Page 47

Chapter Thirty-Six

Britain felt Priest's body press against hers as she stood in the kitchen. With hopes of distracting her busy mind, Britain thought it would be perfect to just cook. Being in the kitchen with a little wine and good music always cleared her mind and alleviated her of the heavy weight of the day.Britain swooned as she felt her lips tug into a smile. She was so proud of Priest for how he was handling the day. He wasn't pressuring her to concede to the normal ways of grieving. Plus, he was allowing her all the space she needed. She thought spending today with Priest would’ve been extremely hard since he liked to be upfront and confrontational about any and everything. She didn't need that side of him at the moment, and he understood that. She was leading the day and leading the pace of it.If Britain wanted silence, then that was what he gave her. If she wanted to laugh and act like nothing was bothering her, he gave her that too.

"You willing to learn today?" she asked him.

Priest craned down, applying a kiss to her cheek. "Yeah, teach me everything you know," he smirked.

Britain chuckled as she sat the knife down on the cutting board next to the half-chopped vegetables. Her sitting the knife down indicated that Priest needed to pick it up. She maneuvered out of the way to stand beside him.

"Get to chopping, sous chef."

Priest picked up the knife and began chopping the onions and peppers. Beside him, he heard Britain snicker, which caused him to stop. "What?" He eyed her with a slight mean mug.

"P, that's not how you chop and mince vegetables. You look so stiff."

Priest scoffed. "The hell you want me to do, dance while using a sharp-ass knife?"

Britain laughed as she stepped behind Priest, wrapping her arms around his torso. She placed her hand over his while he held onto the handle of the knife. Priest relaxed a bit as Britain guided him through cutting and mincing the vegetables.

"Relaxing, isn't it?" she asked in a light voice.

"No. I'm scared you might slice my fucking finger," Priest mumbled as he hurriedly snatched away his other hand that was holding the rest of the uncut onion in position.

Britain laughed. "Move around." She waved him off. This prompted him to let go of the knife and reclaim his position next to her. He hiked himself up on the counter, prompting Britain to side-eye him. "You're supposed to be helping me. Worst sous chef ever."

Priest chuckled as he picked up a green pepper from the pile she had diced and ate it. "I think I'm doing pretty good." He shrugged his shoulders.

"Of course you do." She shook her head once she finished chopping everything up.

"Come here," he called her over.

Britain glanced up at him, a small smirk playing on her face. She resigned from her task of cooking and obliged Priest's request, making her way over to him.Britain stood between his long legs, looking up at him.

"I love you,” he said to her before craning down to peck her lips.

"Awe, I love you too."

"Take a ride with me today, just to get your mind off things," Priest suggested.

She seemed willing. Anything to keep her mind off the grief. "Another adventure?" She laughed lightly, thinking about the time he had taken her to an abandoned home to retrieve a million dollars that had been stashed away for decades.

"Nah, nothing like that last time," Priest shook his head. "This will be fun.”

"I'm down," she confirmed. "Just let me finish my pasta, though, because I've been craving it." She returned to the task of cooking.

With Priest’s help, she ended up finishing her easy meal of pasta. Instead of resorting to the table to sit down and enjoy their meal together, they remained in the kitchen.

Priest had hiked Britain up to sit on the counter while he stood between her legs. They shared a plate of pasta, Britain not only feeding herself, but him as well.

"You ready for the Gala tomorrow?" he asked her.

Britain nodded eagerly. "I'm excited. Thank you for the opportunity, by the way."

Priest reached his hands over to caress her face. "It's nothing. You're with me now."

"I like the sound of that," she told him while wrapping her arms around his neck.

Priest brushed his thumb gently over her lips as he smiled at her. "You're stronger than I am. Y'know that?" His dark orbs peered into her feline-like ones.

The smirk that formed on Britain’s bare face panned out into a smile. "Don't say that," she shook her head. "Your strengths are your strengths, and mine are mine."

"How are you keeping it together?" Priest asked her.

Britain let out a deep sigh. She glanced away from him, no longer having the courage to keep eye contact.

"I have to. It's life."

"That shit is hard. I can't even imagine.” Priest shook his head.

