by Tiya Rayne
“You always did believe in me.” He places a kiss to the back of my hand, the soft caress of his lips barely registers before I snatch my hand away.
“And it still wasn’t enough to keep you home.” The words fly out of my mouth like vomit, causing his brows to crease at the truth in them.
In the seven years we were together, not once did I stray to the bed of another. I never even entertained another man. I wasn’t perfect.
I know at times I was unrelenting in my search for the perfect relationship, but I gave him everything I could to make him happy in our marriage. Sometimes, at the sake of my own sanity.
I even went as far as sitting my ass in that doctor’s office to discuss me permanently not having kids. Something I’ve always wanted. Thankfully the doctor wouldn’t do it.
If Grams even thought I considered something like that she would probably murder me. Yet, for him, I was willing to do it. I take a step back, placing space where it’s needed.
“I admit I was wrong for what happened. I fucked up one time. That girl meant nothing to me.” He’s still telling himself that lie.
“Yet you got her pregnant.”
That’s the real whooper there. The man who never wanted kids. The one who made sure I never missed an appointment for me to get my birth control, got another woman pregnant.
I was about to risk my ability to ever be a mother for this jackass. That’s the most embarrassing part in this divorce. The one thing I refuse to tell my Grams and Tiana.
I was about to play a whole damn fool for this man. More than I’d played for any other before him and he still betrayed me. He was out here planting his seed in a woman he met at the gym.
“At the time we weren’t in a good place,” he says. “I was going through things and I couldn’t talk to you. God forbid I showed you any weakness.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing, forget it. Like I said, I was going through something and you weren’t there for me.”
“You never talked to me about going through anything. You pulled away and before I knew it, I’m getting a text of an ultrasound picture.”
That’s how the trifling bitch decides to tell me she had been sleeping with my husband.
“You’re right.” He closes the space between us again. “I messed up so bad. I didn’t handle my stress in the right way. I should have come to you.”
“I would have been your shoulder to cry on,” I murmur, feeling that ache of sadness I use to feel. “Things were bad for both of us, but I was willing to work it out with you.” I rub my hand under my eyes to wipe away the angry tears. Damn him for coming up in here making me relive all these memories.
Wrapping his arms around me, he pulls me into his embrace. “I’m so sorry, love. I’m sorry for all we’ve lost.” He rubs his hand up and down my back. “So much history, but I’m back now, back to fix what I broke.”
Hold up. I know he isn’t talking about what I think he is. I pull away from him, taking a step back and look into his eyes.
“What are you talking about?”
He smiles and runs a hand through his hair. “I went to counseling like you suggested and he helped me realize I wasn’t over you. I messed up with Veronica. I’ll be there for our son, but you’re the only woman for me.”
I study him, taking in his features from his blue eyes, to his narrow nose, and even his trimmed eyebrows. I look over his body, admiring his broad shoulders and muscled arms in his button up, all the way to his black expensive dress shoes. I take in everything about him, trying to find the place where the alien must have entered his body and took him over. There is no way this man could be standing in front of me, thinking I would give him a second chance.
“You can’t possible think we could get back together.”
“Why not? We were good for each other.”
My tears and sadness from early have completely faded away. Now all I feel is confused. Did he forget all the mean and cruel words he slung at me, when I announced I wanted a divorce? How he argued with the judge telling her I led him to a divorce because I was a needy, bitter, and unlovable bitch.
Even if I could possibly forgive him for slipping up and landing his dick in someone else, and I say that as a huge if, I would never be able to forgive him for the hurtful things he said to me.
“I think we should leave well enough alone.” I go to walk past him to show him to the door, but he grabs my arm, turning me to face him. We’ve switched positions, my back is to the door now.
“You can’t tell me you feel nothing for me, Malia. Think of all we shared.”
“Trenton, let me go,” I warn.
Before he can reply, he releases my arm with a cry as he doubles over and drops to his knees. I look down to find my daughter standing beside me with a glare in her eyes. Her nostrils are flaring as she watches Trenton curl up into the fetal position.
“What the fuck?” he cries out.
“Emory are you okay?” I squat down to get eye level with her. Her face softens when she turns to me. She lifts my arm and flips it over, her gaze going straight to the spot where his hand had been wrapped around my wrist. There’s no bruise there, but the way she glares at it makes me think for a minute she sees something I don’t.
When she releases my arm, she signs. “He hurt you.” When she turns back to Trenton, she takes a step toward him. He scrambles to his feet. I quickly hold up a hand to block her. Those wide eyes look up at me and they soften.
“He didn’t hurt me. I promise,” I say.
For a moment, she continues to regard me as if she isn’t going to take my word for it. Then she nods. I can almost see the fight leave her. It’s like a switch flips inside her and she no longer has a one-track mind.
“Who the hell is that?” The sound of Trenton’s voice has me standing up and facing him. I don’t like the way he’s glaring at Emory.
“This is my daughter, Emory Marissa Parks,” I say by way of introduction.
His eyes narrow. “You adopted a kid?”
