by Shelly Ellis
If I’m happy, why shouldn’t she be happy, too?
But that didn’t stop his faint sense of loss, the sharp pang of heartache at seeing someone he once loved live her best life without him.
He watched as she leaned toward the ear of the man whose back was still facing him. He couldn’t see who the man was. She placed a hand on the man’s shoulder with a familiarity and intimacy that made Derrick frown. She gave the man a flirty smile.
Was this just a date or her new boyfriend? Had Derrick met this dude before?
Something told him to walk away from the bar. He was with Morgan now. Melissa could date whomever she wanted. It was no concern of his. But he didn’t walk away.
Propelled by curiosity and quite a bit of alcohol, Derrick didn’t even hesitate before he strolled down the length of the bar toward her. He wouldn’t try to talk to her or interfere, he told himself. He just wanted to know who Melissa was talking to.
When he stood a few feet away, she stopped whispering to the mystery guy. Her date finally turned to reach for the glass at his elbow. Derrick could now see him in profile and when he did, he saw red.
It was Jamal—the same man who had professed his love to Melissa, kissed her, and told her to end it with Derrick once and for all . . . the same man whom Derrick had once affectionately called “my boy, Jay,” but who had really been the snake lying and waiting in the grass all those years. That son of a bitch was now cuddled up with Derrick’s ex at the bar. Jamal even offered his glass to her after he took a drink. She nodded, sipped some of the liquor, made a face, and they both burst into laughter as she handed back Jamal’s drink.
Watching them, Derrick couldn’t have been more hurt than if someone had shoved a steak knife into his chest.
Melissa must have felt his gaze on her. She turned away from Jamal and glanced in his direction and her smile withered. Her laughter died in her throat.
“Dee?” she said in shock.
His name came out in an exhalation of breath.
Jamal turned to face him. He didn’t look alarmed or embarrassed at being caught with Melissa. He actually had the audacity to break into a grin.
“Hey, Dee,” he said. “I didn’t know you were here. What’s up?”
Derrick looked between the two of them. “What’s up? What’s up? No, what’s up with you?”
Jamal lowered his glass back to the bar top, now looking uncertain. “What?”
“Don’t act like you don’t know what I’m talking about! What the fuck is this shit?” he shouted, pointing at Jamal and Melissa, while several people turned to look at the trio. Even one of the bartenders stopped, holding the shaker midair, to stare at them.
“Look, Dee . . . chill, man,” Jamal began. “I don’t know what’s—”
“Don’t tell me to fuckin’ chill, you shady motherfucka! Don’t ever come at me like that!” he shouted, feeling the tendons stand out along his neck, feeling his anger boil over. He then glared at Melissa, turning his wrath on her. “So this is the nigga you chose to hook up with after me? My own boy? I guess this is your idea of revenge or some shit! You really went that low?”
Melissa sucked her teeth, infuriating Derrick even more. “I’m not even going to dignify that with an answer,” she murmured before grabbing her gold clutch from the countertop and linking her arm through Jamal’s. “Come on, Jay. He’s obviously drunk, and this is stupid.”
“I’m not drunk! I wish I fuckin’ was! Don’t—”
“Yes, you are, Dee,” she said tightly, cutting him off. “You’ve never been a sloppy drunk before. Don’t start now. I suggest you sober up quick before you embarrass yourself.” She tugged at Jamal’s arm insistently. “Let’s go, Jay.”
Jamal paused as if wanting to say more to Derrick, but then he reluctantly nodded, ushering Melissa away from the bar.
“Yeah, go! Go! Run away like the punk-ass nigga that you are!” Derrick bellowed as he trailed after them while they walked back toward the ballroom’s entrance.
The crowd began to part like the Dead Sea to allow Jamal and Melissa to pass, giving an angry Derrick a wide berth. He knew from the expressions on everyone’s faces that he must look crazy, shouting at the top of his lungs, but he didn’t care. He was too hurt, furious, and yes, indeed, drunk, to give a damn.
“You never could own up to your shit, could you, Jay? Always ran away and left me and Ricky to fight your battles for you,” he continued, undaunted. “You punk! You bitch! You’re as much of a bitch-ass nigga as Ricky said you was!”
