Chapter thirty - one Kendra
Chapter thirty-one
Kendra
As soon as I land and turn off airplane mode, my phone explodes with texts and notifications. I send an apologetic look to the people in the neighboring seats.
Denise
Denise: Are you really getting back together with Andre?!
Morty
Morty: Call me as soon as you land.
Morty: Don’t read the articles.
Dad
Dad: Why didn’t you tell me about you and Andre? That’s great news!
Damon
Damon: We need to talk. Please call when you get this.
Dickbag
Dickbag: Let me know when your flight lands. I’ll pick you up.
Niko
Niko: I’m parked on the lower level of Terminal B.
By the time I read the last text, my heart is beating out of my chest. What articles?
Why did Damon send me the four words of doom?
And why the hell is my ex offering to pick me up from the airport when A) he knows I have a driver, and B) he knows I want nothing to do with him?
Was my stop fucking texting me! text not clear enough when I sent it two days ago?
First things first: I text Niko to let him know I’m on my way.
I limit myself to a carry-on even for international flights because I hate waiting at baggage claim, and modeling gigs provide most of the clothes.
It also comes in handy when I need to dodge paparazzi, whom I can already see posted at the carousel for my flight.
How did they know when I’d be back? Did one of the other women tell them?
I’d bet my sizable paycheck it was Deanna.
She was hanging around me like gnats on fruit the whole trip.
Morty’s next.
“Morty!” I yell once I’m settled in the backseat and Niko’s winding through airport traffic. “What happened? What articles?”
“You haven’t seen them?” he answers through a relieved sigh. “Thank God!”
“Morty,” I warn.
“It’s nothing too bad,” he says, failing to console me. “Just your ex and Julie apparently broke up, fans are shipping you and him again, and he’s basically been declaring his undying love for you on social media and at every tour stop.”
Sweat breaks out on my forehead. What. The. Fuck?!
“He’s gone insane. Like, completely delusional.”
“I know, babe, but on the plus side, you’re getting tons of publicity!” I shake my head. That’s Morty; he’s the king of spin. “I’ve gotten three interview requests just today.”
“You know I don’t talk about my personal life in interviews,” I groan.
“Not even if it meant putting Andre in his place?” Morty pleads.
He might be right. With the truth hidden, Andre can blow up my life whenever he wants, and I can’t fight back.
“If I can talk about the new line, I’ll consider it. I need to check with my lawyer about what I can say.”
“Got it.”
Morty hangs up, and I immediately call Henry. The receptionist puts me right through.
“I was expecting your call,” comes Henry’s gruff voice. Except for the first time we met, he’s always straight down to business. I like it.
“With the NDA, what are my options? I need to nip this in the bud yesterday.”
I hear his hum of disapproval.
“I’m sorry, Ms. Gray. The NDA was thorough. Unless your ex graduates to sexual harassment or assault, I doubt a judge would invalidate it.”
“He is harassing me!” I roar back, exasperated. “He’s coming by my house unannounced, texting me even after I ask him to stop. My doorman said he left flowers for me a few days ago!”
I can hear him taking notes in the background.
“Why didn’t you mention this before?” he scolds. “Harassment and stalking are crimes, which would void the NDA. Can you forward me the texts?”
My stomach sinks, and I slouch back on the seat.
“I deleted them. He texted again about picking me up from the airport, but all the other stuff is gone.”
“What about the flowers?” he tries again. “Was the note inappropriate in any way?”
I pinch the bridge of my nose.
“I don’t know. I’m on my way to my apartment now.”
“Call me the moment you find out. The NDA may still stand, but if he keeps harassing you, we can use it to establish a problematic pattern of behavior. A judge might hear us out then.”
We say our goodbyes and I hang up, already exhausted by this ordeal. Andre is like a splinter that just won’t come out. He cheated on me, stole from me, and now he thinks we’re going to get back together?
“Heads up, Ms. Gray,” Niko says as we approach my apartment.
At first glance, it’s just photographers, probably hoping to catch me bleary-eyed in sweats after my flight, but upon closer inspection, it’s an entire camera crew. Lights, boom mics—the whole nine. And the ringleader of this fiasco? Andre Motherfucking Gibbs, destroyer of worlds.
He recognizes Niko’s car and falls to attention, straightening the lapel of his suit and holding yet another bouquet in a death grip in front of him.
If I hadn’t been married to him for four years, I’d think this was a romantic gesture.
But I can see the desperation in his eyes, the tiny worry lines on his brow that even Botox can’t erase.
He’s worried I’ll make a fool of him. And he’s right.
“What the fuck, Andre?” I say as I step out of the car, furious. He looks nervously at the surrounding cameras and holds the bouquet out for me.
“It’s a beautiful bouquet for my beautiful girl. I would’ve given it to you at the airport, but—”
“But I didn’t give you my flight information,” I interrupt angrily. I snatch the bouquet out of his hands before throwing it on the ground. If he wants a show, I’ll give him a show.
“Why are you doing this? Blowing up my phone, coming by my apartment, hanging out with my dad. You know we’re divorced, right? Have been for a year now!”
His jaw clenches before the sound of another camera shutter reminds him of our audience. He moves into my personal space, a patronizing grin on his face.
“Baby, don’t be like this. I made a mistake. A huge, colossal, monumental mistake that I will spend the rest of my life making up to you if you give me another chance.”
I roll my eyes and start towards the front door, but he grabs my hand to yank me back.
“Get your hands off me!” I yell, ensuring my voice is loud enough for all the cameras to pick it up. I’ve got spots in my eyes from all the flashes, but he still doesn’t let me go, his grip tight enough to leave a bruise.
