Page 61 of Brown Sugar
“Figured.” He crashes down beside me on the sofa, his arm stretching along the back.
I find myself hugging the large bag of potato chips and snuggling closer into his side, the blanket strewn across my lap. I draw the rest of it over his, earning a subtle tic of his lips.
The opening credits of the movie begin and I laugh.
“Deadpool, really?”
“You’re lucky I went easy on you. I could’ve made you really suffer and had you sit through some macho ’80s action flick.”
“Just wait ’til I make you watchEat, Pray, Love.”
“Do that, princess, and you might be the one who’s eaten.”
“With that tongue game of yours? No complaints,” I giggle.
We become engrossed in the movie as it plays on Tyson’s large TV screen. I can’t help reveling in how cozy and normal themoment feels. We really are away from the outside world and enjoying each other’s company.
I’m not some famous superstar anymore. Tyson’s no longer some brooding enforcer with fists he uses for violent purposes.
We’re a man and a woman who care about each other and are spending a private night together.
I never had these moments with Shawn. Even when we were alone, it always felt like some kind of production—he was hopping on and off live streams with his pals and his fans or we were posing for curated content to share on our socials.
Everything felt so rehearsed. Some kind of reality TV show that had become my life.
At the time, it seemed normal. I knew of no other existence as a woman than what I’d experienced with Shawn.
But with Tyson, it’s so easy. So comfortable and natural.
He begins caressing my sore spots, using his skillful hands to soothe my aches and pains. Soon I’m lying in his lap as he absentmindedly strokes my hips and thighs. I shift my attention from the movie, looking up at him sideways due to my sprawled out position.
“You’ve done more for me in a couple weeks than Shawn did in years.”
“We’ve established Shawn’s a shitty person, princess.”
“And you. You’re better than you give yourself credit for. You pretend you’re such a hard ass.”
“I am a hard ass.”
“Maybe. But there’s more to you,” I say, stretching my arm up ’til I can caress his bearded jaw. “You just don’t want other people to know.”
“They don’t need to.”
I sit up, still planted in his lap. We’re so close, our faces are almost touching, our gazes locked. “I can only imagine how much it hurt to lose your brother. But you don’t have to deal withit alone. I’m here. I don’t care what Tommy or the label say. I won’t let them cut off contact between us again.”
“Easier said than done, princess. Dealing with it, I mean. I haven’t even cleared his room.”
“His room? You mean he… lived here?”
Tyson’s face darkens. Then he nods. “Some of our family members have requested I send them a few of his things. In remembrance.”
“But you can’t go into his room.”
“I was too busy working. If I’d been around…”
“It’s not your fault,” I whisper, leaning closer. Our brows press together as we let my statement hang in the air.
The truth that Tyson must accept if he’s ever to heal.