Chapter 23 – Deacon
Chapter Twenty-Three
Deacon
O nce I confirm the news, I call the only person I can trust with this information to find out my next move.
“How the fuck should I know?” Tanner answers. “Avery showed up on my doorstep.”
“But she’s…”
“She’s none of your business.”
“I didn’t call to talk about Avery. You brought her up.”
Tanner sighs. I hear Quin mumbling something in the background, hopefully telling him to chill the fuck out with that attitude. Because holy shit.
“Who the fuck let you get them pregnant?”
Oh. That must be what Quin asked him. I’m sure she was more diplomatic than that. I answer calmly, and as honestly as possible considering the circumstances between me and Keyshawn.
“My future wife.”
“I can’t remember the last time I saw you in the same room as a woman.”
“It would get awkward pretty quickly if you were in the room with us. ”
“Go to a damn doctor, Deacon.”
“Which one? This is my baby, Tanner. I don’t want to go to some small town freak who jacks off to the ultrasound photos.”
“You’re sick in the head,” Tanner says. He should know better than to dismiss my concerns like this. We’ve seen a lot of crazy shit in our lifetimes. A lot.
“Most people are.”
“Go to the appointment. That way you can scout for yourself. And I’m surprised your future wife isn’t all over this.”
My future wife hasn’t spent the past week enthused about the news. She goes through the rituals of everything with me. She appreciates my promise not to cover her ass with bruises throughout the duration of her pregnancy… but she has no emotions towards me. No feeling at all. No amount of showing Keyshawn that I care makes a difference.
Yet.
I answer as few of Tanner’s questions as I can get away with and then call a doctor closer to Tulsa than our rural town. Once I have the appointment made, I search for Keyshawn around the house. She keeps a low profile lately, and stays out of the way. When I walk into the living room, she changes the channel.
“What were you watching?”
“Nothing.”
“Keyshawn…”
“Pregnancy already changed my television tastes. If you must know.”
“Really?” I approach her and reach for the remote, which Keyshawn stuffs between her boobs. Like I would have a problem reaching into her shirt… But she is pregnant and if I want to show her that I have a soft side, I’d better try.
“Yup,” she says. “And it’s none of your business.”
“So you weren’t watching Real Housewives of Salt Lake City ?”
She glares at me. “I was watching serious news, not like you care about the outside world.”
I know her ass was watching Real Housewives of Salt Lake City . She falls asleep with it on sometimes, sprawled out on the couch with her mouth wide open… But I let Keyshawn keep her secret and the remote in her titties.
“Fine,” I grumble. “Keep watching Fox News or whatever it is. We’re going to the doctor in a week.”
Keyshawn raises her eyebrows and shifts to a more defiant posture. Each time she does this, I have to fight urges to handle her attitude the most effective way. The thought of bruising Keyshawn’s ass after this much time gets me instantly hard, followed up by guilt at the thought of our game causing any harm to our baby.
“Why do I need to go to the doctor?”
“Because you’re having a baby. It’s what you do.”
Keyshawn looks confused. “Not where I come from.”
Okay, it’s my turn to express some confusion. Doesn’t she come from… wherever Oske comes from? Then again, she isn’t a Creek Indian. Or is she? I sit down on the couch, letting Keyshawn clutch the “emotional support pillow” she ke eps against her chest between us. That remote is still there between her tits and sitting this close to her while looking at her like this, and then remembering she’s pregnant is almost too much for me to handle.
“We’re going to the doctor.”
“Why? Doctors and black women don’t mix.”
What? Now this is a race thing? I have to tread carefully here, although I already sense my ears getting red. And my whole face. This entire time I’ve been with Keyshawn, I’ve kept my opinions on race to myself even though most of the time, my opinions are pretty good. It’s hard to be racist with the softest lips I’ve ever felt wrapped around my dick. Or when Keyshawn’s crazy mass of curls threatens to suffocate me while I sleep with the best scent on earth.
“I don’t care if you’re black or white. You need the doctor.”
“I’m not having this conversation.”
She throws the pillow at me and prances off towards our bedroom. What the fuck is happening right now? Part of me knows exactly what’s happening. Now that I can’t punish her, Keyshawn is rebelling against me. I hold onto her emotional support pillow. And squeeze.
This is a huge problem. And it’s not a race problem.
I follow Keyshawn’s path to our bedroom, but when I lower the handle, the door doesn’t open.
“Keyshawn?”
No response. I rattle the handle again .
“Keyshawn, open the door.”
Still nothing.
“I’ll shoot the door handle off.”
Nothing. I wait a few minutes and tug on the handle again. Keyshawn doesn’t come to her senses. Fine. I walk back out to the kitchen, crouch down to the lower cabinet in my kitchen island and pull out my pistol safe and earmuffs. Firing a weapon like that inside could fuck my hearing up for the next few hours, if not for life…
I approach my bedroom door once I load the gun, keeping one earmuff off so I can hear what the hell is going on inside and give Keyshawn one last chance to find the right path.
