Finding My Way Back to Love

Diamond Johnson

Sujets

• Urban Books

Informations

• Publié par: Sullivan Group Publishing, LLC
• Date de parution: 01 août 2017
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781648540028
• Langue: English

Extrait

© 2017
Published by Leo Sullivan Presents
www.leolsullivan.com


All rights reserved.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. Unauthorized reproduction, in any manner, is prohibited.
Contents



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1. Kennedy Strong

2. Mustafa Strong

3. Kennedy Strong

4. Mustafa Strong

5. Logan Ortiz

6. Mustafa Strong

7. Duke Strong

8. Mustafa Strong

9. Logan Ortiz

10. Kennedy Strong

11. Mustafa Strong

12. Kennedy Strong

13. Mustafa Strong

14. Logan Ortiz

15. Mustafa Strong
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1

Kennedy Strong
Seven years ago; The past



“I can’t wait to see my dadddyyy,” my four-year-old daughter, Joy, called from the backseat as I pulled up to my mother-in-law’s house.
My daughter was so damn anxious to see her daddy that one wouldn’t think that she just saw him this morning. That’s what happens when you have a father who spoils you rotten and loves you to the moon and back. I looked up at my baby girl through the rearview mirror, just in awe of how much she resembled her father, and how much I loved her.
My husband was Mustafa Strong, and after all of these years, that man could still have me feeling like a silly school girl who was in love for the first time all over again. I met Mustafa for the first time when I was six years old after he moved down here from Atlanta and became my neighbor. He moved to Miami with his two brothers, Duke and Emory. When Mrs. Strong, Mustafa’s mother, found out that she was pregnant each time, she had to know that she was going to raise some powerful young men because all her sons had some powerful as names. I used to think, who the hell would name their son Mustafa? until I found out that it really meant. “The Chosen One,” and that’s exactly what Mustafa was.
That man was literally my heart, the air that I breathed, and I swear he gave me a purpose to live life. When Mustafa and I first met, we became the best of friends, and even at the age of six, I knew that I loved him. He was my first everything, the biggest first being that I gave up my virginity to him when I turned twelve years old. Since that day, I basically had a strong leash on him, and I didn’t plan to let him out of my sight anytime soon. We had three beautiful children, which was my oldest child Jada, who was in the backseat, and I also had a set of twin boys, which were Mustafa Strong III and Omari Strong, who were already inside the house with Mustafa’s mother.
“Alright, baby. Go ahead and run to the door. Let me just get these bags from the back,” I told Joy.
I had to park the car on the side of Kwan, Mustafa’s mother’s house because she had way too many cars parked in her driveway. I watched as Joy hopped out of the car seat that she was in and climbed up to the front seat to get out since there were child locks on the doors in the back. Before Joy got out, she leaned her head into mine, kissed me on my lips like she always did, and said those four words that had me falling in love with her all over again each time.
“I love you, Mommy,” my beautiful, chocolate baby told me.
My little Joy was absolutely breath taking to look at, and almost everywhere we went, I was told that I need to put her in some type of modeling, but her daddy wasn’t having that at all. Mustafa believed that everything in today’s society was so sexualized, even if it was innocent, and he basically didn’t want a bunch of old, perverted mothafuckas, looking at his daughter and trying to get their rocks off; those were his exact words.
My daughter had the same dark chocolate skin as mine, with a head full of thick hair like mine, that had never been permed a day in my life or hers. My grandmother raised me, and she didn’t believe in perms, so it was only right that I had that same mindset when I had kids. Joy’s hair was so thick and long, and most times, I would braid it up for her, and the braids would last almost three to four weeks.
The only thing that Joy inherited from me was my skin complexion and her hair; everything else was all her daddy. She had those grayish colored eyes that he had, his tall and skinny frame that he once had when he was younger, his dimples, and Lord knows she had that man’s personality as well. Sometimes, I look at my daughter, and I have to pinch myself because it literally feels as if I’m staring at Mustafa in a dress, when he was her age.
“I love you more, beautiful,” I told Joy, and she hopped out of the truck.
I made sure that she made it up the steps safely before I turned around and got the baby bags out the backseat. Through my peripheral, I saw a car drive by, but I didn’t think anything of it because my in-laws stayed in a nice, quiet neighborhood, and they knew majority of the people who lived there. I noticed that the car all of a sudden stopped, and the tints on the windows were dark as hell, making it damn near impossible to see through the inside. I knew then at that it couldn’t have been someone who resided in this neighborhood because I’m over there damn near every day, and had never seen at car before.
I had a feeling, in the pit of my stomach that something wasn’t right. When I looked to the left of me and saw Joy sitting down on the step on my in-laws’ porch, I got so mad at her because she needed to go in the house.
“Joy, go in the house!” I yelled at the top of my lungs, through the passenger window that I’d rolled down.
My call was a second too late because seconds later, I heard the horrendous sounds of guns shots, making it seem like it was the Fourth of July, and we were only in November. Bullet after bullet pierced my body, and right before I closed my eyes, I saw my baby, my first born, the love of my life, laid out on her back with blood oozing out of her body. I knew at that moment that my daughter was gone. Whether I made it out of this or not, either way I was dead because there was no way that I would ever come back from the nightmare that I had just witnessed right before my eyes.
2

