Page 88 of Played
Or mine.
“Hey, bro.” Ken drops down in the seat across from me and buckles his seat belt. Sighing, the sound happy, relaxed, he looks down at his phone, smiles. His thumbs fly over the screen; then, after a few seconds, he lowers the cell and focuses his gaze on me. “Tough game tonight.” He drums his fingers on his thigh. “Tough couple of weeks. Anything you want to talk about?”
My immediate, reflexive answer is no. Me, talk? What, are we gonna braid each other’s hair too?
I open my mouth to tell him just that when “Adina broke up with me” jumps out.
Shiiiit.
Ken arches an eyebrow, leaning back in his seat and silently studying me. I’m already regretting my verbal diarrhea.
“I wasn’t aware you and her were together like that, for her to break up with you. And let me be clear from the jump. You probably did some bonehead move that justified that move.”
I scoff. And again, my instinctive response is aFuck you, but hell, he’s right. This is my fault. Adina just beat me to the punch.
“We weren’t together—well, not like that. We were hanging out.” And I sound like I’m thirteen instead of a grown-ass man.
“Well, I’m here, listening.” He spreads his long arms wide. “Let me have it.”
And miracles of all miracles, I do. I let him have it. And I hold nothing back. Not our first meeting. Not the kiss. Not her meeting Khalil. Not about Nate and Caroline. Not about the video or Nate’s threats.
Not about how it ended in the hospital.
Ken sits quiet, tugging on his bottom lip.
“So let me get this straight. When that video came out, instead of going to your woman—because make no mistake, from what you described, she’s your woman—and comforting her and protecting her, you let Nate get into your head and sent your bodyguard in your place? Andthenyou avoided her calls for two days?And then, you went up to that hospital, where she’s lying injured and probably scared from the incident on her job, to break up with her? Do I have that right?”
Yeah, when he puts it like that, I sound like a li’l bitch making bitch moves. I knew I’d been a coward, but hearing it out loud? The shit sounds worse, and I burn with embarrassment. Adina deserved better. Much better.
“You got it right,” I murmur. “I’m an asshole. I admit that.”
“At least there’s that. Then I don’t have to spend too much time explaining to you exactly how fucked up that was. You left her uncovered, my guy. Graham wasn’t in that video with her; you were. Graham wasn’t the one she probably wanted to hear everything was going to be okay from. That was you. Nate had his own reasons and agenda for suspecting her of recording and leaking the picture and the video, but Nate doesn’t know her. Hasn’t spent time with her. Didn’t read her secrets. You did. So there’s no damn way he should’ve been able to get in your head and make you doubt her integrity and the character of the person you came to know over these past few weeks.”
“I know, Ken. I know all of this. And the truly fucked-up part? I didn’t believe she was behind it. Not for real. But I jumped onto that as an excuse to back away from her.”
“What was the truth, then?”
“I was running scared. I got so caught up in her that I let her get closer than I intended. Than I should have. Two times I was so into her that I forgot I was on a public street, a club bathroom. The truth is I put us both in those positions because I forgot who I was. Whose father I am. Who I be—”
I clamp my lips shut around the rest of that sentence, dropping my head and staring down at my clasped hands resting between my thighs.
“Just go ahead and say it. Who you belong to?” Ken quietly asks. I don’t respond, but then I doubt he expects me to. On a long sigh, he leans forward, dropping his voice low. “On some real shit, Solomon? A part of you will always belong to Kendra. I saw how you guys were together. The love was real and pure. Nothing that strong can die simply because one of you did. But the fact is one of you did die. She did. And you’re still here, alive. Even though you’ve tried your best these past two years to be the walking dead, it’s not true. As clichéd as it is, Kendra wouldn’t want you to be this ... angry, lost shell that you’ve been. The woman I knew would’ve actually been pissed as hell. Because love doesn’t suffocate. It doesn’t wish harm. It’s generous and open. And she wasn’t justinlove with you; shelovedyou. Wanted the best for you. So being alone doesn’t honor her. It dishonors everything she stood for and what your marriage stood for.”
He rubs the back of his neck, his lips rolling in, and he stares out the airplane window. But like me, it’s doubtful he’s actually seeing what’s beyond the glass.
“When Patrice miscarried last year, I didn’t want to try again. After witnessing her grief, her pain, and hearing her sob like her heart was literally breaking, I refused to suffer through that again. So about four months later, when my wife told me she was ready to get pregnantagain, I flat-out said no. For me, I had her. I didn’t need anyone else. And that pain had never left. Shit, I’d wake up some nights, seeing her thighs and our bed coated in blood. Hear her crying in my head. But then one day, months later, I opened up my eyes and really saw what my refusal was doing to her. It was denying her not just my love but the love of a child she desperately wanted. And I had closed a part of myself down. Shut it off so I wouldn’t feel that same desire. I didn’t want to remember how fucking happy I’d been when she told me she was having our baby. All I could remember was the pain, the sadness. The hollow caving-in of my chest.”
Jesus. I’d had no idea any of this was going on. I’d been so swallowed up in my own heartache, I hadn’t been aware my teammate, my friend, had been grieving as well.
“What did you do?” I briefly close my eyes. “I mean, what made you decide to try again?”
“One, having my wife tell me I was being a selfish asshole.” He chuckles, rubbing his knuckles over his clean-shaven jaw. “And two, realizing that by holding on to the baby I’d lost, I was holding up my blessing and not making room for the child I could have. The family I could have. The laughing, wonderful, caring wife I had. Because while I closed myself off to the possibility of that child, I also closed myself off from Patrice. Solomon, bro.” He picks up his phone again, fiddles with it for a few seconds, then turns the cell to me. It’s a picture of him and Patrice, grinning widely as she holds up a sonogram. “This could be yours. Itshould beyours. If you’re alone, that’s your choice. But you’re not just punishing yourself, but Khalil too. You can tell yourself you’re protecting him, but in truth, bro, you’re only isolating him. He needs more than you and his grandparents. He deserves more, just like you do. Happiness. Peace. Security. Love. That’s what you both should have. But if you have a death grip on the past, you’ll never open your hand to the future and all that’s waiting for you there.”
A huge suffocating weight bears down hard on my chest, and I suck in a wheezing breath. My eyes burn with tears I hide behind closed lids.
I want what he’s talking about.The picture he just showed me and the one he’s drawn for me with his words.
I want all of it. And when I think of it, there’s only one woman who’s there in that picture.
