Kevin stood and extended his hand. “Both of you need the Father’s help.”
Tyson bowed his head and joined his friend in intercession.
More than giggles bubbled out of Reyna as she drove into the subdivision; she was also singing “Baby, it’s you.” She couldn’t remember the last time a happy tune had flowed from her without the aid of alcohol. She was high, all right, but she’d traded in her old boyfriend vodka for a king-sized order of TFS: Tyson Fitzgerald Stokes. Like the words to Beyoncé’s song on the radio, Tyson put her “love on top.”
What she had been longing for was right in her face. If only she’d listened to Tyson that day on the hill, she wouldn’t have wasted her energy and resources on a loser like Peyton. She’d long ago acknowledged that she didn’t love Peyton, never had, but had craved the attention. She didn’t wish Peyton well, just gone.
Reyna parked Tyson’s old BMW in the driveway and turned off the engine—glad she had accepted his offer to use it as a loaner until she could purchase a new car. Actually, he had offered to buy her a car, but she had flatly refused. Before leaving for the office, he’d packed her a Philly cheesesteak to go, which she ate for breakfast, then kissed her forehead.
She exited the vehicle. “God, I love that man,” she squealed as the sudden awareness cleared a path to a hidden truth. “Oh, my God, I love him,” she repeated countless times while hugging her body. “I’ve loved him for a long time.” She bubbled over with joy. “And he loves me,” she sang before skipping to the front door.
She paused before unlocking the front door and looked upward. She hadn’t seen Peyton since chasing him and Laci with the poker. “Okay, God and ’em, I’m trying to do the right thing. I’d appreciate it if the dope fiend is gone.”
With caution she entered the town house. Quiet and a musty odor greeted her, but no Peyton. “Thank y’all,” she said, looking upward.
Relief and joy settled over her completely once she walked through every room and found no sign of Peyton or his handful of belongings. His travel bags were gone, and so were Tyson’s coffee table and Persian rugs. The remaining artwork and wall coverings were also gone. He did leave a sink full of dirty dishes and an empty refrigerator as souvenirs.
Too happy to dwell on Peyton’s antics, she simply sprayed air freshener throughout the house and cracked open some windows. It was Wednesday, the day to start a new chapter in her life. She started by tidying up what remained of the furnishings and making a list of damaged and missing items. She abandoned the notion that she could ever compensate Tyson, even if they settled on a twenty-year plan. Peyton had stolen or damaged over one hundred thousand dollars in merchandise, in addition to punching several holes in the walls.
By noon she was ready for a long hot bubble bath—a luxury she hadn’t indulged in since the drinking increased. Afraid she’d fall asleep in the tub and drown while under the influence, she’d opted for showers.
Inside the master bathroom, she ran bathwater and poured in jasmine-scented bubble bath. She noticed the lit message light on the answering machine on the way from the master bathroom to the laundry hamper. She stopped and pressed the play button, hoping to hear Tyson’s voice. Neither of the two messages were from him, but they gave her more reasons to celebrate.
“Reyna, it’s me, your mother. Just calling to see how the night went. If you need me, call me.”
Reyna had called Jewel on the way from shopping with Tyson to say he would take her home after dinner. She’d lied, because that’s what Tyson offered, but she hadn’t planned to spend the night in Tyson’s arms. When she’d made the call, she had every intention of having Tyson take her back to Jewel’s, and then having Jewel take her home—anything to keep Peyton and Tyson from crossing paths.
She deleted the message and waited for the next message.
“Hello, Reyna. This is Paige. I hope you’re feeling better. I’ve been praying for you. The entire office has. I have decided not to terminate you on one condition.” There was a pause. “I want you to enroll in an alcohol treatment program. Once you provide proof of enrollment, I’ll allow you time off to attend classes, meetings, and counseling sessions. See you on Monday. Take care.”
Reyna fell back onto the bed, kicking and screaming, “Thank you! God and ’em, y’all is all right with me today!”
