Read Online My Addiction: Second Chances Series by S.K. Lessly - Free Book Online
Authors: S.K. Lessly
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see that happen again. She’s not good for you. No woman should have that kind of effect on any man.”
“Is that what’s going on with you, Lock? MJ has been gone for years and you’re as miserable and messed up as the day she passed.”
Lock’s face became distorted as he moved in mine. “Fuck you, Brad. You have no idea what I’m going through.”
“You’re right, Lock. I don’t, but I have a pretty good idea. I miss her too,” I told him solemnly.
“It’s not the same…”
“You’re right. It’s not, but I’ll tell you something that you need to hear. That woman loved the shit out of you. She wouldn’t want you walking around here like you do, angry at the world, taking that shit out on everyone around you. I mean, mourn the hell out of your woman, Lock. I’m not saying don’t, but, shit bro, you’re wasting away. Ayana’s not the only one that I can tell has been through hell. I’m actually worried about you too.”
Lock backed up. “Yeah? Well, don’t.”
He walked into the living room and I followed. “Unfortunately, I can’t help it.”
“Well try. I’m fine, Brad.”
Lock moved past the living room heading straight for the upstairs steps.
I yelled up to him. “While you’re up there, shave that damn beard and take a shower. You look like you haven’t showered in months.”
He grunted his reply and when I heard his door slam, I just shook my head.
I’m fine, my ass.
I know he and I will have this conversation again—we’re just getting started. My brother wasn’t one of those guys that walked around constantly smiling. I mean, he is a mean son of a bitch, but he didn’t seem himself. We are ‘A’ typical guys; we talk about sports most times when we’re together. We talk about our jobs and tell each other stories. We talk about our mother and her eighth husband. We laugh at the painstaking challenges of our father and his young wife that drives him crazy.
But since I arrived here, Lock and I hadn’t said much to each other. We’ve spent time in the same room together but words hadn’t been shared. However, that’s going to change. I didn’t know how I was going to get through to my brother, but I’d definitely figure something out.
******
“You have got to be kidding me, Kobe Bryant is not better than Michael Jordan,” she voiced, pointedly.
Ayana and I were sitting on the couch in my brother’s house while we watched the last minutes of the Lakers vs. Heat game. As always, we argued about anything basketball. We would argue about who should be MVP or who was the best guard in the game or overall. Most times, the arguments were silly and actually started by me, for no reason but to get a rise out of her.
Tonight it was the infamous Kobe vs. Jordan argument.
I leaned back and looked at her. “You have got to be kidding me. Why don’t you come out of the twentieth century for a minute? Kobe’s game is stellar. He’s about to pass Jordan’s record this year for scoring for sure. He’s just an all-around better player.”
Ayana turned and faced me in the couch. She pushed her hair from her face clearly agitated. “And you need to stop thinking he’s the freaking Messiah. Kobe wouldn’t be anything if it wasn’t for Shaq. Shaq was the man back then and fucking unstoppable. Your boy, Kobe, was hanging on his success. Jordan did his thing,” she pointed out, “sometimes putting the team on his back. He was the man on all six championships. Kobe will never see another championship again. He’s washed up.”
“Wow, you think Kobe Bryant is washed up?” I shook my head. “Girl, you’re definitely on something.”
“No, I think you’re confused; Jordan was clearly a better player. He was a better regular season performer. Just check the stats.” She started counting off her points with her fingers. “Per game stats, Jordan averaged about thirty points a game to Kobe’s twenty-five and Jordan ranked higher in rebounds and assists.
“Is that what’s going on with you, Lock? MJ has been gone for years and you’re as miserable and messed up as the day she passed.”
Lock’s face became distorted as he moved in mine. “Fuck you, Brad. You have no idea what I’m going through.”
“You’re right, Lock. I don’t, but I have a pretty good idea. I miss her too,” I told him solemnly.
“It’s not the same…”
“You’re right. It’s not, but I’ll tell you something that you need to hear. That woman loved the shit out of you. She wouldn’t want you walking around here like you do, angry at the world, taking that shit out on everyone around you. I mean, mourn the hell out of your woman, Lock. I’m not saying don’t, but, shit bro, you’re wasting away. Ayana’s not the only one that I can tell has been through hell. I’m actually worried about you too.”
Lock backed up. “Yeah? Well, don’t.”
He walked into the living room and I followed. “Unfortunately, I can’t help it.”
“Well try. I’m fine, Brad.”
Lock moved past the living room heading straight for the upstairs steps.
I yelled up to him. “While you’re up there, shave that damn beard and take a shower. You look like you haven’t showered in months.”
He grunted his reply and when I heard his door slam, I just shook my head.
I’m fine, my ass.
I know he and I will have this conversation again—we’re just getting started. My brother wasn’t one of those guys that walked around constantly smiling. I mean, he is a mean son of a bitch, but he didn’t seem himself. We are ‘A’ typical guys; we talk about sports most times when we’re together. We talk about our jobs and tell each other stories. We talk about our mother and her eighth husband. We laugh at the painstaking challenges of our father and his young wife that drives him crazy.
But since I arrived here, Lock and I hadn’t said much to each other. We’ve spent time in the same room together but words hadn’t been shared. However, that’s going to change. I didn’t know how I was going to get through to my brother, but I’d definitely figure something out.
******
“You have got to be kidding me, Kobe Bryant is not better than Michael Jordan,” she voiced, pointedly.
Ayana and I were sitting on the couch in my brother’s house while we watched the last minutes of the Lakers vs. Heat game. As always, we argued about anything basketball. We would argue about who should be MVP or who was the best guard in the game or overall. Most times, the arguments were silly and actually started by me, for no reason but to get a rise out of her.
Tonight it was the infamous Kobe vs. Jordan argument.
I leaned back and looked at her. “You have got to be kidding me. Why don’t you come out of the twentieth century for a minute? Kobe’s game is stellar. He’s about to pass Jordan’s record this year for scoring for sure. He’s just an all-around better player.”
Ayana turned and faced me in the couch. She pushed her hair from her face clearly agitated. “And you need to stop thinking he’s the freaking Messiah. Kobe wouldn’t be anything if it wasn’t for Shaq. Shaq was the man back then and fucking unstoppable. Your boy, Kobe, was hanging on his success. Jordan did his thing,” she pointed out, “sometimes putting the team on his back. He was the man on all six championships. Kobe will never see another championship again. He’s washed up.”
“Wow, you think Kobe Bryant is washed up?” I shook my head. “Girl, you’re definitely on something.”
“No, I think you’re confused; Jordan was clearly a better player. He was a better regular season performer. Just check the stats.” She started counting off her points with her fingers. “Per game stats, Jordan averaged about thirty points a game to Kobe’s twenty-five and Jordan ranked higher in rebounds and assists.
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