Finding My Way Back to Love

By Diamond Johnson

They were Miami’s favorite couple. Mustafa and Kennedy Strong. Their names rang bells in the streets of Miami. Before Mustafa and Kennedy were a married couple, they were once two six-year-old kids who were the best of friends. But from day one, they knew that they loved each other. Years later, they now have three beautiful children, but Mustafa’s occupation is dangerous and Kennedy want’s nothing more than for her husband to leave the streets alone.

After Mustafa’s parents, the streets raised him next, so that’s all he knows. Will Mustafa’s stubbornness cause him to lose his family? Should he have listened to his wife? No doubt that the Strong family will take a major loss, but is it fixable is the question. This book will make you cry, laugh, smile, angry, and cry all over again. We just hope that with everything that Kennedy and Mustafa endures, that they will be able to find their way back to love.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Leo Sullivan Presents
• Release date: Aug 1, 2017
• ISBN: 9781648540028

Book preview

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’ mouth. No matter what remedies her grandmother had tried on her when she was younger, or the shit that my grandmother had tried too; none of that shit worked.

I used to joke and tell her when we were younger that I wasn’t going to want her ass if she grew up having bucked teeth. Luckily, God was on her side because no matter how much thumb sucking her ass did, her teeth didn’t manage to shift. Even though it was still a bad ass habit of hers, it wasn’t to the extreme like it used to be. Most times, she would only do it in the bed, right before she closed her eyes and went to sleep. When we were younger, her ass would be outside, all in the open doing that shit, and that’s what her little ass was known for. That bad habit had passed down to all three of my children because they did it to.

Before Kennedy came in the room, she had just finished putting the kids down for bed and was fresh out of the shower, smelling good as hell. I looked down at my naked wife, who had little spots of sweat on her beautiful body from the mind-blowing sex that we’d just had. All I could do was shake my head in awe because I was extremely blessed to have her. I know sometimes you look at women and think that they’re beautiful, but I kid you not, my wife defines the term beauty.

Kennedy had the prettiest, richest, dark skin that I had ever seen in my life, and I had been telling her that shit for as long as I could remember. Over the years that I’ve known Kennedy, she had always been natural with her hair, so I was a little shocked when she walked in the house about two months ago with dreads. That shit was so sexy on her, and matched her well. Kennedy had beautiful hair, and I’d been joking with her for as long as I could remember that she had a white daddy because my black ass didn’t have the texture of hair that she had. Her dreads came all the way down to the middle of her back, making her look even more like a Nubian queen.

Not only was Kennedy’s skin flawless, but she had the perfect set of pearly whites that I’d ever seen. My wife was about a good 5’4", and she was stacked in all the right places. Over the years, birthing three babies out for me, my wife had become thick as hell, and I loved every inch of it. Kennedy had these little, perky breasts, small waist, and then her ass was on a whole other planet. I swear, she’ll stop talking to me for days if I refer to her as buffy the body. Kennedy felt like she was too thick, but she honestly didn’t know how much I loved that shit. I’m getting hard now just thinking about the way her ass be jiggling and shit when I’m fuckin’ her from the back.

I see myself with you. Around that time, we’ll probably have about ten kids by then. You only gave me three. You know I’m nowhere near finished with you yet, I told her, and she rolled her eyes.

My wife was fertile as hell, and I loved that shit. I could just look at her, and nine months later, she would be popping out a baby for me. Only reason she hadn’t got pregnant now is because she came up with some dumb ass rule that she was going to start back taking her birth control until I gave up my profession. In her words, she wasn’t about to keep spitting babies out for me, and I was out in these streets risking my freedom.

What about your profession? What do you see yourself doing in ten years? Kennedy asked me.

