Page 34 of Love's Instant Replay
Kaeden:
I got a quick break in practice and wanted you to know that I was thinking about you. I’ll call you the minute I’m free. I’ll be missing you and counting down the minutes until then. *winking emoji*
“Hm. I bet that’s what your lying ass tells all the women you woo. Ole lying sack of shit.” Exiting the text thread between Kaeden and me, I angrily shut my phone off before I say something I’m unable to come back from.
With herculean strength, I stand before haphazardly tossing my phone in the direction of the couch. My feet lead me up the steps and into my bedroom as I lift my shirt over my head, tossing it behind me. Then I unbutton my pants, sliding them over my hips as they pool at my ankles once I carefully step out of them so I don’t fall. My bra and panties are next to go as I continue toward my bathroom leaving a trail of clothes behind me. Entering the bathroom, I open the drawer, grabbing a scrunchie, and pull my hair into a tight bun. Once that’s done, I turn the knobs on the shower, smiling slightly when steam immediately forms. Stepping into the shower, I realize I need something to get my mind off the turmoil festering within me.
“Alexa, play my man’s playlist on Apple Music.”
*Playing My Man on Apple Music*
An instant smile emerges upon hearing the song and voice echoing around the bathroom interior as I bob my head and join in with the artist.
“I ain’t got no mothafucking friends. That’s why I fucked yo’ bitch, you fat mothafucka,” I rap, absent of the same guttural delivery as the slain artist who wrote the lyrics.
Stretching my hands on the tile, I hang my head as water rains down on my body and the heat massages the tension from my shoulders. Closing my eyes, I get lost in the bass, tempo, and lyrics of the ’90s rap song. Despite my attempt at blocking out today's events, my mind flashes the Undercover Room’s headline, causing my breath to hitch. My lip trembles and my knees weaken, causing me to fall into a helpless squat that quickly forces me to change position. Sitting down, I stretch my legs, and my head rests on the wall. The water from the showerhead hits my body as unchecked tears fall rapidly from my eyes.
When Kaeden’s handsome mahogany face replaces the headline, I cry harder because I feel more than temporary things for him. This hurts because I don’t see Kaeden the cornerback whenever we’re together. I see the single father with a heart of gold capable of being soft whenever his daughter needs him to be. I see the man whose eyes light up my life with a single gaze. I see a man who no one would believe makes love to a woman versus fucking without consequence. That damning tagline alongside Kaeden’s name has me in doubt about every incident we’ve had. I’m struggling to believe that everything Kaeden has said to me has been a lie or a ploy to advance his playboy agenda.
“It couldn’t all have been a lie, could it? Playboys don’t cuddle. They don’t stare at you lovingly. Hell, they don’t rub your feet after taking a dance class they know they’re not qualified to attend.” Looking up as the water cascades onto my body, I bite my bottom lip before releasing my final thought. “Please God, don’t let me have given my heart to another undeserving man.”
Mid-morning The Next Day. . .
Beads of sweat cover my brow as I stare at the turf like it’s betrayed me instead of the other way around.
“Evans, I don’t pay your ass to let the receiver make you look like a statue. Get your head out of your ass. If you fucking play like this on Sunday, we’re gonna get our asses handed to us,” Coach Sumlin shouts.
Blinking, I blow the air gathering in my lungs. “I got you, Coach.”
“Are you sure, because you look like shit today? Does having me mean you’ll stop getting swallowed up on a simple post route?” Coach Sumlin continues.
Nodding wordlessly, I put on my helmet while trying to regain my focus, or at least fake it until I finish this practice. Running to the line of scrimmage, I get in position, trying not to think about Kyelle. The whistle sounds, and my wide receiver does a stutter step, easily separating us since I’m already off. Biting too early, I can’t recover as the wide receiver jogs past me, catching the ball before running into the end zone.
“Evans! Get your ass off my field. How the fuck are you spacing out again? Do you need to lie on my damn couch and unburden your swollen ass shoulders? Or do I need to call the team shrink for your ass?” Coach rants again.
Ripping off my helmet, I toss it without caring where it lands as my face hardens and fire runs through my bloodstream. Plopping on the bench, I drop my head as the voicemail I left Kyelle emerges tightening my chest.
Me:
I saw that bullshit Undercover Room posted. Going cold isn’t the way to address this shit. At least give a nigga a chance to defend himself. I ain’t the nigga they’re making me out to be. Call me.
It took me fifteen minutes after practice yesterday to realize why Kyelle didn’t reply to my message. That fucking Undercover Room headline made me out to be a nigga who switches women like undergarments when it can’t be further from the truth. Sure, I’ve had my share of wilding where women are concerned. But I’ve been single for a minute now, so having them create a false narrative about me is about to fuck up what I have going on with Kyelle. The problem is, I genuinely fuck with Kyelle and ain’t on bullshit with her. Not getting a call or text response from Kyelle had me snapping at Jaleel and Mica last night. After Mica cried,telling me I hurt her feelings, I hid in my room and had Jaleel handle her bedtime routine.
Practice continues without my input, allowing me to succumb to my melancholy. Kyelle’s silence is loud and has me feeling like I’m underwater without the ability to climb out. Seconds tick to minutes, and I’m oblivious to everything but thoughts on how long Kyelle will keep me on ice. It only took me a second call attempt to discover that her phone was turned off. That discovery had given me a small semblance of relief because it meant at least Kyelle hadn’t blocked me.
“Yo, bro. What do you need? This sulking and shit ain’t you. You ain’t been down this bad since ho ass Meshay left. I can’t watch you fall down another rabbit hole. Either climb out, or I’m having you committed with your lovesick ass.” Rickey’s gravelly voice penetrates my ears causing a light smile as I flick him off while lifting my head.
“Fuck you, bro. You ain’t shit.”
“Nah. I saw those wack ass headlines, so I know what it is, but this ain’t a good look either. Letting mothafuckas see you sweat is bad for your health. Next thing you’ll be doing is making sappy CDs or ordering singing telegrams for your bae. Snap the fuck outta of this shit, or I’m gonna tell Coach you do need the therapist.”
“Man, if you read some of those?—”
“Hold up. I know good and damn well your ass didn’t go down that hole. Please tell me you didn’t.” Laughter escapes my mouth at seeing Rickey’s tight eyes, frown, and bewildered expression.
“What y’all over here talking about?” Jaelon walks up asking, preventing me from replying to Rickey.
“Aye, so do you think Kyelle will?—”
