The Rhyme of Love (Love in Rhythm & Blues Book 2) Page 20

  My consequence of losing my cool was not knowing where we’d end the day. I could say I was sorry, but I wasn’t. I could tell her it would never happen again, but that wouldn’t be accurate. I could kill that boy with no effort. He played me, crossing the line with my wife. There was no way I could turn a blind eye to that.

  But I had to tell Danny G, who was driving, where we were going soon. That meant I needed to man up and speak to her.

  After two minutes of contemplation, “Wyn—Wynter,” fell out hoarsely.

  She turned to me, face swollen and eyes red as she sniffled. I didn’t know what to say. Never was it my intent to hurt her…before she tried to talk crazy about not needing me. Before flying out, I told myself even if she admitted she slept with old boy, I’d at least know she did it out of ignorance.

  Then I’d snap his neck…

  Exhaling, I went back to my window, gazing out at nothing.

  “I’m so glad this is over,” she croaked, fighting back a cry. My head jerked back to her. “I can’t do it anymore.”

  My damn heart shattered to pieces. I felt it.

  This ain’t happening…

  It couldn’t be. No way was I letting her go. I don’t think I ever could—even if I didn’t know exactly what the hell to do with her. But I couldn’t let her sense how wounded I was by her attempt.

  “It ain’t over.”

  Her mouth fell open, she gasped. “How you figure? Mike’s dead.” I turned back to the window. “My agreement was with him.”

  “Wish it was that simple.” I couldn’t return her glare.

  I was too busy thinking of my next move.

  “What?”

  I took a minute, but eventually turned to face her. It was a bad move. Wynter’s face tremored like she fought to not cry. I had to see this through. Being without her wasn’t an option.

  My mouth opened before my brain kicked in. “Before he left for his trip in January, he had all business of the matter of Ragee McKinnon transferred over to me in the event something happened to him. It’s called something like ‘in absentia’ or something. His lifestyle had been…high risk lately. I’d been making him sign temporary deals and legal matters concerning me over to my legal team until he’s back in the country for a couple of years now. I hold your agreement with him.” Slowly, I shook my head. “It ain’t over until I say it’s over.”

  Her stark brown eyes fell. Wynter turned to face the window as she stewed on the news I made up as my words spit out. She hated me. If she didn’t after I knocked out her little heartthrob crush, she definitely did now.

  “I won’t go back to Sparta.” She shook her head, though all I saw was the back of it.

  “I didn’t expect you to,” I lied. Again.

  She turned to face me again, her head shooting so fast. For the first time since I laid eyes on her today, her eyes sparkled with hope. That brought back that pain in my chest. Her not living with me in my home made her happy.

  My lungs were paralyzed longer than I thought I could stand. I felt so dizzy, my eyes closed to keep me from throwing up.

  I swallowed hard, needing to stay on top of this. Lying wasn’t a game I had to play when it came to my personal space. I never shared it. And now I wanted nothing more than for my wife to dominate it. I wanted this “thing” between us. I tried breathing slow when I finally could again so she couldn’t hear how affected I was.

  “You’ll stay at the apartment in Jersey City. Keep your car. That’s where you’ll be dropped off.”

  “Alone?” her voice hiked. “Will I stay there alone?”

  “Yeah.”

  “What about my things?”

  I shrugged another lie, making it seem as though I didn’t care. “I’ll have them packed and shot down to you tomorrow.”

  Slowly, Wynter’s head turned again toward the window. I could tell she was hurt. There’s no way I could have been so physically connected to someone as I’d been her and not feel it for her.

  “Van has court in the morning. I’ll need transportation by nine.”

  I shifted away from her. “Your car’ll be in the garage before midnight.”

  I stopped speaking before my fronting came crashing down.

  Completely and utterly drained. That’s how I felt when I lifted my head from the dampened polka dot pillow. My brain felt fuzzy, too. I was cold, still in my clothes. I could feel the toe of my pointy pumps poking the mattress-top comforter. I hadn’t changed by the time I passed out from emotional despair.

  What time is it?

