by Nesly Clerge
“You were screwing Ozy years before I moved out.”
“I know that’s what that jealous bitch Jenny said, but it was a lie.” Kayla flung her hands upward. “Believe what you want. You will anyway. But my involvement with Ozy isn’t what upset you. Not really. It was the fact that another man could satisfy me. I didn’t lie when I said he was better in bed than you. And that’s what this is all about: your ever-needy ego.”
“All right. You want us to be truthful? Let’s put it all out there. Yes, I’ve had a few women, but I never had sex with them in a car, where people passing by could see. If that’s Ozy’s special treatment, and the way you think women should be treated, you got what you wanted. And for your information, the women I had sex with were always better than you. You’re mediocre, at best. I stayed with you because I thought you were true to me. What a joke.”
A vein pulsed at Kayla’s left temple. “I know where you got your example of how to treat a wife: Your damn dysfunctional family. The men cheated and their wives tolerated it. You took it further, though, didn’t you? Cheat on your wife, treat her like shit, and then shower her with money and luxuries to cover up your wrongdoings. The women in your family were always doormats for the men to wipe their feet on, and I wasn’t like that. I wasn’t like your grandmother, who was a prime example. Exactly how many women did your grandfather have on the side?”
“You have no right to criticize the women in my family, or any member of my family, especially not my grandmother. You’re forgetting who helped support us when we were in school. But you wouldn’t stop spending every damn cent that came our way. Your family didn’t step up. They were absent and happy about it. You owe every member of my family respect.”
Kayla held up a hand in a dismissive fashion. “I can’t believe we’re still beating that drum. I didn’t come here to bicker with you. I came here to discuss the child support matter. And, I want to make peace with you. Let’s put everything that occurred in the past behind us. I made mistakes. So did you. No one’s perfect.”
“Your mistake was getting caught lying your ass off about screwing Ozy and God knows how many other men. How many times did you tell me I was the only man you’d ever been with? And I was stupid enough to accept that, all the way back to the beginning.”
“I can’t believe you’re bringing up Bernard Hazely again. You and I weren’t together when I went out with him. Remember? That separation was your brilliant idea. So you could screw around for a while—a vacation from my vagina so you could have more than just our sexual experiences under your belt. Then we got married. As soon as you had enough money, you started with the parties and orgies, exotic strippers, and super models. You thought I didn’t know, but Marlin told me everything.”
“You seriously believed that loser? For such a conniving woman, your ignorance baffles me. Marlin’s never been anything but a jealous ass. He wanted what we had. You think he’s your friend? He’s like those others you call friend. They don’t care about you. You poured your heart out to them—I should say lied to them—and they judged you and talked about you behind your back. They hoped the worse for you, because they were envious of all you had, which I provided for you.”
“Of course you’d say that about Marlin. But you know everything he said is true. You’re no saint, but you’re an exceptional finger-pointer. You just never seem to aim that finger at yourself.”
“You’re wrong. I’ve blamed myself for some of what happened. But only some of it. I didn’t force you to become a tramp. Sure, with the time I’ve had to think in here, I’ve wondered if maybe I’d treated you better or given you the attention you wanted—and, I suppose, needed—things wouldn’t be the way they are. Then I have to remind myself that your actions demonstrated the truth: You’re a common slut. You were giving your body to men before any real issues came up in our marriage. Even before we got married. And I don’t just mean Bernard. I’m talking about Phil Wright. In my grandfather’s basement.”
Kayla’s mouth clamped shut.
Starks nodded. “Didn’t think I knew about that. Tip of the fucking iceberg of what I know about you.”
“Starks, I’m sorry. I’m truly sorry. We each wronged the other. But we also had some good times, meaningful times. Life’s too short for us not to make peace. We need to make peace. Please.” Kayla’s gaze met Starks’s. “There’s something important I need to discuss with—”
“Keep your fucking peace. You can’t fool me anymore.” Starks thumped the table with a fist. “We built a life. I worked my ass off to make that happen. Yes, we had good times and bad. My first mistake was to place you on the proverbial pedestal. You didn’t deserve that place of honor. You’re trash. A whore. You’re something to avoid stepping in.” He held up his hands. “I’m done with you. Don’t show your face here again. Send the kids to visit with someone else, anyone else. Here’s another truth: If you died tomorrow, I wouldn’t give a fuck.”
Kayla reached out for his hand. Tears spilled onto her cheeks.
Starks shook his head and pulled back. “Always the actress. Your tears stopped working on me long ago.” He stood and said, “Remember what I told you about coming here again. Don’t.”
He left her sobbing at the table, with guards, inmates, and visitors staring and glaring at him, and started back to his cell, feeling proud of himself. Kayla was a woman who always had to have the last word. She didn’t get it this time. What she got was only a small taste of what she deserved. If what he’d said hurt her, well, it was nothing compared to the hurt she’d caused him. Any pain he caused her was justified—for all the men, for how she’d ridiculed him to them, for the sleepless nights, the depression that engulfed him when he discovered what kind of woman she really was.
So why didn’t he feel gratified? Where was the elation he should feel?
