by Naomi Chase
Dre can come visit me another day. And I already talked to Brandon about my legal options, and he told me what to do.
Please don’t think of today as a wasted trip. Seven hours in the car with Brandon was my Christmas gift to you. I hope you made the most of the opportunity. And I hope being together made you both realize that you can’t live without each other.
Love,
Fee
Chapter 40
Brandon
Brandon lay with his hands clasped behind his head as he stared at the ceiling. Warm sunlight poured through the drapes to wash over his bedroom.
It was Saturday morning—New Year’s Eve.
He had things to do, errands to run. But he made no move to get up, content to lie there and reminisce about yesterday’s road trip. He replayed every moment, savoring the minutest details. He remembered the playful banter between him and Tamia, the easy camaraderie he’d missed so damn much. When they’d rubbed their hands against each other’s, the butterflies that fluttered his stomach had been downright unmanly.
When Tamia got sick, he’d been worried as hell. But he’d also felt stirrings of hope. From that moment, the questions had begun whispering through his mind.
Was Tamia pregnant?
If so, was it his baby?
Or Dominic’s?
Brandon stopped right there, not wanting to even contemplate the possibility of his boo carrying another man’s child. It would kill him, put him out of his misery once and for all.
He swallowed hard, feeling his chest tighten.
He was glad Cynthia wasn’t there to speculate about the play of emotions crossing his face. She’d left early that morning for a hair appointment. That evening they were attending a New Year’s Eve party at her sorority sister’s house in lieu of the masquerade ball Brandon’s mother traditionally hosted. Since she’d been so busy helping with her husband’s campaign and planning Brandon and Cynthia’s wedding, Gwen had decided to cancel the masquerade ball this year.
Brandon was glad.
He’d had enough of wearing masks, pretending to be someone he wasn’t.
He was done being a martyr who nobly sacrificed his own needs and desires for some higher purpose.
He’d made up his mind, and he knew what he had to do.
The sooner, the better.
Just then his phone rang on the bedside table. He reached over and picked it up, surprised to see Leah’s number.
“Hello?” he answered.
“Brandon?” Her voice was low and tremulous. “It’s Leah.”
“Wassup, girl.”
“I . . . I have something to—” She broke off suddenly and burst into tears.
A dagger of alarm shot through Brandon. “Leah?” He pushed himself up on an elbow. “What’s wrong?”
She began sobbing and babbling incoherently.
“Hey, hey,” Brandon murmured soothingly. “Calm down, take a deep breath, and tell me what’s going on.”
“It’s Cynthia . . . ,” she choked out tearfully.
Brandon tensed, his eyes narrowing. “What about Cynthia?”
“She’s not . . . she’s not pregnant.”
Brandon bolted upright, the phone pressed hard against his ear. “What do you mean she’s not pregnant?”
Leah gulped down a sob. “She made it up . . . to get you to marry her. And I . . . oh God, I helped her!”
Brandon swung his legs over the side of the bed, his feet hitting the floor with an urgent thud. “What the fuck are you talking about, Leah?”
“I’m so sorry, Brandon,” she rushed on, her voice garbled with tears. “I thought I was being a good friend to Cynthia, and I honestly didn’t think Tamia deserved you after the way she broke your heart. But I know what I did was wrong, and I never should have agreed to the idea!”
“Tell me what the hell happened,” Brandon demanded.
“Cynthia came to see me one day. She was crying so hysterically I thought I’d have to give her something to calm her down! She was upset because you and Tamia were getting back together. She insisted that you really loved her, not Tamia, but you were just confused because Tamia had been playing mind games with you. Some of the nurses had just been talking about some stupid baby storyline on one of the soaps, and I made a joke about Cynthia doing the same thing. Oh my God, I never thought she would take it seriously! The next thing I knew, she was begging me to help her fake a pregnancy!”
Brandon clenched his jaw so hard the tendons in his neck bulged. “What did she want you to do?”
