Epilogue
I don’t like to gamble, but if there’s one thing I’m willing to bet on, it’s myself.
Beyoncé
“Elladee Ashley Robinson, get up off the floor. It’s time for shots!” Rodney yells through the bedroom door.
My best friend has always had a knack for the dramatics, and now is no exception. The only reason I’m on the floor to begin with is that I just tripped over the air mattress that he crowded our hotel room with.
We’re in Dallas for the final of the World Series and Murphy’s Law has exploded all over our plans, because everything that could possibly go wrong has in the past two days. We left the last leg of my European tour to make it here in time to watch Miles and the team vie for the championship. After our flights got delayed, turns out, the four-bed suite we reserved got double-booked and we got bumped. So the Glam Squad is packed into what could very well be a slightly upscale college dorm—and fittingly it’s taken us no time to revert to our old antics as well.
Peeling myself off the floor, I make my way to the kitchenette, where Angelo has just emerged from the bathroom. “Oh. My. God,” I exclaim. “What bet did you lose to end up in that?” I ask him, gesturing toward his very novel attire.
Jamie whistles from her perch at the bar. “Looking like you walked off the set of 90 Day Fiancé .”
“Ha. Ha. Very funny,” Angelo replies. “Having our luggage swapped at customs isn’t something to joke about. There could have been contraband in those bags. We could have been…arrested.” He whispers the last word, and we all split at the seams with laughter. Everyone except for Angelo, who is sporting an oversized polo and wrinkled cargo pants. He had the option to pair the ensemble with a trucker’s ball cap that read Bass Pro, but he decided against it .
“It’s okay, sweetie,” says Rodney, who lucked out with a pair of overalls and a flannel. “The airline will have our things back to us by tomorrow. Till then, let’s just call it role-play.” He makes a little growl sound with a claw hand.
Angelo aims a wilting look at his now fiancé. “That’s it. Go without me. Nothing is worth being seen in public like this.”
“Oh, don’t be ridiculous,” I tell him. “Miles would be crushed if you missed the big game on account of a wardrobe malfunction. You of all people should know we don’t let those get in our way.” I offer him a wink, and it draws just the tiniest smile.
Then, suddenly, a flash goes off. We all turn in the direction it came from and to our collective surprise, Sheryl struts in with her camera raised. “What? Y’all didn’t plan on documenting a special occasion?”
Jamie leaps off her stool to give her a tight squeeze. “I thought you’d never show up! We were this close to hiring a replacement,” she says, before dropping her voice to a whisper. “Between you and me, Ella’s protective hairstyles need a little bit of guidance.”
Sheryl scoffs, turning to me. “You thought you were going to find someone to replace me ? Like my granni says back home in Jamaica, ‘Her mother is dead and she ain’t born yet.’?”
Jamie and I eye each other with confusion until Rodney chimes in, “It means it ain’t happening.”
“Sheryl, we could never replace you,” I tell her. “But that’s not even what’s important right now. How are Chris and the kids? How are you ?”
She updates us all on Chris’s remission and the kids’ latest accomplishments with track and orchestra. Turns out, in her off time, she started to build a massive following on social media for content on Black hair care. She has plans now to develop her own product line and, of course, eventually return to working with the team.
Once we’ve had our celebratory shots, I get a ping that our transport to the stadium is downstairs. It’s a moment I’ve been anxious about all day, since I know Gabe will be on the party bus too. In the year since their whirlwind week together in Los Angeles, Jamie hasn’t told me why the two of them cut off contact. But anytime his name is mentioned, she either gets very quiet or changes the subject.
But tonight, I can’t let any distractions get in the way of celebrating Miles and all he’s overcome to get to this very moment. Once Elliot followed through with pressing charges against him it was the biggest mistake he could have made. Because within days of doing so, the security footage of what really went down in the alleyway was not so suspiciously leaked to TMZ—from an “unnamed” employee of Sempre, Mia restaurant. Only Miles, Gabe, and I know it was his mom who retrieved the tape, and me and Gabe who saw it through to the proper “journalistic” channels.
The video showed, without question, that a visibly impaired Elliot charged Miles and then lost his footing, which caused his own, and subsequently Miles’s, injuries. Elliot was fined a pretty penny and sentenced to probation and community service for battery and filing a false police report. And given that he was already on thin ice at Onyx Records, based on unofficial reports of maintaining quid pro quo relationships with employees and artists, they dropped his ass.
Last I heard he’s starting his own label and, sure enough, Miss Thing is his first artist. As for that twenty-five percent royalty he claimed he deserved to earn off my tour, the request miraculously vanished when time came to finalize our divorce settlement. I have my suspicions that Janet and Miles might have engaged in some unofficial blackmail to get him off my case. But I’ll neither make them confirm nor deny.
When all the dust settled, Miles still had a long road to recovery with his pitching arm. Ten months of rehabilitation put him out of commission for the season, but thankfully, Coach Carlin championed his return to the starting lineup once Miles was able to show he was back in top form. And though my tour kicked off last June, Mamie Houston was more than happy to accept the terms that Janet laid out for my contract, and I flew back at every opportunity to be with Miles and support his recovery. And, of course, our voice memos never stopped flowing.
So tonight, after a string of successful showings during the playoffs, he’s starting again for the final game in a series that is tied so far. And it’s the Rangers, go figure. As we pack up our things to head out the door, I get a ping on my personal cell phone. When I check it, I’m shocked to see it’s a message from Miles. With everything riding on the game, and us being so close to first pitch, I’d expect his phone to be locked up somewhere. But when I swipe open his message, my heart beats like a rhythm section, and I can’t help but smile.
Miles: Win or lose. Tonight, will you dance with me on the field?
Me: Always, baby. I thought you’d never ask.