Forever An Ex (29 page)

“And, I just thought you'd want to leave.”

“I don't.”

Now I looked right at him when I said, “I think it's best.”

He stood there for a moment, and I worked hard to keep my eyes on his. He started shaking his head, and slowly he moved toward me. This time when he tugged the sheet away that covered my chest, he didn't let me pull it back.

As he placed his hand between my breasts, he kept his eyes on mine. There was nothing sexual about this moment; it felt like D'Angelo was reaching for my heart.

“You've been so hurt, pretty lady. And I pray that somebody one day will be able to heal this for you.”

I shook my head. “No, you've got this all wrong. I just figured it was over, and when something is over . . .”

“This is not business, Kendall. This wasn't one of your corporate meetings or a massage session at your spa.”

Even though his voice was soft, I felt like I'd offended him in some way and I didn't want to do that. “That's not what I'm saying. I was just—”

His lips reached mine before I could get the next word out and I had to work hard to hold on to everything that I was thinking.

Suddenly he pulled away. “Let me stay.”

“No,” I whispered.

He kissed me again, then leaned back once again. “Let me stay, Kendall.”

“No,” I said, though my words were softer this time.

He kissed me again. “It's okay. Let me stay.”

His lips met mine again and again. Told me to let him stay over and over.

He kissed me, until I finally kissed him back. He kissed me, until I stopped saying no.

He opened his arms, pulled me close, and just held me, caressed me, planted kisses on top of my head, and pulled me into him.

And for the rest of the night, there I stayed.

Chapter

Thirty-Eight

T
he morning light tried to squeeze its way through the miniblinds that covered my bedroom window, but it was the bright shine of the lamp that awakened me.

What was my lamp doing on? And then I felt the hands, masculine hands. My heart was already pounding when I rolled over and looked into D'Angelo's face—eyes closed, mouth open as if he was in the middle of a silent snore.

I covered my mouth with my hand.

Oh. My. God.

I thought this had been a dream. I'd had so many dreams about D'Angelo, so many dreams that had me jumping out of the bed and checking my house to see if it . . . if the dream had been real.

But this had not been a dream.

A part of me wanted to snuggle right back into his arms. But then the smart side of me knew not to do that. So, slowly, softly, I began to wiggle from D'Angelo, inching away. But just as I got to the edge of the bed, his eyes opened.

Like me, it took D'Angelo a moment to get his bearings. But then he focused on me. “Good morning, pretty lady.”

“G'morning.” I rushed over to the hook on the back of the bathroom door and grabbed my bathrobe.

“I liked the view much better without that terry-cloth thing.”

He grinned and I shook my head.

“Don't worry about covering up now,” he said. “I've already seen the best of you.”

I wondered what I was supposed to say at a moment like this. This felt so foreign, and I felt so disconnected, I didn't know what to say. But what I did know was that it was time for D'Angelo to go.

So, I tied my belt tightly around my waist. That was supposed to be D'Angelo's hint, but he just turned on his side, rested on his elbow, and watched me, as if he had no plans to leave, and no place to go.

“Do you know that I've been dreaming about this since high school?” he said.

“You didn't even know me in high school.”

“Yes, I did. You were a freshman, I was a junior, and you had Mrs. Reid for homeroom.”

I couldn't help but smile at the mention of one of my favorite teachers. “How did you know that?”

“Because I used to walk by your homeroom every morning just to get a peek at you.”

“Yeah, right.”

“I'm serious,” he said, putting his hand across his heart like he was taking an oath. “Every morning, I told my crew that I wanted to take the long way to my homeroom. But it was just a front to see you.”

I shook my head. This guy was going all the way back to his school with his lies? Major game.

“I knew all about you. I knew your name, where you lived, your classes. But you were just a kid and I couldn't mess up my rep by talking to you.”

“You're really going to keep going with this story?”

“I don't know why you don't believe me. You're breaking my heart, just like you did when my brother came home with you. I couldn't believe it. I couldn't believe Anthony had stolen my girl.”

Now I laughed. “If that whole militia, clandestine operative thing doesn't work out for you, you should try writing novels. And this should be your first one because it's a great story.”

He shook his head. “You better believe and act like you know.”

“It'll be a number one bestseller.”

“I'm telling you,” he kept on, still keeping a straight face. “Anthony and I were rivals and he didn't even know it. That's why it's always so funny to me now that he has this I-hate-my-brother thing going. Because I hated him first!” He chuckled.

But I didn't think that was funny and I tilted my head. “How can you make fun of that? I mean, the way Anthony talks about you, D'Angelo . . . he really does . . . hate you. At least that's how it seems to me.”

He rolled over to the side of the bed, then sat up straight. I sat next to him, and the moment I did, I wanted to get up, run into the bathroom, and give this man a towel to place across his lap.

But I didn't want to be so obvious. So, I pretended that he wasn't sitting next to me in the magnificence of his nakedness. And I kept my eyes on his light brown ones. But honestly, that wasn't much better. All I could do was pray that I didn't drown in his gaze.

He didn't seem to notice that just his presence was a distraction. He said, “There's no basis for Anthony to feel the way he does. I had nothing to do with our parents' deaths, but that's not to say that I take Anthony's feelings lightly. I know he hurts, and I know he believes what he thinks, but there's nothing that I can do about it. I can't control grown folks and their feelings, and their thoughts, and their emotions.”

“But doesn't it bother you?”

He shrugged. “No, 'cause it's not coming from me. I don't have any beef with my brother, and I know deep down, he doesn't really think I had anything to do with our mom and dad and that car accident.”

“I don't know. I mean, he's been talking about that for years. And the way he treats you . . .”

“He just needs someone to blame. That's the only way he can handle losing Mom and Dad. For some reason, it's easier for him to blame somebody. So when they died, and Anthony heard those rumors on the street, he knew about the life that I'd led back in the day, so it was easy for him to believe that. Easier to believe that than losing the two people he loved the most to something like that freak accident.”

“You always sound so casual, like you're not at all upset about it.”

“Let me tell you what I know. Anthony is my brother and I'll always love him. And one day, he's gonna come around. And when he does, I'll be right here for him as if none of this ever happened.”

“You're a forgiving soul, huh?”

“I don't know what you call it. I don't know if it needs a name. Anthony's family. And to me, family is more important than revenge. Even family who've effed up are worth it. I figure that God brought us together as brothers, and so, I'm not gonna do anything to mess that up no matter what Anthony's done. God put us here for a purpose, so I'm gonna play my part and keep it movin'.”

I'd told him that he could be a novelist, but along with being a top-selling author, D'Angelo might need to think about a stint in the pulpit. Yeah, he could be the gangsta preacha.

“Plus,” he kept on, “everybody comes around at some point or another. God makes sure of that. So, I'm not worried about Anthony. He'll come around and we'll be fine.”

I wondered if D'Angelo really believed that or if that was a message for me. Folks needed to accept that I had come around and I'd gone as far as I was gonna go. I mean, the fact that I spoke to Sabrina, the fact that she could be in the same room with me and not get cut—that was coming around
to me.

“Yup,” he said. “God will do it. He'll sure bring you to your knees.”

Okay, I'd had enough of all of this talk about God. It was already bad that I wasn't going to be able to go to church this morning. Not after the way I'd spent the night.

“Well,” I said, wanting to change the subject, “I think I'm going to go into my office.”

D'Angelo blinked, like it was taking him a moment to get back on track with me. “Work? On a Sunday?”

I was just about to ask him if going to church would be better when the phone rang. I frowned. It wasn't even seven yet and I couldn't imagine who would call me this early. Even after glancing at the number on my screen, I had no idea. I didn't recognize the number, but I picked up anyway.

“May I speak with Kendall Stewart?” the woman said after I said hello.

“Speaking.”

“This is Harmony McCray, I'm a nurse at Cedars-Sinai. Your father was just admitted—”

“What?” I trembled. “Is he okay?”

“Yes, but you may want to get over here if you can.”

“He's at Cedars?”

“Yes, this is his doctor's main hospital and Dr. Benjamin is here today. He's on the fourth floor. In oncology.”

“Thank you.” I looked down at the screen to click off the call, but my hands shook so much that I couldn't do it.

D'Angelo grabbed the phone from my hand. “What's wrong?”

“It's my dad,” I said, looking from one end of the room to the next as if the answer to what I should do next was hidden somewhere in there. “He's been taken to the hospital.”

“Okay, stay calm. Did the person say why he's there?”

“No, she just said that I had to get there.”

“Okay. I'll drive you.”

“No.” I shook my head. “You don't have to do that. You can just go—”

“Kendall!” He shouted my name and grabbed my shoulders. “Stop it,” he said, slightly shaking me. “I want to be here for you. I'm going to be here for you. Let me be here.”