  From the warm hues permeating the windows, I could tell the sun was setting. It wasn’t incredibly late. I patted the mattress for my phone. My stomach growled as if on cue. That’s when I remembered I hadn’t eaten since yesterday…afternoon.

  Damn…

  After a long flight, Raj dropped me off to his apartment in Jersey City alone. I was so angry when I arrived here, I stamped my way to the only room I really knew, lugging my suitcases. I threw myself on the bed, and cried my eyes out some more. I swear, I caught the fucking crying bug three weeks ago and it hadn’t lessened in intensity over time. It was utterly annoying and draining me to the point of exhaustion, which is likely how I’d fallen asleep after plugging my phone into a charger.

  My phone was lit with heavy activity while I slept. Amongst the gazillion alerts, I saw it was just after six in the evening. Then I decided to catch up on the notifications, remembering my phone was dead since waking this morning. Thank goodness I thought to kill the ringer; I would’ve been awakened not long into my nap. There were missed calls from Ivie, Wanda, Mya, my old boss, Laura, and...Teke. He called multiple times.

  My head throbbed a little and I wasn’t in the headspace to begin apologizing for my husband’s truculent behavior, though I’d soon have to. Right now, I needed to wake my body and mind: refresh. A shower was in order. Brushing my pasty mouth, too. With a hefty strain, I pushed myself from the bed. When I was on my feet, wobbly, I kicked my heels off and shed myself of my clothes before heading for the bathroom I barely recalled.

  After my shower, I felt slightly rejuvenated, but my empty belly roiled angrily. I tossed on hot yoga shorts and a tank. And because there was a chill in the place, I tossed on the purple hooded chenille robe I’d left behind in December. Its pretentiousness had Myisha written all over it. As I finished rubbing lotion on my feet, my phone lightening caught my attention. It was Jashon, a name I hadn’t thought of in what seemed like forever. Loaded with curiosity, I decided to take the call.

  “Hello...”

  “Mrs. McKinnon?”

  My eyes squinted and neck lurched back, confused. Jashon never called me anything but my first name or “Bacon Double” because it was my favorite at B-Way Burger and I’d made so many runs there with him and Myisha last fall.

  “It’s Wynter, yes.”

  “Hi.” He stalled for a moment. “Ragee asked me to check in on you to make sure you’re settled in your apartment.”

  My apartment?

  “I’m fine, Jashon,” My words spilled slowly. This felt weird as hell. I wanted to end this call soon. Jashon was Myisha’s assistant. I wanted nothing to do with her, even indirectly. “Thanks for asking. I just woke up and I’m cold and starving. I was just about to go—”

  “The fridge is stacked. I saw to it myself. The place was cleaned recently. The cleaning staff must have set the temp low to save energy. There’s a thermostat near your old room and another one just inside the master suite. The one near your old room is down the hall, next to the laundry room. Do you remember where—”

  “I remember just fine.” I rolled my eyes, recalling it was two doors down from Myisha’s room. It also felt like he was fishing to learn which room I’d settled in. “I should be good from here. Thanks, Jashon.”

  He hesitated again. “Okay. Please let me know if you need anything. I’ll be glad to help.”

  “Bye, Jashon,” I called the conversation to its end.

  “Have
a good evening, Mrs. McKinnon.”

  As I tried to think of a sharp response, two things happened. Jashon hung up, and I realized there was little chance Myisha would have me referred to as anything remotely close to family to her or her cousin by her staff. Something was weird. I was just too drained and too hungry to try and figure it out.

  I found myself dumping my phone into an oversized pocket and heading out of the room to find that damn thermostat. When that mission was accomplished, I wandered into the kitchen, struck by the quietness of the place. I spent weeks here, virtually alone, while Raj toured last fall, but this felt different. It felt sterile, but in a not so bad way. Just...weird.

  The dual-chrome-colored room shared the same hues as its counterpart in Sparta, but it wasn’t as vast. It wasn’t filled with kitchen gadgets like the other either because it wasn’t furnished with a world-class chef. Here, Ragee and his crew were on their own. At most, Charlee, the cleaning lady was around, keeping the place tidy. I silently wondered if that were still the case now that I’d been demoted back here—voluntarily.