Leah hesitated. “Since I know all the ob-gyns and nurses who work at the hospital, I had access to . . . things.”
“Like the sonogram photo,” Brandon said tightly.
“Yes,” Leah whispered. “She knew once you saw that picture, you wouldn’t have any more doubts.”
Brandon closed his eyes as a cold rage swept over him, pouring ice into his veins. “I spoke to her doctor on the phone. She’s the one who confirmed the test results.”
“That wasn’t Dr. Kapoor. That was an old friend of Cynthia’s. She’s from India like Cynthia’s real gynecologist.”
Brandon shook his head, sickened and infuriated by the level of manipulation and deceit that had been perpetrated. Cynthia had even given him the wrong date for her doctor’s appointment, making him feel guilty for missing something that had never taken place.
“Was she ever on the pill?” he demanded.
“No.” Leah drew a deep, shuddering breath. “She’d been trying to get pregnant for months, but you always insisted on wearing protection—even when you guys had sex in the shower. It drove her crazy. Also, she was diagnosed with mild endometriosis several months ago, so that’s why it hasn’t been easy for her to conceive. The irony is that taking birth control pills is one of the treatment options for endometriosis.” Leah sighed heavily. “She figured once you saw the proof that she was carrying your child, you’d stop wearing condoms, and she’d eventually get pregnant for real.”
Brandon thought of the night he’d gotten drunk, and Cynthia had seized the opportunity to have sex with him.
Scheming bitch!
“I felt so horrible when you showed up at the hospital last week,” Leah confessed in a low voice. “You brought me lunch, and you were so sweet and caring. I was already feeling guilty about what I’d done. Seeing you just made it a thousand times worse. After you left, I called Cynthia and told her she needs to come clean. But she refused, saying she’d come too far to turn back. She said I’d lose my job and my medical license if anyone found out, and she’s right. I would. But I don’t care anymore. I couldn’t go into the New Year having this on my conscience. Words can’t express how truly sorry I am for betraying your friendship, Brandon. I hope you can forgive me.”
After a stony silence, Brandon hung up without responding.
It was the last day of what had been the craziest year of his life. A year filled with one betrayal after another from women he’d trusted.
His capacity for forgiveness had exceeded its fucking limit.
When Cynthia returned home that afternoon, he was waiting for her.
He sat in his favorite armchair swigging from a bottle of beer and laughing at an old episode of The Jeffersons, which always reminded him of the time he and Tamia had playfully sung the theme song to each other.
“Hey, baby,” Cynthia greeted him, strolling into the living room.
“Hey.” Brandon smiled at her. “Don’t you look nice.”
“You like?” She preened, patting her freshly glossed mane. “And it’s all mine. Unlike your Queen Bey.”
“Yo, don’t be throwing shade at my girl.”
Cynthia sniffed. “Just sayin’. I may not be an international sex symbol, but at least I’m not fake.”
You’re the biggest fake of all, Brandon thought cynically.
She sauntered over to him, sat on his lap, and looped her arms around his neck. As she leaned close to kiss him, he raised his bottle to hi
s mouth and took a swig of beer.
Her smile wavered. “Did you run your errands?”
“Yup.”
She glanced at the coffee table, noticing the arts and crafts materials he’d gathered. “What’s all this?”
“Oh, I’m starting a baby album.”
“A baby album?”
“Umm-hmm.” He smiled, setting aside his beer. “I’ve been feeling really bad about missing your doctor’s appointment that day. I should have been there for your first sonogram.”
“That’s okay,” Cynthia assured him. “I know you’ve had a lot on your mind lately.”
“Yeah, but that’s no excuse. I don’t want you to think I’m not supportive, so I was thinking we could start, like, a scrapbook to chronicle your pregnancy and the baby’s first year of life.”
Cynthia’s expression softened with pleasure. “What a wonderful idea.”
