Nyla Bridges has dedicated her entire life to becoming the best FBI agent the agency has seen. Working twice as hard because she's a woman... a black woman... to show that she is just as capable, if not more, than her predominantly white, male colle...
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"They padlocked my place. I just need somewhere to sleep tonight until I can come up with some money."
"Are you too far behind them to accept the past due payments?"
"Yeah."
Elijah ran his hand down his face, "I'll have a vacant condo in my building next week. I can put you up in a hotel or you can stay with me until it's ready."
"I've already told you I don't w-"
"Then why the fuck are you in my house? How do you think I paid for that muthafucka, pops? Drugs. A whole lot of fucking drugs. Come morning, I want you out. Go to one of those communities that you say I flood. When you see that the world and the people of those communities don't give a fuck about your old, hateful ass, only where their next high is coming from, don't call me and don't show up at my fucking door."
With his head tilted back and his eyes closed, Elijah let the water run down his face before bringing his head forward and wiping away the excess water. His mind was working in overtime, his thoughts consumed by the conversation he had with his father. The relationship Elijah and his father have, or lack there of, had always weighed heavily on Elijah. No matter what Elijah did and how greatly it was done, it never seemed to be enough to please the hard father of three and Elijah had noticed his father was only that way with him.
Elijah could remember the time when he earned a position on the varsity baseball team as a freshman. The team's coach had never seen a player with the skill set Elijah possessed and most certainly not at the age of fourteen. Elijah went on to break the pitching speed record for high school during a playoff game with a rival team, pitching a fastball at ninety-three miles per hour his very first year on the team. Elijah couldn't wait to tell his father what he had done, so much so that he skipped out on the team's celebration dinner. When Elijah arrived home from the game he sat on the stoop of his apartment building, wanting to be the first thing his father saw upon his arrival. The pride he felt inside and the high he was on from his accomplishment was unwavering even after four hours of waiting.
When his father finally returned home, Elijah couldn't contain his smile as he told his father the news. In the blink of an eye the pride, the high, and the joy Elijah felt had diminished into him feeling inadequate. His ears burned with each word that his father spoke. My coworker's boy pitched ninety-five over at his school. Do better, you hear me? Elijah could only nod his head at his father, for the muscles in his throat were working against one another to keep his emotions contained. For whatever reason, there's this spoken/unspoken rule that has been passed down from generation to generation in the African American community: a black man shouldn't express his emotions nor should he cry, as it is a sign of weakness. So, as badly as Elijah wanted to cry, yell, and scream -he didn't.