Instead of deleting the message, she saved it to play back later for Tyson.
The bubble bath wasn’t nearly as soothing as in times past. Too many thoughts of Tyson and how he’d bared his soul and made love to her disturbed the aromatherapy’s calming effects. She wanted him in the tub with her for a repeat performance. After ten minutes, she rinsed off and put an end to her frustration.
For the first time in weeks, Reyna admired the image in the mirror. She was beautiful—half-processed hair and all. Reyna danced in the mirror as Beyoncé’s beat filled her. “Baby, it’s you,” she sang while moisturizing her skin with jasmine body butter. She continued singing after slipping into her bathrobe and collecting more clothes for the laundry. When she checked the jean skirt pockets, the singing stopped, along with her heart. Inside the left pocket was a ten-thousand-dollar check from Tyson.
Sudden dread and shame engulfed and crippled her spirit as the revelation that she’d been used once again sucked the life from her. Although generous, Tyson had never given her money, and according to her reasoning, the only reason for him to secretly stuff money into her pocket now was to pay for services rendered—like Chase had. She didn’t have the strength to stop the tears from falling, but she did, however, have more than enough anger and pride left to curse Tyson out. She stomped over and placed the check on the nightstand and then picked up the cordless phone with the intention of doing just that.
“Hey, sweetheart,” he greeted when he answered his personal cell phone. “I was just thinking about you. I hope your day is going well.”
She stalled; most of her bravado evaporated as his concern reached through the phone line and soothed her aching heart.
“Reyna, are you there?”
“No matter what you think, I’m not some trick,” she blurted. “You can keep your money and your car.”
“Whoa! Hold on. Where is this coming from?”
“I found your little check. You could have at least left it on the nightstand, instead of hiding how little you think of me in my pocket. I guess I wasn’t so perfect for you, after all.” She stopped before the depth of her pain poured out.
She heard heavy breathing on the other end and envisioned his face inflamed with a red hue and charcoal specks dancing in his eyes.
“Sweetheart,” he said, his voice calm, “last night you said you were broke and had lost everything. The check isn’t for services rendered. It’s to help you get back on your feet. I tucked it into your pocket because you’re too prideful to accept it outright. I care about you too much to let you struggle when I have the resources to help, but if accepting money from me offends you that much, tear up the check.”
“Ouch,” she mouthed.
“And for the record, sweetheart, there isn’t a price tag big enough for what we shared last night.”
Happy tears returned as she silently scolded herself for grouping him with a lying adulterer.
“Sorry for jumping to conclusions,” she squealed into the phone. “I like that.”
“You like what? The check?” He sounded confused.
“Hearing you call me sweetheart,” she explained. “It sounds nice coming from you.”
“Woman, you’re an enigma I’ll never figure out,” he said after a moment.
Reyna sat on the bed. “But you love me, right?”
“Yes, I do. And this is one of those death sentence moments.”
She laughed. “Thank you. You are so good to me.”
“Not as good as I’d like to be.”
She heard shuffling in the background.
“Sweetheart, I have to go. I’m scheduled for court in thirty minutes. Talk to you lat
er.”
“Wait,” she yelled into the phone. “Can you come by this evening? We need to talk.” It can’t get any worse. Might as well get it all out now, she thought.
“Are we going to have the discussion we need to have, or are you going to put up another smoke screen?”
“I promise to put all the cards on the table. You should eat before you get here. More than likely you’ll be angry and lose your appetite once I you hear what I have to say,” she said nervously.
“Sweetheart, as long as we’re honest with one another, we can work through anything.”
She sat motionless, pondering those words long after ending the call, until she heard a noise from the hallway. Before she could stand, Peyton appeared at the threshold, holding her purse.
Chapter 31
Peyton barged into the bedroom and stomped over to the bed. “Where have you been? I’ve been waiting two days for you. Whose car is that outside?”
