Page 77 of Anything Necessary for Her (Crenshaw Kings #9)

I hated myself for even asking or giving a fuck. Every time I told myself I would ice Whitney out, I folded, and that shit aggravated me.

“The day I asked to pick up Waverley from ballet, I had a talk with your girlfriend,” she said, clutching the mug again and slurping from it.

“Fuck,” I mumbled, wondering why Banks didn’t say shit. It must’ve went hella left.

“It was a good talk; great, actually, Willow, so don’t worry.”

Frowning, I asked, “What was said?”

“Just know it was enough and that I know I need to get better, but it can’t be done on my own.

I can’t just wake up one day and stop drinking, even though that was the lie I used to frequently tell.

” She let out a melancholic chuckle to herself.

“I did it a long time ago when I got pregnant with Wyatt and then Waverley, so I figured I was strong enough to do it again whenever I pleased.” She wiped her nose.

“But I’m not. I realize I was only getting clean because I thought you guys’s fathers would see me sober and want, shit, I don’t know, a family?

That was giving me the willpower to stop.

Then when it would be made obvious that a family wouldn’t happen, I would go right back on the bottle.

“Lately, though, I’ve had no man’s attention to vie for, so I’m unable to get and stay sober.”

Taking a seat beside her, I contemplated on whether or not I wanted to ask a certain question but decided to say fuck it.

“Do Wyatt and I really have the same father?”

She looked at me out of her peripheral so subtly that if I wasn’t staring her down, I would’ve missed the shit. Her eyes glazed over as she held the mug between her palms even tighter, teeth sunken down into her bottom lip as she seemed to wade through her thoughts as if they were thick as mud.

“The night he was conceived”—She set the cup back down—“I admit I was plastered.” She shook her head, staring down at the coffee table as she interlocked her fingers.

“I remember talking with your father.” She sniffled.

“And . . . um . . .” She wiped the trickling tears, but it was no use because they were coming down too damn quickly.

“I can’t tell you if I slept with him or one of the many men in that room.

We were at a lounge, and I was the only woman there and have spotty memories of your father and some of the guys being very nice I’ll say.

I woke up on the floor the next morning, and I could very much feel that I’d had sex…

with multiple people. I just didn’t know with who. ” She sniffled and nodded.

I felt my body tense and jaw sort of lock up at the thought of my mama being taken advantage of. Even worse, my father being in that room and allowing the shit.

I understood a lot of niggas had no love for their child’s mother, but it would never make sense to me how you could allow harm to your baby’s mother, knowing she had to take care of and provide for your kid, and part of that meant she needed to be mentally sound.

I couldn’t imagine letting niggas sexually assault a woman in front of me, let alone a woman I had a kid with. I didn’t give a fuck how much I hated the bitch.

My hand rested on her frail back as I rubbed gently, watching her lids fall shut at the feeling.

“I see,” I murmured.

“I love you and your siblings, even though I don’t act like it. I just get so angry when you guys don’t love me or I can’t do things for you, and it makes me lash out, which only makes things worse.”

“I do love you,” I admitted something I never wanted to.

“That’s why you even still under this fucking roof, Whitney.

You raised a callous ass nigga, and if I ain’t have no love for you, you would’ve been out on ya ass or six feet deep somewhere.

And I wouldn’t give a fuck about you getting better. ”

“How could you love a mother like me?” She whimpered, turning to face me with a tear-stained face. “My mother was perfect and so was my father. I hate that they died before you could meet them. But me, I’m horrible, and I don’t get how you could love me when I treat you the way I have.” She cried.

“Most of my memories of you are terrible, I ain’t gon’ front. But I do have some good shit I can’t ever forget either.”

“You do? I don’t remember anything good.”

“I remember how in first grade you would pick me up early one day a month, and we’d get McDonald’s and eat inside so I could play in the PlayPlace area.”

I watched her eyes widen a little bit, telling me she actually did remember.

“I do remember that.” She smiled, something I hadn’t seen in forever.

“Or how you’d come home and bring me Peeps in like November and shit, knowing they were hard to find outside of Easter.”

“I do.” She smirked, looking off, clearly recalling the memory. “I heard you call Banks Peep. Any connection?”

“Yeah. Those muthafuckas used to turn a bad day on its head when you’d walk in with ’em. It was like a salve to the soul or some shit.”

“And that’s her. She’s a Peep for the grown-up Willow, huh?”

