“Took you long enough,” Kellen said, smiling from his hazel eyes as we slapped hands. “On behalf of everyone here, Merry Christmas, and we appreciate you taking a break from diving in a sea of pussy to come and celebrate with us.”
An image of Alexandra flashed behind my eyes and I forced it out before I spent the rest of the evening consumed by thoughts of her. I’d already picked up my phone several times to call her but was able to effectively talk myself out of it each time. I didn’t want to turn into one of those men who had a hard time remaining behind the boundaries of a sexual relationship. However, I usually didn’t have to try so hard not to be.
“Well, it’s low tide,” I replied. “I’ll be back in it soon enough.”
He laughed, one of the first genuine ones I’d seen in the few months since he and his ex-girlfriend Trisha split.
Kellen wore his heart on his sleeve and was attracted to broken women, a combination that was almost always certain to end in disappointment. He was the Donald Trump of emotional foundations. His M.O. was that he would spend an enormous amount of time and waste an egregious amount of money trying to “repair” women who usually had no clue that they were broken in the first place, no matter how obvious the problem was. Trisha, however, had taken the cake.
She’d been a habitual cheater, recreational drug user, and had a personality that rewrote the definition of the word “selfish,” but Kellen had somehow still come to the conclusion that her promiscuity was a result of growing up with an absentee father. So, he’d worked with her despite the relationship being so bad in private that its toxicity eventually seeped out onto the surface and into our faces.
She’d put him down constantly, but he would just laugh off the insults. She would go missing for hours and return without giving an explanation, but his questioning would end the minute her panties came down. More than once, she’d spent over a thousand dollars on his credit card and never revealed what she’d bought. That, Kellen had also laughed off as a negligible expense as long as they were working on her “transformation.” However, not many men existed who could forgive their girlfriend for having a threesome with two men in the expensive bed that they’d bought her, and on the night of the anniversary dinner that she’d claimed to have forgotten about.
That night marked the definitive end to the relationship, and he’d subsequently gotten so drunk that his incoherent text messages had dragged a few of us over to his condo for an amateur wellness check. We’d found him on the ground, face down with only a sip left in a bottle of Roble Viejo rum, listening to Marsha Ambrosius on repeat.
That had actually been the most surprising part of the entire night. We’d already expected to find Kellen piss drunk and depressed after deciphering the texts detailing how he’d caught Trisha in the act. What was surprising was that we’d assumed he’d be listening to a melodic guitar solo reminiscent of his ancestral heritage which hailed from Spain and France. Instead, he’d taken the time to put together a soulful “I’m depressed and my girlfriend’s a whore,” playlist sometime between getting home and passing out.
But, all in all, it was nice to have my friend back…for the time being. There’d be another woman soon enough. I only hoped that he eventually found one that, although broken, still had just enough love left not only for herself, but for him as well.
Someday.
A few more friends maneuvered over to us and before long, we were all caught up in old stories about embarrassing moments from our pasts, both recent and decades old. I listened on, laughing and enjoying a moment to unwind with good people. Yet, even with the professional decorations and large tree in the middle of the room, it still didn’t feel quite like Christmas.
My phone vibrated in my pocket and a picture of Alexandra that I’d taken while she was dozing (I still can’t believe that I did some stalker shit like that) popped up. I excused myself from the group and stepped out onto a nearby terrace.
“Hey Alle,” I greeted, using the nickname that Evelyn had offered. The glaze of her eyes the first time I’d used it had been reinforcement enough for making it a permanent part of my vocabulary.
“Merry Christmas, Ethan,” she answered, with a nervous laugh.
“Merry Christmas to you too.”
“Did you get everything you wanted?”
My dick pulsed awake. “Not…everything.”
We paused, no doubt imagining the same thing.
“I don’t really know why I called,” she admitted, with another nervous laugh. “I’m still over here at my folks’ house. We’re getting ready to watch The Polar Express with Kai.”
“I’m glad you called either way,” I replied. “I’m at a Christmas-slash-friend’s going away party.”
“Oh, please don’t let me distract you.”
“I can’t think of a better distraction than you, Alle.”
Her laugh seemed to grow even more nervous and I wanted to know what was making her uneasy. Was Roderick in the other room? Did I make her uncomfortable? Did she think I was lying about the things I had said to her? Because even though they were completely out of character for me, I’d never spoken truer words.
“Do me a favor,” I redirected. “I volunteer in an after school program down at the Ninth Ward Village neighborhood center with high school students interested in science and medicine. I’m doing a food science segment next week. Come with me.”
“And, uh, do what?” she asked.
“Nothing. Just be with me.”
I couldn’t tell if the quick breath of air was an uneasy inhale or an exhale, but the word cute popped up again.
“Okay,” she agreed. “I’ll come.”
I smiled. “Thank you, Alle.”
“You’re welcome, Ethan. Have a wonderful evening.”
“Same to you.”