His faded jeans and T-shirt were dirty, and his breath reeked. She rolled her eyes and scooted away from him. “The better question is, what are you doing here? Yesterday was your deadline. Now, give me my key and leave.” She pointed toward the door.
“And just where am I supposed to go?” he asked sarcastically.
“That’s not my problem,” she smarted. “You’re a grown man. Figure it out. What happened to your girlfriend, Laci?” she smirked. “See if she’ll let you live in her minivan for a while.”
“I don’t have time for your stupid comedy routine. I need some money. Laci’s husband got suspicious and cut off her cash flow.”
“Smart man.”
“I’ve been waiting for your sorry behind to get back here because I need some stuff. Where’s the money?” he barked after throwing the empty purse on the bed. “Ain’t nothing in there, but I know you got some money somewhere.”
Reyna leaned over and reached under the bed but didn’t feel what she needed.
“Looking for something? You got me the first time, but I’m not as stupid as you. I got rid of your little weapon. Now, where is the money?”
The sinister smile he offered her made the hair on the back of her neck stand up. She swallowed her fear and jumped up in his face. “Idiot, I don’t have any money. You and your cokehead girlfriend snorted every dime I had.”
“Whose BMW is that?” he barked again.
“Mine,” she lied. “Now, get out before I call the police.”
“You ain’t calling nobody!” He grabbed the phone from the nightstand and threw it across the room. “Hey, what’s this?”
Reyna watched in dread as Tyson’s check floated to the floor.
“You little liar,” he said after picking up the check. “If I didn’t need you to cash this check, I’d ring your neck. I knew you were holding out. That’s his car outside, too.”
Reyna opened her mouth to refute his charge, but Peyton raised his hand to striking position and she backed down.
“Before you lie again, I already checked the glove compartment. The car is registered to the same T. F. Stokes. You little slut. You couldn’t wait for me to leave before starting to kick it with another dude. At least you got some money out of it. You paid me to be with you.” His laugh sounded more like a howl. “Get your sorry behind up and get dressed so I can get my money.”
Reyna shook her head as if to clear it. She couldn’t have heard him correctly. Did this fool really think he was going to get another dime out of her? She tightened the belt on her robe and planted her fists at her waist. “I may not be the sharpest pencil in the box, but you’re dumber than dumb if you think I’m going to waltz into a bank and hand you ten thousand dollars to stick up your nose.” She snatched the check from him and ripped it in half. The last thing she heard before Peyton’s backhand sent her tumbling to the floor was him likening her to a stupid female dog.
“I should have snapped your neck.” His voice took on an evil hoarseness she hadn’t heard before.
Slightly dazed, Reyna pulled up her legs and crawled across the bedroom toward the door to get away from him. If she could get down the stairs, she’d make it out the front door. Her knees didn’t carry her fast enough, and Peyton caught her from behind and pulled her up by her hair.
“Who do you think you are, messing with my money like that? I need my stuff.” He turned her so she faced him. “Call and tell him to get over here with more money, or we’ll pick it up.”
Excruciating pain pierced her head and his halitosis nauseated her, but she’d die before placing Tyson in danger. An adrenaline rush fueled her fear, and she used every ounce of energy to get her point across. “No! Beat me if you want, but I’m not calling anyone, and I’m not going anywhere. I will not allow your worthless behind to take—”
“So you think I’m worthless? You think you’re better than me now?” He dragged her back to the bed and threw her facedown on it. “I’ll show you what worthless feels like,” he growled, then parted her legs and grabbed her in a choke hold from behind.
He sodomized her before she could mentally escape to Disneyland. Agonizing pain tore through her body, but she refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing her shed another tear for him. “God, please,” she whimpered and bit her tongue to keep from crying out.
After causing as much pain as possible, Peyton pulled away, flipped her over on her back, and continued stripping her of her dignity while cursing and demeaning her until he relieved himself and climbed off of her.