Mustafa Strong



“M a, hold the baby right quick,” I said, damn near throwing my one year old son, Omari, in her lap.
I jumped off the couch, pulling my gun out the waistband of my pants, and I ran outside. Even though it sounded like the bullets were coming right outside our door, I still went in that direction because I had just gotten off the phone with my wife, and she told me that she was five minutes away, so there was a strong possibility that she could be outside in the middle of that damn gun fire with my daughter.
The first thing I noticed when I stepped outside was my baby girl, Joy, lying on her back in a pool of blood. My body literally froze as I looked down at her. Her eyes were wide the hell open, but from the way she was lying there, not blinking or anything, I knew at that moment that my princess was gone. I could see the car that had just finished doing the shooting peel off in the distance. I ran out of the yard, trying to catch up to the car, even though it was damn near impossible. I was shooting my gun the entire time, pretty much wasting a bunch of bullets because they were already gone.
“Mustafa, what the… Oh my God! My baby!” I heard my mother scream at the top of her lungs when she looked down at the ground and saw Joy lying on the floor.
“Ma, go in the fuckin’ house before those niggas come back!” I roared.
Never in my life had I cursed at my mother or screamed at her the way I just did, but I didn’t want to chance something happening to her too. She took heed to my message and went back inside the house, while I picked my daughter up from the ground with a bunch of angry tears falling down my face. I stood by the driver’s side of Kennedy’s truck, and more tears cascaded as I saw the numerous bullet holes in the door. When I opened the door, Kennedy’s body damn near fell out, but I was able to hold on to her so that she couldn’t fall.
“Kennedy, baby. Don’t do this shit to a nigga! Do not do this shit to me!” I screamed at the top of my lungs when I saw how unresponsive she was.
As I cradled my daughter in my arms, I could hear the ambulance in the background. I released a sigh of relief, hoping that they would be able to make this shit right. As soon as they pulled up, they removed Joy from my arms and damn near snatched Kennedy out of the car.
I turned around and saw that my mother had brought her heard headed ass right back outside, and because I was hurting so much right now, I couldn’t even say anything to her. Tears fell down my face because I felt like this shit was all my fault. I thought back to a conversation that I literally just had with my wife two fuckin’ days ago.
“Baby, where do you see yourself in ten years?” Kennedy asked me, laying her head on my chest as I pulled from a fat ass blunt that I just finished rolling.
She had just taken her thumb out of her mouth and was wiping it on the covers, giving me her undivided attention. At twenty-five years old, even with three damn kids, my wife couldn’t keep that damn finger out of her fuckin’ mo