Page 34 of Kisses Behind The Spotlight 2: Finale

We swapped out the unregistered Tahoe and hopped into my truck, then headed to Vincent’s house since we were already in the area. Killa didn’t like the horses and would definitely kill their chickens, so we left him in the truck with the AC on full blast. The moment I stepped out of the truck, we heard laughter coming from the backyard. We rounded the house and found Vincent helping his son Van off a horse. They both had on matching cowboy hats and boots.

“This nigga really thinks he’s on the lam,” I shouted, trucking across the grass.

“On the lam means to run or hide. I ain’t never did that. Yo’ extra smart ass should’ve kept it simple and said, cowboy. And yes, if you think my wife ain’t taught me a thing or two over the last six years, you tripping,” Vincent bantered without turning around to face us until Van was planted on the ground.

“Hey, Stepp! Hey, Xain!” Van waved excitedly and rushed over. I scooped him up and tapped his hat.

“Where can I find a hat like that?”

“I don’t know. My mom bought them for us,” he replied.

“Alright, my cowboy,” I nodded.

“Van! It’s time for you to eat lunch!” Anila yelled from the back door, her moo moo swaying in the breeze.

“I gotta go. My mom ordered pineapple pizza!” Van fought his way out of my grasp and took off running. His boots kicked up the grass with how fast he was moving for that pizza. We waved at Anila while she waited for Van to make it to the back door.

“What the fuck you and Khaleesi got going on?” Vincent inquired as soon as the door slid shut.

“Whatchu mean?” I laughed.

We followed Vincent as he guided the horse to the barn where the other four were housed.

“Don’t act dumb. Anila tells me everything. I was just waiting for you to say something, but you never did. I just want to know how the fuck y’all went from always being at each other’s throats to… whatever y’all got going on.”

I entered the barn and went to Mystic, Anila’s black horse that I had to steal back for her after some rich folks tried to get over. We locked eyes, and she huffed.

“Wassup, beautiful?” I greeted her and reached into the stall. Mystic leaned into my palm, and I gently rubbed her.

“How y’all don’t be scared of them big bitches?” Stepp inquired from the doorway. He never came inside.

“Please, your dog has harmed multiple people. These horses ain’t never done anything to anybody,” Vincent retorted.

I laughed as a vision of Killa running down on Brian replayed in my head.

“I’m still waiting for you to tell me what you and Khaleesi got going on.”

“I’m feeling her, a lot. I spent an entire day with her mom and brothers, and I even met her grandma on her mama’s side on FaceTime the other day. Stopped by to see about arranging a family dinner so y’all can meet. She’ll be in town for two weeks.”

“Quincy’s birthday dinner is next week. I’m sure Khaleesi isn’t going to leave her mama at home, so I’ll meet her then. Now that I know you’re serious about Khaleesi, you seen that shit her ex was saying?”

“Whatchu mean?”

“I overheard Khaleesi and Anila on the phone the other night. Her ex Montell was online talking hot shit. Something like she’s a bum bitch fucking the help,” he laughed. “You the fucking help.”

Pulling my hand away from Mystic, I went to the wash sink to wash my hands with Vincent. With clean hands, we sauntered out of the barn, and Vincent locked up. I took a seat in one of the lawn chairs around the firepit. Stepp lit a blunt and passed it to me. I silently went through Montell’s page. We didn’t cross paths often. Q stopped working with him before I came on as his security, but it took nothing for me to find him.

From what I could see, he had a rough few years. His pinned post was a long post about being blackballed in the music industry and struggling to find work for years until the owner of Calvin’s Lounge and Grill gave him a chance. A long fall from music producer. That’s probably why he was so pressed.

“Aye, Stepp, if you want something other than the game to love you back, go in on this lounge I’m about to buy,” I offered.

“A lounge?”

“Yeah. It’s in the USF area, bunch of drunk-ass college kids. I know it’s bringing in money,” I detailed, face still in my phone.

“Since when did you want to own a lounge?” Stepp questioned.

“I don’t. But I’m trying to help you with some shit to do. In case you decide to make that transition. I told you, throw some shit at the wall and see if it sticks.”