The crowd erupted into laughter.
“Shortly after I joined the team I had to leave my foster home but Coach Reid took me in.” Kendu cleared his throat and Milan could tell he held back tears. “I didn’t think I was worthy of shit, and here this man loved me unconditionally. Loved me enough to adopt me and make me his son. He didn’t even care that once he became my dad, I continued to call him Coach Reid.”
Milan could feel tears building in her throat, especially knowing how much Kendu’s coach and adopted father meant to him.
“Stand up, Coach Reid,” Kendu said and the coach complied, wiping tears from his eyes. The audience clapped and gave him a standing ovation. “I love you, man,” Kendu said. “Thank you for making me your son; without you I wouldn’t be here today.”
“I love you too.” Coach Reid nodded.
Kendu continued. “I also want to thank Jocelyn Carmichael, Johna James, Susan Richardson, and Michaela Jones. My boys from the playground days in Brooklyn. My NFL coach, Coach Johnson. We’ve been through it all, Coach. Five championships. Hell, he’s my daughter’s godfather. He was even the best man at my wedding.”
Milan wasn’t sure why but she felt like a knife had pinged her jugular. She continued watching, nervously biting her bottom lip.
Kendu went on. “I love you, man, and I couldn’t have made it this far without you. And, umm, last but not least.” Kendu’s eyes filled and Milan watched as he struggled not to become emotional. She knew this was her tribute, the one part of his speech she hadn’t heard him rehearse, and she hadn’t wanted to hear it. She’d wanted to be surprised.
She could feel her throat trembling as one of the cameras zoomed in on her. She swallowed and hoped her makeup and hair were intact.
Kendu collected himself. “I want to thank my baby. We’ve been through everything together; I’m a better man because of her. The moment she came into my life she changed it.”
Tears streamed down Milan’s face. Finally the guess factor had been removed from their relationship. She didn’t have to assume that he loved her as much as she loved him. Now she knew.
“To my number-one girl,” Kendu said. “My daughter, Aiyanna.”
“Aiyanna.” Milan lost her breath.
“I love you, baby girl.” He continued. “It’s me and you against the world.” He looked straight ahead into the live television camera. “Now go to bed.” The crowd laughed and applauded Kendu with a standing ovation. “Thank you all,” he said above the cheers and well wishes.
“His number-one girl, huh?” Samir boldly stroked Milan’s cheek, wiping a single tear away. “You sure the legend’s your man?”
Milan inhaled deeply and exhaled quickly. She pushed past her fucked-up and fucked-over pride and embarrassment. “Stay in your lane.” She shot him a quick grin.
“Then I’d never win.”
“Yeah, sure,” Milan said, not knowing if her response was appropriate to whatever Samir had just said. She knew he’d said something, but her heart was still reeling from being sliced into pieces. She wondered if Samir could hear the cracking in her chest.
He didn’t thank me … he didn’t thank me … I can’t believe he didn’t fuckin’ thank me …
“Excuse me, Milan.” Kendu’s publicist cut through her thoughts. “Kendu asked if you would step over here, please.” She pointed to the other side of the room, where Kendu stood in the spotlight of flashes.
Milan gave Samir a quick smile. “It was nice seeing you again.” She tossed him a small wave as she walked over to Kendu and slid into his embrace.
She did her best to smile, but it was a struggle.
“Milan,” a reporter’s voice rose above the crowd. “What are you wearing?”
“The dress is Gucci and the shoes are Christian Louboutin.” She poked out one heel, showcasing the famous red bottom.
Another reporter jumped in. “Milan, what do you think of Kendu’s retiring?”
“I think it’s fabulous and about time.” She kissed him softly on the lips. “Now I get to have him to myself.”
“So when is the wedding date?” a reporter tossed.
Milan’s face gleamed. “Well, we—”
“—haven’t set one yet,” Kendu cut her off. “It was hard enough to get me in this tuxedo.” He chuckled. “I’m not ready to get into another one just yet.” The reporters laughed, while Milan could’ve sworn that Kendu had drawn a gun, placed it to her head, and pulled the trigger. She looked directly into the Millionaire Wives Club camera and could see Carl smiling from ear to ear.