“But—”

“Stop it and get dressed. Now!”

I nodded and turned away, but before I could move, my knees buckled and I crumbled. Right before I hit the floor, D'Angelo caught me and he dropped to the floor with me.

And right there in his arms, I did something that I hardly ever did. I cried. I held on to D'Angelo and sobbed into his chest. And I prayed. I prayed like I never did before. “Please, God, please, God, please, God. Please don't let anything happen to my daddy!”

 • • •

If there was anybody that I ever wanted to have my back, it was D'Angelo Stewart.

Once I'd dried my eyes and he was sure that I was okay, he went into superhero action mode.

I'd rushed into the bathroom, brushed my teeth, washed my face, and then jumped into a sweatsuit. I'm sure that not more than five minutes passed, but when I was ready, D'Angelo was already standing by the door.

In two seconds flat, we were in his car, and I swear, when he turned the corner onto PCH, he was on two wheels.

The car was silent, and I was glad that D'Angelo was leaving me to my thoughts. My head filled with memories of my dad and my early years—how he read to me at night, how he taught me to ride a bike, and even the day when he came into the house with a baby that I thought at the time was just for me.

And in between every memory, I prayed. I prayed for God to save my father and to spare me. Because I'd lived so much of my life without my mother, I didn't want to live a day without my father.

In the middle of what might have been my one-hundredth prayer, D'Angelo reached over and touched my hand. I opened my eyes and appreciated his comfort. Until he said, “You should call Sabrina and Anthony.”

I pulled away from him.

“Kendall, the bottom line—this is family. If something's happening with your dad, Sabrina needs to know.”

“Just let me get to the hospital and check it all out. I don't want to raise a false alarm.”

“It's not false if the hospital called you,” he said. When I said nothing, he added, “Okay, we'll get to the hospital, but if I think she needs to be called, I'm calling Anthony.”

I shook my head because I could see it coming. Not only was I going to have to deal with whatever was going on with my father, but everyone was going to use this situation to “fix” me and Sabrina. I just didn't want to deal with all of that right now. My focus had to be, would always be, my dad.

We didn't say another word until D'Angelo screeched into the hospital parking lot. This time, he didn't leave his car in the middle of the street. He pulled into the handicapped slot, and before he'd even really stopped the car, I was out of there. He caught up to me right as we walked through the sliding-glass doors.

And the first person I saw walking toward us was Anthony.

His eyes were swollen and weary and fear struck me like a bolt of lightning.

“How's Dad?” I asked. I was a little surprised that Anthony and Sabrina had been called. And even more surprised that they'd beaten me to the hospital. “Where is he?” I asked my ex.

“Who?” he asked as if he were disoriented.

“Whoa, bruh, what's wrong?” D'Angelo asked.

“Did something happen to my father?” Kendall shouted. “Anthony, tell me!”

Anthony stood, shaking his head, looking confused.

My tears came instantly. Something had happened to my father; I hadn't made it in time.

“Where's my father?” I asked, two seconds away from grabbing Anthony and shaking him until he told me what I needed to know.

“I don't know,” Anthony said. “I came out here to call him. I needed air. I was wondering if I left the keys in the car.”

I frowned.

“Slow down, bruh,” D'Angelo said. “Just tell us.”

Anthony inhaled as if he needed air to start all over. “I've been trying to reach Dad, but he won't answer his phone. I have to tell him about Sabrina.”

“What about Sabrina?” D'Angelo and I said together.

“She's here . . . in intensive care,” and then he looked at me and D'Angelo as if he just noticed we were there. Next, his body shook, his shoulders quaked, and sobs raked through his body. He bent over as if he were in pain. D'Angelo reached for his brother, helped him to stand up straight.

“Sabrina's here? In this hospital?” I asked. “Is she with my father?” I was so confused.

“No.” He shook his head. “She had a fever and she was breathing fast. So, I drove her here, but maybe I should've called an ambulance. And now they're thinking that there may be poison in her blood. She's . . . she's . . . it's not good.”

“So, she was brought here?” I asked.

He nodded. “She's been here for a couple of hours. I've been calling Dad, but he won't answer his cell.”

“Oh, my God,” I whispered. All kinds of thoughts were colliding in my mind, all moving too fast for me to figure out what to do. Where was I supposed to go? What was I supposed to do now? I wanted to know more about my sister, but I had to find my father.

D'Angelo took over. “Go to your dad, I'll go with Anthony, find out what's going on, and I'll call you.”