Page 1 of Off the Charts
Playing Tricks On Me
PROLOGUE
Holding my breath, I dipped my head down and wrote the last few letters in blue icing. When I finished, I took a step back to observe my work and burst into laughter. The closest I could explain the writing was that it matched the curves in the letterM. This was the definition ofit’s the thought that counts.
In three days, Solomon and I would be celebrating ten years as a couple. We met during my first year of grad school at Harvest Hills University. At the time, I was working at Chasers part time and business wasn’t booming like it is now. We wouldget less than seven customers a day, but I was making easy money, so I never complained.
Sol came in one day and sat with me my entire shift and talked my damn head off until it was time to clock out. I remember him telling me two things; he didn’t like that I was in the building alone and that I shouldn’t have a job where I was on my feet all day. That day, I left work with burning cheeks from smiling so much and a sense of protection I’d never gotten from a man. From that day forward, Solomon and I took our time learning one another as friends which quickly turned romantic and neither of us fought against it. He was an answered prayer.
He was the ideal man; smart, charming, fine as hell, a provider, and a great listener. I could tell him the smallest detail, and he would treat it like it was the most precious thing anyone had ever told him.
A year into our relationship, we welcomed our son Zion Lowe Collins, and he was undeniably the best thing that had ever happened to either of us. Since his birth, I’d been a full-time stay at home mom. By now, I thought I’d be putting my degrees to use, deep in the distillery or food inspection world, but being home and not missing out on quality moments with my son and my man was more important. Financially, Solomon was taking care of the house and us, so I never had to worry. The life that I envisioned and the one I was living were different, but I didn’t want for anything, so I made peace with it. Still, there was always a little voice in the back of my head telling me I’d dimmed my own light.
But men were supposed to provide…right?
My eyes moved to my empty ring finger. I was hoping he’d ask me one day. When we celebrated two years together, I thought that would be the big day. I’d planned to act fake surprised and even looked up wedding planners. Shit, I’d even put my mom on notice and got my nails done in preparation.Our two-year anniversary ended with Solomon making us dinner at home, and while I was thankful, I was left feeling undesired. Then two years turned into four. Four into…seven…seven into feeling like…it would never happen.
And it hasn’t.
Quickly pushing the thought from my brain, I refocused on the fact that I was about to surprise Sol at his job. Checking my Apple Watch, I saw that I had about two hours to spare before it was time to get Zion from school. Today would be the only day we had to celebrate our anniversary because he was heading to Virginia for a weeklong conference. Sol was the Vice President of Diversity and Inclusion at Harvest Hills Federal Bank. Though the town was small as hell, money rolled in and out here effortlessly and a lot of it came through his hands.
“This shit is terrible,” I made a yuck face tasting every artificial ingredient in the icing. Both Solomon and Zion hated my non-dairy cakes, so I picked this one up from the market and added the wording. After wrapping up the rest of the food, I threw my trench coat on over my red lingerie set. It was November and cold as hell outside, but I wanted to pull an old trick out of the bag by bringing him lunch plus a side of head as a sendoff gift.
After locking up, I hopped in my Audi Q7, and as I backed away from our three-story eight-bedroom home, my stomach did an unfamiliar flip. My motherly instincts kicked in first and I headed in the direction of Sweet Pea Academy as I dialed Zion’s homeroom teacher’s cell. My fingers tapped the steering wheel as I zipped through the backwoods.
“Miss Lane,” she sang in a sing-song tone. Hearing her giddiness made me exhale. “How are you my dear?”
“I’m good. I was just making sure Zy was okay. Has he had his medicines? Does he need anything?”
“No, you cannot. Go sit your little behind back in that chair. Thank you!” I heard some shuffling on Miss Anderson’s end before her voice cut through. “Sorry. These kids are so bad, girl. Whew! But Jersei, you know I would’ve been the first one to call you. Zion is good. He went to see Doctor Knight before recess as he was supposed to. All is well here. Is there something I should be on the lookout for?”
I rested my head against the headrest at her words. “No. No. Nothing happened. I just needed to be sure.”
“Well, you can turn around because I know you were headed this way,” we both chuckled. “You are not needed. He is good. I got this,” she reassured.
This wasn’t our first rodeo. Paisley Anderson was my classmate in high school and has been Zy’s teacher twice, once in first and now in fourth grade, so she’d gained my trust and understood my overprotectiveness. We said our goodbyes, and I turned on Main Street, the road that could lead you throughout the entire city of Harvest Hills.
Zion was born with a rare heart condition called Atrial Septal Defect. ASD is a birth defect where there's an opening in the wall that separates the heart's two upper chambers. The condition was not discovered until I went for my thirty-eight-week checkup. A peaceful ultrasound turned intowe found a hole in your son’s heart, then an emergency cesarean. Instead of coming to lay against my chest, he was rushed into multiple testing and later procedures. To date, Zion has had three open heart surgeries and takes two medications daily that keeps him from having blood clots and to ensure his heart is pumping normally. It’s been three years since his last surgery to repair a valve and while his cardiologist said that he was good for a while, it didn’t stop me from being on high alert.
Ten minutes later, I arrived downtown at the bank and parked next to Solomon’s SUV. Pulling my trench coat tighteragainst my body, I gathered the tote bag I placed the food in and balanced the cake in the other hand before stepping out. As I approached the door, I was greeted by the outside security and the front desk receptionist.
“Miss Lane! How are you today? You look,” her eyes ran the length of my coat before her eyebrows jumped a few times. “Mmm. Rather delightful. I know that’s right! You can make your way up.”
“Thank you, Janet,” I chuckled, watching the elevator doors open. I stepped on, pressing the number twenty-two and zipped to the top. When I stepped off, I was thankful that the corporate floor wasn’t as packed as usual due to it being lunch hour. I didn’t have to speak to everybody and their mama’s one hundred times or answer questions on when Solomon and I would be having more children. Asking a woman about their womb when you have no clue about her story was the tackiest thing and the worst way to start a conversation. Some people just didn’t get that.
The more my heels pressed against the carpet floors, the tighter my stomach grew. In my head, I wanted it to be from my hormones racing knowing what I had planned for him, but it felt more like a warning. The objects in my hand seemed to grow lighter and when I stepped in front of his large ajar door, I heard a low grunt.
“Fuck.”
My body froze, but curiosity told me to push the door further, so I did. For a second, my brain tried to protect me. I knew what I was seeing but I was telling my eyes they were wrong.
Maybe he was getting something from the floor or the sounds were coming from the podcast he liked to play in the background as he worked.
The blurred lines quickly faded, and this shit became crystal clear. Solomon had beat me at the game I planned to play withhim. This man was on his knees, using the same lips he kissed me with this morning. The same deep groans he’d hummed in my ears for years echoed throughout the room and this time, they did everything but excite me. I’d seen this shit on movies, and I always said thatif I was ever in that situation, I would fuck that nigga and the bitch up.
Here I was. In that same fucking situation.
Except, it wasn’t a bitch.