I hung up just as Kellen popped his head out onto the terrace, the wild look in his eyes a clear indication of his descent into inebriation. Tayler Diaz, another one of our friends who practiced pediatric oncology in North Carolina, grabbed his forearm and tried to pull him back inside. One of her curly dreadlocks had fallen from her updo, evidence of the continuing struggle that she’d had with the man she treated like a little brother.
“Need help?” I asked her, walking over.
“Does it show?”
I wrapped my arm around Kellen’s shoulders, my mood lighter. “Let’s get inside, Kel.”
I steered him back towards the room. All of a sudden, it now felt like the most fulfilling Christmas I’d ever experienced.
Chapter Five
* * *
Alexandra
A horde of butterflies incessantly flapped their wings along the inner lining of my stomach as I walked into the community center. After years and years of dormancy, they were resurrected and tormented me to no end whenever I thought about Ethan. Between Christmas and a long business trip, he’d been out of town since the night I’d basically broken into his house — I’d remembered where he kept his spare key after having to pick something up from his office once when he was in Florida — but we’d had lunch together over Skype every day that he was gone.
I tried not to smile too widely as the lady at the front desk pointed me towards a hallway bordered by meeting rooms. A group of young men played a rigorous game of basketball on the polished court on one side, but stopped long enough to watch me as I walked past. I waved and wondered if they knew that I had at least a ten year head-start on them all.
I found Ethan’s room at the end of the long, carpeted walkway. Inside, several rows of white, rectangular plastic tables were covered by newspaper. At each seat was a sealed box.
At the front of the room, already watching me, was Ethan. His rugged features were even more pronounced, his hair was tousled and wild, and he was wearing a pair of dark jeans and a blue sweater. There were no words for how amazing he looked.
“Hi Alle,” he greeted, powerful forearms facing me.
“Hi Ethan. Where are your students?”
“Running behind as usual.”
He was standing behind another plastic table at the front of the room, but maneuvered around it until we were just a few inches apart. His gaze bore directly into mine and my heart galloped so quickly that I was afraid I’d use up the remaining years of energy it had reserved to sustain my life.
“I’m glad you came,” he said, brushing his knuckle over my cheek, then wrapping his arms around me to pull me in for a hug. I sighed and encircled his midsection. He pulled me closer into his body and I squeezed him tighter while he pressed his cheek into my hair. I wasn’t sure what he was feeling, but our Skype lunches hadn’t been enough. I’d still missed him.
“Me too,” I replied.
He smiled, a half-expression that added a bit of sunshine to his overcast irises, and then gestured to the table he’d been standing behind. It was the first time that I’d noticed it was covered in terra cotta pots, small bags of soil, and packets of seeds.
“Food science?” I asked.
He grabbed my hand and walked to the table. “These kids are going to be the future healthcare workers of America. Nurses, doctors, physician assistants, you name it. The only problem is, the majority of them have never seen a plant or herb grow from soil. Many of them even live in houses where they’ve never seen actual fruits and vegetables. You can’t know how to heal the human body without knowing what nourishes it.”
He picked up a brown seed packet and handed it to me. There was a picture of a large ripe tomato on the front next to the face of a smiling little girl.
“You really have a soft spot for these kids, don’t you?” I asked.
“I used to be one of these kids, Alle.” He pointed to one of the seats. “My grandfather taught these classes when I was much younger. Although he wasn’t a man of much means, he still took time out of his day to volunteer down here. The days that he wasn’t working at the home improvement store, he was working with the land. He would always say that a man who didn’t know how to transform hard Earth wasn’t worth a spit in the face. So, imagine my surprise when I went to live with him when I was six. The same day I got there, he tossed a miniature shovel in my hands and said I had to prove my worth if I was to stay in his house. It was hard, grueling work, but it eventually proved itself to be a good outlet for my anger. I’d never come to love blisters more.”
From Ethan’s accolades and accomplishments, I’d assumed that he’d come from a line of renowned Johns Hopkins-educated Stewarts. The knowledge of how hard he’d worked to get to his position only made me respect him even more.
My life had been completely different. Gia and I had actually been forbidden from laborious work the minute we were old enough to get manicures, so I’d honestly never really known the value of true hard work, not even in college with a multitude of subject tutors at my disposal. My grandfather had also never shared the stories about the struggles that he’d endured in order to rise to his rank of prestige, and he’d come from a background very similar to what Ethan described as his upbringing. At least from an economic standpoint. Gia and I often wished that he’d shared his stories before his death. It was an amazing feat to get to the level that he’d obtained in the middle of racial strife and economic inopportunity.
My father, however, acted as though our lineage came from a history of wealth dating back to the prehistoric ages, and as though our family had never been enslaved or subjected to the segregation laws of the Civil Rights Era. He’d even once tried to convince me and Gia that there were certain people whose lives were worth less than ours solely based on their societal status. He and Gia had argued all the way home, but not quite surprisingly, I’d remained silent even though I’d disagreed with everything he’d said.
“Were you a bit of a handful?” I asked, bumping my side against his.
“A bit is an understatement,” he said, laughing. “I used to act as though I was the only kid in the world who’d ever grown up without knowing who my father was.”