  I shook my head, toeing toward the refrigerator. Before I could even open it, I noticed from the glass doors it was stacked with fresh vegetables, water, fruit, and other necessities. Jashon hadn’t over-exaggerated when he said it was stacked. Even the freezer had meats and frozen yogurt. The more my eyes roved over tasty ingredients I could use to whip myself up something good, the more anxious and exhausted I felt. I didn’t crave anything I saw. What my body and mind craved was something I hadn’t had in months. Something fat and greasy and indulgent and horribly unhealthy. I wanted a break from my new diet.

  I closed the door and leaned back on it. My heart raced and head throbbed. What the fuck was I doing here? How long would I stay? This was not my home. It was not an option for a place to plant my feet. I needed to be settled into a place I felt safe and at home. This apartment wasn’t it, no matter how lush and contemporary it was. This was Ragee’s home. And Myisha’s. How long would it be before she came here and started throwing her weight around?

  Teke…

  My entire frame tensed to a knot-like strength. The consequences of my rash actions of marrying a stranger then fucking him had caught up with me. And I was powerless to minimize the damage. I had nowhere to go and no one to talk to about it. The friendships I thought I began out on the West Coast were done at this point. No one would want to work with me now. This could get depressing very quickly; I could feel it. As I sucked in a breath, Grandmother McKinnon’s words echoed in my mind out of nowhere.

  “Every step you made in life up until now has been orchestrated by Him. …not only does our God love you, the time for Him to reveal His purpose for your life is upon you.”

  Trying to breathe my way through avoiding another emotional breakdown, I scoffed, guessing this was another one of her off psychic predictions. No way that magical, life-shattering miracle could come behind this. No way my decision to marry her fucked up grandson could bring about anything real as I thought before he sent me packing three weeks ago. But it was all good. I wasn’t quite sold on her either. His abuse happened under her roof. Myisha’s, too. Something about that didn’t sit well with me since I learned all of this.

  I slapped my face into my palms. Why was I thinking about those two? When would I ever learn?

  The unusual sound of a bell startled me. It was the elevator, alerting me of someone coming up. Slowly, I settled on my feet and left the kitchen. On my way down the long hall, I wondered who would be coming here? No strangers or uninvited guests could get past the front desk, much less the penthouse elevator. It was attended by security all times of the day. Who in the hell could this be?

  I ambled gingerly toward the main foyer and all of my breath left my lungs at the sight of the brightest rays of sunlight I’d seen in weeks sauntering out of the elevator.

  “Heeeeeeey!” the pair greeted with big smiles, volcanic pitches, and raised bags of my favorite greasy cuisine.

  I stopped, but they continued the long space between us. My face folded, and I croaked out impending emotions.

  “Shit...”

  “Now. Wait now!” Ivie moved in to grab me.

  “What the hell, Wynter?” Little Mya wrapped her arm around my waist.

  I dropped the box of B-Way Burger fries on the table and sat back, chest heaving, telling me to slow down and catch my breath.

  “That was every fucking thing,” I murmured, chewing the last in my mouth.

  “Okay. Can we now go for that tour?” Ivie grumbled as she paced the only interior wall of the solarium.

  She then turned to observe me over her shoulder. Mya, across from me, swiped her nervous eyes from Ivie over to me.

  “Maybe we should find out what’s wrong with our friend before we go voyaging through her home.”

  I shook my head and mumbled, “It ain’t my home.”

  Ivie turned completely to face us as my eyes swung over to the New York City skyline behind me.

  Mya gasped. “Why would you say that, Wynter?”

  The nightlights of the City across the water roused me. It reminded me of how small my world was compared to the grand scheme of life. That humbled me. My friends being here in my tender state warmed me.

  My head shot over to them, eyes narrowed with suspicion. “You two never said how you knew I was here. How’d you even know about this place?”

  Once again, Mya’s telling eyes roved up to Ivie.

  Ivie stepped over to resume her seat around the coffee table and grabbed her paper cup. “Your building people were expecting us. They were told to.” She sipped from the straw.

  “By whom?” I demanded with wide eyes.