Tears snatched her voice from her throat as she swallowed and Kendu answered the remaining series of questions.
“Okay, okay,” his publicist interrupted the press. “We want to thank everyone for coming. But now my clients would like to mingle with their guests a little more before the night ends.”
Kendu intertwined his fingers with Milan’s as they walked toward their table.
“Knott,” Milan said, calling him by his childhood nickname. “Were you serious just now?”
“About what?” He waved and smiled as someone quickly took their picture.
“About what you just said about the wedding. That was—”
“It was a joke, Milan. Relax.” He kissed her lightly on the lips. “I meant to tell you how beautiful you look tonight.” He looked her over. “Absolutely stunning. You like the dopest chick I know,” he said, giving her the same compliment he’d been giving her, in the exact same way, since they were kids.
“Umm-hmm, listen, I really didn’t appreciate—”
“That’s not what you’re supposed to say.” He frowned, then kissed her again. “You’re supposed to say what you’ve always said since you were nine—”
“Knott—”
“You’re supposed to say, ‘The dopest chick? Like the hottest? Like, real super-fresh-funky-fly-dope? Or you just a lyin’ niggah?’ ”
She didn’t crack a smile. “We need to talk.”
“Kendu,” someone called for his attention.
“Give me a minute, baby.” And before she could protest, he left her standing there.
Milan drank in a deep breath.
She went to the bar and ordered. “Moscato.”
The bartender handed her the drink. She walked over to their table and sat down. For an hour she watched Kendu do at least three rounds of the room. He floated from one person to the next, smiling and paying her absolutely no attention. And for the first time since she was nine, chewing pop rocks, and he was ten breakdancing the worm on a cardboard box in the middle of the playground, she thought that maybe she loved him too much.
Fuck this.
She rose from the table and walked over to Kendu, who was now talking to a group of smiling young women. “Excuse me.” She shot them all an annoyed grin. “I’m leaving,” she said to Kendu, then turned to walk away.
Surprised, he quickly grabbed her by the forearm and pulled her back to him. “You’re what?”
“Leaving,” she said tight-lipped. “I’m ready to go. It’s late and I’ll meet you in the car.” He let her go and her heels clicked toward the door.
She could feel the cameras flashing and the reporters chatting as she walked out the hotel to the valet parking lot. A few seconds later Kendu and Carl walked up behind her.
“What’s your problem?” Kendu asked as the valet pulled his onyx Bentley up to them.
After a few swallows and attempts to push back the iron fist in her throat and not succeeding, Milan decided to be quiet. She knew if she spoke she was bound to rear her hand back and boom-bop this motherfucker.
The valet opened the door and Kendu waited for Milan to enter. He closed her door. He and Carl then slid in, and a few minutes later they were out of the parking lot and on the street.
“What. Is. Your. Problem?” Kendu said again, his patience obviously strained.
The soreness of Milan’s bruised feelings spread from her throat to her chest. Stay calm. “You stood
up there in front of all those people and you couldn’t remember to thank me?”
Kendu hesitated. She could tell that his thoughts drifted, and when he brought them back he said, “Milan, seriously, you’re mad about that shit? You of all people know I had a million things going through my mind. I meant to say your name, but I got swept up in the moment. My fault, baby.” He lightly tapped her knee.
She blinked. “Your fault? That’s it, your fault?”
He sighed. “Okay, I apologize. Feel better?” He made a left turn and raced up the street. “And besides, I thank you every day.”
“Wow, you thank me every day,” she said in utter disbelief.
“Yeah, I do. Now, did you see my high school coach?” he said, moving the conversation along. “I think we should have him over for dinner.”
“Have. You. Lost. Your fuckin’ mind? Have you? Really? You are out of control.”
“What?” he said, caught off guard and pissed. “What did my high school coach ever do to you? Are you still mad because he didn’t want you cheerleading? Baby, let’s face it, you were a little thick, and most of the cheerleaders back then were a size two, not twelve.”
“You are so selfish.” She shook her head. “I don’t give a damn about your coach or cheerleading!”
