Page 64 of Crossing Lines

“They’re from Kross,” I admit coolly before eating a forkful of rice and tofu.

Her eyes twitch, and she angles her head. “Why is he sending you cookies? Did he send the food, too?”

“He’s only being nice.”

“He’s never sent me lunch.” She shifts her weight to one side. “I heard you went to the youth center on Saturday. Y’all seem to be doing stuff together.”

“It’s all friendly,” I insist, even though it isn’t. Kross made it clear we can no longer be just that.

“Right. You’re in a relationship.” She leaves me with the reminder and her half-eaten cookie.

Despite the little voice warning me to stay away from Kross, I’m already thinking about the dress to wear to the club tonight.

TWENTY-FOUR

Knocking interrupts the conversation with the new artist eager to perform on Friday. Anif sticks his head in and says, “Come out back.”

“Okay.” I rise from the chair. “We’ll wrap up here.”

“Thanks for the chance,” the manager says, shaking my hand.

Ashia reaches out to do the same. “Thank you. I can’t wait for my first live show.”

“You’re talented. I’m honored you’ll perform here.”

“Appreciate it,” she beams.

I leave the office with them and follow my trusted bouncer into the short passage. He leads me out the back exit. My steps halt as I see my mama under the light, looking ragged.

“She says she won’t leave until you talk to her,” Anif explains. “She tried to come into the club.”

“Thanks, man. I got it.”

He retreats inside and closes the door to give me privacy.

“Hey, son,” Mama chirps, scratching her arms through the dirty jacket.

“Why did you come here?”

“I need your help. I’m not doing too good.”

“An understatement,” I huff. “If you want money for drugs, forget it. I’m not funding your habit.”

She wobbles her head. “I’ll go back to the sober house. I’ll give it a shot again.”

Frustrated, I scrub my palm down my face. “You’ll stay a few days, maybe a week, and then take off again.”

“I promise I’ll stick to it this time, son. Could you help me out, though? I need one last fix before I go.”

“God. It’s always one more. Never is the last.”

“Come on, Kross,” she hisses, becoming irritated. “You owe me. I could have had an abortion when Soul threatened to kill me for being pregnant. But I fought him and survived to have you. I turned tricks to provide foryou.”

“You like to throw that in my face when I refuse to enable your addiction,” I grunt. “Like it’s my fault you hooked up with a pimp, much less sold your body for money. You did all that on your own. I couldn’t even find you for most of my younger years. If I hadn’t met Cairo, I’d probably be dead or in prison.”

“Dammit!” she cries and holds her head. “Why do you have to hurt my heart like that?” She crouches on the ground, looking pitiful.

“Mama…” I grasp her arms and help her up. “Let me take you to rehab tonight.”

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