Flock (The Ravenhood)

“That one,” Layla says as I push through the dressing room door and step in front of the full-length mirror. Tessa, the store owner, nods in agreement from her position at the register of the small shop as I critique myself in the pale, yellow sundress that hugs my every curve. I’ve toned up, due to extended hikes with Sean. The color of the dress makes my sun-tinted skin appear darker and brings out the blue in my eyes.

“Yeah, this one.”

Layla gives me a sly grin and leans in, out of Tessa’s earshot. “Which one is this for?”

“Sean. I’m going to head over to the house after we leave and cook for the boys before fireworks tonight.”

She sorts through a rack of hangers and grins. “If I didn’t love my shithead fiancé so much, and hadn’t watched those two twerps grow up, I would be jealous.”

Layla is substantially older than me, having just turned thirty, and I hadn’t realized how much older in our previous exchanges. From our conversations, I’ve gathered she’s been in the ‘club’ since the beginning. She’s a true ride-or-die when it comes to the hood, and we’ve been spending more time together in the last few weeks. She’s the only person aside from Tyler who knows my Sunday Brunch smile secret.

The secret that I’m in a polyamorous relationship.

Which is odd and wonderful, exhilarating and terrifying all at the same time.

My phone sounds from my purse, and I pluck it from where it sits in the chair next to the dressing room to decline FaceTime with my mother. I’ve been avoiding her like the plague, due to my current dating status and the fact that I don’t want to share any part of this with her. From the time I hit puberty until now, I’ve condemned her silently for sharing stories showcasing her blatant promiscuity, and now I have no place to judge. I’ve never once appreciated the fact that she played more friend than mother with her oversharing in that respect. And it’s all wrong. I shouldn’t punish her for it now that I better understand it. But some part of me wants to believe my circumstances are different. That my relationships are different. Grabbing my check card from my wallet, I brush away the guilt and see a message pop up when I hand it to the shop owner who’s done nothing but helicopter us since we walked through the door.

I just wanted to see your face. Stop ignoring my calls. This is bullshit, kid, call me back or I’ll be driving in from Atlanta TONIGHT.

I type out a quick reply.

Sorry. I’ll call you later.

That’s what you said last week.

I will. Promise.

Once Tessa rings me up, Layla snips off the tag. The dress costs far more than I would normally spend on any one item of clothing, but under Sean’s influence, I only shop locally now. Which means I pay thirty dollars more at this downtown boutique for a dress and pump money into my local economy to support small business owners.

But the fear was real in Tessa’s demeanor and hopeful eyes when Layla and I walked in and started eyeing price tags. It was so apparent she was desperate for a sale, which made me feel good about what I was buying and terrified for her that it wouldn’t last. As I check out, I get some background on how she had inherited her grandmother’s store when she died and rebranded it, sinking every dime into refacing the little shop. Tessa’s not much older than me, and I can’t help but feel for her as she catches herself oversharing, clear emotion leaking from her voice.

I make it a point to tell Sean about it, not for the credit of shopping here, but because I know he can do something about it. Christmas comes every quarter to a few select and local businesses in Triple Falls, mostly businesses owned by hood relatives to keep them afloat. That I learned by a full day of being in on the secret.

As promised, I got an answer to another lingering question. Tyler is the Friar. And I figured it out the day he and I were charged with passing out the checks to said businesses, something Sean didn’t want me to miss. By the end of the day, I understood why he let me in on it. He wanted me to witness first-hand the why of what they do.

I was a sobbing mess both during and by the end of it when the store owners burst through the doors with tears in their eyes. Every one of them had grateful words pouring from their lips as they accepted their checks.

But his part was to play the mask for the true culprit, Dominic.

Dominic and his sorcery behind the keyboard had everything to do with it. The source of the money? Large corporations and banks that siphon funds from unsuspecting shareholders and employees. Corporations and banks who could never report the theft for fear of getting examined more closely by the powers that be, the powers that govern and regulate.

That’s the beauty of robbing thieves.

More than once, I’ve asked Sean about his plans for my father’s company. Every time he’s changed the subject, refusing to acknowledge the question and I wouldn’t be surprised if, down the line, my father got a painful dose of justice.

