Sianni McWashington-Maddox #3
That part right there was the part I still struggled with.
Not us, not Kyrie.
Everything else was attached to him. The blogs. The rumors. The women constantly trying to insert themselves. The cameras. The pressure of always feeling like people were waiting for your downfall.
“You okay?” Kyrie asked after a pause.
I swallowed before answering honestly.
“I’m trying to be.”
For a second, Kyrie didn’t say anything. All I could hear was the TV playing low somewhere in the background on his end.
Then—
“Just bring yo’ ass home, baby.”
Something about the way he said it made the tight feeling in my chest loosen a little.
“Okay,” I said softly before hanging up.
By the time I pulled up to the house, the sun was starting to set, streaking orange and pink in the sky. The first thing I noticed was a black truck in the driveway.
My brows automatically pulled together. I kicked off my heels the second I stepped inside the house and let out a long breath.
The mansion felt quieter than usual. Football highlights from one of Kyrie’s old games played on the TV screen. And the smell of something good lingered in the air like somebody had cooked something.
The moment I walked into the living room, Kyrie looked over. He was stretched across the couch in a pair of shorts and a black T-shirt, his right arm draped over the backrest as his eyes slowly dragged over my face. Like he was trying to read me without asking questions first.
“Come here,” he said.
I don’t even know why those two little words almost made me emotional, but they did. Without arguing, I walked over and dropped beside him on the couch, which dipped underneath me, while I leaned my head back and closed my eyes for a second.
“I told you not to respond to those people,” he muttered.
“I know.” I sighed. “I was trying not to, but they were irritating me.”
“Mhm.”
I cracked one eye open and looked over at him. “You saying that like you don’t be ready to crash out every other day.”
A smirk pulled at his mouth. “Difference is I know how to handle them niggas.”
“By threatening people?”
“Sometimes.”
That made a small laugh slip out of me before I could stop it. For a minute, neither of us said anything. Kyrie just kept looking at me while I rubbed at my temple tiredly.
“You got a headache?” he asked after a while.
“A little one.”
His eyes dropped toward my feet before he reached down and gently grabbed my ankle.
“Kyrie—”
“Shh.”
I rolled my eyes, but still I shifted sideways until my legs were stretched across his lap.
“You don’t need to be doing all that,” I said. “You just got out of that cast.”
“And?”
“And yo’ hardheaded ass still healing.”
He ignored me completely and started rubbing the arch of my foot. His hands were rough but careful at the same time.
The tension in my body eased so fast it almost irritated me. A quiet sigh slipped out before I could stop it.
“There it goes,” Kyrie muttered low, like he’d been waiting for me to relax ever since I walked through the door.
My eyes drifted to him. “You over here, taking care of me and being attentive.”
“Shit, ain’t this what husbands are supposed to do?”
“Yeah.”
“Exactly. Besides, who else gon’ do it?” he asked, giving me that look.
The one that usually meant he was halfway serious and halfway ready to start some bullshit.
“I don’t know,” I replied with a smirk. “I guess I was gon’ go down to one of them massage parlors and let them men do it.”
That made him instantly suck his teeth.
“Man, shawty, don’t play with me,” he muttered, cutting his eyes at me. “You gon’ fuck around and get one of them niggas shot.”
“What the fuck?” I burst out laughing.
“Ain’t no ‘what the fuck,’” he shot back. “’Cause if a nigga get a lil’ too handsy with you, I’m beating his ass.”
“Kyrie.”
“What?”
“You cannot be going to people’s businesses acting like that.”
“Try me.”
I shook my head, laughing while he stood there looking dead serious.
This man was crazy.
“I guess,” I said, finally calming down a little. “But what’s with the car in the driveway?”
His expression shifted slightly before he nodded toward the window.
“From now on, whenever you leave out, you’re riding in that.”
I blinked. “What?”
“You’re gonna have a driver too.”
Oh, he had definitely lost his damn mind.
“Kyrie, you cannot be serious right now,” I whined.
“I’m dead serious,” he replied without missing a beat. “I’m trying to keep you safe. I don’t need anybody trying to get to me through you.”
“But ain’t nobody thinking about coming after me,” I argued. “Who the hell worried about little ol’ me?”
“You’d be surprised, baby.” His voice dropped lower. “I’m a celebrity. Niggas and bitches do weird shit every day, trying to get close to people like me. That means they’ll try to get close to you, too.”
The way he said it made my stomach tighten a little. Because, as crazy and overprotective as Kyrie could be, I knew he wasn’t lying.
I sighed softly but didn’t say anything else. And judging by the look on his face, I already knew this was one of those arguments I wasn’t going to win.