“First of all, take that judgement out of your tone.” I immediately become defensive. I don’t have to justify to him or anyone else how Emory came to be my child. No, I didn’t carry her in my belly or birth her, but it doesn’t matter, she is mine. “She’s my daughter. Doesn’t matter how.”
He clears his throat placing a hand over his chest briefly. “Baby, why would you take this route? If you wanted children this much, I would have given you one.”
I scoff. I don’t like the way he looks back at me as if he pities me. I didn’t do this because I was desperate, I did it because I wanted to. And secondly, no the hell he couldn’t have given me a kid.
“I’m good,” I reply to his comment, then wrap my arm around Emory’s shoulder.
He glances down at her before cringing and looking back at me. “Did you happen to do a background check before you purchased a kid? Who knows where she came from?”
“She’s an eight-year-old kid, not an employee.”
“Your eight-year-old kid nearly collapsed my fucking liver, she hit me so hard. I think I’m hemorrhaging.” He places a hand over his stomach and flinches.
I roll my eyes. He’s always been a bit dramatic. I used to think it was quirky, now it gets on my damn nerves.
“You’re fine.”
He takes a step toward me, but recoils quickly when Emory moves in front of me to intercept.
“For goodness sakes, she’s a child, not a cobra.” I shake my head at how childish he’s acting. I lean down and whisper in Emory’s ear. “Go back up front, I’ll be out in a few.” She looks up at me hesitantly, but I nod.
She looks back at Trenton. I don’t see what passes between them, but he takes a step back. Emory turns and wraps her arms around my waist briefly before walking out of the room.
He waits until she’s out the door and it swings closed behind her before he steps in front of me. “Baby, are you okay?” I step back out of his reach.
“I’m fine.”
“Malia, you know those horror movies you watch where you’re always fussing at the person because they miss the obvious danger signs.”
“Yeah,” I reply skeptically, not sure where he’s going with this.
He points to the door. “This is a sign. That kid is Damien from the Omen. Do you need the babysitter to jump off the roof for you to see it clearer?”
“Are you high?” I’ve never known him for dabbling in drugs, but obviously something is off with him today. “She’s a child. She thought you were hurting me and she tried to protect me.”
His eyes widen. “She punches like a grown damn man and her eyes are all wonky.”
I hold up my hands to stop him, not wanting to hear another second of his voice. “You know what, you need to go.”
“Malia—”
“No, Trenton. What you’re not going to do, is talk about my daughter.”
“She’s not your daughter, she’s a damn stray.” The moment the words are out if his mouth, I can tell he wished he could take them back. However, it’s too late.
“Get out.”
“Malia—”
“Don’t make me tell you again.” My voice is calm as I give him my final warning.
He stands in his spot for a moment, studying me. He wants to argue but he’s known me long enough to know there’s nothing he can say to me at this point.
With a sigh, he drops his shoulders and walks to the closed door. He stops with one hand on the door and turns back to me. “I still meant what I said. I want to discuss us.”
I don’t reply because there is no us. That ship has sailed and is at the bottom of the ocean with the Titanic.
Trenton pulls open the door and walks out, taking his bullshit reconciliation with him. I have no problem going on a few dates with Lucien, if for no other reason than to get my grandmother and best friend off my back. However, this little visit proves why I’m still very adamant, I don’t need a man.
Chapter 9
Spectacular Pie
Malia
* * *
I place the fresh apple pie down on the counter, then stand up to admire my work. I’ve cooked apple pie a hundred times, but I swear this one was the hardest I’d ever made. I shake my head.
“Get a grip, Malia. It’s only pie.”
“No, it’s not,” Tiana says in the doorway. “It’s a metaphor. It represents the pie you wish he could eat.” She sticks out her tongue and does a body roll.
Rolling my eyes, I grin. “Get your mind out of the gutter. Lucien and I are only catching up.”
“Is that why you have a fresh face of makeup on?” she asks as she walks into the small kitchen.
“It’s not that obvious, is it?” I turn to check out my reflection in the door of the stainless-steel oven.
She cackles. “No, it’s fine.” I turn back to face her, giving her a playful angry glare for freaking me out. She leans against the sink, placing her hands on her hips. “Well, are you going to tell me?”
“Tell you what?”
“What the ex-asshole wanted?”
I glance up at her briefly before turning back to the pie, slicing through the crispy crust. “He wanted to work things out.”
“Ew, did you tell him to go to hell?”
I chuckle. “Not in those exact words.”
“Good, because we don’t need him. Especially since we are moving on.”
“Who said I’m moving on? I’m hanging with a friend. It’s not even that serious.” I shrug.
“Oh really?” she asks with a grin on her face. “Well, since it’s not that serious. I’ll tell him to take those flowers and go back home.”
“Wait, he’s here?” I ask entirely too loud while grabbing her arm.
She snickers. “Yup, walked in as I was coming back here.”
I tug at my top and readjust my boobs in my bra. I run my hands through my hair, tucking the stray strands behind my ear. “Is my hair okay? Do I have any boogers?” I ask, lifting my head so she can check my nose.
Like a true best friend, she checks for me. “Hair and nostrils are clear.”