That may be hitting too close to home and my boys are nothing, if they aren’t cautious. Not only that, but a substantial hit would also endanger the jobs of their friends and relatives.

I can’t, for the life of me, understand how they get away with it, but they do and have, and it’s been going on for some time. Sean argues that it’s been going on far too long on the other side of things. The government either fines the white-collar thieves heavily or some government official accepts a payoff to help cover tracks. No one gets prosecuted, and no one truly pays.

I wholeheartedly agree with his logic, which made me happy to be in on the secret.

Aside from that significant tidbit of information, Sean’s kept his mouth closed about hood business, still waiting on my decision. I’ve taken my time with it. They’ve kept me at arm’s length, refusing to answer any more questions until I put a voice to it and pledge my loyalty. Tyler is rarely home, if ever, and he, Sean, nor Dom will give me any details on the why of that. He’s still in the Reserves for four more years, that much I do know, so I assume he’s keeping up with participation. I have zero clue of what he does with the rest of his time. He’s rarely at the garage anymore, either. So, when I’m over, it’s just the two men in my life and me.

And when I’m with them, I’m being schooled constantly. Though I still haven’t voiced a decision, that hasn’t at all stopped them from voicing their opinions. Dominic is speaking up more as well. It’s highly entertaining waking up and walking downstairs to see them watching the morning news on every station as I hand them coffee. Both of them tense at the same moments and utter ‘bullshit’ at the exact same time. In lieu of football, they talk politics and are never in favor of either side. If I wasn’t studying the distinctions between them daily, I would sometimes think they are the same person.

But in a lot of aspects, they’re night and day, dark cloud and golden sun. And drawing the comparison between them has become inevitable. I stopped beating myself up about it after the first week or so.

I’ve never navigated my way through dating two men, and I’ve got more on my plate with them than I can handle. If I weren’t so blissed out daily, I would probably give in to the naysayer screaming “ho” in my head. I bat that bitch away like a gnat because I’m sure that many women, given a chance, would tap dance toward either of their beds, roll around in their affection and then vie for my position between them.

Though I am tap-dancing over that moral line, the day at the lake was the one and only time I allowed myself to be shared at the same time.

But that’s where it ended for me.

Man, did they ever make it memorable.

Not because I didn’t enjoy it. Just the opposite. I enjoyed it far too much. However, my conscience did not, and it cheapens the romance aspect of it for me.

These two men have flipped my world, made colors more vivid, made sounds sweeter, made the world as a whole more bearable. My dreams consist of ray-filled days full of coconut lotion, long kisses, itchy sunburns, floating between waterfalls, and sighs before exhausted bodies collapse against feathery pillows. Other dreams of rainy days and nights filled with flips of pages and old nineties flicks, of cheddar popcorn and lavender scented blankets, of lightning and thunder and the fast pants and moans between the streak in the sky and the ground rattling boom that follows.

But these are my waking dreams, and I’m living them.

Dreaded shifts at the plant no longer bother me. I work them faithfully with Selma’s smile. My father’s absence no longer affects me in the way it has in the past because I’ve bore witness to two prime examples that there are good men left in the world. Loyal men. Faithful men. Though thieves they may be because they’ve stolen my heart.

I’m in love with both of them.

Two men, who make me feel adored, cherished, and respected. Two men, who have no issue which bed I keep warm. Two men, who look at me with nothing but lust and affection. Well, Sean does; Dominic gifts me with rare looks and slammed the door in my face the last time I saw him. I’d popped my head in his room and barely managed to get out before it was sealed tight. I tried not to take it personally, but I lost. We’re currently in a fight he doesn’t even know about, but I don’t let that deter me.

He’s a moody one, that motherfucker.

Layla smiles at Tessa while she bags her dresses and thanks us both profusely.

We eyeball each other as we exit the store.

“I’ll tell him.” I offer as we cross the walkway of the square toward her truck.

“I thought you would.”

“It’s so sad.”

She nods.

“I love that we can help, well,” I bite my lip, “you know what I mean.” We climb up into Layla’s massive truck, parked off Main Street as she looks around.

“Did you like growing up here?”

“Yeah. I’m glad I stayed when I graduated. I see it differently as the years pass.”

I consider the bustling square that looks like something out of a Norman Rockwell painting. “I get that.”

