Page 23 of Crash: Love in Scrubs
“Sametra, wait?—”
“I’ll meet you and Samaj at the front entrance in ten minutes.”
And just like that, she was gone, leaving me standing in the chapel wondering what the hell just happened. If that’s how she wanted to play it, then that’s how we’d play it. She was about to find out that I went by actions, not words.
I found her leaning against a pillar near the entrance, staring out at the rain. I walked up behind her, close enough that she could feel my presence.
“MiMi,” I said quietly, my mouth next to her ear. “You fucked up back there kissing me like that.” She turned around, those pretty eyes wide. “I already can’t get you off my mind as is, and you think I’m giving up after a kiss like that. Think again.”
“Malik.”
“Here’s what’s gonna happen. I’m gonna call you every night. I’m gonna make sure you’re good, make sure Samaj is good. And this weekend, I’m gonna take you out and show you exactly why ‘Yes, I’ll be your woman is the only answer.’”
Her lips parted like she wanted to say something, but no words came out.
“If you got a problem with that you better speak up now. Change your number. Move. I don’t know, nor do I care. You showed your hand, baby, you don’t get to run now.”
She just stared at me, and I could see the wheels turning in her head.
“I’ll go get our son,” I said, stepping back with a smile and a wink. “Don’t go anywhere.”
I walked away, feeling her eyes on me the whole time. When I glanced back, she was still standing there, touching her lips like she could still feel that kiss.
Yeah, she was mine now fuck what she was talking about.
Ten minutes later, I was wheeling Samaj toward the front doors of the hospital. She was exactly where I’d left her, standing by the pillar looking out the window. Her arms were folded, and she was bouncing from one leg to the other. The rain was coming down hard now, turning the parking lot into sheets of water.
“Damn, it’s really coming down out there,” Samaj said, looking out at the storm through the glass doors.
I watched Sametra for another moment. Something was off. She was staring out at the parking lot like she was trying to work up the nerve to run out there.
“You ready, Ma?” Samaj called out to her.
She turned around, and I could see the tension written all over her face. “Yeah, I just...maybe we should wait for the rain to let up a little.”
But her hands were fidgeting, and her breathing looked shallow. This wasn’t just about getting wet. My baby had PTSD.
“MiMi, I’m driving y’all home.”
“What?” she questioned looking at me.
I moved her away from Samaj, because little did she know, he worried about her a lot. He wasn’t some ungrateful kid, he was just a growing boy with emotions and wild hairs popping up, telling him to rebel.
“You heard me. I’m taking y’all home.” My tone was gentle but firm. “You ain’t ready to drive in the rain. I don’t have any more appointments.”
“Malik, you don’t have to…”
“I want to. And you need me to do that for you, and you won’t admit it. I’ll make sure y’all get home safely and that’s it.”
She looked at me for a long moment, then finally nodded. I turned to Samaj, who was watching us intently.
“I got y’all. That cool?”
“Yeah, we appreciate you.”
Sometimes a young man just needed another man to show him respect, and Samaj was owed that, as her son. Whether he’d been told or not he was the man of the house. She handed me the keys and told me what to look for I took off for outside. After getting her father’s SUV, I came back and helped her in, and then I helped get Samaj situated in the back seat.
“You don’t even know where we live,” she said quietly as I adjusted the mirrors.