“Good.” I blow out a breath.
“How do I look?”
She laughs and rolls her eyes. “Like he’s more than a friend.”
I narrow my eyes at her. She blows me a kiss. Grabbing the pie, cutlery, and two plates off the table, I head out toward the café part of the store.
I smile bright when I spot Lucien seated at the same table from yesterday. The moment he sees me he stands and rushes to me to take the pie and plates.
“You look amazing,” he says adoringly, looking over me.
“As do you.” Lord, those words are an understatement.
He’s wearing the hell out of those dark blue slacks. Even the black sweater vest fits him nicely. The light blue button up underneath brings out the ocean blue in his eyes. I don’t think anyone could pull off the hipster vibe as well as Lucien.
He turns away and I follow him back to the table where a bouquet of sunflowers lay. He places the pie and plates down then hands me the flowers.
“Oh, my goodness, Lucien they are gorgeous.” I smell them, taking in the floral scent.
“I’m glad you like them. I saw them and thought of my friend,” he says with a smile and wink. I bite into my bottom lip to stop from grinning so hard. “Have a seat,” he suggests, pulling my chair out for me.
While I take a seat, I place my flowers and the cutlery down in front of me. Lucien scoots my chair in and then sits across from me.
“I’ve waited all day for this spectacular pie,” he says.
I separate the plates, placing one in front of him. I then cut two slices out of the pie, placing them on our plates. Lucien digs into his immediately.
I follow the fork as it disappears between his lips and comes out clean. He moans and I’ve never envied a fork more in my life.
“Wow, this is good.”
I duck my head to hide my blush. It’s funny how compliments affect you coming from different people’s mouths.
“I’m glad you like it.”
He places his fork down and reaches to the chair beside him. “Since you went out of your way to make me this delicious pie, I wanted to return the favor.” He hands me a brand-new copy of The Island of Dr. Moreau by H.G. Wells.
His face turns a red hue. “I uh, thought you might like a copy. Since you like science fiction. It’s my favorite book,” he rambles on. “I understand if you’d rather only have the flowers—”
“Lucien, I love it,” I say taking the book from his hands. “I’ve never read this one. I read The Time Machine when I was in fourth grade and immediately found The Invisible Man.”
“Both of those are good,” he says. “Still, this is my favorite.”
I know most women love for a man to buy them flowers, and some prefer shiny things. However, giving me a copy of his favorite book, is probably the sweetest and most romantic thing a man has ever done for me. I open the cover and written inside is the message:
To Malia Parks from Lucien Gramble. Hope you enjoy the book as much as I’ve enjoyed your company.
No, Malia, you will not melt for this man. You will stay strong in your beliefs. I close the cover.
“Was Wells your first introduction into science-fiction?” I ask.
He runs a hand through his hair, pushing the dark strands back. “No, actually, it was Star Wars. One of the social workers brought the VHS in and I was practically glued to the TV all night.”
“Are you kidding me?”
He cringes and nods.
“I find your lack of faith disturbing,” I say.
His eyes widen and a slow smile covers his face.
“Darth Vader in Star Wars: Episode IV - A New Hope.”
We laugh at the fact we’re both Star Wars fans.
“I went to see it at a drive-in movie theater when I was about ten,” I say, thinking back to the day. “It was my birth
day and my Grams took me. I remember how excited I was. I ate popcorn and drank a huge Dr. Pepper and I watched all three of the first trilogy. That is probably one of my favorite birthdays.”
“It sounds like it was awesome.”
“It was. I talked about it for months. It drove Grams crazy.”
We laugh a little before simmering down.
“What about you?” I ask. “Any favorite birthdays?”
He frowns a little and I can’t tell if it’s because he’s thinking or if my question is painful.
“When I turned thirteen,” he starts. “My friends and I snuck out and went to a planetarium. We broke in and sat in the theater watching the stars. I spent most of the night teaching them all about the solar systems and what I knew about it, but they never complained.”
“Did you guys get caught?” I ask, fully absorbed in his story and the wistful way he looks when he tells it.
He grins and nods his head. “Many eventually got us caught by trying to climb the giant sphere inside the building.” I snort and he laughs. “Priest was pretty pissed and he made us run laps for hours afterwards, but it was worth it.”
From the joyous look on his face, by just retelling the story I know he means that.
Lucien and I lose track of time for the second night. We talk about books, movies, first experiences. Before long, it’s after midnight and between the both of us, we’ve nearly eaten an entire pie. After cleaning up, Lucien walks me out to my car.
“Are you serious? Captain Picard had way more swag than Kirk,” I say, putting my hands on my hips.
Lucien shakes his head. “I can’t even believe I’m hearing you say this. Captain James T. Kirk was pulling ladies all across the galaxy. Picard couldn’t even pull it off with that doctor.”
I scoff. “That’s because his first love is and always will be the Starfleet.”
We both stop and look at each other before bursting into laughter. We’ve had a seven-minute argument on Star Trek versus Star Trek: The Next Generation. When our laughter stops, he focuses back on me. The playfulness is far from his eyes when he closes the space between us.
