Coming from a life of drugs, money, and women, Michael "Meechie" Jackson had the world in the palm of his hands. He had power and his business, which he built from the ground up, morphed him into one of the most well-known drug lords in the city.
I...
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The baby monitor sat on the end table as deafening wails came from Harlem's nursery caused Irish to jolt awake. She desperately wished to have just a couple more hours of sleep. Ever since he was discharged from the hospital, the first few nights home weren't the best, but she was getting through them with Michael's help. They both chalked it up to him having grew accustomed to a certain environment and trying to fully adjust to another. That was always the case when bringing home a newborn infant. But this cry in particular was always different than the others and confirmed the thoughts that made their way into her head that he was hungry.
She glanced over at Michael's side of the bed to not see him there. It's been a reoccurrence since they been home. Honestly, a lot drastically changed with him since his return from North Carolina. He wasn't eating much nor sleeping. The unnecessary weight loss and baggy eyes concerned her. She wanted to give him space and did, but she knew her husband well enough to know when something bothered him to a great extent as this one. He was the type to keep things to himself temporarily then he would come around and express the problem(s). Two weeks he didn't utter a single word. She hadn't a clue when she would attempt a conversation with him but right now wouldn't be considered the perfect time.
She already knew he was with Harlem because the wails simmered to soft cries then to whimpers. She overheard him speaking to their son in the most gentle voice and some shuffling noises before it went completely silent. She almost forgot she pumped milk the day before and there were a few bottles stored in the fridge and freezer. That saved her having to breastfeed for the rest of the week since Harlem could feed both naturally and from a bottle. Although she knew Michael had it all handled, she still pushed the duvet away and got out of bed. Not caring to switch on the light or put on her UGG slides, she trailed barefeet out of their bedroom and into the nursery just across the hallway.
The door was ajar that she opened further, making her presence known. Michael was sitting in the rocking chair in the right corner of the room, rocking back and forth as he held Harlem properly and in a comfortable position feeding him. His eyes were opened while innocently gazing up at his father. Irish walked further into the room and towards them, yawning while holding out her hands to take Harlem for herself so that Michael could get some much needed rest. Just like many times before, he declined her advances.
"I got it, Mama. Get some rest."
She shook her head and attempted to take the baby from him again. "No, you should be the one resting." She made sure to state the obvious.
He looked at her then back at Harlem not saying anything against it. He knew it was true but couldn't care less about rest or anything else for that matter. He had his reasons. "I'm not gon' argue against that, but I've been up already. I got it. You've been doin' a lot as it is. Lemme handle this. Go back to bed, Irie. I'm not repeating myself." He looked at her with the most stern expression on his visage.