His steps slowed. Kayla and Demory were right: He was equally responsible, equally guilty of infidelity. Still, that admission didn’t dull his pain and anger.
Kayla had looked bad. And her expression at the end—tortured. He’d wanted to hurt her and had. It had become a habit, an addiction. An attempt to climb above his own wretchedness. But how she’d looked wasn’t going to be easy to forget.
Starks leaned against the top bunk and peered out the window.
He’d told Kayla he was done with her, over her.
He refused to believe Emma might be right.
CHAPTER 93
IT HAD BEEN a hell of a night, with Starks bouncing between recriminations and justifications regarding his behavior with Kayla. His final decision was that she deserved it.
After the count and after completing his exercise routine, Starks stood at the small mirror, razor in hand. “Kane, as soon as I’m done shaving, I want to make a private call. Would you mind?”
“No problem, Starks. I told Tank I’d meet him in,” he checked the time, “seven minutes. Meet us in the yard after, if you feel like it.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
At least a couple of things are going right, Starks thought. Kane was doing well with the guys, and his crew was the only one—that he was aware of—that had no real infighting. He hadn’t done or said anything extraordinary to accomplish this. Maybe it was a fortunate fluke. He reminded himself that it was early days.
Starks got his cell phone, did a quick corridor check then positioned himself on his bunk.
Jeffrey answered after two rings. “Figured I’d be hearing from you.”
“You sound odd. Did I wake you?”
“No.”
“I have to be quick. What’s happening about the powders? Last thing I need is to run out.”
“Mason’s been on vacation. Out of the country. Thought it best not to leave a message other than to call me when he gets back.”
“When’s that?”
“About another week or so. Maybe two.”
“It is what it is. I’ll just have to be careful. By the way, Kayla came to see me.”
�
�I know. She asked me to meet her for coffee yesterday afternoon. Said the visit with you didn’t go well; that you were abusive.”
“I reamed her good. I held back, though. There was so much more I could have said. It was obvious she wanted my sympathy. I bet Bret advised her to look as bad as she did so I’d feel sorry for her and put the money back in her control. I left plenty in the accounts. If she’s already spent it, that’s not my problem.”
“Bret’s out of the picture, for a number of reasons. For one, he was cheating on her.”
Starks slapped his thigh. “Didn’t I call it? I said it was a matter of time before the fucking mooch did that. Serves her right. Now I’m convinced her shabby appearance was deliberate.”
“How she looks has nothing to do with Bret, and it’s not faked.”
“Then it is concern about the money. Never has enough. Guess I put a crimp in her pampering routine.”
“Bro… Kayla has cancer. It started in her uterus. That’s what terminated the pregnancy. There was no indication of a problem in any prior blood tests she’d had. They found it when they ran tests after the miscarriage. Something triggered the cancer to escalate. It’s in her lymph system and major organs.”
“She’s lying. She just wants you on her side.”
“I saw a copy from her medical file. She brought it so I’d have proof.”
“So it’s the treatments making her look that bad. Soon as she’s done with them, she’ll get her looks back. And another man.”
“Cancer’s too advanced. Three specialists told her the same thing. She’s got a few months, at most. Decided not to suffer through treatments, since that’s all the time she has.”
“No wonder Bret got his ass out of there.”
“That’s all you have to say about it? This is Kayla we’re talking about. There was a time when she was the love of your life.”
“Hunh.”
“Damn, Starks. I never expected you’d… She’s on her own. I can help her as much as I can, like with the house payments she can no longer make, but I want your blessing.”
“I can’t tell you what to do, Jeffrey, but Kayla’s problem is not my business.”
“You don’t mean that. You can’t.”
“I have my own shit to deal with. She’s getting as good as she gave.”
“C’mon, man. You’re better than Bret. Act like it.”
“I was better than all of them, but she chose strangers over me. Let her live with that.” He barked a laugh. “Or not.” Both men were silent. Then Starks said, “Do whatever you want, Jeffrey. I’ve got to go.”
Starks disconnected the call. He didn’t move, didn’t rush to put the phone away. He knew his response had shocked Jeffrey, probably had disappointed, if not disgusted him. He couldn’t help that. Kayla’s cancer was a surprise. A bigger surprise was that she hadn’t contracted STDs.
She’d come to tell him she was sick. Correction—dying. His comments and attitude had stopped her. Too bad.
At least the kids didn’t have to live with their mother and her latest boyfriend screwing down the hall from where they slept or out by the pool. Maybe with Bret out of the picture, Kayla would stay home with her children, where she belonged.
The children.
The phone was still in his hand. He could call Jeffrey back, could tell him to take care of everything, including asking the nanny to stay on after Kayla was gone so the kids stayed in the only home they’d ever known.
Without their mother.
Or father.
Starks slammed a fist into the wall. “Goddamn you, Margaret.”
CHAPTER 94
STARKS SAT ON his chair, his bunk, paced the constricted space in the cell. He splashed his face with cold water then turned his back on his scowling reflection in the small mirror.