Throughout the ordeal Reyna didn’t mumble a word, but internally cries of despair poured from her heart. She had nothing left as new emotional wounds mingled with old ones and crushed her spirit. Determined not to cry, she sucked back the lump at the back of her throat, slid off the bed, and retied the belt on her bathrobe, which had come untied during the altercation. “I will not cry. I will not cry,” she whispered as she somberly walked out of the bedroom, leaving Peyton at the dresser, trying to salvage the check with tape.
Mechanically, she walked into the kitchen and reunited with an old faithful friend. She gulped vodka straight from the bottle until her head throbbed so much, she could no longer hold it up. She staggered over and collapsed on the couch and willed herself to die. If she drank fast enough, just maybe she’d be lucky enough to die from alcohol poisoning.
Two swigs later she noticed the second cordless phone handset stuffed between the cushions. Without looking at the keypad, Reyna punched in the numbers that at one time she’d tried hard to forget.
Jewel answered on the third ring. “Hello.”
She took another swig before answering. “Ma,” she breathed into the phone.
“Reyna? What’s wrong?”
She heard the worry in Jewel’s voice and regretted making the call. She didn’t even know why she’d made the call in the first place.
“Reyna!” Jewel yelled into the phone. “Are you all right?”
Tremors rocked her as she fought to maintain her composure. “No, Mother. I’m not all right.”
“What—”
Before Jewel finished the question, Peyton came up from behind. “You trying to call the police on me?” he accused and snatched the phone. “I already have two strikes. I’ll kill you before I let you do that.”
Too much information too late, she thought between gulps of Vodka but didn’t speak it. “That was my mother, you moron.”
“Look.” He held up the restored check. “This just might work. The account number is still intact. You can tell them, you accidently ripped it and taped it together so you wouldn’t lose the pieces. Go get dressed so we can make it to the bank before closing.”
She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “I’m not going anywhere, physically,” she answered, hoping to die soon.
“Get your stupid—” The doorbell interrupted Peyton’s tirade. “Are you expecting someone?” He eyed her suspiciously, then stomped to the door.
“No,” she answered and raised the bottle again. Before the rim reached her lip
s, Tyson’s voice emerged from the foyer.
Chapter 32
“What are you doing here?” she heard Tyson ask. The earlier trauma had caused her to forget she’d asked him to come over.
“I live here,” Peyton smarted. “The question is, who are you, and what are you doing at my house?”
The anesthetic missed her lips, and the lukewarm liquid ran her down her chest. The bottle slipped from her fingertips and crashed to floor. Fear gripped her and pounded her chest. She jumped up and started for the door; she had to protect Tyson from this maniac. She’d never forgive herself if Tyson got hurt because of her foolishness. The throbbing in her head made her dizzy and caused her to stumble the remaining distance.
“Your house? You live here?” Tyson spat the questions just as Reyna stumbled around the corner, leaning against the wall for support. His attention turned to Reyna, and he ceased speaking.
The look of disgust and repulsion on his face sapped what little strength she had. The man who loved her came bearing roses and food, and she greeted him with chaos. “It’s not what you think,” she whispered.
“Forget what I’m thinking,” he said, more coldly than she’d ever heard him speak. “You should be more concerned with what I see.”
It dawned on her then that she was naked under the bathrobe and reeked of alcohol. Peyton was shirtless, and his pants were unbuttoned.
“You were right, Reyna. Now that I’ve seen what you couldn’t tell me yourself, I have lost my appetite.” Tyson brushed past both of them and went into the kitchen and literally dumped the roses and food into the trash.
“Hey, you can’t just walk up in my house,” Peyton warned.
Tyson turned back to Reyna. “Aren’t you going to introduce me to your boyfriend?”
It was a dare that Reyna shied away from. “It’s not what you think,” she repeated, avoiding eye contact.
Tyson faced Peyton. “It’s Peyton, right? I’m Tyson Stokes, the landlord.”
Doin' Me Page 19
