He Doesn't Deserve My Love Read online

  He Doesn’t Deserve My Love:

  Renaissance Collection

  Ashley Cruse

  www.urbanbooks.net

  All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  Chapter 1 - Dollie

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6 - Tenosha

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10 - Dollie

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14 - Tenosha

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16 - Dollie

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20 - Tenosha

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22 - Dollie

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25 - Tenosha

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29 - Dollie

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33 - Tenosha

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37 - Dollie

  Chapter 38 - Tenosha

  Chapter 39 - Dollie

  Chapter 40 - Tenosha

  Urban Books, LLC

  300 Farmingdale Road, NY-Route 109

  Farmingdale, NY 11735

  He Doesn’t Deserve My Love: Renaissance Collection

  Copyright © 2017 Ashley Cruse

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without prior consent of the Publisher, except brief quotes used in reviews.

  ISBN: 978-1-6228-6610-6

  First Trade Paperback Printing June 2017

  This is a work of fiction. Any references or similarities to actual events, real people, living or dead, or to real locales are intended to give the novel a sense of reality. Any similarity in other names, characters, places, and incidents is entirely coincidental.

  Distributed by Kensington Publishing Corp.

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  This novel is dedicated to Jayson, Jeromiah, Jeaniece, Aubri, Kyair, and Kynzi Cruse.

  (my niece, nephews, and my children)

  When life throws you guys lemons, take them, squeeze them, and sell the hell out of that lemonade.

  Acknowledgments

  My gratitude goes to my very supportive family and friends, including my daddy, my grandma, all my aunts and uncles, and my sisters, Shinee, Jessica, Cherish, Emerald, and Jahnay. There are too many of you guys to name, but you all have my heartfelt thanks. It’s been quite a journey. Knowledge is very powerful, and I’m so thankful for the support from my Cruse and Kershaw side.

  Thank you to Shaunta Kenerly and Yushekia Mason. Shaun, you have no idea how much of a blessing you really and truly are. I am so glad for your brain. Can’t wait to introduce the world to Gemini when we get it done. Shekia, my partner in crime, we are going to take this over.

  Racquel Williams and the rest of the RWP family, it’s such a blessing to be with you guys. You certainly make moves, and you care about your authors as well. Love it.

  A big thanks goes to my writing sisters, Cynthia Rubio, Natalie Sade, and Nikki Rountree.

  I love you and miss you, Willie T. Kershaw, my grandpa, my bestest friend, and my mom. It’s your gifts you blessed me with, so I know you’re super proud.

  Chapter 1

  Dollie

  “Can I see your ID, please?” I heard the heavyset guard ask the couple in front of me.

  I was at Formby State Jail, a prison that was located four and a half hours away from where I lived in Abilene, Texas. It was about forty-five minutes outside of Lubbock. I had not been trippin’ at all about the ride up there. After all, I loved road trips, no matter the conditions or circumstances.

  I was standing patiently in line, waiting my turn. I had come to visit my man, right along with several other people who had come to visit their friends or loved ones. Ahead of me was a cute elderly couple. I thought quietly to myself, trying to guess who they were here to see. Was it their son? Maybe their nephew, grandson, father, or brother? Hmm. I would soon find out.

  My boyfriend, the one I had come to see, was Corey Knight. He had been locked up for violating his probation. From what he had told me, he was on probation for minor weed cases and a dope charge.

  We had gotten together just six months before his probation officer had him arrested. During those six months, I had kind of figured it was bound to happen sooner or later. Corey had been way too wild and hadn’t seemed to care too much about his probation regulations. His UA had been dirty three times, and when I’d taken him to go report, he came out in handcuffs.

  On the cool, I think he’d known what it was. That was probably why he’d been in the bathroom, snortin’ up all that coke and smokin’ that blunt with his homies, before we left that day. He’d walked in high as a kite to see his probation officer because that was the last time he would be able to feed his addiction for a while.

  He’d understood I didn’t like that shit. He had just kept getting fucked up and using, anyway. Corey was cool as fuck when he was sober. It was when his ass got messed up on all those drugs that he became like Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. A straight-up asshole. I should have left his ass before that day he had to report. But since I was his girl, I had had to do my part.

  Win, lose, or draw, you never turned your back on somebody when they needed you the most. Therefore, I had chosen to ride it out. Mainly because he needed somebody. Plus, a part of me thought that if he would just sit down and sober up, he would realize he had something good going with me.

  He was afraid I wasn’t going to hold his ass down. He told me every chance he got that I would leave him high and dry, just like them other hoes. I knew better. Actions always spoke louder than words. Being there for him when he needed somebody the most spoke volumes. At least that was how I felt.

