Page 2 of The Impact (Parachutes #3)

Silence. Because she was still mad and overthinking.

“Gold. And a little green.”

“Around the trim?”

“Yeah,” she replied short. “But...I still don’t know if they’ll be delivered by the party–”

“They’ll be delivered. Tracking said tomorrow, right?”

“Yes.” Still mad. No... sad. She had transformed.

“And Doll wants cavatappi pasta, but Lo wants elbow. My dad likes elbow, too, but you like the cavatappi. So maybe I’ll just do a half pan of each.”

“Either way, that mac and cheese gonna be top tier, baby. You know that,” Vin assured.

Some moments ticked by before her breathing returned to resting.

So, Vin took the time to savor her. The feel of her body, the smell of her release still on his lips.

And when he returned from Los Angeles, he’d savor that, too.

Savor it all until after her most coveted holiday.

Then...he’d beg her to get through the roughest turbulence they’d ever face.

“I really hate this song,” she mumbled into the darkness. Vin knew the original, the old ’90s track about Sour Times. This was a remake by someone black. Someone better. A soulful singer crooning on the always eerily-melancholy song swearing nobody loves me like you do...

“It’s pretty but pensive,” she confessed. “Feels like something bad is coming.”

“Nothing bad is coming,” he lied. Drawing her closer, Vin brushed his lips over her hairline, letting the haunting lyrics resonate.

Nobody would ever love Tahli the way he had, even if it wasn’t the right way.

It had been his way. Powerfully. Drowning her.

Tsunami reminiscent. He kissed her brow, recalling when she sported an earring there, depositing this moment into his memory bank.

Because something bad was absolutely coming.

There was a skinny, white blonde in his hotel room.

As Vin sat on the sofa of the suite, ritual mood music that he took his blunts to drifted from the hotel’s Bluetooth speaker.

He knew the optics could be damaging if his wife found out another woman was in his hotel room.

It would take convincing to prove the truth—that it was purely business-critical.

Instead, leaving out certain details was always easier.

“Do you need to get that?”

“Finish. I’ll return the call when you leave.

” He blew weed smoke out with enough respect to do it in the opposite direction of her, but not enough to not smoke.

This was his room and Sabrina worked for him.

As Vin watched Tahli’s name disappear from his screen, Sabrina crossed one vanilla-twig leg over the other.

“Like I was saying...they want a second meeting.” Excitedly, she fanned her pale hands, smiling white teeth under hot pink lipstick.

Sabrina was a late-20s, tech-savvy girl who just met the Gen-Z mark, being born 11 years after Vin.

Could’ve been an influencer because she had that acceptable, unremarkable beauty standard.

Didn’t have to work as hard as she did, but she was smart and seemed to enjoy heading Vin’s in-house marketing team.

“So, I know you have to be at the airport by late afternoon. I’m thinking ten-”

The knock at his hotel door chopped her sentence and rolled her eyes. Vin almost chuckled at her annoyance of inability to keep his time, but his face didn’t budge as she got up to answer. His mood was too somber.

“Mr. Rashid,” she greeted Munch with the sarcasm he deserved. In the pecking order, Munch was right under Vin. A superior to Sabrina. But his constant flirting and unprofessionalism made it hard for anyone to deliver the corporate respect owed.

“How’d you end up here, Snow White? I’m the one who ordered the pretty blonde to my room.”

“Yo,” Vin put bass in the warning and a glare on Munch.

“Oh, don’t worry, Mr. Hayes. I can handle Mr. Rashid just fine.”

Vin wasn’t concerned with her ability to handle Munch.

More concerned with a ‘Me Too’ situation falling into their laps behind a blue-eyed Betty employed by black males, both reformed misfits.

Still, Munch couldn’t adjust to the rules after all these years.

Too much of his life had been spent doing whatever the fuck he wanted.

“Man, I’m just fucking with Taylor Swift. She knows that.”

“Good. Because I don’t do dwarfism.”

“Straight. I don’t do long backs,” Munch snapped back to her insult on his height with one of her lack of ass. Sabrina rolled those blue eyes again, stamping toward the restroom.

“What they call that shit? Gluteus maximus? Bitch got a gluteus minimum. Bare-minimum.”

“You really gotta chill. Every time we come out here, you saying some reckless shit to her. Be a damn shame if self-proclaimed Teflon shook everything else only to get hemmed up by a dumb-ass sexual harassment case.” Vin blew out the last of his smoke and sent a warning smack to Munch’s chest.

“You taking your meetings with your Marketing Director alone in your hotel suite smoking a blunt, nigga. Lecturing me and shit,” Munch chuckled. “Fuck all that. You ready? I’m fucking starving. They holding us a table down at the Lena,” Munch spoke of the hotel steakhouse, souring Vin’s stomach.