"I've been through it," she shrugged. "I'm a woman. It comes with the territory." Britain didn’t believe losing a child should’ve had to come with the territory of being a woman, but for her own sanity, she liked to think it did.

Realizing Priest had given up the effort to ever understand her, she tried explaining once more. "It's a mind thing. If I linger, the wound gets deeper and deeper to the point it's just impossible for me to heal. If I merely hover over it, I force myself to move forward instead of sulking. Then, I can see and feel the growth and healing of it all. I would always rather hover than linger."

Priest nodded his head in understanding. Britain made some sense. Unknowingly, Priest used that same technique in different parts of his life. "So, you feel the pain; you just don't acknowledge it?"

"Yes," Britain confirmed. "My mind has a crazy way of over-obsessing over pain to make it hurt more than it truly does. I learned to detach from that."

"But she's still your kid," Priest reminded Britain, feeling like the disconnect from her emotions was clouding what was truly important.

"Yeah, she was," she let out with a deep sigh. "And Sylvia robbed you of a childhood, but you still cater to her every need like she didn’t," she countered with one of Priest's wounds that he was unknowingly hovering over.

" Used to cater to her every need . Correct yourself." They both chuckled, finding light within their pain.

"I'm extremely proud of you for that, by the way," Britain praised him with a smile gracing her face.

"Yeah, I know. You dropped that neck on a nigga the other night," he teased her while wrapping one hand around her throat.

Britain stale faced him before hitting his chest lightly as he doubled over in laughter. "I give you an inch, and you take a mile." She shook her head at him while tossing his hand away from her neck.

"I gave you nine inches. Now look at you," he smirked while groping her bottom half that had become wider before trailing his hands up her sides to her plump breasts. Britain rolled her eyes.

"Six inches on a good day," she murmured jokingly, lying through her teeth.

Priest chuckled as he shook his head. "Steady talking shit, but soon as I drop this dick, you get to running."

"You like it," Britain shrugged as she pecked his lips.

"Go get ready. I'll be back for you in an hour," he instructed her.

With a laugh, Britain lifted her arms. "Carry me to the bedroom."

Priest chuckled as he tossed her over his high shoulder. As he traveled through the apartment, Britain's laughter filled his ears.

He tossed her gently onto the bed, causing her laughter to intensify. Lying on her back, Britain looked up at him. His playful demeanor seemed to mellow out and grow more serious and more caring. "Get better," he told her before leaning down to kiss her plump lips.

She watched him get up and begin to gather his things to leave. A look of confusion framed her face. Britain rolled over and laid on her stomach, propping her head up with her hands. "I feel fine," she told him.

As he was putting on the jacket of his Givenchy tracksuit, he glanced over his shoulder at her. "Okay, Brit," he sighed once he zipped the jacket.

"You don't sound convinced." Britain was beginning to grow offended. She hated for anyone to be uncertain with her. If she said she was fine, then that should’ve been that— she was fine!

A light smile pulled on Priest's lips. "If you say you're fine, then you're fine," he assured her as he made his way back over to her. "But as the man who's learning you from inside-out, I'm telling you to get better," he advised her. Before she could refute his claims, he went in for another kiss.

"I'll see you in an hour, nothing more." He slapped her rear gently in a flirting manner. "I love you," he called out to her as he exited the bedroom.

She knew Priest wouldn't turn back to pick up the conversation. He was going to let her fester until she confronted her raw emotions head on herself. Instead of stringing along the discussion, Britain sighed. "I love you too!" she called out to him.

That gave him the notion that he was okay to leave. She heard the door shut and lock behind him.

With his words registering with her, Britain glanced around her bedroom. Her orbs landed on the journal she had yet to place in her backpack. She had the urge to reach for it, but she fought it.

"Not worth it, Britain," she said to herself while getting out of bed.

Priest would be sure to show up exactly an hour later, so Britain shuffled around swiftly to get dressed and ready.

While she was getting dressed, Priest found himself traveling to check up on Mirsad before heading to the penthouse to get ready himself. Pulling the car up at the curb of Remy's house, Priest opened the door of his BMW i8, lifting it over his head before stepping out. Remy and Mirsad were sitting on the porch having what seemed like a good conversation.Upon noticing Priest, they halted the conversation.

