Love In the Red Zone (Connecticut Kings Book 1) Read Free Page A

stopped when my talent paid for itself, and had never asked for anything in return but to be great. He demanded that shit.
    What he didn’t know was I’d been here for close to two hours, waiting on him to come out of the sleep fog from the meds they had him on to relax him. This was a tough visit; this trip to the I.C.U.
    “It’s this damn tuberculosis, man,” he spoke with little breath.
    I nodded. “Yeah, pulmonary. Trying to take you over, G.”
    “That and this damn hepatitis C that won’t shake the hell off,” he spoke with ghosted eyes and lazy lungs.
    “Yup, and your CD4 was about 260 when they admitted you.” I nodded again, my eyes out into the corner where the television hung suspended. These were secondary infections; complications of his primary condition. I’d learned a lot about HIV and AIDS in the past five years. As I was knee-deep in my trial, my uncle announced his diagnosis to our family and his friends. It was after a near death trip to the hospital. He’d told me years before in confidence. He’d only told them when he thought he wouldn’t make it. “April filled me in last night when you were admitted. I tried coming then but was too late. They’d cut visitation time.”
    My eyes were trained ahead. Shank told me years ago when he’d revealed his status to never pity him. To never make him appear helpless or weak when the disease kicked his ass—because he knew it would one day. No one would have ever predicted this demise for Shank Daddy, the original Mr. Steal Your Girl . He was a regionally renowned stripper, getting his start at a local Camden club. In fact, lots of my relatives stripped, including my uncle, Trey, and three of my older cousins. They all followed behind Shank here, the oldest.
    He made top bank, stripping since he was sixteen. He said he was a member of a traveling dance troupe, and later learned he had a cut enough body for stripping, so he put the two activities together once the group dismantled and made a career out of being a male exotic dancer. He sure had the pretty boy features for it. All of the ladies lined up at his events and his home, afterhours, wanting more. Their men envied and respected him. Even the hustlers wanted to be like Shank. They’d provide protection because they knew the women and local celebrity followed him.
    Shank heavily indulged in women, but he’d maintained a narrow focus back then. He worked and saved up for five years to buy his mother, my grandmother, a house of her own. This was no easy feat either. We ate like “the help” when this dude, Shank, brought in two to three grand a night. He never celebrated over the top. Always banked his earnings and lived beneath his means. It frustrated everyone around, but at the end of the day became the model I lived by when I got signed to the league. It saved my ass big time—millions, including my current home.
    “You still quiet up North,” he changed the subject.
    “Still focused. Still chill.”
    “And the league?”
    “Crickets.” I took in a hefty breath as I sat up in my seat, eyes still glued above. “But I’m good. I’m blessed. I’m keeping my mind. Keeping busy.”
    “Keeping busy doing what?” His panting tone had none of its usual bass to it.
    He probably shouldn’t have been speaking at all. I was told April went home to shower. I’d bet if she were here, she’d tell him to keep quiet and rest. For him, that was impossible when I came through.
    “Volunteering with a Pop Warner team.” I scoffed. The sound alone seemed strange, but I enjoyed it, especially seeing the unfolding talent I’d peeped so far. “Little league… Mitey-Mites.”
    I chuckled quietly at my checked ego.
    Yeah… The big leaguer meets little league.
    “Oh, yeah?” He breathed shallowly from his diaphragm…more like panted. “I remember your time in that division. The tiniest thing out there with the most focus.”
    Yeah, but not the most talent. That was Trick.
    I glanced down