“I’m good. Go ‘head. I ain’t really got an appetite.”

“What? How, nigga? We both been in meetings all day. Yo’ big ass ain’t hungry?

” To Munch, Vin would always be big. Even if all of his six feet had an impeccable muscle-to-fat ratio.

Even if Vin utilized every hotel gym whenever he traveled and watched what he fueled his body with.

The only sweets he ate rested between Tahli’s thighs.

On top of what he drank from her well, he added another gallon of water intake a day.

Even if with Munch shorter and leaner, Vin’s stamina could run a marathon to Munch’s mile, if Munch made it to a mile before losing breath from all of the liquor, red meat, stagnation, and fucking.

Yes, sex wore a nigga out and most didn’t know it. Although they drove him mad with craving, Vin’s traveling breaks from Tahli served him well. It was why athletes refrained from intimacy before performance days. Sex fasts were vital for physical and mental health.

“Yo, you good?” Munch’s playfulness, giving way to slight concern, proved Vin’s troubles showed on his face.

“Yeah. I just...”

I’m about to lose my family...

I killed a man, and I thought that part of me was buried with the last nigga I played God on...

My son’s been being violated, and I did shit to protect him...

The toilet flushing kept Vin from spilling any of it and reminded him they were not alone, as Sabrina re-entered their space.

“Okay, so as I was saying. The clients want another meeting. They want to see the pitch again for the commercial and billboard design. I was thinking 10 am, out by no later than 12? Still gets you guys to check in at headquarters before making your flight.”

“Sounds good,” Vin approved. “I’ll have Jodie set it up.”

“I can do it,” she offered perkily. “I know Jodie’s your assistant, but I still work for you, Dalvin. I mean...Mr. Hayes.”

Vin avoided the look he felt Munch lasering. Vin hated the Mr. Hayes shit. So, he allowed his employees to speak on a first-name basis off the books. Around guests, Sabrina maintained proper etiquette.

“Well, I am going to go make that call and then grab a bite to eat.”

“Oh yeah? I got us a table down at the steakhouse. Come have dinner. It’s on me.”

“It’s on the company. Mr. Hayes expenses all of my meals,” Sabrina chumped Munch.

“Bet he won’t expense that bottle of Chateau,” Munch snickered, and Vin shot him another glare. Whole thing was a bad idea. Sabrina chuckled.

“Meet you downstairs in 15. Let me make the call and freshen up. You joining us, Mr. Hayes?” He should. Especially now. Sabrina, Munch...wine.

“No.”

She made a sound of disappointment. “Okay, well, call me if you need me.”

When she exited, Munch’s snort was on cue.

“Call me if you need me,” Munch mocked. “Call me if yo’ black ass wanna twist me up like a white-chocolate dipped pretzel. Talking about me, but Miss Pumpkin Spice dying for yo ass to add some whipped cream. Don’t she know ya big ass will break her tailbone?”

“Sabrina’s not like that. That’s where yo ass gets in trouble. Not every woman being nice to you means she wants to get fucked,” Vin warned.

“No. That's where yo ass gets in trouble,” Munch pointed at him. “Always smart as a mothafucka when it comes to the street and corporate shit. But stay underestimating these bitches. Can’t never see a situation for what it is. ‘Til it’s too late.”

Vin scratched his cheek at the possibility. 12 years ago, Vin had played right into Sophie’s hands. Before that, he never thought Sharonda would be sending naked pictures to Tahli. It wasn’t that he didn’t peep a situation. He just always thought he was in control of it.

“So, what’s up? What’s fucking wit’ you?”

A gulp and a swipe of cold sweat from his brow. With elbows to his knees, Vin sighed it all out.

“I might have gotten myself into some shit.”

Munch mirrored his position on the couch beside him in the silence that followed.

“Aight. So, how we getting out of it?”

We. Always Munch’s immediate processing and Vin appreciated it.

“I, uh...” Vin wet his lips. “I think I gotta tell her.” Meeting Munch’s confused stare, Vin elaborated. “Tahli. I think I gotta finally come clean about DJ.”

“Why the fuck would you do that?” Munch boomed. “After all this time?”

Vin swiped his closed eyes with the fingers inked with his wife’s name. His wife. His Tahli. His baby love. His parachute. His stomach churned.

“Because I need him to come and live with me.”

He could see the wheels turning on Munch’s face. At 40, Munch’s Arabic and black features still intermingled into boyishness. Would have been more if his lifestyle hadn’t worn on them.

“Like he has to? He in some kind of trouble or sum’n?” Munch pushed.