  I could have thrown up the deuces and gone on about my business, but to me, he was special. He was something I had never had before. Corey had two different people living inside of him. One of his personalities, I was in love with. The other, I could not stand. The one I loved was a sweetheart. He adored my son, and he cherished me. This Corey was sober, and when all he did was smoke some of that herb, he was still cool. We could have good conversations about anything. He actually had a pretty good head on his shoulders. He had just invested entirely too much of his time into the wrong people, people who weren’t doing anything good for themselves in their own lives.

  We would ride around all day sometimes and get toasted off that good green. He’d sing to me, and even though he could not sing one tune, he made my day. It wasn’t the fact that he was tone deaf that mattered; it was the fact that he was singing to me that made me feel special. And the way he called me his girl and bragged about me made me feel adored. Like he knew he had somebody who was worth it, and he wanted to make it clear that nobody else could have me. He was claiming me, and that was sexy as hell.

  But, of course, the good times never lasted long. The other side of Corey would come out, and I hated him. This side was the “little boy” side of him, and this “little boy” had to give me fifty feet, for real. I could always tell when he
was high on other shit, because he would wear the same clothes for days. He had no respect for me when he was lit up. His eyes would be bloodshot, and he couldn’t hold on to his money for shit. The bad part of Corey came out more frequently than the good one. This demon stayed around a whole lot longer too.

  The ugly truth about him was that he wasn’t a real hustler. I mean, he hustled and had bread, but he would use that money to support his habit. He snorted powder, smoked wet, would lean off that snot, the whole damn nine. Mix all that shit together and what did you get? A true asshole by nature who didn’t appreciate shit. When he was high, he didn’t give a damn about anybody else but his no-good-ass friends. The saddest part of all, obviously, was that he didn’t care two cents about his own self. I mean, how could he? All the drugs he was on, he was ruining himself. He might have looked good on the outside, but he was rotten on the inside.

  He didn’t blow all his money on his habit. That man stayed fresh to death from his head down to his toes. He’d walk in the club looking like he knew he was the finest thing in there. Most of the time he was. He would hustle to keep up with the Joneses. Always had to have the latest Jordans and gear to match.

  Despite all that hatefulness he showed me, he gave me enough good for me to keep him around. The good was really what made me hang on to him. But I wanted only the good Corey, who treated me well, and not the bad one, who seemed like he hated me. We didn’t always get what we wanted.

  After the couple ahead of me gathered up their keys and coins, they headed toward the metal detector. I handed the heavyset guard my ID. I’d been there so many times, I already knew what to do.

  “You’re back again,” she said to me as she wrote Corey’s name down.

  A lot of the guards who worked in the visitation area were beginning to recognize me, and some of them even greeted me by name. Now, if anybody else ever noticed that shit, they would think that it was a damn shame that these folks knew me on a first-name basis.

  I smiled at the guard and finished signing in. She gave me the okay to walk through the metal detector. First, I placed the roll of quarters in my pocket and my truck keys on the tray, and then I strolled through the metal detector.

  I caught a glimpse of myself as I headed past a mirror on my way to the seating area, which was nothing more than a dingy hallway with several plastic brown chairs lined up against both walls. I had curled my long hair, and soft curls now draped my smooth, paper sack–brown face. Some of the curls rested softly against my shoulders, and others flowed halfway down my back. I had on a pink-and-white sweater that clung tightly to my body. I was wearing a pair of Mossimo jeans and had topped them off with brown riding boots that rested right above my knees. I gave myself a smile of approval. I knew my ass looked good.

  I took a seat next to a Hispanic girl. We acknowledged each other with a nod of our heads and waited, along with several others, for someone to call out our loved one’s name.

  Some people wore their Sunday best. Others didn’t care how they put themselves together, just as long as they abided by the Texas Department of Criminal Justice’s dress code. A couple of people I recognized from previous Sunday or Saturday visits. The rest I hadn’t seen before. As I sat in that dingy hallway, with nothing to occupy my mind, I played the guessing game again. Who were they coming to see?

  Corey was currently serving a six-year sentence. He had already completed a year and a half. He had met with the parole board a couple of weeks ago, and we were waiting to see what the board had to say. Corey seemed to be doing extremely well in there. He had gotten his GED and was taking classes to get his carpentry certificate. He was also starting to realize what kind of “friends” he really had. None of his so-called friends had written him or come to see him once he left the county. His mom and his sister had been up there a couple of times. I guessed they were used to him being in and out of jail, and so they just visited whenever they felt like it.

  I remembered the first time we met. He had just gotten out of jail when we crossed paths at the mall. That was when we locked eyes with each other. I guessed he liked what he saw as he watched me buy the latest pair of Jordan that had come out.

  “Who you getting them Jordans for, little mama?” he asked as he walked up on me.

  I was taken aback that he had approached me. I looked around and waved my hands in the air. “You don’t see anybody around me, so obviously, they are for me.”

  “Oh, you feisty!”

  “I’m not feisty. I just don’t know any man wearing shoes this small,” I said, defending myself.

