20. LaMia #3
“Look. This is your proof. Says Rakim is related to the father, and that AJ and Ayanna share only twenty-five percent of his DNA. It’s not fifty like it would be if he were their father,” I explained as Ayan stared at the paperwork with a sour expression and refusing to touch it.
He looked as if he would vomit any minute.
“Could be Zaire’s or Jojo’s.” He lit the blunt. “I ain’t Rah’s only fucking brother.” He expelled smoke as I sighed dejectedly, tossing the papers onto the coffee table for him to keep.
“So now I fucked your other brothers too?” I turned a bit to see him better.
“Shit, probably. Or that shit is fake.” He nodded toward it.
“Rakim paid for these. All I did was bring the kids. I didn’t—”
“So!” He cut me off, frowning deeply as he blew out smoke. “You act like that nigga wouldn’t lie too! He don’t want that saddity ass bitch to find out he got kids with you! Acting like she’s the best thing since sliced fucking bread. I could smash that ho if I wanted to.” He laughed to himself.
I knew Ayan had a thing for Daylin, and I often wondered if it was only because she belonged to Rakim.
But when he blurted that he’d been interested before him, I learned the truth.
The thought made me sick and also embarrassed me.
I hated Daylin, though none of this was her fault. My feelings were my feelings though.
“Ayan, do you want to work on this?” I waved the putrid smoke from my face. “We have two kids, and at one point, we were so in love and happy. You also have proof I never cheated and these kids are yours.”
“Just ’cause they’re not Rah’s don’t mean you ain’t let him fuck. You professed yo’ fucking love for the nigga not too long ago or did you forget?” He ashed the blunt. “I don’t wanna work on shit. I wanna break up or stay broken up should I say.”
I fought to keep the tears at bay, turning away from him to gain my composure as I shook my head repeatedly.
“I was drunk during that so-called confession.” He was silent so I said, “This must have something to do with your pregnant side chick from Jojo’s birthday,” I accused.
Shaking his head, he said, “Nah. Morgin was just something to fuck on.” He took a moment, giving me his side profile instead of eye contact. “I just don’t feel shit for you, and I’m not about to spend any more of my days with a woman I’m not feeling and ain’t married to who also loves my brother.”
I blinked back tears, feeling them cascade down my cheeks as I stared him down, watching him refuse to look at me.
“Yan—”
“I have no desire to be in any relationship with you, LaMia.” He finally caught my gaze.
“I wanna be there for our kids, but I don’t have to be with you for that shit.
I’m tired of competing with Rah in yo’ eyes.
You may claim I’m not but I am.” He chuckled mirthlessly, turning away from me yet again.
“I am.” He dropped his head briefly, then picked it back up.
“You and the public always comparing me to that nigga, and I can’t change how the media sees me, but I don’t have to deal with the shit at home.
And with Zaire dying, it’s just too fucking much on me right now.
” He ran his large hand down his fade a few times in angst. “I need alone time.”
“You can get alone time without us breaking up, Ayan.” I sobbed, scooting closer to him.
My life was going to shit. “I have no issue with giving you a moment to gather yourself. I love you. I want you, Ayan Godfrey, and not because you are related to Rakim. I don’t compare you to him. You’re better,” I lied repeatedly.
Only thing partially true was that I did have feelings for Ayan for no other reason than the fact that I loved him. But part of his allure was that he was as close to Rakim as I could get back then. And I did compare him to Rakim. He surely wasn’t better in any way, not even in the ring.
“Even if everything in my life was peaches and cream, LaMia—” He looked at me as my hand rested on his strong thigh—“I don’t want you, and I don’t think I ever did.”
His words were like a bat to the head, making me shoot up from the couch, irate. His words further proved Rakim and Zaire to be right.
“Never did? Why the fuck would you pull me from my relationship, move me in, knock me up twice, and tell me you loved me? Are you a fucking sociopath?” I screamed over him as he sat down, fingers laced and his head drooping.
Usually, Ayan would go across my face for raising my voice, but I could sense he didn’t have it in him.
Crazy enough, a slap would’ve made me feel better.
It would be some semblance of emotion from him.
This withdrawn, callous Ayan hurt worse than the one who kicked my ass. At least the abusive version cared.
“Maybe.” He shrugged.
“Oh my gosh.” I paced, visibly shaken by his words. Sure, I knew by now Ayan only wanted what Rakim did, but hearing him say this settled in my mind that he’d used me as if my life didn’t matter. “I’m gonna file for support, and this is California, so get ready to bleed dry, asshole.”
I was hoping my words enraged him, but he remained desolate and crestfallen like he was the one losing everything, when in fact it was me.
He was still Ayan Godfrey, the prized boxer with millions in his bank account and thousands of women waiting to take my place.
Yeah, he was a single father, but it wasn’t the same in the dating world as a single mother.
“Do what you gotta do.”
“You stupid bitch!” I took off on him, forcing him to his feet as he restrained my arms, tossing me down onto the plush couch.
“Stop it!” He roared in my face, menacing eyes zeroed in on me, but still, he didn’t hit me.
Sniffling as I panted heavily, I questioned, “So that’s just it? The life we built and everything is just . . . done, over, and meant nothing?”
“Yes, Mia. I’m done.” He finally released me, then plopped his big ass back down on the couch. “Go back to Rah if he’ll have you.” He popped open the decanter sitting on the table in front of him. “Or maybe he’ll make you his side chick.” He filled his glass and put it to his lips.
“Maybe I will,” I tossed out, knowing damn well I couldn’t.
Snatching my purse up, I hurried out before I could burst into tears. I didn’t even make it to the elevator before I broke down.
My life lately had been one disappointment after another, but I couldn’t wallow. I had kids to care for.
My thoughts made me gather myself just before the elevator opened to the lobby. I strutted off, slipping my Fendi shades onto my face.
A family lawyer would be my first call top of the morning. Rakim was right; the least I could do was get some child support. I didn’t have babies by a rich nigga for nothing.