Page 44 of Love's Instant Replay
You’ve reached Kyelle Banks. I’m sorry I’m unable to take your call, but if you leave a message after the beep, I’ll get back to you at my earliest convenience.
Hanging up, I call right back, regularly thinking that Kyelle might not want to see my face. But I get the same results, forcing me to leave a message.
“Kyelle, I swear to God this shit ain’t what it looks like. Sh-she appeared out of nowhere. She kis—man, I ain’t want that bullshit. She caught me off guard. Please call me back, my baby.”
Sighing, I hang up as Rickey sits beside me with an inquisitive look, and I shake my head before giving him a quick rundown of what happened.
“Where the fuck did ho ass Meshay come from? Why the fuck didn’t you trip her ass? Then your goofy ass just stood there letting her put her dick beaters on you before those soup coolers she uses on random dicks touched your face. You'd better hope you don’t end up with bumps on your shit,” Ricky rants with his face contorting and his nose twisting.
“Fuck her. How the fuck am I gonna get Kyelle to believe I was set up? I had to?—”
“Don’t even tell me. If you let her have you face down, ass up, our friendship is done. You’re too?—”
“Man, shut the fuck up. Now ain’t the time for jokes and shit. My life is in crisis and you’re playing.”
“Who said anything about playing? I’m serious. Please tell me you don’t enjoy having your rim?—”
“Find another seat or I’m beating your ass,” I say on a growl as Rickey laughs like something is funny.
“Alright, I’ll chill with your sensitive ass. Do you want me to call your woman so you can beg and plead from a different line? I’m sure you’re as good as blocked.”
The Next Afternoon . . .
Between the multiple headlines, missed calls, and texts from my inner circle, I didn’t get a wink of sleep last night. My agent and publicist are unhappy about the negative press, which is adding to my fucked-up mood. The numerous times I called Kyelle and got her voicemail nearly had me smashing my phone against the hotel wall. But the one person I want to hear from has been dodging my ass like the plague. It’s like Kyelle has dropped off the face of the Earth because she has yet to respond to my voicemails or the texts I’ve sent. What’s worse is Coach Sumlin’s need to have a team meeting once we return to the stadium. My head is so scattered that I don’t have a clue what he talked about and will have to get the Cliff Notes from Rickey.
My phone vibrates again when I reach my vehicle, tightening my chest at what’s been said or sent to me now. Unlocking my doors, I get in and open my device, biting my bottom lip hard enough to break the skin.
Ky.EchoesSoftly: Guess it’s back to me. Chemistry doesn’t lie. *two finger emoji*
“Man. I don’t know what kind of time you're on, Ms. Ky, but you’re gonna fucking talk to me.” Tossing my phone in the passenger seat, I insert my key in the ignition and peel out of theparking lot as my mind swirls from the cryptic message Kyelle posted on her social media.
Why the fuck didn’t I slap the taste out of Meshay’s mouth for daring to kiss me? Why the fuck did I stand there like a fool afterward? Why didn’t I fucking walk away before she even reached me? Damn. How the fuck am I gonna get Kyelle to hear me out? Those pictures are so convincing that I almost believe them, and I know what happened.
Thanks to the fog in my mind, it took no time for me to reach Echoes of Kyelle because I’m sure this is where she is based on my last pull-up during her hiding period. Parking in the first spot I come to, I exit my vehicle and briskly walk toward the front entrance. My tunnel vision doesn’t give me the presence of mind to check the parking lot for Kyelle’s car. Walking through the door, my eyes zero in on the front counter noting Tracy instead of Kyelle. Stalking like a cheetah toward its prey, I’m standing before Tracy within seconds.
“Where is she?” The hardness in my tone leaves zero room for anything but the information I’m seeking.
For a second, Tracy simply stares at me with a resting bitch face and a curl of her lip, letting me know that she’s fully aware of what’s going on.
“You fucked?—”
“Where is she?” I don’t have the bandwidth to have this conversation with Tracy’s ass, nor do I care to hear the judgment in her stare becoming verbal.
“Home. She couldn’t come i—” Needing no other details about the magnitude of my actions on Kyelle, I turn and head toward the exit.
My chest is ripping, and an ache is making my steps difficult, but my determination to speak with Kyelle keeps me moving. A flashback of the hurt in Kyelle’s eyes after the first media headline quickens my steps as the urge to hold her surgesthrough my body. Five minutes later, I’m on the road eating up the drive to Kyelle’s house like a fire engine en route to an emergency call.
Gritting my teeth, I repeatedly pound on Kyelle’s door, knowing that she’s inside and ignoring me. I’m sure that her best friend alerted her of my pop-up at the bookstore the second I walked out the door. Contrary to what Kyelle believes, her avoidance will not result in my leaving her porch.
“I’m not leaving, so you might as well open the door, Kyelle,” I say in an elevated voice, uncaring about her neighbors or anyone hearing me.
Using a closed fist, I pound some more while staring at the object blocking me from the woman I love. Not even the tingle of pain in my palm from the impact of my hits on the wood stops me from continuing my assault.
“Kyelle! Kyelle! Open the door, please, baby. I just want to talk. That shit ain’t what it was. Please, . . . just talk to me.” The plea in my tone matches the pressure in my chest the more time passes without a response from Kyelle.
Vibrating from my pocket has me halting mid-knock to retrieve my phone as a glimmer of hope enters my body upon seeing Kyelle’s name on my screen.
Ms. Ky:
