18. Gage
Gage
I was already in motion when I came to and realized what could be at stake—when it was Amber’s voice behind Mahasin’s phone. Not to mention, it was late in the evening.
Dollface’s voice still lived in my ear—she was calm, but I heard her nerves through the cracks in her voice. I had my epidural. I’m fine. She was being strong in a time when it should have been all about her. And where was I? Somewhere I shouldn’t have been—somewhere I didn’t want to be.
Teeth brushed. Jeans. Hoodie. Wallet. Keys.
I grabbed my essentials and moved with the speed of a man escaping a house fire. A chair clattered over when my foot caught it; I used the window ledge to brace my fall. The minor accident caused me to look outside and see that the snow had settled, and the moonlight created a serene glow.
Slow down, Gage. You can’t get to her if you’re hurt, I thought to myself.
“Where’s the fire?” Paris’ voice grazed the darkness of the room.
“Sorry I woke you,” I said, stuffing my charger into my duffel bag without looking at her. Making a mental checklist of everything I would need for the impromptu trip, I grabbed my phone and began typing to retrieve my pilot’s contact.
“What are you doing?” she asked again, angling up on one elbow, sheets clutched to her chest, her ginger curls wild and pretty, even in the blackness of the room.
“Mahasin’s in labor,” I said. “I have to go.”
Even in the dark, I could tell the mention of that name made every muscle in her face tighten.
“Of course she is. How convenient,” she huffed.
I paused, long enough to meet her eyes. She was about to tread into murky waters, but I didn’t have the time to argue.
“It’s snowing,” she went on, gesturing toward the window. “It’s the middle of the night. You won’t make it on time anyway. The baby will be waiting on you when we get back.”
“I’m not waiting,” I said. “If I don’t try, I’ll never forgive myself.”
She tilted her head, turning up her smile. “Or you’re worried she won’t forgive you.”
“It's bigger than that.” I slid the duffel strap over my shoulder and found the pilot’s number, thumb hovering. “It’s about showing up for my kid. I don’t want her coming into this world and her first impression of me to be that I wasn’t there.”
“You are impossible,” she sucked her teeth. “Be serious, Gage. That baby doesn’t know anybody but the incubator she grew in for nine months.”
There she goes with that disrespectful shit.
Not caring to argue, I said, “The snow’s stopped. If the pilot says we’re clear, I’m flying out.” I opened the call screen. “You can stay—I’ll send for you when the cabin stay is over.”
She turned on the light located on the nightstand next to the bed. “You serious?” she asked, looking like I just said the worst thing in the world to her.
“Dead ass,” I responded dryly.
She laughed—a mixture of sinister and disbelief. “You bastard. You unbelievable motherfucker.” Her pitch began to elevate. “I knew this would happen. I knew you’d let that bitch ruin everything we have!”
I turned, heat rising in the back of my neck, my temper finally making its appearance in the room.
“What do we have, Paris? Huh?” I closed the gap between me and the bed. “I fuck you. You spend my money. That’s it. You only started trying to be a girlfriend when you learned Mahasin was pregnant, and I wasn’t on no deadbeat shit.”
Silence flashed between us, and for a second, she looked as though she was shocked by her own behavior. I didn’t give the moment time to recover.
“You know what’s crazy?” I said, my voice lower and calmer, because I too was shocked by my behavior.
“I was going to try with you. I told myself I’d give this a real shot instead of ending it when we got home.
This short time at this cabin—I assumed you were showing me another side of you.
One that felt enjoyable—dare I say, lovable. ”
Her eyes widened. “End?” “You were going to break up with me?”
“Yes.” Honesty felt like a breath of fresh air. “Because you care more about competing with Mahasin than making this relationship work—for all of us, for my kid.”
“I’m not obligated to help you raise a baby I didn’t make!”
That line came straight from her soul—she meant that shit and probably had been saving it to cut me deep in a moment like this.
“You’re right,” I said, nodding once. “And I’m not obligated to keep raising you.”
“What does that even mean?” Her voice thinned but still contained a generous amount of attitude.
“It means you’re not my child,” I said. “You’re not even a good girlfriend. Shame on me for wasting both our time. Just like I made my daughter, your parents made you—let them pay your bills, allow you to splurge in stores, and pay for you to travel privately where you want, whenever you want.”
She stumbled out of bed, her bare feet slapping the floor, panic now replacing her rage. She knew she had fucked up.