“Gotta love Small Town, USA,” she says softly before turning to me. “Do you think you’ll end up settling in Atlanta?”

“Honestly, I don’t know. I’ve no plans past applying to UG.”

Layla owns a small salon on the outskirts of town and refurbishes furniture on the side. We spent most of our morning scouring yard sales until she found her new project.

She pulls away and heads toward my father’s house where she picked me up this morning. I make sure to sleep at home at least twice a week to keep myself centered, though it’s not much help. My dreams are twice as memorable as they used to be.

“What you thinking about over there?”

My cheeks heat with guilt. “I’m so screwed.”

“It’s okay to be happy, Cecelia. You don’t have to apologize for smiling. I don’t know who taught you differently.”

I look over to where she sits, her hand on the wheel as she winks at me.

“I’m in love with them.”

She grins. “I know.”

“You think they do?”

“You haven’t told them?”

“No. You’re the first person I’ve told.”

“I’m glad.”

“I can’t talk to my mom, or my best friend, ya know? They won’t get it. But you do, and I’m grateful.”

“Trust me when I say that you’re better off keeping them in the dark about everything.”

“Trust me. I intend to.” I type out a lengthy text to my mother, promising her some one-on-one and toss my phone in my purse.

“Have you ever regretted it?”

Layla and I never directly talk about the hood, it’s kind of an unspoken rule between us.

“Absolutely. I’ve lost my damned mind a thousand times. And when I thought Denny and I were going to break up, it was worse. But I’ve got a leg up on him. I’ve been in this longer, secured my place. But the worrying,” she shakes her head, “fuck, that can really weigh you down.”

“It’s dangerous to get so close, isn’t it?”

“Honey, breathing is dangerous these days.”

“True.”

“Remember, you can be as involved with them as you want to be. It’s all up to you. But I’ve got your back, babe. Especially with those two shits.” She grins. “Dominic seems more relaxed lately.”

“He’s in trouble at the moment.”

She turns to me, a hint of warning in her baby blues. “Keep your wits about you at all times, okay? You’re taking on a lot, and it’s hard enough dealing with one.”

I smile. “Thanks, I will. And thanks for the hair.” I run my hand through my newly trimmed mane and lowlights.

“Welcome. Let me know how tonight goes, and I’ll pick you up for Eddie’s next week. I could use a girls’ night.”

“It’s a date.”

She pulls away and I charge through the front door and up the stairs, changing sandals and ditching my phone before I gloss my lips. I’m halfway back down, building a mental to-do list when I see Roman standing at the bottom of the steps waiting for me, and I freeze. He’s in casual attire with a half-drained gin in hand.

I slow my descent as he considers me with glassy eyes. It’s not his first drink of the day. “Do you still live here?”

“On occasion,” I answer honestly.

“I knew you would be off for the holiday, so I drove home last night.”

I frown, clutching my purse in front of me. “I didn’t get an email.”

He tilts his glass in his hand, slashing his brows. “I didn’t think I would have to send one. Then I saw you weren’t home and assumed you had plans.”

“I do have plans.”

He nods as I approach, the exchange putting me on edge. Even in casual clothes, he’s intimidating.

“Is there something that you wanted?”

He sips his drink and clears his throat as I hit the landing.

“I wanted to be the one to tell you that the plant is getting an upgraded AC system today, and I’ve looked into your other concerns, and it’s been handled. Accounting will be handing out additional checks this coming pay period.”

“Thank you,” I say warily. There’s clear hesitation in his posture as he looks down at me. He stands a little over six-foot, but he might as well be a skyscraper.

“It’s clear you’ve adjusted here, and unless you have any objections, I’ll be staying at the condo.” His eyes implore mine, and I swear I see a glimmer of hope for an objection, but it’s way too late.

“No objections. Is that all?”

With a nod, his eyes drop, and he steps away, giving me a lot more space than I need to get past him. I’m grateful for it and make it halfway across the foyer when he speaks up.

“Don’t make her mistakes.”

I turn back and catch a glimpse of him over my shoulder. “Sir?”

“Who better to warn you than her biggest one.” He tips his glass back, draining it, his deep-sea eyes meeting mine once more before he strides into his office and closes the door.