Chapter Ten
Ten
“I need you. Fuck, I want to hate you for that.”
Von
I stare down at my desk, not seeing the open folder of invoices. They’re a jumbled mess of numbers, lines and signatures. One that I can’t begin to make sense of—not with Ronald on the other end of my phone, flipping my world on its ass.
“Von, as hard as this is, I need you to try not to worry,” Ronald says, speaking to me in a voice I’m sure he’s used often when convincing his clients not to do anything stupid. “Let me handle this—that’s what you pay me for. And for God’s sake, please don’t go anywhere near Sheree.” When I don’t say anything, he says, “Von, do you understand?”
“Yeah, man, yeah, I hear you.”
But I don’t. Not for real. Not when Ronald’s news is still ringing in my head. Fury and fear fight it out in my chest like boxers in a championship fight.
“Listen, I don’t want you to do something you might regret. And by that, I mean something Sheree and her attorney could possibly use in court against you. Which is why I’m serious about you not going to see her. Don’t call her. As a matter of fact, you might want to think about having your mother handle visitation exchanges. Just until this is either thrown out or settled. Tell me you understand what I’m saying, Von.”
“Yeah, I got you.”
I can hear the skepticism in his voice when he says, “All right. If you have any questions or need me, don’t hesitate to reach out. I’m about to immediately jump on this, so let me do my job.”
I tell him goodbye and end the call. Carefully setting my cell on the desk when I want to hurl the thing across the room, I close my eyes. Sounds from the shop filter through my closed office door, and a part of me wonders how everything is still going on as usual as if my life didn’t just get fucked.
“Hey, Von, your three o’clock just called up here to cancel their—what the fuck’s wrong with you?” Chelle shuts the door behind her and approaches my desk with a frown.
I don’t even have the energy to curse her out for busting up in here without knocking. Who cares about that now?
“Aye, what’s going on?”
I stare at her, silent, unable to form the words because saying them aloud seems to make the shit real. Not that it matters. This is happening.
“Von, I swear to God—” Chelle growls.
“Sheree is suing me for full custody.”
Her expression blanks, and she falls into the chair in front of my desk. Her gaze roams over my face, probably searching to see if I’m joking, but nah. It’s true. It’s fucking true.
“What? No way in hell.”
“My divorce attorney just called me. She’s taking me back to court to get full custody of Gia and to give me only limited, supervised visitation.”
“That bitch,” Chelle snarls, fury glittering in her eyes. “On what grounds? You were awarded primary physical custody for a reason. What possible cause is there to limit your interaction with Gia when you’ve been nothing but a good father?”
I can’t stop my flinch at the word father .
I don’t care if God Himself donated His DNA to Gia, you are her father .
Just days ago, Aaliyah uttered those words to me, and then, I grabbed on and held them close. I’d believed that wound had started to heal that night, but here I am. The scab ripped back off it while it bleeds all over my chest.
The rage that had swirled inside me during Ronald’s call fades under a sheet of ice, leaving me numb. No, that’s not completely true. Fear still lurks, scratching at the ice with long, skeletal fingers.
“On the grounds that I’m not Gia’s biological father.”
Silence booms in the room, damn near blowing out my ear drums. I’d kept this secret for so long. Out of love and the desire to protect Gia. Out of humiliation that my wife at the time had gotten pregnant by another man and made a fool of me, lying to me. Out of terror of losing my little girl. And now look at me. In a matter of days, I’d confided the truth to two people.
And soon, if Ronald couldn’t squash this new filing, everyone would know. And yeah, I don’t want people in my business. But the most important person in my world would discover the truth and be devastated by it.
Gia.
“Von,” Chelle whispers, leaning forward in her chair, her gaze fixed on me. Shock widens her eyes. Clearing her throat, she says, “Von, what’re you talking about you’re not Gia’s biological father? How...? That’s not...” She shakes her head, continuing to gape at me.
Sighing, I fall back in my chair and look away from her. I can’t stand to see the shock and...pity that will undoubtedly claim her face.
“I didn’t tell you Sheree was cheating on me for four years. It wasn’t something recent and short like I let you believe. Nah, she let Malik raw dog her for years, and when she got pregnant, she let me believe Gia was mine. I didn’t find out until much later. That’s why I got a divorce.”
“Does Gia...” She trails off, and I shake my head.
“No, she doesn’t know anything about it, and that’s what Sheree and I agreed on. I’ve been Daddy since she was born—before she was born. I’m all she knows, and though I think Sheree had several reasons for not wanting me to find out the truth, being Gia’s father is one thing I’ve never regretted. Paternity didn’t even come up in our divorce. But now...” I loose a disbelieving, sharp laugh. “This is going to crush Gia and tear her world apart. Sheree’s sole goal is to hurt me.”
