𝙁𝙞𝙫𝙚 𝙈𝙤𝙣𝙩𝙝𝙨 𝘽𝙚𝙛𝙤𝙧𝙚..
_______________
𝘑𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘦 𝘗𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘯
"I just don't think this is a smart move, Brock." Said out the mouth of the dark brown skinned woman, scraping the homemade mashed potatoes out the pan and into the round bowl.
Standing at her side was her husband of twenty years, Brock Preston, releasing a heavy breath out his broad nose. "This is the only option, Journee."
She slammed the empty pot on the right stove eye, "there's always a second option." Snatching the bowl off the counter, she walked along the wood flooring with her heels clicking to the round table in the dining area wide open to the kitchen. Journee placed the potato bowl on the table.
"The FBI has me by the fucking neck, Journee." Brock yelled lowly, stopping her from walking around him once she tries. "They have pictures of me wit the drugs, threatening to take away our daughter, and threatening to lock you away. If I don't give them a face, it's over. They promised witness protection for me, you, and our child. We'll have new lives."
"And still gonna be looking over our shoulders, Brock." Journee stressed, moving his hands off her waist. "That man's dangerous. You think he's gonna really stop lookin for you? Us? He's a person that has stayed a ghost to law enforcement for years, and you think he's not gonna send people after to hurt us just because he'll be behind bars. You're gonna have to point him out in court."
Brock shook his head, "They told me that's not necessary. I describe him to the sketch artist and it's over."
Her expression drops blank, "You're not that stupid, Brock. They might say that now, but you will have to testify in court. First they say the sketch will be enough, then since he's practically a damn ghost it won't be enough for a prosecution and guess what, you are testifying!" She walked out of his face to go grab the rest of the food for dinner.
Brock grunted, staying in the same spot near the table. "Can't you just trust me?"
"I can trust you'll go get your daughter so we can eat."
Brock shook his head at her remark, walking over for the hallway as Journee placed the other side dish on the table exhaled heavily.
Down the hall with the four bedrooms, the second one to the right resides the Prestons seventeen year old daughter Joule. Her bedroom decor was stylish grey and dusty pink with a studying and sleeping zones that was separated by a black pendant chair and built-in lights at the desk area.
Lounging on the daybed was the teenager with a smooth almond brown skin-tone wearing a slouchy-fit SKIMS boyfriend t-shirt in oxide brown and matching sleek biker shorts. A silk scarf covers the crown of her newly installed lace-front and a silk bonnet to protect the rest of the loose deep wave human hair. She was scrolling through her photos trying to choose a new profile picture for her Instagram when Brock knocked on the closed door of her bedroom.
"Jou-Bug," he calls her by her nickname out in the hall, "You decent?"
Joule looks to the door through the clear prescription lenses of her round, leopard-print metal frame glasses and allowed her father in. The room door pushed in and Brock stood at the opening. "Dinner's ready, baby."
Nodding, the seventeen-year-old started standing up and Brock says, "No phones, Jou-Bug."
Joule exhaled, locking and dropping her three-camera iPhone on the bed before tossing her legs off and slipping her feet into her Birkenstock slides, standing to her five-foot-six height with her slim-thick build to leave out with her father. Brock placed his arm over her shoulder and walked with her to the dining room just as her mother was placing the last wooden bowl occupied with biscuits dinner rolls the table.