I sucked my teeth because I already knew where she was going with this when she asked me the question. Kennedy got on my case about this shit damn near every day, and the shit was starting to get on my fuckin’ nerves. I’d been selling dope since I was fourteen years old, so it was pretty much the only thing that my hustling ass knew how to do. Yes, I was taking a risk with my freedom and my life, but if something were to ever happen to me, my wife and my kids would be good regardless. Each of my kids had trust funds set up for them already with a couple of millions in there, and for my wife, she would have enough money that could last her five damn lifetimes. I wasn’t trying to be doing this shit forever, but again, I couldn’t just stop what I was doing now.

I wasn’t the same fourteen year old on the corner selling bags of rock. Now, my name rang bells in the hood, and I was Miami’s number one supplier. I knew my wife hated this shit, but I also didn’t plan on doing this shit that much longer because I could tell that it was taking a toll on her. Two weeks ago, I got a call from my brother, Duke, telling me that one of my traps had been robbed, and my wife literally got on her knees, having a whole damn tantrum, begging and crying for me not to walk out of the house. I have to tell you right now that my wife doesn’t cry for shit! So, to see her get emotional like that just because I was about to walk out the door, I knew then that some shit had to change.

Kennedy tells me all the time how much she’s afraid of losing me, and that shit hurts me because I hated that my wife was thinking like that, although what I did came with some strong possibilities of that happening.

Kennedy, go to sleep, man. We’ll talk about it in the morning, I told her.

She lifted herself off me and got all in my face. I could take one look at her and tell that she was angry as hell with me. My wife had a lot of shit to be thankful for and happy about, so it wasn’t a part of her daily routine for her to go around being mad about shit. Based on fact that she had gotten herself so riled up off this simple conversation, I could tell that it meant a lot to her.

Mustafa, is this a fuckin’ joke to you or something? Are myself, Joy, Mustafa, and Omari a fuckin’ joke to you? If something happens to you, we suffer. I wouldn’t know how to raise three fuckin’ kids on my own! You say all the time that if something happens to you, that we’ll be straight financially for the rest of our lives, but I don’t care about that fuckin’ money if I can’t have you! All I want is you. I want my fuckin’ husband. I want my husband to please get the fuck out of these streets because there is nothing good that’s going to come out of them. Those fuckin’ streets cannot love you the way that I can. Those streets cannot feed you the way that I can. Those fuckin’ streets will have your ass buried six feet under or thrown in jail, Kennedy snapped at me, and then she jumped out the bed and walked into the bathroom, slamming the door hard as hell and making the pictures that were hung up on the wall shake.

That was two days ago. My wife tried to warn me about these streets, but me being a man, I didn’t listen. With my occupation came enemies. Who knows who it was that just came over and did this drive by. It could have been anyone because motha fuckas were secretly watching me, and if the plan was for them to break me, then they had succeeded because without all three of my kids and my wife, I was a broken man. It could have been a motha fucka that sat and smiled in my face on a daily basis. The scariest thing about loyalty was the fact that the shit wasn’t always permanent.

I wasn’t the same Mustafa that I was years ago. My name rang bells in these grimy streets of Miami, and I was making money now. Back then, I thought that I was making money because I was able to rent my own apartment, buy a couple hundred thousand worth of jewelry, get all the fancy cars, and spoil my wife, but the money that I’m seeing now is on a whole other level from what I was seeing years ago, and niggas didn’t like that shit. Motha fuckas couldn’t handle it when you were in a position to take your whole family out the hood and purchase shit that they could only dream of having.

I never in my life flaunted my earnings around, which is why I was so appalled that these niggas had the balls to pull some shit like this. As far as I’m concerned, I gave off the impression of a broke nigga because I didn’t walk around with all type of flashy jewelry and shit, and all my cars were basic. I was a humble nigga, and I made sure that my wife was that way, but clearly, these niggas tried to take me out regardless. Whoever pulled this shit, I know in my heart that I had to know them niggas on a personal level because not everyone knows where my parents lay their heads. Those niggas knew right where to come looking for me, and they went for my child, which is why I also knew that it had to be personal. Anyone who knew Mustafa Strong, knew that I didn’t play about