“Keyshawn, if you don’t open this door, I’m going to shoot the handle. On the count of three…”
I put my ear muffs on and count loudly. (I can barely hear my muffled voice, but I can feel the vibrations in my chest.) She can definitely hear me, which is what matters. Not like she’s changing her behavior to suit the situation.
1…
2…
3…
“COVER YOUR EARS! ”
The door handle explodes and wood chips fly everywhere from the first shot. A few splinters come flying at my chest, but bounce off my torso onto the ground. There. The door swings back and forth a few times before I walk through to find Keyshawn, ears covered, glaring at me.
I take my earmuffs off and she uncovers her ears.
“You are a psycho ,” she yells at me. Clearly, her DIY earmuff job wasn’t completely effective.
“Yes, I am!” I yell back. “And this psycho is taking your ass to the doctor next week.”
“I’m PREGNANT!” Keyshawn yells, throwing one of my pillows straight at my head. She’s a pretty good shot and I have to hit the pillow out of the way.
“I know that! That’s why I’m trying to look after your crazy ass.”
She folds her arms, fury written all over her face.
“A doctor’s sole purpose on this earth is to abuse and mistreat black women, and I will not be a part of it.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?”
“You don’t understand my past, my community or anything about who I am Deacon. I’m just some sick fantasy you have enough money and power to bring to life.”
She’s wrong about me, but I can tell that Keyshawn is 100% earnest in her emotions here. I might think it’s crazy, but telling her that will only make the situation worse. I want to understand her, but I also know there is no way in hell I’m letting this woman go through an entire pregnancy without visiting a doctor.
I try to offer her that understanding despite my frustration that Keyshawn won’t be immediately obedient. “You’re afraid.”
“Yes!” she yells. “You just shot the door because I wouldn’t unlock it. ”
I shrug and set my pistol down on the side table, trying to scare her a little less.
“First, it’s my bedroom. Second, if the most precious woman in the world to me is behind any door, I’ll do anything to break that door down.”
“Whatever.”
“Not all doctors are racist. And I have never known any doctor to abuse or mistreat any black women.”
“Really? How many black women do you know, Deacon?”
The redness around my ears spreads across my face. She is so fucking difficult, but the more I unravel about Keyshawn, the more I discover. She started as a hot set of lips, but after all this time, she’s clearly more than that.
“I don’t know what to tell you, Keyshawn. We need to look after the baby.”
“I can look after the baby without a doctor.”
“Really? You possess medical technology and a degree in medicine?”
“I have my instincts.”
“And we have a doctor’s appointment.”
Her pouting is driving me crazy. It’s not just because I can’t believe this is the hill Keyshawn wants to die on, but because her bratty face gets me rock hard and makes it impossible to think straight.
Every time I think I’m getting closer to her, she pulls away. No way I’m letting her get away with pushing me away like this. Especially not with a baby on the way.
“We can discuss your concerns about the doctor on equal footing.”
Keyshawn wraps her arms over her stomach. “If you hadn’t got me pregnant, I wouldn’t need a doctor.”
I join her on the bed, sitting next to this woman I have growing feelings for, and fight every temptation to solve this problem with sex.
“Keyshawn,” I explain gently. “This is important.”
“Doctors have never treated me well in my life. And when I had family issues, doctors and therapists screwed with that too.”
She hasn’t ever mentioned the life she had before our lives became intertwined. I want to learn more about her, everything that I can. But I understand how fucking hard it might be for Keyshawn to trust me. We didn’t get here the conventional way. I can’t pretend that I think or feel the same way that other men do.
The only thing that makes sense is for me to take her hand and press it to my lips. She allows me to do that, hopefully not just out of fear. I rub my thumb over the center of her palm.
“I want to do this to look after you, not to punish you. If anyone dares mistreat you in my presence, I will punish them.”
Our eyes meet, and I detect some resistance in Keyshawn’s eyes, but also a sense that I’m making progress with her.
“And what about your past?” I ask her. “Are there people who might make you feel better about the doctor or… everything going on here?”
“I have no one except a cousin out in Boston,” she says, her eyes flickering with a hint of sadness that she hasn’t ever exposed to me before. My chest feels tight. It seems wrong that a woman so exceptional should be all alone in the world.
I take her hand and press it to my lips again.
“You have me now. I’m not taking you to the doctor to punish you, Keyshawn. I want to take care of you. It’s my responsibility and not just that, my greatest desire…”
I let go of her hand, desperate for her not to pull away too quickly, which of course, she does. It’s not entirely hopeless, though. Keyshawn rests her head on my shoulder and sighs.
“Fine. But if they try to do anything crazy to me, I’ll bite.”
I chuckle and wrap my arm around her. This is good. This feels like progress. I kiss Keyshawn’s cheek and tell her, “You have my permission to do that.”