“Milan—”
She snapped. “Milan, my ass. You think I want to talk about a coach, when not only did you not thank me, you left me at the table sitting by myself for more than an hour tonight? And, oh, let’s not forget about that slick shit you said to the reporters about us getting married—”
“It was a joke.”
“That wasn’t a fuckin’ joke!”
“Milan,” he said steadying his tone, his eyes scanning a hungry Carl in the rearview mirror.
“What?” Tears danced in her throat.
“I’ve already apologized. Now drop it.” He whipped into their Westchester driveway and put the car in park. “I don’t want to hear this shit anymore.” He slammed the car door behind him and stormed into the house.
Milan choked back tears. She entertained the thought of dropping the argument for a moment. Especially knowing that if she pressed forward the round they were gearing up to have would end in a T.K.O.
This was what she hated about being on reality TV: The best-laid plans went to hell. She turned toward Carl, and although her thoughts told her to pretend like she was ready to call it a night and head straight to sleep, she couldn’t do that. Instead she stormed inside and followed Kendu into the kitchen, where he took a frosted Heineken from the refrigerator and twisted off the cap. He turned around and to his surprise she was pointing in his face. Before she could say anything, Kendu rested his beer on the counter and grabbed her around the waist. “I’m sorry.” He kissed her on the lips. “Don’t be mad. I just want you to get over that shit. I’m ready to go upstairs.” He pressed his hard dick into her thigh. “Can’t we deal with this another night?”
She snatched out of his embrace. “No. We can deal with it right now!”
“Goddamn, Milan.” He was pissed. “You can’t be serious.” He looked over to the camera.
“Does it look like I’m playin’?” She turned to Carl. “Carl, am I laughing?” She pointed to her chest. “No, I’m not fuckin’ laughing.”
“You being real extra right now.”
“Extra?” she said as one brow arched. “Extra?” The other brow dipped. “Extra is you thanking all those motherfuckers tonight and leaving me standing there looking stupid and shit. Dumb-ass fuck! I’m being extra and you were cracking every corny-ass motherfuckin’ joke you could think of, but I’m being extra? You thanked every-goddamn-body but me, when I was the one who laid up with you every goddamn night, and you couldn’t even thank me? But I’m being extra! Ain’t this some shit.” She waved her hands.
Kendu paused. “Yeah, extra, and you’re being real silly right now. I’ve apologized, and I’m not saying it anymore! This was my goddamn night.” The veins in his neck stuck out. “And I had to leave because of you and your selfish ass. If anything, you owe me an apology!”
“Owe you an apology?” she said in complete shock.
“Yeah, you owe me an apology! And you’re selfish as hell!”
“Are you kidding me?!”
“Everything is always about you, Milan. You know how I fuckin’ feel, but you gon’ get an attitude because I didn’t say thank you?” He took a step back, curled his lip, and looked her over. “Didn’t I say thank you when I proposed to your ass? When I bought you that fuckin’ Aston Martin you’re profiling in? Bought your fuckin’ clothes? Investments? Stacked you some goddamn bills in the bank?” He screamed. “I even thanked your fuckin’ ass when I agreed to do this fuckin’ show that ruined my motherfuckin’ life last year, as a matter of fact.” He looked at Carl and pointed his hand like a gun. “Get the fuck out!”
Carl didn’t move.
Kendu pushed Milan to the side and walked closer to Carl with every word he said. “Do. I. Need. To ask you to leave another way?”
Carl quickly gathered his things and rushed out the door.
Kendu turned back to Milan. “I say thank you all fuckin’ day, every fuckin’ day, and the one goddamn time the shit slips my mind you in my motherfuckin’ neck! Shit is never good enough for your ass! You ain’t never happy!” he said, bits of spit flying angrily from his mouth. “And you wonder why I don’t wanna get married—” He stopped in his tracks. His tirade instantly ended, and Milan could tell by the look in his eyes that he knew he’d gone too far.
He reached for her but she walked backward until her head hit the wall.
“Milan, I’m sorry.” He sliced through her silence and reached for her again.
She jerked away and pushed him back. “Fuck you!”
“Listen to me.” His body crowded the corner she stood in.
