by Briana Cole
It should’ve been funny, but Dorian could only frown at the story. He was listening but his mind kept flashing back to when Reagan had been committed to the hospital and Roman had mentioned possible mental health issues. Here again, someone else had noticed something about that girl.
“Aw, man, I’m sorry,” Kenny said, noticing Dorian had lapsed into deep thought. “I know that’s your baby sister. My fault. I didn’t even think about that. I wasn’t trying to disrespect you or anything.”
Dorian dismissed the apology with a wave of his hand. “Oh no, that’s not it,” he assured him. “I was just thinking about what you said and was trying to see if I ever noticed her acting like that.”
Kenny shrugged. “I don’t know, but it was damn sure awkward. Then we had a few drinks at dinner, and I think she had loosened up toward the end there because she seemed calmer. I almost got caught up, though.”
“What you mean?”
“Shit, going home to my girl smelling like Japanese Cherry Blossom and sex.” Kenny chuckled again as if reliving that brief moment of paranoia. “I had to jump in the shower quick.” If he had been looking, he would have seen the flicker of anger in Dorian’s eyes.
Dorian felt his blood beginning to boil and he had to count to ten before speaking. He knew he didn’t hear what Kenny had just said. “Sex?” he repeated, choosing his words carefully. “Oh, you and Reagan sexing and shit?”
Kenny cursed under his breath. “Shit, my fault again, man. I keep forgetting that’s family for you. I’m not even thinking. Just talking like how we do.”
“So, that’s a yeah?”
Kenny’s breath was reluctant. “Yeah, man. We did.”
Dorian didn’t even know he had moved. He just remembered suddenly being on the other side of the desk, Kenny’s neck between his fingers, and using his other fist to decorate his friend’s face. They fell to the ground, toppling over chairs, and Dorian could only see red as Kenny struggled to dodge his punches.
“Hey, man, what the—” he spurted before Dorian knocked the rest of the words down his throat with a fist to his mouth. All he could think about was Kenny sexing Reagan, feeling her walls, touching on her body. Then Kenny’s face morphed into Myles’s, and Dorian punched even harder. The images were flying in rapid succession and were enough to have jealousy fueling his adrenaline, and he was damn near dragging the man across his office.
“Dorian, what are you doing?” Claudia’s high-pitched voice broke through and seemed to snap him out of his daze.
Baffled, Dorian looked down to assess the damages. His own hands were sore, and his knuckles were bruised, but other than that and being a bit winded, he was fine. He couldn’t say too much about Kenny, on the other hand. His friend’s face was swollen. Blood trickled from his nose as well as his busted lip to splatter on the white dress shirt he wore under his gray blazer. He groaned as he sat up, his hand reflexively grabbing his side to massage his tender ribs.
“Shit.” Dorian climbed to his feet and could only stare at Kenny’s perplexed and bruised face. “Damn, man. I’m sorry.”
“What the fuck is wrong with you, man?” Kenny coughed and spit out a glob of blood, the crimson red spot immediately staining the ivory carpet. He readjusted his tattered suit. “All this over that crazy bitch?”
Dorian opened his mouth and closed it again. He wanted to explain, wanted to rattle out an excuse of feeling disrespected because Reagan was his little sister. But looking again at Kenny’s face and the mess in in his office, even that excuse wasn’t strong enough to substantiate such a horrible fight. Especially with his good friend.
“Oh, my God.” Claudia’s hands were to her lips as she watched Kenny wobble to his feet. “Kenny, are you okay? Do you need me to call someone?”
“I’m good, Ms. Claudia.” Kenny gave one final glare at Dorian before turning and hobbling from the office.
Claudia looked to Dorian as if waiting for an explanation, but he had none. He was at a loss. Not to mention his body was aching from Kenny’s defensive blows and rolling around in a brawl like they were two kids on the playground at recess. Panic was beginning to claw at him. He was losing control of the situation. Plain and utter jealousy at its finest. He had been okay with them going out, but knowing that Reagan was having other men was enough to shred his sanity.
