Page 137 of Call Me Mrs. Taylor

I don’t know what to do with this. Having a man actually protect me is different. It feels like a new shoe I’m walking around in, testing to see if the fit is right.

“Okay,” I finally say. “I respect whatever decision you make.”

His phone buzzes. He moves one hand from my waist and grabs his phone from his pocket, frowning at whoever’s calling.

“Hold on,” he tells me, then he walks away.

I strain to hear, wondering which family member called to give him the news. Probably his dried up, raggedy mama. I can see her now, looking out the window at the fire with a glass of wine in her bougie hand.

Hers is coming soon.

“I gotta go,” he says as he rushes back into the room. “My sister…something happened. I need to go check on her.”

“Is everything okay?” Like I give a fuck.

He grabs his keys, giving me a brief look of affection. “Hope so. I’ll see you later.”

I smile as soon as the front door closes.

By the time Ace comes back, we should be down an orca or two.

37

Ace

My hands clench the steering wheel as I drive. My mind is a fucking battlefield of thoughts and questions.

But one thing I know about my Pops, the thing it pains me to say, is that he did that shit. Guilty as fuck.

I knew as soon as I watched the Ring video. This motherfucker walked up the driveway, rang my fucking bell, and then looked into the window next to the door to make sure he looked okay. I’m talkin’ ‘bout smoothing his eyebrows, brushing his hand down his waves, and fussing with his shirt. Like a nigga that’s picking up a woman for a first date.

I guess all my years of denial about his wandering eye were just wishful thinking.

My stomach twists every time I think about his hands on her, his mouth touching hers. Knowing he’d have taken it further if she let him. The fact that he put her in that fucking position in the first place pisses me off, especially after everything she’s been through. He doesn’t know about it, but he doesn’t need to know her past to not be a piece of shit.

I grind my teeth, my pulse hammering in my ears.

He should have known better. The man who raised me, who taught me to be better than this kind of shit, who always drilled principles and respect into me—that same man crossed a line.

The sight of fire trucks makes my mind grind to a halt.

Lights. Police cars. The burned-out skeleton of a car in the parking lot with its hood still smoldering. I spot Kam with an officer. Her shoulders are shaking, face buried in her hands. Rico stands by her side, his face contorted in anger.

I know the feeling. Here’s another woman I love in pain today.

I park across the street, stepping out just as another police officer opens the front door of Rico’s apartment and gestures for them to come inside. I follow, still pissed, but also confused now.

What the hell happened over here?

Inside, the air is thick with the smell of burnt metal and melted plastic. The officer leads Kam into the living room, where my pops is already sitting on the couch, his face somber. He looks up when he sees me, but I look the other way.

Kam sees me and gives me a sad smile. I nod my head in return, content to wait until business is handled to comfort her.

One of the officers pulls out a tablet. “I’m gonna show you some surveillance footage,” he says. “Take a look for me.”

Kam sniffles and leans in. Rico and I stand behind her, watching as she plays the video.

A figure glides into view on a skateboard, hood up, baggy sweatpants hanging off their frame. They roll to a stop beside Kam’s car, reach into a bag, and pull out a bottle. Liquid splashes over the hood. A few seconds later, a spark, then a bloom of fire.

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