“No! I don’t want to hear shit you have to say! I’ve heard enough. You don’t wanna marry me?” She took her ring off and tossed it at his chest. “Fuck you, Knott. You stood up there tonight, chest all poked out.” She pounded his chest. “And you thanked every-motherfuckin’-body from the towel boy to the motherfuckin’ waitress tonight and you forgot me!” She held her fingers out as if she were counting on them. “You were up there thanking bitches named Jocelyn Carmichael, Johna James, Susan Richardson, Michaela-the-fuck-Jones, and all I could think was, ‘Who are they?’ ”
“Milan.”
She pushed him in his chest again. “But you forgot me? I knew you before any of those motherfuckers, including your goddamn father! I’m the one who told you he had a neighborhood team! But I’m not important enough for you to remember? If it wasn’t for me, you wouldn’t have a goddamn career! I’m the one who testified for you when you were sixteen and got the bright idea to join a motherfuckin’ gang.” She threw up a gang sign in his face. “And pulled a fuckin’ drive-by. Don’t you think I knew your ass was guilty, Loc? Considering I helped you come up with an alibi? And you gon’ forget me?”
“Milan—”
“You thanked niggahs you played ball with on the goddamn playground in Harlem!” she screamed in his face. “But did those motherfuckers feed your ass when your umpteenth foster mother tossed you out? Hell, no, ’cause that was me and my family. We fed you. But I slipped your motherfuckin’ mind? Are you serious?”
“Milan—”
“I’ve. Loved. You. All. My. Fuckin’. Life. And I don’t get a thank-you? I love your daughter as if she was mine, hell I love her as if she were really yours motherfucker, and I’m reduced to nothing? I nursed your punk ass through three knee injuries.” She pushed him as hard as she could.
“I wiped your snotty-ass nose when that doctor told you you’d never play football again, and you cried like a baby! I’m the one, the only one, who knows why you really fuckin’ retired!”
“Milan, baby. I’m sorry.” He pulled her to him and held her so tight she couldn’t wiggle away, so she resorted to pounding his chest until her h
eavy punches grew weaker with each tear. He pressed his forehead against hers, her tears streaking onto his cheeks. “I’m so sorry. I fucked up.”
“I’m done.” She tried to twist out of his embrace. “It’s over.”
“You don’t mean that.” He held her close. “I love you more than you’ll ever know. You’re the only one who knows me, I mean really knows me. Everything I do and everything I am is because of you. You complete me, every part of me, and I fucked up. I love you more than anything in the world. I have to marry you, because you’re my better half.”
“You don’t mean that. Just let me go. It’s okay. I get the shit now.”
“It’s not okay, because I can’t lose you,” he whispered against her neck. “Because if I do, how will I breathe? How I’ma live if my air is gone?” He peppered her lips and neck with kisses. “I need you to forgive me, please. I don’t know how to live without you.”
Tears streamed quietly down her cheeks as Kendu’s whispers of “I love you” turned into kisses against her neck. Then he slid his tongue between her lips. She accepted it. “I fucked up.” He set her on the counter and lifted her dress over her head, revealing her pasties. He peeled them off, revealing her breasts.
His tongue flicked one nipple, while his thumb pinched the other one. “I really fucked up.”
Silence.
He sucked. His lips wrapped her nipples with a seductive force she’d never felt before. She wanted to fight against her body’s tremors and her sugar walls’ desire to give in, but she couldn’t. She had no choice but to moan.
“I love you so much.” He pulled her thong off and spread her legs across the kitchen counter. He slid down her belly and lapped her juices. “I know I gotta get my shit together.” He dipped his index finger in and sucked her milk from his tip. His tongue curled like a straw and moved in and out of her pussy, until she screamed his name. “Knott!” She rubbed his face into her wetness, her cream glistening on his face like lotion.
“Damn, look at this shit.” He admired the diamond puddy sliding between her thighs. He palmed her pussy and rubbed his entire hand over it. And then he slid, one, then two, then three fingers in, spooned out more of her wetness, and lapped it like it was a liquid breakfast.
Money Never Sleeps Page 5