Dorian lifted one of the chairs and plopped down in it, massaging his hands. “Ms. Claudia, can I have something cold to drink, please?”
Claudia snorted. “Hmph. What you need is a good stiff kick in your behind. In this professional place, fighting like some common thug. You already know how white people think of us, and you and Kenny just go and give them something else to talk about. You ought to be ashamed of yourself. Get your own damn cold drink.” And with that, she turned and stalked off down the hall.
He deserved that. He knew he did. And he did feel ashamed. Not to mention embarrassed. How was he going to explain his behavior to Shantae? To Kenny? To his coworkers?
Deciding he needed air, Dorian grabbed his keys and phone and headed down the hall.
Claudia wasn’t at her desk, so he quickly scribbled a note about leaving for the day on one of her Post-its and stuck it to her monitor. He then took the elevator down to the parking garage.
Dorian sat in his car for a moment, staring at his phone. He needed to call Shantae. They did need to talk. And more importantly, he needed to completely get rid of Reagan. She was destroying his life. Speaking of which, he saw she had called twice and sent a text. Damn, he had forgot he was waiting on her call. He read the simple CALL ME message first before dialing her number.
She picked up on the first ring as if she was expecting him. “Hey, baby.”
“Hey. Is it done?”
Reagan sucked her teeth. “Damn, no ‘how are you? Are you feeling okay?’ Just straight to it, huh?”
Dorian squeezed his eyes shut. “Reagan, please. I’ve had a hard day.”
“And I haven’t?”
“That’s what I’m trying to see about. Did you do it?”
“Yeah,” she said, in a huff. “I did. You happy now?”
Dorian bit back a response. Actually, he was. When he had first suggested abortion, Reagan was completely against it. She had cried on his shoulder about wanting to have their love child. Needing to have a piece of him always. He had tried several tactics, asking how could she want to have another child, already having one who pretty much was now being raised by her parents. He had even resorted to threatening he would never see her again if she continued to refuse the abortion. Eventually, she gave in and he had quickly handed over the money for her to have the procedure. Now, hearing her affirmation had Dorian sighing in relief. One less complication he had to deal with for the time being.
“Are you okay?” he asked, finally. “How are you feeling? In pain or anything?”
“Oh, now you care?”
“Reagan, I don’t need the fucking attitude. For real.”
“So? You just made me get an abortion. I have a right to have a fucking attitude.”
“Oh yeah? Well, I just got into a fight with my friend over your grimy ass, so I’m not in the fucking mood,” Dorian snapped back.
“What are you talking about? Fight with who? And who the hell you calling grimy?”
Dorian stretched his fingers, feeling them beginning to cramp up. “Kenny. Remember my friend, Kenny, who you went out with? You just give it up to anybody, huh?” Disgust filled his gut when Reagan just remained quiet. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. So, he wasn’t lying, huh? You were.”
“Baby, it’s not like that.” Reagan’s tone had softened. “It just happened, and it didn’t mean anything. I didn’t even want to. I was just so angry and hurt you let me go out with him. Like you didn’t even want me. Like you didn’t even love me.”
“I don’t love you, Reagan,” Dorian yelled, banging his fist on the steering wheel. “Stop saying that. Stop being so damn extra. I can’t handle that shit.”
“Reagan. Hear me good. I need you to get your shit and get the hell out of my house.” Dorian’s words seeped through clenched teeth. “This shit is done.”
“But I just had the abortion for you, Dorian.”
“I don’t give a fuck. How do I know the shit was even mine? It could’ve been Kenny’s. Or Myles’s. Or hell, ol’ boy you brought to my house that night.”
“Dorian, baby—”
“Get the fuck out, Reagan. I’m serious. We are over.” Dorian clicked the phone off, not surprised when it immediately rang in his hand, with Reagan’s number flashing across his screen. He rejected the call and it rang again, and again. She called twenty-four times before Dorian was able to get to his block list to block her number. He then punched in his wife’s number and waited for her to pick up.
“Hello?” Shantae answered.