I’ve never truly hated my ex-wife. Not after discovering the cheating, the theft and Gia’s true paternity. Did I curse her out? Hell yeah, but I couldn’t hate her because of the years we spent together and because Gia loved her.
But now?
Yeah, I hate her. More so because she doesn’t give a fuck about anyone but herself, her own agenda and pain. It’s fuck Gia and fuck me, so it’s fuck her.
“Hold up.” Chelle puts up a hand. “Is this because of Aaliyah? We all overheard it when she came up in here earlier this week. Is that why Sheree’s doing all of this?”
“She doesn’t mention Aaliyah by name, but she does refer to undue influences and worry for Gia’s safety and emotional state. She’s also requesting a paternity test to prove I’m not Gia’s biological father to bolster why I shouldn’t be the custodial parent. It’s some bullshit, Chelle. And when she threatened this, I thought she’d cool off and wouldn’t ever go through with it. But I underestimated her.”
“Listen, I can’t stand the woman and wouldn’t put much past her, but this? Nah, she got me fucked-up on this.” We fall silent then Chelle murmurs, “What’re you going to do, V?”
“Fight it. Ronald’s going to try to get this and the modification for half my shop dismissed. But in the meantime, I have this fear hanging over my head. Every moment I spend with my baby I’ll be hoarding because the future where she’ll think of me as her father won’t be promised to me. Fuck! ”
I slam my hands down on the desktop, making the keyboard, invoice folder and desk phone jump. My palms sting from the impact, but I barely feel it. Not when the icy numbness is wearing off and every emotion—the pain, fear, anger and panic—is seeping back in.
“Since your three o’clock canceled, go home. I’ll get Malcolm to contact the rest of your clients and get them rescheduled. We’ll tell them you had a family emergency,” Chelle says. I shake my head, but Chelle pops her hand up to stop my objection. “I’m pulling my nonexistent rank. You shouldn’t be working on anyone in your frame of mind anyway. Go home. We’re good, and I’ll stay and close up.”
For a moment, I consider arguing, but at the last minute, I don’t. She’s right. Inking someone when my head is fucked-up would be damn near criminal. What I want to do is leave, drive over to Sheree’s and ask her what the hell she’s thinking. The only thing stopping me isn’t Ronald’s warning; it’s Gia. She’s with her mom for the weekend, and soon enough, she’s going to be dumped in the middle of our shit. I’ll give her every second of peace I can until it’s no longer an option.
“Yeah, I’ma go.” I shove back my chair and stand, grabbing my keys and wallet from my top drawer. “Call if you need me?”
“Okay, but we won’t.” I round the desk, and she pulls me into a tight hug. “We gotchu, Von. Everything’s gonna work out for the best. And by that, I mean Gia isn’t going anywhere.”
I squeeze her then step back. “Thanks for that, Chelle.”
“No doubt. But, bruh, next time you shoot up the club, can you make sure she’s like a saint or something? I’ll even settle for a nun. Someone who isn’t going to transform into the devil if things don’t work out.”
I shoot her a “what the hell?” glance, and she shrugs.
“I’m just sayin’...”
For some reason, Aaliyah flickers across my mind, and it leaves me shook. The fuck was that?
“I’m out, Chelle.” Deliberately shoving any thoughts of future baby mamas out of my mind, I exit the office and leave out the rear entrance to the parking lot. Soon, I’m hitting the interstate, but the thought of being up in my house in all that fucking silence with reminders of Gia everywhere seems like a cruel punishment.
Before my mind acknowledges what my hands and feet are doing, I’m heading in the direction of the South Loop instead of Edison Park. Though I’ve only been by Aaliyah’s cousin’s apartment a couple of times, I drive like I can do it in the dark. I speed to the condo, praying that Aaliyah’s there.
Instead of obsessing over Gia and losing custody, I’ve found a new fixation.
Get to Aaliyah.
I don’t know when I began to think of her as my safe harbor but here I am, running to her.
The urgency drums in my veins like a primal beat, and thirty minutes later, I’m stepping off the elevator and stalking down the hallway to her door. I pound on it, sounding like damn SWAT, but I can’t stop myself.
After several seconds, the door swings open and Aaliyah stands there, sweatpants and a tank top on. And at the sight of her, the panic shoving me here dissipates and a relief sweeps in, so sweet, so sharp it physically hurts.
“Von?” She crosses her arms, and it’s too late for all that shit. I already noticed she isn’t wearing a bra. “What’re you doing here?”
I open my mouth to apologize for just popping up, to explain, to...beg. But I can’t.
All I can say is one truth.
“I need you.”
And I take that step forward, crossing the space separating us. I trade words for the low moan that crawls out of my throat as I take her mouth in a hard, almost brutal kiss that carries all the chaotic emotion assaulting me. I take it out on her lips, her tongue, her neck.