  I walked over to the counter to purchase my shoes, grabbing a bag of Nike socks in my size along the way. After paying for my shoes, I grabbed my bag, then turned around. He was still waiting on me. I smiled to myself. He was pretty cute. And that AKOO fit he was sporting was looking right on him. I tried to act like I didn’t notice him when I walked by him.

  “Can I get your name and number? I’d love to kick with you sometime, little mama. For real.” He pulled his cell phone out and handed it over to me. I put in my number. The rest was history.

  He hurried up and snatched me up that very same day. He took me off the market real quick. I soon found out how much different his world was from mine. He had no kids. He was an active member of One Tre Mafia, a Crips gang, and he banged often. He liked getting high, he liked fighting, and he loved that street life.

  I, on the other hand, worked for one of the most renowned criminal defense attorneys in the city. Clip that. In all of West Texas. I was a secretary for Jerry Pine, attorney-at-law. He was the best defense attorney, and I personally wanted to be just as good as him one day.

  When I saw that ad in the paper that he was looking for a secretary, I immediately jumped at the chance. He was looking for an experienced secretary, and I had to admit, I didn’t have any experience. But I did have college credits and manager experience. And I was a people person. I won him over during my interview, and now I had been working for Jerry for almost two years.

  I also had a son, Drake, who was now three. He was really my king, and he was my only child. A lot of people said he was spoiled, but I knew my son deserved the best, and he would get nothing less than that.

  I leaned my head back and waited patiently for my turn. I caught a familiar face from the corner of my eye. I looked up to see a guy I’d known since middle school sweeping the floors. He was tall, dark, and handsome. Another African American guy was wiping the doors down. I noticed a guard was standing by the doors. He was supposed to oversee them, but he was busy joking around with one of the guards who worked in the check-in area. The guy I knew from way back when, the one who was sweeping the floor, noticed this too. He took that time to speak briefly with me.

  “What’s up, Doll?” He had a big grin plastered across his face.

  “Hey. How are you?”

  “Do you remember me? It’s been a minute.”

  Of course I knew him. I smiled and nodded my head.

  He started cheesing, focusing his attention back on the floor.

  I looked at the guards who had struck up a conversation. They were still talking to one another. Neither one was paying attention to anything that was going on.

  “What’s up, Moses? What you doing in here?”

  “That’s a conversation to be saved for a time when I’m free.”

  “The families of Chase Lopez, Patrick Turner, Tommy Lozano, Frank Wright, and Corey Knight, come forward. They are waiting for you,” I heard a female voice roar through the loudspeaker.

  I couldn’t help but smile as I stood up. I waved good-bye to Moses, then followed the crowd through the doors at the very end of the waiting area. We walked along another dingy-looking hallway, one in which lieutenants’ pictures were on display. The TDCJ’s dress code was also displayed on one wall, as were phone numbers to call if you suspected an inmate was suffering from abuse, neglect, and exploitation or if you weren’t happy with the conditions of the prison and so on. That was bulls
hit to me. Why put up phone numbers in a damn hallway when visitors couldn’t even bring a pen in to write them all down with? Common sense ought to tell them that!

  I could see the double doors that loomed ahead in the dimly lit hallway. Bright lights shone from the two windows on the doors, and with each step I took, I could feel my face light up more with anticipation. I missed my nigga so much, and I could not wait to see him. It was obvious to me how close we were becoming. We were getting so emotionally connected, and I hoped that this didn’t change when he touched down.

  Once I walked past the double doors and entered the visiting area, I immediately noticed other inmates and their families. All the men were dressed in a white jumpsuit. Some had on black clog boots, and others had on blue strapped sandals. The only other differences were their skin colors and their tattoos. Some had tattoos on their face, neck, and arms, or even on all three. A lot of the inmates who were in the room today were white males. A couple of Mexicans were in there visiting, and there were four brothas.

  A medium-sized square table separated the incarcerated men from their wives, parents, children, and friends. Only one hug and kiss before and after the visit was allowed, and you could hold hands. The incarcerated men couldn’t get up to get their own snacks and drinks. You had to do that. They could excuse themselves to go to the restroom, but I figured nobody wanted to do that. They wanted to savor every ounce of that two or four hours with family or friends they were getting that day, especially since they were surrounded by a bunch of men they didn’t know or fuck with every single day. So fuck the bathroom. And I was sure they could hold it in too, if need be.

  I scanned the room until my eyes finally met my boyfriend’s. He had a table right smack in the middle of everybody, and I didn’t give a damn. My heart fluttered and filled with excitement as I rushed over to him. With every step I took, his eyes smiled more, and finally, he rose eagerly from his seat. He wrapped his arms around me, pressed me tightly against him. Before I took a seat, I bought him a Lipton Iced Tea in a can and some Doritos. I got myself bottled water and some Rice Krispies Treats.