“Shantae. Babe, it’s me. Where are you?”
“I’m at work, Dorian. Why? Did you get my message?”
“Yeah, that’s why I’m calling. Can you take the rest of the day off and let’s go somewhere so we can talk?”
Shantae sighed. “Yeah. Where do you want to meet?”
Dorian went all out and chose a spa near the house. He knew it was extreme, but after the fight with Kenny and the blowup with Reagan, he needed to realign his focus. And his focus was his marriage.
He almost told Shantae to meet him there but then he reconsidered and told her he would pick her up. When she stepped out of the bank in one of those signature suits that flirted with both sexy and professional, her hair swirling with the cool breeze, it reminded him of when they had first started dating. It was definitely something about Shantae’s aura that kept him coming back. Somewhere along the way, he had forgotten that.
She approached the car, and he quickly got out and rounded the hood to open her door. He watched the surprise register on her face. “Dorian, what is all this?” she asked, her voice weary.
“Just get in,” he said. “Please.” She sighed but obliged without another word.
Dorian drove with leisure. The windows were down to let the comfortable breeze drift through, the radio soft enough for conversation but loud enough to have Shantae nodding along to the music. When he placed his hand on hers on the armrest, he felt a silent victory when she didn’t budge at the casual gesture.
After a short drive, Dorian eased the car up a brick driveway and under the arch of a stone building. A Spa Amor sign hung suspended between two columns, and large windows allowed a glimpse of the elegantly decorated reception area. A valet was already opening her door and extending his hand to help her out. “Welcome to Spa Amor,” he greeted before rounding the hood to the driver’s side. Another victory. He saw the ghost of a smile playing on Shantae’s lips and he felt himself simmering with excitement. This just might work in his favor.
Inside, candles, plush cream couches and ottomans, lap throws, and glass shelves adorned the lobby. Someone had lit the fireplace, and a mellow flame cracked as it licked a stack of firewood, filling the room with the smell of hickory.
Dorian headed to the reception desk while Shantae wandered to a set of French double doors toward the back of the room. She peered through, admiring the pool, hot tub, and rock formation waterfall, all surrounded by an assortment of palm trees, hammocks, and patio furniture. They were shown down a spiral staircase where the young attendant led them to their respective areas.
The men’s changing room carried the same luxury and high-end finishing as the rest of the mini resort, from the deep, chocolate lockers lining each wall to the floors patterned with tiles in rich shades of rust and sage. When Dorian removed his socks and shoes, he could only smile as the underfloor heating radiated gentle warmth. As instructed, he changed into the monogrammed spa robe, savoring the distinct smell of honeysuckle that infused the locker room and drifted suggestively into the attached bathroom. Damn. The depth of this serenity had his body nearly throbbing in appreciation.
He had booked them a couples massage and had to praise himself at his great idea. He didn’t realize his body was as badly bruised as it was until now. At first, Shantae had seemed vaguely impressed by his suggestion they have a couples spa day, but one thing she had loved about him, at least in the beginning, was his spontaneity and his charming ways. Dorian could only pray her mind wasn’t already made up and she wasn’t just biding her time, looking for the right moment to destroy their marriage and his heart.
The attendant led them into a European-style room, dimly lit with a range of earth tones and two massage tables. “If you two will get comfortable on the tables,” she said, adjusting the lighting on the wall, “your masseuses will be in shortly.”
As soon as the door closed, Dorian watched Shantae turn her back to him. “What’s the matter,” he teased. “You afraid for me to see you naked?”
“Nah,” she said, simply. Dorian should have expected the cold response. The sudden spike in tension nearly had the room vibrating. She loosened the belt on her robe and let it slip from her shoulders to pool at her feet. Then without another word, she lay on the table and turned her face to the wall as if creating her own shell of privacy.
“Babe—” he started.
“Dorian. Please. Not now.”