“I’m glad you think so,” Brandon said. “I was looking up some scrapbooking ideas online. Some of the things we could include are pictures of your stomach getting bigger every month, photos of the nursery once we set it up, your baby shower invitations—’cause I know you’ve already picked them out,” he teased.
Cynthia laughed. “You know me so well.”
“Yup. I sure do.” Brandon grinned. “Anyway, since the only keepsake we have right now is the sonogram picture, I’ve been trying to think of other things to put in the album. Now don’t laugh,” he said, reaching down beside the armchair to pick up a plastic Walgreens bag, “but I thought no baby album could be complete without one of these.”
Cynthia froze, her eyes flaring with panic at the sight of the home pregnancy test he removed from the bag. “Wh-what’re you doing with that?”
Brandon smiled. “I thought you could pee on the stick so we can add it to the album.”
Cynthia wrinkled her nose. “Um, that’s kinda gross.”
Brandon chuckled. “Obviously we’ll wait until your pee dries before we put the stick in the scrapbook. And we can toss it into a Ziploc bag if you’re that disgusted.”
“Ohhkay.” Cynthia snickered nervously. “This is probably why guys should leave the scrapbooking to women.”
“Come on, baby. I’m trying to make an effort here. Humor me.”
She bit her lip, darting an anxious glance at the home pregnancy test. “I don’t have to pee right now.”
“Really? I thought pregnant women always have a full bladder.”
“I don’t. Besides,” she added irritably, “I told you before that those things aren’t always accurate.”
He held up the bag. “That’s why I got four different brands. I figure at least one of them should come out positive, right?”
Cynthia’s mouth tightened at the edges.
“Come on, baby. Do it for me.” Brandon smiled cajolingly. “Please?”
She stared at him.
He stared back, expecting her to crack under the pressure.
But he was wrong.
After wavering another moment, she reluctantly took the bag from his hand, slid off his lap, and trudged from the room.
Brandon sat there drumming his fingertips on the armrest, waiting to see how far she would go to prolong the charade.
Pretty far, as it turned out.
About three minutes later, she returned to the living room, huffing an exasperated breath. “See,” she complained, flapping the bone-dry plastic stick at him before tossing it onto the table. “I told you I couldn’t pee. Not even a trickle.”
Brandon looked at her.
She frowned and glanced away, shifting nervously from one foot to the other as she pretended to watch The Jeffersons.
Brandon let the silence hang between them, stretching it into a full minute before he spoke. “I can’t do this.”
Cynthia’s eyes swung back to his face. “You can’t do what?”
“This.” He gestured between them. “You and me. I can’t do this shit anymore.”
She swallowed visibly. “Wh-what are you saying, Brandon?”
“I’m saying I’m done. We’re done.”
“You . . . you’re breaking off our engagement?”
His voice was hard. “Yes.”
She stared at him, then burst out shrilly, “I knew I shouldn’t have let you go on that damn road trip with Tamia and Dre! The moment you told me about it, I knew it was a horrible idea! Just like it was a horrible idea for me to let Tamia come here that night after the banquet!”
Brandon narrowed his eyes. “What do you mean you ‘let’ her?”
“How do you think she got into the condo, Brandon? I gave her my fucking key because she said she wanted to tell you good-bye in person. But I should have refused because ever since that night, you’ve been like a complete stranger to me! What the hell happened between you two?”
Brandon calmly met her gaze. “I asked her to marry me.”
Cynthia’s eyes widened. “You did WHAT?”
“I asked her to marry me.” He smiled grimly. “She turned me down.”
Cynthia looked stunned. “She did?”
“Yup. Broke my heart, too. But that’s not even the point. The fact that I proposed to her confirms once and for all that I have no damn business marrying you when she’s the one I wanna be with.”
Cynthia’s nostrils flared, her eyes hardening with fury as she stood over his chair. “You can’t do this, Brandon. You can’t just walk away from me.”
“Why not?”
“Because I’m having your baby!”
He gave her a coldly mocking smile. “You mean the baby that only exists in your imagination? The one you’ve been lying about from day one? That baby?”