His crew was likely waiting for him in the yard. He should go out there, as though nothing had happened. As though he hadn’t talked to Jeffrey. As though his world hadn’t once again tilted on its axis.
He stripped his bunk and remade it, tidied his desk and Kane’s, refolded their clothes. With a used wet towel, he scrubbed the varnished concrete floor on his hands and knees. After an hour, every surface but the ceiling and fluorescent light fixture had been dusted, cleaned, put in order. It wasn’t enough.
One hundred push-ups plus the same number of stomach crunches and lunges later, it still wasn’t enough.
No library shift for him on weekends, but the library was the only option that appealed to him. Halfway there, he turned around and went back to his cell.
At ten fifty-five, Kane showed up for the count. He paused at the entrance, running his gaze around the small area. “Whoa. There a contest for the cleanest cell or something?”
“Or something.”
“You okay, Starks?”
“I’m fine. Just have a lot on my mind.”
“Anything I can do?”
“No, but thanks for asking.”
“After the count, the crew’s getting a game up. You should come.”
“We’ll see.”
Kane took the hint and stopped talking, which was a relief to Starks. He didn’t want to talk. Didn’t want to listen to anyone. Didn’t want to share space with another person whose head was as filled with thoughts or heart as conflicted as his own. He wanted to think. Especially about his children. Surely, they could see how their mother looked. Had she told them what was going on? Had she told the nanny? What arrangements was she making for their care after she was gone? Or had she relied on discussing this with him when she’d visited?
The count was called. Starks barely paid attention. Afterwards, Kane asked, “You coming with us?”
“What the hell. Let’s make a trip to the commissary first.”
Starks surprised his crew with sandwiches and beverages. He ate half of his sandwich and gave the other half to Kane. This time he didn’t sit the game out. It was a good choice, an obvious morale booster for his guys. They cheered when he made shots and playfully ribbed him when he missed, which were in equal measure. Usually, he missed maybe one out of ten shots, but not today. Today, he couldn’t keep his mind on the game.
Kayla was still alive, but was already haunting him, whispering a question repeatedly in his ear whenever he let his guard down: What am I going to do?
You screwed up, Kayla. You had everything you could need or want. I made sure of it. And you fucked it all away.
CHAPTER 95
THAT NIGHT, IF Kane asked a question, he got one word, a grunt or a shrug in response. Eventually, Kane stayed quiet, which was what Starks wanted. Needed.
After the ten o’clock count, Starks prepped for bed. He lay in his bunk, praying for sleep, which refused to accommodate him. Instead, Kayla’s image insisted he look with different eyes.
Makeup had covered her complexion, but there was no way to hide that her eyes were dull and her usually shiny dark hair lackluster. Usually her attire was too tight, too short, too low-cut. The clothes she’d worn to visit him showed no skin other than her face and hands, as though the temperature outside was crisp rather than sweltering, and hung on her frame like garments on a hanger. He’d been too angry with her about Blake—about everything—to care. She’d brought herself as physical evidence of the destruction taking her life every hour, minute, and second. And he’d ignored the signs. By choice.
Once again, he’d allowed his pride to motivate his actions.
Not feeling so proud now, are you?
Her aqua eyes had captivated him the first time she’d looked at him in English class on the first day of their freshman year. Those eyes had laughed at him, studied him, toyed with him, and eventually gazed at him with admiration, after making him wait two years for any sign of affection. He wanted to believe she’d looked at him with love, but the truth kept him from fooling himself about that. Jenny Hayes had testified at his trial that Kayla told her she never loved Starks. That he’d promised to give her everything, and that’s why she’d
stuck with him and eventually married him.
Twenty years as a couple wasn’t as easy for him to throw away as it had been for Kayla. They’d been physically intimate teens who delighted in experimenting sexually, a couple who’d moved to Texas then California, struggling each month because their checking account was like a sieve, because of Kayla, who refused to stop spending what they didn’t have, refused to be bothered with what was the man’s responsibility.
And because he could have her, he did what was needed—extra jobs on top of a grueling university schedule, plus cutting back on his own needs so she could have little extras she wanted. Because anytime she got what she wanted, her beauty magnified. Because she demonstrated her appreciation with her body, giving herself to him in whatever way he wanted, as often as he wanted, or had the energy for. Most of the time he was exhausted from all the demands he had to meet, from being the responsible one, from being the one who paced the floor at night trying to figure out how to get them out of another financial hole, or how to smile as though yet another package of ramen noodles for dinner by candlelight—one candle—was fine dining, as long as they were together.
Each year he’d worked harder, longer, to give Kayla and their expanding family a home and life he could be proud of. The more he earned, the more she said was needed for her, for the kids. He’d given her a lot, but in some ways he owed her, if for nothing else, for Nathan and Kaitlin. And, yes, even for Blake.
They’d been happy during those days before the mini-mansion, the expensive cars, and all the luxuries his money allowed them to have. Or, at least, he’d been. Was a woman like Kayla ever truly happy? She seemed genuinely happy when the children were born.
Did she know he wasn’t Blake’s father?
Jenny said Kayla had a few secrets she swore to take to her grave.
Would he let her take that one?