Jamal glanced over his shoulder at him as they walked to the exit, but Melissa’s eyes stubbornly stayed forward—and it was like waving a red flag in front of Derrick’s face. He wanted her to hurt as much as he hurt right now. He wanted her to be angry. He’d be damned if she’d walk away from him like his pain and suffering wasn’t worth the time of day.
“I expected some shady shit like this from you, Jay, but I never thought in a million years you would pull something like this, Lissa,” he taunted as they stepped through the doors into the hotel lobby, where several couples lingered. “How long did it take for y’all to hook up? Did you dial this nigga as soon as we broke up? You told me you felt nothin’ for him, that you pitied his ass! So I guess you pitied him so much you started fuckin’ him!”
“Hey!” Jamal said, whipping around to face him and jabbing his finger at him. “Now you know you’re out of line for that shit, Dee! Don’t talk to her like that!”
“Jay,” Melissa said in a warning voice, shaking her head, “don’t. It’s not worth it.” She tugged his arm again. “Let’s just go.”
“No, don’t stop him! He was finally starting to buck up for once. Let him say what the fuck he had to say!” He gave Jay’s shoulder a hard shove, sending Jamal back about a foot, making Melissa yelp in outrage. “Say what the fuck you had to say!”
“Dee, stop it!” Melissa yelled. “You’re drunk! Just go away and sober the hell up, okay?”
“What’s happening?” Morgan asked, jogging across the lobby toward them. “I heard you shouting all the way in the ladies’ room, baby.”
As she drew close, Morgan’s and Melissa’s eyes met. Morgan placed a protective hand on Derrick’s shoulder. Melissa sucked her teeth again in exasperation.
“Oh, you’ve got some goddamn nerve coming at me like this, Derrick Miller, when you brought this bitch here,” Melissa snarled.
Morgan dropped her hand from Derrick’s shoulder to her hip. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me!” Melissa yelled back, gesturing to Derrick. “He’s your man now, ain’t he? That’s what you wanted all along. That’s what all that sneaking around behind my back was about. You wanted him—now you’ve got him! Get your man under control!”
“What the hell is she talking about, baby?” Morgan asked, rounding on him. She grabbed his arm. “What’s going on?”
He didn’t even hear her question. Instead, his gaze stayed squarely focused on Melissa’s and Jamal’s retreating backs as they continued toward the bank of elevators on the other side of the lobby. He yanked his arm out of Morgan’s grasp and went stalking after them.
“Don’t walk away from me! Don’t you dare walk away, Jay. You stand up and face me, nigga! Face your shit for once!”
Just as Melissa pressed the down elevator button, Derrick charged forward, giving Jamal another hard shove, sending the other man slamming face-first into the gold elevator doors.
“Turn around and face me! Face me, you backstabbin’ motherfucka!”
If Jamal wouldn’t turn and face him on his own, he would damn well make him do it. He grabbed the collar of Jamal’s tuxedo and yanked him around.
“Dee, stop! What are you doing?” Morgan screeched.
Derrick pounced on Jamal before he could gain his footing. He shoved him against the wall next to the elevators, pinning him there.
“Fight me!” Derrick yelled, balling his fist. “Fight me, nigga!”
“I’m not gonna fight
you, Dee!” Jamal yelled back, pushing him away. “No matter how much you try to pick a fight with me, I’m not going to do it. I’m tired of fighting! I don’t wanna do this shit any—”
His words were stopped short when Derrick punched him squarely in the face. A stream of blood gushed out of Jamal’s nose and trickled over his upper lip. A few women in the lobby started screaming. Voices rose in alarm.
Derrick grabbed the front of Jamal’s tuxedo shirt and pulled back his arm, ready to punch again.
He thought about all the times he had defended Jamal, all the blows he had taken for his so-called friend over the years. He was going to pay Jamal back for every single one of those hits he’d suffered protecting him from the neighborhood bullies, for every single lie Jamal had told him and double cross Jamal had committed.
But he didn’t get to do it. Melissa jumped up and slapped him across his face and alongside his head. She gave him a series of hits, her arms windmilling wildly, and he had to let go of Jamal and grab her hands to stop the blows.
