Page 85 of Played
“Jesus, Adina.” He sinks into the seat next to the bed and grasps my hand in his. Lowering his head, he presses his forehead to my knuckles. “I was so scared. All I could think of—”
He breaks off but he doesn’t need to finish that sentence.
Kendra. All he could think of was losing Kendra.
I close my eyes, a maelstrom of emotions whipping inside me. Sadness and hurt for him that, even momentarily, he relived that trauma of when his wife died. A little bit of joy, because he obviously cares. A caustic laugh echoes inside my head. What have I devolved to that I’m actually delighting in the fact that he cared if I lived or died. The bar is super low.
And then there’s pain because, in the scariest moment of my life, I couldn’t call him, couldn’t lean on him because he disappeared on me. Abandoned me. It’s difficult to swallow that even when I reached out to him, he ignored me.
Piling that on top of the humiliation I’ve suffered, it’s too much. It’s too fucking much.
So many times I’ve waited for others to put me first.
My father with firefighting.
Keshaun with his career.
Solomon with his wife.
When doIdecide to putmyselffirst? Why am I allowing anyone else to determine how I feel about myself? What Idofor myself?
Now. That’s when.
He rolls his head from side to side, rubbing his forehead against me.
“Fuckthis job,” he whispers harshly. “I knew—”
The ringing of Solomon’s cell is overly loud in the room and breaks off whatever else he would’ve said. He reaches in the pocket of his coat and removes it. Glancing down at the screen, he frowns, his sensual mouth flattening.
“I need to take this,” he says, looking up at me.
I wave toward the phone and lift the cup of water for another sip. Sighing, I recline against the pillow again.
“Hello.” Pause. “Nate, yeah.” Pause. “What the hell?” he snaps. “Is that Khalil? What’s wrong with him?”
My eyes pop open at his son’s name and the worry lacing Solomon’s voice. On the other end of the call, his father-in-law is so animated I can catch snatches of his conversation.
“Heard you say her name andhospital... crying and screaming ... here,” Nate yells.
“You’re here at the hospital? Dammit, Nate, why?” Solomon growls, shooting up from the chair. “I told you I would call when I left here. You can’t just give in to him when—”
“. . . traumatized . . . told you about this . . . trouble. Get your priorities straight! Your son . . .”
Solomon’s eyes and the skin across his striking cheekbones both flare.
“Yeah, Nate. I got you. I’ll be out in a few minutes. Tell Khalil that Adina’s fine. She’s going to be okay. Will you do that, please?” There’s nothing polite about his tone as he grinds out the request through gritted teeth. “Thanks. See you in a few.”
He ends the call with a jab at the screen and, eyes closed, taps the cell against his forehead.
“Shit,” he mutters under his breath. When he looks at me again, the regret etched into his face also lines his voice. “My in-laws brought Khalil here to the hospital. We were with them when I got the call from Malcolm, and Khalil overheard my conversation. I immediately left the house, but apparently, Khalil started crying, upset over you being hurt. They think hearing you were hurt probably triggered something about his mother. He wanted to see you and wouldn’t stop crying so they brought him down to the hospital. But they can’t bring him back here, so ...”
He trails off, and I shake my head, not needing him to continue. I get it. And my heart breaks for Khalil. If I’m not mistaken, I heard him screaming in the background, so I don’t doubt he most likely thought of losing his mother. I don’t begrudge him having to leave and go to his son.
But . . .
I point at his phone and curl my fingers in agimmemotion. Solomon cocks his head but, after a moment, hands the cell to me. The home screen hasn’t locked, since he just used it, so I quickly locate his texting app and bring up a new message.
Thumbs moving over the keyboard, I type out a note and hold up the phone so he can read it.