  “By Ragee.” Mya giggled nervously, eyes bouncing between the two of us. “Your husband.”

  “You tripping, Wyn. Making us nervous,” Ivie complained.

  I sighed harshly, sitting up, and propping my elbows on my knees, burying my face in my palms.

  “Please tell me those rumors about you and fine ass Teke ain’t true!” I heard the panic in that inquiry.

  They heard about that?

  “Of course not, Ivie! Why in the hell would you say shit like that?” Mya chided.

  “Because she ain’t saying shit, but is damn sure acting weird. What the fuck, Wynter?”

  “Well, Raj wouldn’t invite us here to be with her if she cheated.” Mya’s tone turned less confident. “Would he, Wynter?”

  “Bitch, say something!” Ivie demanded.

  I lifted my head. “I couldn’t tell you why Raj invited you guys over.” No matter how much I needed it, I didn’t know. “I can’t tell you lots of things about him. And to address your question, Ivie, the reason why is because right now, I know him almost as well as I do Teke.” Mya gasped again. “Only difference is I haven’t fucked Teke. Never wanted to.”

  “Oh!” Ivie threw her weight to the back of her chair, expressing relief. “Because for a minute, I was believing the one about y’all not really being married again!” Her arms lashed the air dramatically.

  She didn’t get it.

  “You should, because it’s true.”

  The room seemed to have muted all at once. Even the sounds of the traffic pollution from below ceased. My friends exchanged a gaze resembling shock and confirmation.

  Ivie’s eyes returned to me first in a glower. “What the fuck did you just say—”

  “You’re not married?” Mya wouldn’t let her finish.

  “I am. Legally.” I shook my head, pinching my nose. This was my breaking point. I knew this secret shit was a bad idea and would blow up in my face. No more. I may not be able to tell the world—and honestly, had no desire to. I owed the public shit. But my friends, the people who knew and loved me didn’t deserve the dark because of my impulsive decision to save Van while pursuing a lifelong dream. Nothing good came from deception and secrets. “Listen… It’s a complicated story. We’re gonna need time and alcohol to get you caught up.” I stood, le
aving them for the living room where I knew I’d find the perfect liquid potion.

  Mauve.

  Mya’s torso swayed forward. Ivie’s upper body leaned over her knees as her face was frozen in shock. Mya’s hair flowed over her shoulder like a curtain when she twisted her neck to look at Ivie next to her. All of their movements resembled robotic at this point. Three shots of Mauve would do that to novices to it. We had three each for the number of years I was due in this shit. I ran down mostly every detail of my relationship with one Ragee McKinnon—all but his abuse.

  “So…” Ivie stalled. “That was all a front? Even what we saw of you two with our own eyes when we came to his mansion? You were acting?”

  I shook my head, my eyes closing in relation. I rubbed my lips together, pained by the flash memory of unmodified happiness.

  “No, Ivie. Keep up!” Mya barked. “That was real.”

  Ivie shook her head this time, likely trying not to succumb to the oblivion of premium brandy. “I’m just confused about what’s real and what’s fake.”

  “That makes two of us.” I rolled my eyes.

  “So, when did you start fucking him?”

  “The end of January.” My eyes settled at a spot on the table as my mind raced with this bullshit. “And I don’t even know that he wanted it, but I know he enjoyed it. The fucked up thing about it was afterwards.”

  “Why do you say that?” Mya asked with pinkish eyes.

  The Mauve had hit its target, bull’s eye with her.

  “Because afterward, his first words to me were that he knew I’d gotten tested before all this shit—he did, too; I made sure of it. It was all my idea. But he wanted to know what type of birth control I was on.”

  “That R&B motherfucker!” Ivie breathed, mouth balled tight and eyes focused below.

  Mya blurted, “Why’d you request STD testing if you knew it was all fake?”

  “Because it was another event in my life where I felt my hand being forced. I had little control, and the only power I could execute when the Mike Brown guy had my back up against the wall because I needed help with Van. That was the only counter-clause I could come up with. My only requirement was that he was tested. I remember Mike Brown laughing in my face like ‘yeah, okay…he can do that.’ And I guess the joke was it was useless because we’d never have sex—”