Page 30 of Bodyguard My Heart

“We can’t avoid it anymore, Gran,” I commented. “Fabian was in the car when somebody slammed into us. He didn’t make it, that’s why I’m here.”

Silence blanketed the table, and all that could be heard was heavy breathing.

“I’m sorry that I had to come here under these circumstances.”

“Repeat that shit again,” Claude said. “Are you saying Fabian is gone? No way, I just talked to him two days ago.”

“He was pronounced dead at the hospital. Fabian had an intracerebral hemorrhage. The increased pressure in his skull was too much.” Samara spoke.

“My God!” Gran threw her hand over her mouth and tears flowed down her face. I’d seen a lot of death in my lifetime, some of those lives I’d taken, but nothing matched up to this moment right now. A nigga was truly hurting.

“Are you and your father determined to kill off this family!” Grandpapa yelled as he pounded on the table. His face was a stark difference from Gran’s. He didn’t have any tears, only anger. I understood it. I was angry at me too.

“Fabian didn’t have much here dammit, but he was alive. He was alive and well and free of that gangster lifestyle you live!” he shouted. “You think we don’t know what you do? Who you are? Why you had to marry that girl? We know! You’re the face of the London Cartel!”

His words felt like somebody had snatched duct tape off a wound. My eyes bucked at the realization that they knew who I was. I didn’t know how they had found out, but people talked. I had employed many Haitian natives since I’d become Capo, anyone could have mentioned it to them.

“I didn’t know this was gon’ happen,” I managed to say.

“You take him to that America, make him join your gang. What did you think was gon’ happen?”

“That he was gon’ be able to make some money, provide for himself. Do something with his life!” I defended. “I’m not going to apologize for helping my family.”

“Helping? You sound like your father.” Disgust dripped from his words.

“Yes, helping. I did what I had to do to provide a better life for everybody. You all stay here because you want to. I bought you a bigger house, a better one.”

“We don’t want your drug money! This house, I provided for my family with hard work. I woke up every day and farmed the land. Legally! I didn’t have to destroy others to build up my own. I loved your father. He was my first-born son, but he wanted more than what we could provide. He wanted that American dream and did anything to get that ratchet, cursed money.”

I stared at my grandpa as he ranted. There was nobody in this world that could speak to me this way and survive, but this was my grandfather, and he was right. A part of being a man was learning how to listen. How to take criticism and own up to messes I had created. I needed to hear everything he was spitting at me just as much as he needed to get it off his chest. Samara reached across the table and grabbed my hand. Her support in this moment was everything, even if it was just her touch.

“Your precious lifestyle has taken your father. Your mother died with a broken heart seeing you and Polo go down the same path as him. Now Fabian is gone. What else will you take?”

“Jean Pierre!” Gran’s voice thundered, breaking the tension in the room. “That is enough!”

Grandpa looked at his wife before turning his attention back to me. “You think you can go through life, selling poison to families, tearing them apart with your drugs and your guns. You think because it gives you money and power you’re doing something good for your family! It’s the opposite. You think God is going to bless your house when it was built on sorrow? You are not helping anyone. You are a plague in your own community, amongst your own people. That is not success. Whatever you are running from is going to catch up to you, and you are not welcome to hide here.” He stood from the table and stormed off.

Sobs erupted from my grandmother and Claude as we all sat there processing what had just happened.

“I’m sorry about Fabian. I’m sorry you don’t agree with my lifestyle. I’m not proud of all my choices, but I made the best out of the life I was given. My father wasn’t perfect, he was very flawed, but he did what he had to do to survive. He taught me how to be a man. So as a man I sit here saying that I’m sorry. I’m grieving, too, and the people responsible for his death will suffer. Thank you for breakfast, Gran. We’re leaving. I’ll be in touch about funeral arrangements.” I stood, steadying the crutches under my arms.

“You don’t have to go!” Gran protested.

“I do,” I replied as I began moving to the back room. Samara and I could stay at a hotel until it was safe to return to Miami. I wasn’t down to stay anywhere I wasn’t wanted.

“Thank you for breakfast.” Samara stood. She quickly rounded the table and placed her hand on my back.

“I got you,” she whispered as she placed her hand on my back and helped me walk to the guest room to gather our stuff.

9

Samara

I helpedDemetrius walk into the hotel room at the resort we found just a few miles away from his grandparents’ house. I was glad they weren’t fully booked because we still didn’t have any phones to set anything up online.

“This is beautiful.” I ogled as we walked inside the two-bedroom suite. Demetrius didn’t say anything as he hopped over to the bed. The entire ride he had been silent. I knew the things his grandfather had said were getting to him. How could it not? His grandfather had ripped into him so viciously that I wanted to say something in his defense. I couldn’t, though, because while it was unwarranted, it was all true.

“Sit down and relax. I’ll comb through this directory to see where we can get a cell phone.” I lowered him to the bed and attempted to walk away, but softly, he wrapped his arms around my thighs and held me there.