“If you’re gonna fight anyone, fight me! Fight me, you son of bitch!” she yelled over and over again. “I’m the one who wants to kick your lyin’, cheatin’ ass! Fight me!”
He blinked and looked down at her in shock. It was like he was snapping out of a spell. He could see that she was crying . . . no, sobbing.
He looked down through his tangled nest of dreads at Jamal, who was now leaning against the wall, holding his bloody nose and gulping for air through a swollen lip.
Derrick released Melissa and staggered back. When he did, she fell to her knees and knelt beside Jamal, touching his face, weeping softly and whispering to him. She then turned and glowered up at Derrick.
“Are you happy now? Do you feel better?” she shouted up at him.
No, he did not feel better. In fact, he felt nothing at all. He turned to find Morgan staring at him. Her face was grim. Her eyes were blank.
Behind her several people huddled in the hotel’s foyer. He could see the Mayhews standing in the entryway. Mrs. Mayhew held a hand to her mouth in shock. Mr. Mayhew glared at him.
Derrick guessed they wouldn’t be taking that tour of the Institute after all.
“Sir! Sir, are you all right?” a security guard yelled as he raced across the lobby. He was chubby and ruddy cheeked. His blue eyes seemed to almost bulge out of his head as he stood over Jamal. “What happened?” He followed Jamal’s and Melissa’s wary gazes and looked at Derrick, jabbing the antenna of his walkie-talkie at him. “Did you hit him?”
Derrick didn’t respond. He didn’t know what to say.
“You stay right there! You hear me?” the guard shouted, pointing a finger at Derrick. Derrick then watched as the guard raised his walkie-talkie to his mouth.
“Hey, John? I’m gonna need some assistance up here. Call 9-1-1 and have them send over—”
“No. No, that isn’t necessary,” Jamal slurred as blood trickled over his bottom lip. He shook his head and waved his hand dismissively. “I’m fine.” He attempted to push himself to his feet but slumped back to the floor. Melissa grabbed his arm and helped ease him to his feet on the second try. He leaned against her slightly before standing upright on his own. “My . . . my friend and I were just . . . just having a little disagreement, and it got heated. That’s all. We’re cool now though. Don’t call the cops.”
“A little disagreement?” The guard furrowed his brows. He glanced warily at Derrick again. “Umm, sir, I don’t know what’s going on here, but I’m obligated by the hotel to—”
“I’m fine,” Jamal said firmly, reaching into his breast pocket and taking out a handkerchief. He held it against his bloody nose and mouth. “Look . . . Walsh, is it?” he said, glancing at the guard’s name tag. “Look, Walsh, the truth is I’m with the mayor’s office and I really don’t want to bring too much attention to this incident, okay? I certainly don’t want a record of tonight in a police report.”
The guard continued to glance uneasily between Jamal and Derrick, like he still wasn’t quite sure what he wanted to do.
Derrick was also confused. Why was Jamal going to such great lengths to keep him from getting arrested? He’d just punched him in front of a lobby full of people. Everyone had seen what happened. He was willing to pay the price for what he’d done, even if it meant a night in jail.
“I would greatly appreciate it if you could help keep this quiet,” Jamal continued. “Can . . . can you do that for me, Walsh?”
The guard seemed to hesitate a bit longer before finally raising the walkie-talkie to his lips. “Hey, John? Forget what I just said. It’s taken care of. No need to call 9-1-1. Kay?”
The walkie-talkie filled with static before a voice answered, “Gotcha!”
The guard then pursed his lips and returned his walkie-talkie to his holster. His chubby face creased into a frown. “Again, I don’t know what’s going on here, but whatever is, I don’t want it at this hotel.”
“We were leaving. No worries,” Jamal said, waving his hand again, still holding the handkerchief to his face.
At that moment, the elevator finally chimed and opened.
“There you go,” Jamal said, gesturing to the open elevator doors. He actually smiled despite his cracked upper lip. “You ready, Melissa?”
She nodded weakly before following him into the elevator. She turned to Jamal and he reached out and drew her close. She immediately dropped her head to his shoulder and he rubbed her back. She wrapped her arms around him and clung to him.