“She is.” I leaned forward some, pressing my elbows into my legs. “It’s hard for me to feel bad, have bad thoughts, or even feel down when I’m with her. I legit forget about a lot of terrible shit when she around. I don’t know if that’s good or bad, but I love it.”

It was frightening as fuck to love someone as much as I loved Banks, but it was too late to try and reel that shit in now anyway. I wouldn’t know what the fuck to do if we parted ways, but I knew Los Angeles’ murder rate would skyrocket.

“So I should be getting a daughter-in-law then, huh? Wyatt seems like he’ll be a player all his life.”

We chuckled.

“That’s the plan. I want you to be better, though, so when that happens, you can be in the mix. So when I have kids, you can meet ’em, be a grandmother, which is some shit I never had.”

“I want that too.” She sighed. “Miss Banks also mentioned therapy, which I think would be good for at least us two, if I can’t get my youngest ones to agree.”

“I’ll think about it.”

“That works. You have some time since I’m gonna go back to rehab. I want time to tell Waverley and Wyatt when they get home this evening, so I won’t be going in until tomorrow morning. You think you could give me a ride?”

I was surprised, so my response sort of lagged.

“Ye-yeah, . . . I got you.”

Fucking Banks, man. Peep. My baby.

Entering the side of Prolific Pointe, I hopped on the elevator and made my way up. Meandering down the hall, I stopped at the door belonging to the head of the school, Cary Kirby.

Knocking lightly, I listened to some rustling as if he were standing from his desk before he trod to the door, pulling it open.

His pale face fell as he took me in.

“Hi. Can I help you?” He smoothed down his tie.

“Yeah, we got a meeting, remember?” I bogarted into the office to see Carolyn seated across from his desk. She looked startled, but when recognition set in, her face transformed to an irritated expression.

“No. I have a meeting with a woman by the name of Willow Harris.”

“Nice to meet you, my nigga, but I’m a man.” I sat down as old boy gaped at me in astonishment.

I knew the nigga thought I was a woman by how he addressed me in his response email, and that was fine.

I figured he wouldn’t respond to a nigga, so I kept my gender hidden when reaching out.

The few times I’d called his ass and left voicemails, he ignored it, and it was obvious why, so the email worked perfectly.

“Alright. What is this about, Mr . Harris?” He descended into his seat, crossing his legs with furrowed brows.

“We need to let Kailey Darden back in the school and the show,” I stated plainly.

“Okay. Well, why is she out?” He looked to Carolyn, his face reading that he wanted this meeting over with as soon as fucking possible.

“She’s the ballerina that I told you got into a physical altercation, Mr. Kirby,” Carolyn explained, voice full of annoyance, but it felt directed more toward him because he’d forgotten what she’d said.

“Right. Right. Yeah, unfortunately, Mr. Harris, we don’t tolerate violence. Is Miss Darden your girlfriend?”

“Nah, she not. However, she was defending somebody that means a lot to me,” I said.

“Mr. Harris, rules are rules, and therefore, Miss Darden will no longer be able to attend and therefore cannot perform in Giselle.” Carolyn interjected, her lips pursed in a thin line.

Ignoring her, I said, “Look, I wanna jump right to the fucking chase here. You admit Kailey back into the school and the show, and I’ll write a check for eight million to donate to Prolific right now.”

I knew niggas like Cary Kirby, and they spoke in dollars, not words. And judging by the way he lit up, grinning at me like I was a bitch named Willow instead of a nigga, I knew I had him.

Killing him wouldn’t do shit. Kailey still wouldn’t be in the school, and killing Carolyn would have the same fucking result. So I had to do shit differently, and eight million wasn’t much to a nigga like me. But even if it was, I would do anything necessary for Peep.

“That sounds good to me, Mr. Harris. I?—”

“Mr. Kirby, we cannot—” Carolyn shut up as soon as he darted his eyes at her saying to do just fucking that.

“Like I said, Mr. Harris.” His smile returned. “That would work just fine. I am sure Kailey had good reason as I’ve never even heard of her, which means she’s not troublesome.”

“Perfect. I’ll bring the check by tomorrow, and I wanna see Kailey in practice when I do.” I rose to my feet.

“Yes. Absolutely, Mr. Harris. Carolyn will be contacting her as soon as she walks out of here.” He waved for Carolyn to get her ass up.

I smirked over at her as she regarded me like she wanted to know who I was and what the fuck else I’d done.

Hopefully, she minded her fucking business, though, or Mr. Kirby would have to hire a new instructor for Prolific Pointe.