He watched in satisfaction as the blood drained from her face.
She stared at him, shocked into speechlessness.
“That’s right, sweetheart,” he jeered. “I know all about the elaborate scheme you concocted to trap me into marrying you. Leah called to confess and unburden her soul.”
Cynthia’s eyes flashed with the wounded disbelief of someone who’d been grievously betrayed. “That bitch,” she hissed.
“Right,” Brandon mocked. “She came clean and told the truth, but she’s the bitch.”
Cynthia’s face flushed. “Don’t be fooled into thinking her motives were pure,” she spat resentfully. “I’ve always suspected Leah has feelings for you, Brandon. I wouldn’t be surprised if she ‘came clean’ just to break us up!”
“I don’t give a fuck!” Brandon thundered, lunging from the chair. “We’re not talking about Leah! We’re talking about you and your shady behavior! I mean, come on, Cynthia. Faking a pregnancy? How long did you seriously think you could get away with that shit? What if you’d never gotten pregnant? Were you gonna start hiding your body from me so I wouldn’t know you were wearing one of those fake fat suits? Were you gonna pretend to go into ‘labor’ while I was conveniently out of town or something? Were you gonna steal somebody’s baby and pass it off as ours?”
Cynthia’s face reddened with humiliation as he fired the questions at her as if she were under cross-examination.
“Answer me, damn it!” he prodded furiously. “How far were you willing to go to pull this off? Huh? How far?”
“As far as I had to!” she exploded.
Brandon stilled, eyeing her incredulously. “Do you know how crazy you sound right now? Have you completely lost your fucking mind?”
Tears flooded her eyes. “I didn’t know what else to do, Brandon! You and Tamia were getting back together. You took her to Italy and . . .” She trailed off, chin quivering. “I love you—”
“DON’T TALK TO ME ABOUT LOVE!” Brandon roared. “You don’t know a damn thing about love when you can lie to my face every day and not think twice about it! My God, Cynthia, you deceived me into believing you were having my child. You knew the kind of man I am. You knew I’d wanna do the right thing and marry you. You played me like a muthafucka!”
“I’m sorry,” she cri
ed piteously. “I didn’t mean to hurt you, Brandon! I just wanted you to love me as much as I’ve always loved you!”
“By tricking me into marrying you? That’s how you planned to win my heart?”
Tears spilled down her face. “She doesn’t deserve you, Brandon. And she’s not right for you!”
“But you are,” he mocked scornfully.
“Yes! You and I were the closest of friends before you ever met Tamia! If she hadn’t come along, I know you would have eventually realized that we belong together. We’re good for each other, Brandon. And if you have any political aspirations whatsoever, you need me by your side—not that whore!”
Brandon raked her with a look of scathing contempt. “You know what? I’m done with this conversation, and I’m done with you. Have a nice fucking life.”
She gasped as he shoved past her and stalked toward the door.
“Where are you going?” she taunted bitterly. “Crawling back to Tamia?”
“Don’t worry about where the fuck I’m going. All you need to worry about is packing up your shit and getting the fuck up outta here before I come back.”
She started forward beseechingly. “Brandon—”
“I’m dead serious, Cynthia. I want you gone. Vanished. Ghost. The front desk is bringing up moving boxes, and a driver will be here to load up a rental van for you. You got two hours to get your shit together before security shows up to escort your ass out, so I suggest you get cracking.”
Shooting her one last scornful glare, he turned and stormed out, slamming the door behind him.
Two minutes later, he was climbing into his car when Dre called.
“Wassup, B.”
“Yo, wassup.”
“You and Cynthia still going to that party at her friend’s house?”
“Nah, man. I think I’ll ring in the New Year with y’all at Cornel’s club.”
“Word? That’s cool. It’s gon’ be off da chain.” Dre chuckled. “So what’s good with you? What you up to?”
Brandon sighed. “Just taking out the trash, bruh. Just taking out the trash . . .”