He nodded. Fair enough. Without another word, he climbed on the table and waited in silence. Pretty soon, a young man and woman walked through the door, dressed in identical crisp, white T-shirts and white cargo shorts. His masseuse was Kelly, a young blonde with petite hands and a sunny smile. Kelly wasted no time going to work on his sore muscles. He closed his eyes, enjoying the feel of warm oil dribbling on his back. He couldn’t be sure if Kelly was actually trying to hold a conversation with him, and honestly, he couldn’t care less. Instead, he focused on his body beginning to hum with her delicate presses, her fingers gliding over his skin like satin.
The room set a relaxing ambience with the smell of eucalyptus wafting around them. The harp music and wave-crashing instrumentals drifted low through an in-ceiling speaker and helped to calm the thoughts racing through his mind.
After fifty minutes, Dorian and Shantae dressed in their swimsuits, cream-colored monogrammed spa robes, and matching slippers before being led to the Jacuzzi. In the middle of the afternoon on a Tuesday, they pretty much had the place to themselves.
“That felt so good,” Shantae said as soon as they had eased into the Jacuzzi. The steam surrounded them, and the bubbling hot water was pleasantly soothing on Dorian’s body. He sat across from her on the bench and watched her lay her head back on the lip of the Jacuzzi, sighing luxuriously. Right there, that relaxed look on her face with the first few beads of sweat peppering on her forehead, that was his Shantae. His love. So easily distracted with Reagan, he hadn’t realized how much he had missed her until that very point.
“I love you,” Dorian said.
Shantae lifted her head and stared at him. “Do you? It sure hasn’t seemed that way for months now.”
“I know, babe. And I’m sorry. I don’t have an excuse.” He averted his eyes, uncomfortable with the way she was scrutinizing his face.
“What changed, Dorian? What happened?”
Dorian shook the image of Reagan riding him out of his head and merely shrugged. “I think we just started drifting apart. I’m not really concerned with the why. I’m more concerned with what we need to do to get back to where we used to be.”
Shantae’s face was flushed and wet, but Dorian couldn’t tell if it was from sweat, steam, or tears. “I’m not sure if we can, Dorian.”
Dorian felt his heart quickening and he shifted across the water to sit beside her. He kissed her cheek, tasted the salt, and knew she was indeed crying. Knowing he was the cause, he could only wrap h
is arms around her shoulders and curse himself for his stupidity.
“I don’t want to divorce you, Dorian,” Shantae said, looking up into his eyes. “I really don’t. I wanted the happily ever after with you. The kids, the dog—”
“And we can do all of that, babe,” Dorian said, almost desperate. “If that’s what it takes. Let’s have kids. Let’s get a dog. Whatever you want to do.”
“Kids? Now? Look at us. We are broken.”
“We can be fixed, Shantae. You mentioned children before, and I’m sorry for not being as receptive. But I’m open to it now. Whatever you want. We got us, remember?” He kissed her response away and she moaned, parting her lips to receive him. Dorian poured all of his love and passion into the kiss and reached between her legs to slide her bikini bottoms to the side.
“Dorian, wait—”
“Shh.” He covered her mouth with his once more. If a baby would save his marriage, he was willing to do that. This time, not with Reagan. With his wife. With his happily ever after.
Chapter Twenty-one
Only two times Dorian had ever cried. One was after he heard his father had been killed in the line of duty. He remembered his dad hadn’t made his basketball game at the rec center that Wednesday night. Not that he was starting or anything, but still, at the tender age of six, he just wanted his dad to be out there in the stands cheering him on like all the other dads. And when he finally got to play in the fourth quarter and his dad was nowhere to be found, he remembered being so damn pissed that he ended up missing both free throws.
His dad had come home later that evening and tiptoed into his room. At first, stubborn anger had prompted Dorian to pretend to be asleep, though he was wide awake and had been for hours. But then when his dad started to leave, Dorian had jolted up in the bed, unable to hold in his discontent any longer.
“I thought you were coming,” he said, his young voice elevated with emotion. It wasn’t too often his dad disappointed him, and maybe looking back on it he had overreacted. But that didn’t register then. All he knew was that his hopes had been shattered.
