them anywhere. What I have to say comes straight from my heart to your ears,” I said and rubbed my palms together. “Okay, so here goes,” I said and exhaled a heavy breath.