They looked like a couple. They looked like they had been together for years. They looked like how he and Melissa used to look months ago. Derrick got the eerie sensation that he was looking at a photo he had been cropped out of, and another man’s image had replaced his. Another man had taken his place.
He watched them as the gold elevator doors slowly slid closed.
* * *
“What the hell was that, Derrick?” Morgan asked as they walked down the block, back to the parking garage. “Why did you do that?”
Derrick glanced over his shoulder. It was the first time Morgan had spoken to him since the fight. She still looked shell-shocked with her arms clutched around her shoulders, trembling under the street lamp.
Derrick paused and flexed his sore knuckles. “I’m sorry, baby. I don’t . . . I don’t know what that was. I don’t know what happened.”
She furiously shook her head, making her curls whip around her shoulders. “No! No, don’t tell me that shit, Dee!” She stomped her high-heeled foot on the cracked cement. “You know . . . you know damn well what the hell happened, and what was behind it. You came here to make a good impression . . . to get money for the Institute, and she walks through the door and everything . . . everything fell apart! You completely lost your shit!”
Derrick grimaced. “It wasn’t her, baby,” he whispered.
“You are full of it! It was her!” she said, gulping through her tears. “It was her!”
He reached out and tugged Morgan toward him. He held her against his chest. She cried against his shoulder, letting out ragged sobs that made her shake all over. After a few minutes, she leaned back her head and gazed up at him.
“You told me you loved me. You told me I was the one you wanted to be with.”
“I do love you. I do want to be with you! I said I wanted to live with you. What more can I do to prove it?”
“So why can’t you let her go?” she asked as rivulets of mascara slid over her cheeks.
He closed his eyes and dropped his cheek to her crown, not knowing what to say or what lie to tell Morgan to alleviate her pain.
He wanted to love her. He wanted with all his heart to move on. But tonight showed him that he still wasn’t ready. He’d feared that he would hurt Morgan in the end. Tonight, his fears had been realized.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered against her forehead, brushing his lips over her warm skin. A second later, he felt Morgan squirm restlessly in his arms. She then a
bruptly shoved back from him.
“Yeah, you are sorry!” she shouted, punching his chest. “You’re one sorry motherfucka for not appreciating what you got! You were lucky! You were lucky and you didn’t even realize it. I loved you and would’ve done anything for you. We could’ve been good, Dee. We could’ve been happy, but you’re still pining for a chick who doesn’t even fucking want you . . . who’s already moved on to the next man!” She flapped her arms in defeat. “And now I’m ready to move on too.”
He watched helplessly as she turned on her high heel and walked away from him.
“Morgan!” he yelled after her. “Morgan!”
She didn’t look back or stop but continued down the block before rounding the corner and disappearing from view.
Chapter 28
Jamal
“Really, Lissa, I’m fine! I don’t need any—”
“Just park it on the sofa and wait while I get some ice for that face and peroxide for that lip, sir,” Melissa ordered, shutting her apartment door behind them and gesturing with her clutch toward her living room. “I won’t say it again.”
Jamal sighed and reluctantly nodded, though he had tried more than once during the drive up to her apartment to tell her that he could take care of his wounds himself at home. She wouldn’t hear of it. She had badgered him into coming upstairs.
He watched now as she kicked off her stilettoes and strolled down the hall to her bathroom. He walked into her neat and cozy living room, shrugging out of his suit jacket as he did it.
He didn’t want to be here. He couldn’t believe it, but it was the truth. In the past, Jamal would have been elated for Melissa to invite him upstairs to her place after a night of drinking and dancing, but he just wasn’t feeling it tonight.
Not after what we went through, he thought miserably as he gazed down at his bloody handkerchief and the drops of blood on the front of his tuxedo shirt.
He’d thought the ongoing drama that had been his life for the past year had finally come to an end once he’d handed in his resignation to Mayor Johnson, but of course, it couldn’t end quietly. It had to do it with an ear-splitting boom. He hadn’t expected Derrick to be there tonight. He certainly hadn’t expected such a volatile reaction from him, even though Derrick was intoxicated. His former friend could get rowdy when he was drunk; even Jamal could remember that, from back in the day when they used to party as teens and in their early twenties. But Derrick had never gotten angry or violent before. He had never hit him.