I tried, but failed to stop my mouth from falling open.
“My mother got caught up in the eighties drug culture,” he explained. “Even after she got clean, in reality, she just traded one addiction for the next. She became addicted to men. In the process, I was born.”
I squeezed his hand. “I’m so sorry, Ethan.”
“It’s fine,” he replied with a nonchalant shrug. “I’m actually glad that I went to live with my grandfather because I wouldn’t have turned out as well as I did without those long hard evenings. Those days are the reason that I’ve been determined to find a way to bring more green space to the Lower Ninth Ward and surrounding areas. The community board just got approved for a plot of land, and we’re currently in the clear to begin development for a fresh market this spring. These kids,” he gestured to the space, “this is their future. They’ll be the ones responsible for sustaining it. Hence, why I do what I do.”
His eyes lit up briefly, but then the light was stolen by the first of what I’d later count as twenty students strolling in. On cue, I released his hand, but he grabbed it again.
“Embarrassed by me, Alle?” he jokingly asked. Then, without waiting for my answer, he kissed my knuckles and walked over to greet the lone student.
As the rest of the class filtered in, I noticed the diversity of the participants. Ethan had mentioned that they were all high school students, but some of them had faces that looked young enough to be in middle school, while others looked old enough to have graduated high school years before I did.
They walked in wearing an array of hoodies, sneakers, boots, flats, collared shirts, and more. I saw curly heads, colorful extensions, black, brown, and blonde hair, brown and pale skin. For students who were supposed to be in the middle of their “I’m not interested” stage, they were all excited and eager for Ethan’s class to start.
I looked at him and saw the same eagerness reflected in his eyes, leaving me with a tight feeling in my chest. I loved it when he was happy. I even started to wonder about the different things that I could possibly do to see that happiness there as much as possible.
“Dr. E, who is this beautiful woman?” a boy with a low fade and wearing a fashionable red bow-tie asked.
“This is Alexandra Miller,” Ethan announced. “My guest.”
“Is she your lady?” asked a girl with a mixture of cotton candy pink and blonde tresses.
“That’s none of your business, Shyann,” Ethan answered, with a slightly embarrassed grin. “But if I catch any of you guys in here looking at her the wrong way, I’m cracking knuckles and then making referrals to my office for treatment.”
The classroom erupted in laughter and Ethan sent a wink my way.
I stood next to him and listened as he went over his brief presentation on vitamins, nutrients, and the process of how food is converted into energy to be used by the body. I periodically glanced out at the students, surprised to find them all engrossed and asking relevant questions. Then, at the end of the presentation, they tore open their boxes and pulled out small bags of soil, more seed packets, and other materials necessary to start their plot. They yelled across the room to each other to compare who’d gotten what vegetable or herb, made jokes about finally learning how to grow something other than weed, and had so much fun with the task that I also got caught up in the chatter.
I wandered to tables to peek at students’ progress while answering questions about my clothes, where I worked, if I watched certain TV shows, my relationship with Ethan, and more. Periodically, Ethan would walk up behind me and touch the small of my back while helping a student ensure that they would grow seedling based on their planting technique. I found that I loved that hand there and would even discreetly lean into it. It was a far different experience than waltzing around a room engaged in a conversation that was never going to amount to anything, or talking to people who wouldn’t give a rat’s ass about me if it weren’t for my family name.
It was far different, and far better.
Once everyone had at least one plant potted, Ethan surprised the room with dinner catered from the farm that had supplied all of the materials, and which was headquartered just outside New Orleans. The students, all whose names I’d learned in under an hour, congregated, ate, and jabbered until it was time to leave. I was actually sad to see them go, and was surprised when I got a few hugs — the guys’ hugs were a bit more cautious as they never took their eyes off Ethan — and wishes that I come back to their next segment. The cotton candy-haired girl, Shyann, nearly brought tears to my eyes by declaring that she hoped that she could accomplish at least half of what I’d attained in my career as she moved forward in life. Her mother had made a living off of her body, and she wanted something different for herself. Little did she know, she was already more than half the woman I was based on her resilience alone.
Once they were all gone, I turned to Ethan. “Could I come again sometime? This was extremely fun.”
“Anytime,” he replied. “I like having you with me.”
We went around the room cleaning up scraps, wiping off tables, and pushing in chairs. I dragged a bit, knowing that once the room was back in order, I’d have to leave. I’d only gotten approval from Roderick to leave the house for three hours and the time had gone by quicker than I’d anticipated. The perfect ending to the evening would have been listening to more stories about Ethan’s life, and then a few rounds of passion in front of the fireplace in his living room.
“Ready?” he asked, glancing around the room to make sure that we hadn’t left anything. I nodded and he followed me out, flicking off the switch behind us.
You couldn’t really call what we did to my car walking. It was more like the slow, uncertain gait of an infant learning to toddle. Our cars were literally parked in the spots right in front of the building, a sixty-second walk at normal pace, but nearly five minutes passed before we were standing at my car.
Fated: An Alpha Male Romance Page 7