“Von.” She gasps, but she doesn’t push me away. No, she slams the door shut and wraps her arms around me.
Another groan escapes me, this one originating from gratefulness. For her selflessness. Her trust. Her surrender. She doesn’t ask me questions. She just gives me all of her.
Thank. God.
I roll over, my brain dragging me to consciousness from a good-ass sleep. The fresh scent of citrus and the earthy musk of sex tickle my nose, reminding me I’m not home in my own bed. A peace blankets me as memories of where I am and how I got here creep into my head.
Aaliyah.
I’m in her bed.
My body calls for a stretch, but I resist and indulge in the inane need to just be still and savor this...peace. A peace that I’ve been hesitant to name or recognize but can’t avoid anymore.
It’s Aaliyah.
I fought my attraction to her, my need for her, the joy she brought my daughter, the light she brought me. I fought and lost. But I don’t feel like a loser. As soon as she opened her door to me and took me in her arms, accepting me, protecting me with no questions asked, I became the victor.
I’m so used to scrapping for everything in my life—my shop, my daughter, my fucking dignity—that when a gift strolled right through the front door, I did my damnedest to force it right back out.
But not anymore.
Not anymore.
I reach for Aaliyah but only touch an empty sheet. Frowning, I open my eyes, turning my head to search the room. The door is cracked, so maybe she just went to the bathroom. I’ll give her a few more minutes before I hunt her down. I’m ready to dive back in the sweetest pussy I’ve ever had. Pussy that’s as much of a goddamn miracle as the woman.
My frown deepens as a sound penetrates the quiet in the bedroom.
Muffled voices.
Is that what woke me up?
It’s probably her cousin; a glance down at my watch shows it’s only a little after six. Too early for Jade—or Tamara, as Aaliyah told me her real name—to have left for work.
An unmistakable deep, male voice echoes down the hall. I can’t tell what he’s saying, but it’s definitely raised.
The fuck is that and who’re they yelling at?
Hurriedly, I swing my legs over the side of the bed and locate my jeans and T-shirt. I drag them on, and seconds later, I’m out the room and striding barefoot down the hall.
I thought I would be squaring off with an asshole who didn’t know when to leave, but instead I come face-to-face with a tall, distinguished-looking older man, a woman who is the image of Aaliyah with a couple of decades added to her, and another man, younger, slim and wearing a scowl directed toward Aaliyah.
Oh, he got me fucked-up.
“Aye, bruh, I don’t know who you are, but you might want to fix your face before I do it for you,” I warn, stopping behind Aaliyah and Tamara, who stands shoulder to shoulder with her cousin.
Tamara glances at me, and though she doesn’t lose the mug on her face, I catch the relief that flashes in her light brown eyes.
“Who are you?” the younger man asks, his mouth twisted up as he somehow manages to look down on me even though I got him by no less than five inches in height. “Aaliyah, who is this...person?”
“Gregory—” She pinches her nose, and I don’t miss the quiver in her voice. “I—”
Instantly, I want to lay hands on this muthafucka for causing that tremble.
“Ma, you don’t have to explain shit to him. Especially when he’s being disrespectful as fuck with how he’s looking at you.”
“Von,” Aaliyah whispers. “It’s okay.”
I scowl. The fuck she mean it’s okay? Ain’t shit “okay” about what’s going on here.
“Young man, if you’ll excuse us,” the woman who must be Aaliyah’s mother—which would make the older man her father—says. Her tone is more polite, so I don’t snap on her. Though front and center is what Aaliyah told me about her and her husband. Only being her mother and a woman is saving her right now. “This is a family matter.”
“If you’ll excuse me, ma’am, this isn’t your place, and unless Tamara wants to put me out, then I’m not going anywhere.”
Aaliyah’s mother raises an eyebrow. “Tamara? This discussion should be among family.”
Yeah, that seems to be their motto. I don’t even try to contain the disgusted curl of my lips.
Tamara shrugs, crossing her arms. “I don’t have a problem with him staying.”
“Why am I not surprised?” Aaliyah’s father, the bishop , sniffs. “Given your occupation , the words discretion and private aren’t in your vocabulary. I pray with your father for you, but—”
“Daddy, that’s enough,” Aaliyah quietly interrupts what was undoubtedly about to be some self-righteous bullshit. I’m glad she got to him before I did. The same tremble still occupies Aaliyah’s voice, but it’s firm when she adds, “This is Tamara’s home, and she shouldn’t be disrespected in it.”