"Never knew you had that one," Mirsad said, pointing to Priest's car parked at the curb.

Lately, Mirsad hadn't been that bad. Remy's influence on him was paying off for the better. "Copped it not too long ago. Maybe I’ll take you out on a ride if you been behaving," Priest joked, causing Remy to chuckle at his constant back and forth bantering with Mirsad.

"What brings you by, son?" Remy asked Priest while offering him a seat.

Priest declined the seat. "Your daughter has me on a certain time frame. I just came to thank you and take his horrible ass off your hands." Priest glanced at Mirsad whose ears had immediately perked up at the sound of being able to leave Remy's spot.

"You handled it? That fast? You stand on big business ‘bout family!" Mirsad jolted up from his seat in excitement as he slapped hands with Priest.

"Yeah, I handled it. Ain't nobody gunning for you until you get yourself in some shit again," he scoffed.

"What you did, gun the nigga down? Or you snatched his moms for what he did to my mama? You had to do something crazy?" Mirsad's eyes widened as a rush of adrenaline flowed through him. He wanted to hear all the details Priest had to spare.

Priest eyed Mirsad oddly. "No," Priest shook his head. "I cleared your fucking name and debt. You're clean," he assured Mirsad.

Mirsad instantly grew uninterested and disappointed at the fact that Darius hadn't been gunned down. "Yo, he came at my mama," Mirsad reminded Priest.

"Yeah, and you also stole his shit and tried to play him. Eye for an eye," Priest shrugged, causing Remy to agree.

Mirsad smacked his lips. "Man, whatever. I’mma be inside getting my stuff," he muttered before heading into the house.

Priest sighed. Mirsad still had some things to work on, and being in the streets was one of them. "How's he been?" he asked Remy.

Remy glanced behind him to ensure that Mirsad was nowhere in earshot to listen in on their conversation. "Keep this between us, but he's a good kid," Remy admitted, causing Priest to laugh. "He just need some guidance. He opened up to me about his pops, too."

Priest was familiar with Mirsad's dad, Officer Peter Jenkins. Peter's relationship with Nia wasn't the best or the typical. A relationship between an officer and a prostitute shouldn’t have brought a child into the world, but it did. Mirsad had only seen his father through one picture Nia showed him that she had stolen the last night she ever heard from Peter, the night she told him she was pregnant with Mirsad.

The picture had inked a permanent spot in Mirsad's mind. He never imagined that the next time he saw his father would be while he was being detained and searched by him. Peter was a coon. He was aggressive to impress the whites in his profession. He was one of those black officers who used excessive force on black men and women without a care because he liked the feeling of being in power. Mirsad was roughed up, hand cuffed, and searched by his own father, and he didn't even bother to tell Peter that he was his son.

No one knew of this aside from Remy, and Remy had made a promise to never tell a soul. Mirsad claimed he wanted to keep his dignity.

"Yeah, it's clear he's in pain about it. Every man that talks to him gets that you ain't my pops treatment." Both Remy and Priest had gotten that rant from Mirsad when he was frustrated about them checking him as if they were his father. He was young, pained, and inexperienced.

Remy sighed. "Keep him close, PJ. He looks up to you a lot. Y'know?"

Priest nodded. Luckily, their conversation came to an end as soon as Mirsad came into view with his duffle bag hanging from his shoulder. "Ready man?" Priest asked him.

Mirsad nodded before turning in the direction of Remy. "I appreciate you for looking out, Mr. Demings," he thanked Remy with a light smile.

"Call me Remy, son," he assured Mirsad. "Stay out of trouble." The two slapped hands, saying their final goodbye.

"A’ight, Remy. Call me if you need anything," Priest said to him as he prepared to leave.

Remy nodded, seeing them off. Priest was leading the way to the car. Just as he got to the gate, Mirsad stopped in his tracks, calling for Priest to do the same. "Hold up."

Priest turned around to face Mirsad with a questioning look masking his face. "What's up?"

Mirsad glanced up at Priest, then back to Remy who was already sparking a thick, rolled joint on his porch. "I think I'm gonna stay here for a little while longer if that's cool with Rem." Upon hearing that, Priest raised his brows in shock just as Remy leaned up in his seat.