“Gage, no. Wait.” She grabbed my forearm with both hands, nails pressing through my hoodie. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—baby, please, we can fix this, we can—”
“Nah.” I pulled my arm free, not rough—just done. “I’m finished fixing people who don’t want to grow up. I got to be insane dealing with the same type of female and expecting a different result.”
I hit the pilot’s number and he answered almost instantly. “John, listen, sorry to wake you, brother, but I have an emergency. My daughter’s mother went into labor, and I got to get to her, man.”
John wasn’t a man of many words, but the long pause after my request had me uneasy.
Just when I was about to call his name, he spoke; the pause must have been him checking to see if we were safe to fly. “We’re good to go. I’ll send a car to you now. Roads are clear—should be there in twenty.”
Relief slid under my skin. “Bet, I’ll be out front,” I said.
Snatching up my coat, I headed toward the door. I was going to hop in that car as soon as it pulled up.
Paris backed into the doorway and spread her arms, blocking the exit, sheets knotted in her fists, covering her naked body. “If you walk out, we’re done,” she said. “I’ll tell everyone you cheated on me.”
I laughed, the sound coming from someplace past tired and full of annoyance. “Paris, we've been done. And you can tell whoever you want. I’m good at a lot of things, but giving a fuck was never one of them. Now move.”
I stepped closer and shifted her aside with my shoulder—a gentle push that was final. The cold air met me as I stepped onto the porch. She followed me, hollering like a madwoman.
“You’re a weirdo, Gage!” she screamed as I took one step off the porch. “You are lucky a bad bitch like me even wanted your disabled ass. You may appear fine on the outside, but you are extremely boring and unappealing. Reason why—somebody else has been serving this wet pussy!”
The word weirdo used to hit a nerve in the past. It was Kelsey’s favorite insult to throw before I sent her ass packing, too. Same script, different actors. I descended the rest of the steps.
Headlights swept the pines, drawing lines across the snow-dark driveway. The all-black, bulletproof Cadillac truck came to a stop, and my driver stepped out in a navy wool coat, grabbed my duffle, and placed it in the back seat of the passenger side.
Opening the rear driver-side door, I placed one foot in when Paris rushed toward the vehicle, barefoot, with only the room sheets to shield her from the cold.
“Go inside, Paris, before your stupid ass catches pneumonia.”
“Gage, please, don’t do this,” she cried, doing her best to pull my arm while holding the sheets to her body. Her attempt failed when her foot slid in the snow and she busted her ass on the cold ground.
I couldn’t help but let out a chuckle.
“Fine!” she shouted. “Go! But send for me as soon as you get home!” she ordered as she got off the ground.
I sat in the back seat, fastened my seatbelt, and looked at her as I grabbed the door.
“Tell that normal nigga to get you home.”
My words landed, and her pride broke. Survival instincts clicked in, and she pivoted—bargaining with the same man she just disrespected.
“Can I at least come with my things when you send for yours? Surely you aren’t leaving your stuff here?” she asked.
“I don’t need any of that shit,” I said. “Give it to your new man—along with the condoms you poked all them holes in.”
She went still. Her gig was up, and she looked as though she had just shit herself.
“W-what?” she stammered.
“Yeah, little trifling ass. I went to the bathroom and saw the condom still in the shower the night after. As I picked it up to discard it, water began pouring out of it on multiple sides. Still giving you the benefit of the doubt, I retrieved the rest of the condoms and filled another with water—and to my surprise, the same shit happened. It wasn’t until the third one that I just came content with the conclusion that you ain’t shit, Paris. ”
The driver, who had been standing there quietly witnessing this fiasco, gave me a nod signaling that it was time to go. I returned the nod and slammed the door in Paris’s face as the driver took his place and smoothly pulled off.
She stood there in the snow looking stupid, but as the car eased forward, her figure shrank in the rear glass until all I was able to see were trees.
About ten minutes into the ride to the FBO to board the jet, my driver—who not only witnessed the shit show that is Paris—felt the tension in the car and saw the stress on my face.
“Whatever it is that has you moving this time of night will work out in your favor, Mr. Blaque,” he said as he peered at me through the rearview mirror.
“How could you be so sure?” I asked.
“Well, I’m an old man, son. And if it’s one thing life’s taught me, it’s… it will go on. And only you can determine how you live during its continuation. Always remember—it’s God’s will, never ours. Just ask Him to prepare you and order your steps,” he continued.
I chuckled. “I wish that made me feel better, but it doesn’t.”
He laughed.