He stares at Aaliyah, a deep frown slowly settling on his face. “Excuse me, Aaliyah Montgomery.” His shoulders draw back, and he glances at his wife then at Aaliyah again. “Is this what you’ve been learning while you’ve been hiding up here? To talk to me like you’ve lost your mind? I shouldn’t have let your mother convince me to give you time to come to your senses. Considering what I’m seeing and hearing, I should’ve come to fetch you as soon as I found out where you were.” He tosses a derisive look at Tamara then at me. “The influences you’ve been under have you forgetting who you are and where you come from.”
“Bishop.” I huff out a laugh and pinch the bridge of my nose. Aaliyah tucks her hand behind her and gropes for my hand. Finding it, she squeezes. I don’t know if she’s holding on to me for support or if she’s trying to tell me to shut it down. I’m going to take it as the former because I want to. “For my mama’s sake, I’m going to try to keep it civil with you. But your daughter isn’t a dog or a possession for you to come fetch. She’s a grown woman fully capable of making her own decisions. And has been doing a damn good job of it. If you took half a second to climb down off that pulpit and actually listen, you’d see that.”
“Damn,” Tamara breathes. Then snickers.
Aaliyah’s father’s face grows so dark, I want to ask if he’s got blood pressure issues. If he passes out, I’m not catching his big ass.
“Young man—”
“Von, Bishop. Von Howard.” I curl a hand around the nape of Aaliyah’s neck, and though she stiffens under my touch, I chalk it up to her being nervous with this confrontation that’s way overdue.
I don’t know why he had to bring an armor bearer or whatever purpose this other asshole has for being here.
“Are you serious, Aaliyah?” her father hisses. His gaze drops to the hand I have on her, and when his eyes lift, settling on his daughter’s face, Aaliyah flinches at the fury and disapproval there. The movement is small, but I feel it. So does Tamara, if her shifting closer to her cousin is any indication. “Who have you become since you left home? I thought you’d just had a lapse in judgment, running away from home like a child, but allowing a strange man to put his hands on you in front of your parents and fiancé? What’re you think—”
“Fiancé?” I cut off the bishop’s tirade, zeroing in on that one word, dropping my hand.
In my head, the word echoes. It drowns out all sound, then like a great vacuum has sucked me back into this fucked-up reality, everything becomes painfully clear. The hardwood underneath my feet feels too slick, too cold. My pulse blooms to a loud drone in my ears. And Aaliyah’s scent—so delicate and fruity and carrying the faintest trace of sex—crowds into my nose, choking me while only minutes ago, I wanted to roll in that same fragrance.
“Von.” Aaliyah turns, reaching for my hand. She tips her head back, and the alarm and sadness there has my stomach bottoming out, my chest caving in. “Let me explain.”
“Aaliyah, you and this man seem...familiar. And you didn’t tell him you were engaged?” her mother chides.
“Mom, please,” she replies without taking her gaze off me.
And my stupid ass can’t look away. Hoping against hope that somebody will say something to clear the shit up. To make me feel like I haven’t been fucked over by another woman. Haven’t been lied to by another woman I...cared for.
“This is perfect.” Her father barks out an incredulous laugh. “Yes, young man, Gregory here is my daughter’s fiancé. Though after he’s seen her behavior here tonight, I wouldn’t blame him if he decided otherwise.”
“I can’t believe this shit,” Tamara snaps. “Are you fucking kidding me?”
“Watch your mouth, young lady,” the bishop thunders.
“This is my house, Uncle Tim .” Tamara pops her hands on her hips. “We’re not in Parsons, and you don’t run me.”
“Von, I can explain.” Aaliyah’s grip tightens, maybe becomes a little desperate. But it doesn’t move me. Not when I read the guilt on her face. “Please...”
“Aaliyah, I think you and I should talk in private,” Gregory interjects, moving closer to her. And even though anger and a knee-buckling pain punches at me, I mug him, daring him to get in her space.
Fuck .
She’s not mine.
Never was, apparently.
What the fuck is wrong with me? Am I defective, fundamentally broken? Because how did I attract two women who are cheaters? And I confided in her how Sheree did me, how her betrayal hurt me. And with that innocence that I’m beginning to see is a fucking lie like the rest of her she agreed with me that infidelity was a dealbreaker. Sheree might’ve been a cheater, but Aaliyah made me one right along with her. Like the side fuckboy.
Backpedaling away from her, I drag a hand over my braids. I scan the room, taking in her father’s and fiancé’s smug expressions, her mother’s confused one. And Aaliyah. Still fucking playing me, looking hurt.
To think she’d had me almost believing in... Yeah, I’m not finishing that thought.
I’m just...finished.
Snatching free of her grasp, I stalk back down the hall to her room, put my boots on and slide into my coat. When I return to the main part of the apartment, I don’t spare any of them a glance. Humiliation burns my skin, and the only thing that will relieve the pain is getting the hell up out of here.
“Von, please!” Aaliyah calls after me.
But I ignore her, already pulling the front door open and shutting it behind me.
Shutting her behind me.