Priest shifted his eyes between a shocked Remy and a hopeful Mirsad. "That's cool with you, Remy?"

Remy eyed Mirsad briefly with a light smile. He nodded his head. "Fine with me, man," he shrugged.

Figuring he had no room to decide for Mirsad, Priest agreed. "Aye, what you want me to tell your moms?" Priest asked Mirsad.

Mirsad shrugged. "Tell her I'm trying to do better," he advised Priest.

He was proud of Mirsad. He nodded his head before thanking Remy. "I'll check in with y'all," Priest said to them as he exited the gate to get into his car. He definitely wasn't expecting Mirsad to suddenly want to stay with Remy, but he understood why. Remy had that effect on young men like Mirsad.

Priest checked the time and realized almost half an hour had gone to his disposal already. He found his way to the penthouse quickly, which was a bit shocking. Bypassing security, he made his way up with ease. Upon entrance to the penthouse, he was a bit taken aback by the number of women sitting and having a joyous time in his home. Locating Jazzy within the swamp of eleven other women, he shot her a look of confusion.

Jazzy was in the middle of getting one girl's measurements with the measuring tape she had around her neck. Priest strode over to her, wanting answers. "Yo, what the fuck?" he caught Jazzy's attention.

"Oh, hey, PJ! I hope you don't mind. We're having a fitting in here." She smiled up at her brother.

Priest smacked his lips. "Yo, clear my shit out now ," he warned her with a stern eye.

"You're knocking my hustle," she scoffed with her arms folded across her chest.

"Listen, I can't do this." He gestured around the room, referring to the number of people in his home at the moment. "I commend you for hustling, but you gone have to find a different spot." He shook his head.

Jazzy glared at him before letting out a heavy sigh. "You're never here anyway."

"Doesn't matter. It's still my fucking penthouse, and I don't need people blowing it up. You’re thinking real fucking reckless, kid." Frustration leaked out of him. "Clear my shit out, Jazzlyn," he ordered once more as he headed toward his bedroom.

Priest was really strict about who came in and out of his home. His personal space and privacy were big for him, and Jazzy knew that, so he was confused about why she had the whole strip club in his spot at the moment. Priest was a huge target. He couldn't have any and every one coming through his spot. A sneaky bitch was way worse than a hating-ass nigga, and right now, he couldn't trust any of the women Jazzy had in his home.

Priest rushed the process of getting ready. He didn't want to be late returning to Britain, especially since it was a hard day for her. Once he was finished, he sprayed himself with some of his Creed cologne before leaving his bedroom. To his luck, Jazzy seemed to be wrapping up. She followed his orders and told all the ladies she was fitting that they had to leave, and they would catch up some other time.

Priest waited for the last woman to leave before having a conversation with his sister. "Look, what's mine is yours. I just need you to understand that I can't have what you just had up here," he spoke to his sister in a softer tone.

Jazzy nodded. "Yeah, I'm gonna be working late again tonight. Not that you're ever home to realize," she murmured while brushing past him to go toward her bedroom.

Priest sighed while turning around to continue speaking to Jazzy. "Jazzy, I told you it wasn't the time for you to come home," he reminded her.

Jazzy rolled her eyes. "You’re right, PJ. You did, but given the circumstances, you would think you could spare at least an hour.”She didn’t even bother to hear him out. Instead, her bedroom door slammed shut, indicating that she no longer wanted to talk.

Priest was managing his time spent between Jazzy and Britain awfully. He couldn't help it, though. Britain captivated him in a whole different way that he couldn't even explain. Before Britain, Priest and Jazzy would usually spend all their time together if he wasn't working. Their bond was incredible, and they never grew tired of being around each other. Now, things had changed, and Jazzy just had to get accustomed to that.

Instead of smothering Jazzy, Priest simply left. On his way back to Britain's apartment, he shot Jazzy a text. It was an open access link to his calendar that showed all his tasks through the next two weeks.

PJ: Pick a day and a time solely for you. I ain't forget about you Jazzy-Fae. You're my bratty ass little sister.

Delivered 1:45 PM