Shit. Would Andre actually hit me? He’s never been violent before, but there’s something in his eyes. Something dangerous.
“I believe the lady asked you to let her go,” Niko booms from behind me. I nearly sag in relief.
Andre quickly releases my hand, but stays close. He turns to his hired crew.
“Cut the cameras, you idiots!”
Judging by the still glowing red lights and the mic overhead, they’re ignoring him. Andre curses under his breath before rounding on Niko.
“This isn’t any of your business, old man,” he sneers. “This is between me and my wife.”
“Ex-wife,” I correct, rubbing my now sore wrist. “And I will stay your ex-wife, no matter how many flowers you buy or songs you dedicate to me. I know the real you, and I will never forgive you.”
The way his eyes dart around reminds me of a caged animal, ready to strike. I’ve hurt his precious pride, and he’s about to make me regret it. The expression on his face turns smug, mean.
“Can you really blame me, Kendra?” He looks me up and down with disdain. “Look at you. How they let women like you model is beyond me, but four years was more than enough time pretending the sight of you didn’t make me sick.”
Several people gasp; Andre just laughs.
“What?” he barks at the small crowd surrounding us, dropping his mask completely.
“You can see her. The only reason she gets work is because the fashion industry has to bow down to all the crybabies who don’t want to hear they’re fat.
It’s why my label practically forced her on me, though I tried to fight them on it.
“Well, I’ve got news for you.” He looks right at the cameras. “You’re fat. Anyone who says fat and sloppy is better than fit and sexy is lying to themselves.”
I don’t stay to hear the rest of his rant. His meltdown will be on every news outlet within the hour.
I’m not surprised the label had a hand in our relationship; they were too involved from the start. Always watching, chiming in with “helpful suggestions”. I ignored my instincts, ignored the signs, and wasted over four years of my life on a lie.
Instead of heading upstairs, I step back into my car.
“Niko, please take me to Damon’s.”
“Kendra, you’re here,” Damon says, answering the door in nothing but a pair of basketball shorts. With all his glorious tattoos on display, I almost forget why I came over.
“You could’ve called. I assumed you’d be dead tired after your flight.”
He kisses me on the cheek as I walk to his living room, but it’s different. There’s none of the poorly restrained passion of his usual kisses. It’s the kind of kiss you’d give a distant relative.
“Is everything OK? You said we need to talk.”
He sighs and comes into the living room, but sits on the loveseat instead of next to me on the couch. This can’t be good. Maybe I should’ve gone home first.
Damon grips the fabric of his shorts, opening and closing his fists.
“I…” He clears his throat and starts again. “I ran into Andre before your trip. Well, the day of, since you wound up leaving early.”
“Yeah,” I say slowly, worry sending a knot between my shoulders. “You told me that when I first called from the airport.”
“Right.” He clears his throat again. He’s looking everywhere but at me, and I’m getting more and more anxious. What the fuck did Andre say?
“Well, he mentioned that he broke things off with Julie. He said he’d been hanging out with your dad, and your dad said—”
“My dad said?” I ask, incredulous.
“Yeah. He said that he and your dad are really close. That your dad wants you two to get back together.”
I scoff.
“Lucky for me, it’s not his decision.”
Damon shakes his head in frustration.
“And I get that, but he also said your dad would never accept me. That if you’re serious about me and this isn’t some passing fling, I would’ve met your family by now.”
“You have!” I insist. “I brought Jeremiah to the exhibition game.”
“Oh.” He shrugs slightly. “Right. Well, I meant, like, your immediate family.”
I frown, my patience wearing thin.
“I already told you, my dad and I aren’t on the best terms. I’m still getting to know my stepmom. You think they get to decide who I’m serious with?”
“I…I don’t know,” he mutters. “We have fun together. We hang out all the time. It feels real. But Andre keeps popping up. He’s everywhere we go.”
He stands up, pacing.
“And there are always cameras around! Reporters shouting questions. Posts and comments about who you should be with. I’ve had the displeasure of reading some, and most people don’t understand why you’re with a high school basketball coach when an R&B star is trying to win you back!”
“But you know, right?” I whisper, the fist wrapped around my heart making it hard to breathe. “That it doesn’t just feel real, it is real?”
Damon rakes his fingers through his spiky hair. He’s due for a shave, but he and the team decided not to cut their hair as long as their winning streak lasts.
“It’s just…a lot to deal with. You yourself said you weren’t looking for anything serious when we started. What if, deep down, you still aren’t?”
I stand, gathering my purse. I will not let him see me break down. Not when I’m this furious with him. How could he think it was an act? How could he think I’d go back to Andre when he knows the truth?
Damon jumps up, following me to the door.
“Wait! You’re leaving? We aren’t going to talk about this?”
He reaches for me, but pulls back his hand when I step away.
“I’m tired. I’m going home to sleep for twenty-four hours straight.”
“Kendra, please. I’m not saying things right. Please let me explain.”
“You explained yourself just fine. Plenty of guys can’t deal with the cameras, the constant scrutiny. It’s why a lot of celebrities choose to date other celebrities.”
Damon starts to speak, but I cut him off with a wave of my hand.
“Let’s take some time apart. I’ll focus on the line, and you can figure out if my life and all that comes with it is too much for you to handle. But just so you know, Andre and I are never getting back together. Nobody—not my fans and certainly not my dad—can decide how I live my life.”
With that, I let the door slam behind me. Thankfully, the tears don’t fall until I’m safe inside my apartment.