My spinning brain commands my languid arm and trembling hand as I extend my index finger to him, indicating what I need. And it doesn’t take him long to understand the gesture. Azmir strips down to his boxers within seconds, adjusts his solid frame behind me in bed, and holds me until I succumb to siesta yet again.
The last thing I remember is internally asking: Is this love?
I think it is.
~~~~~~~~~~
Azmir
“Yeah, Jackson, it’ll be great getting together with cats from back home. Yeah…cool,” I agree, speaking on the phone to a friend of mine from the East Coast.
“That sounds cool to me, too. I’m looking forward to the distraction, Divine,” Jackson sighs.
“I know it’s rough, man. There are some days that I swear if my Pops were still here, my life would make more sense, you know?”
There’s a tentative pause. I know Jackson is still in a heavy mourning period. If only words could heal the wounds of death. Rayna is still grieving Michelle. As much as she tries to hide it, occasionally I’m awakened at night by her mumbling of words to her dearly departed. And on worse nights, she calls out J-Boog. I never ask questions. Instead, I pull her into my arms and whisper affirmations of my love and commitment softly into her ear, telling her that I’m here and will always comfort her. Some nights takes long minutes for her to transition from a body-tensing nightmare to her melting into me, falling into a peaceful sleep. Most of the time I’m positive that my method of comfort is working. I do my best to protect her, even from her nightmares.
“Yeah, man,” Jackson mutters, breaking me from my reverie. “I’m good. I’ll get through this.”
“Yes, you will,” I affirm. “Jackson, you’re a strong man. You can do this. I’m sure your father—”
“Mr. Jacobs, Sergeant Lombardi has arrived,” I’m interrupted by Tracy, my assistant manager, here at Cobalt.
“Send him in,” I request.
Returning to my call, I say, “Jackson, that’s my one o’clock. I have to go.”
“Okay, man. It was great talking to you, as usual. I appreciate your friendship, Divine,” Jackson proclaims. This young dude has always been wise beyond his years. I guess being his father’s best friend since he’s been out of diapers did that.
“That means a lot. We may have lost Quincy, but I’d like to think that we’ve gained a solid friendship as a result.” I watch as Sergeant Lombardi scrolls into my office, observing every fucking thing, from the windows to the walls, after assessing my person. Goddamn One-Time tries to be so intimidating that they’re actually comical. “Listen,” I call out to Jackson. “Why don’t I host a dinner at my house? This way, you knuckleheads can meet my fiancée.”
“That’s what’s up. I’ve heard that she’s brought your Hugh Heffner ass to your knees,” Jackson jeers. I won’t deny any rumor of how Rayna’s captured my heart. There’s no sense in it.
“So they say. So they say,” I murmur with mirth. “We’ll be in touch, Jax.”
“I’ll text you next week.”
“Indeed.”
As I place the phone back on its cradle, I turn to my midday visitor. I watch as he takes his time examining my office. I feel no concerns or anxiety of having One-Time in my space. I need him to know this as well. I remain silent and amble over to the conference table near the panoramic window that I see him so fascinated with.
Within seconds, he turns to acknowledge me. I extend my hand for him to take a seat across from me. With a moment of hesitation, he complies. Here is a battle of authority at its best. This is my fucking court, there’s no way he’s leading this assembly. I’m sure to take my seat after his descent.
“So, Sergeant Lombardi, how can I be of service to you?” I initiate—and very politely as I pull my pocket watch from the breast pocket of my shirt.
Lombardi’s eyelids rise. “Service? I’m not sure that’s the appropriate term for the purpose of this visit.” He lets a small snort slip.
Here we go with the bullshit. And so soon. I extend my arms and rest my elbows on the table.
“Sergeant, it is the middle of my workday. I have countless tasks to take on before I close my eyes this evening. I cleared a few minutes to extend an invitation to one of L.A.’s finest who’s been inquiring about me for months. I think the least you can do is grant me the courtesy of cutting the bullshit and getting straight to the point.” I issue him a tentative glare. I can quickly assess that he doesn’t appreciate my tone, but wisely decides his next move.