Broken

by Tia Sirrah

  Marcus, 10:45pm

  Tell your boyfriend its Game. Fucking. On. I need to see you. I love you, Novalee. I just can’t give up that easily. I tried to get over you. I tried to give you time and space. I can’t. I don’t want to. Do you even love this dude? I heard about him. Is he even capable of loving you the way you deserve?

  I put the phone down and slumped back down into the bed and closed my eyes. The sound of the front door opened, causing me to open my eyes. I sat back up in the bed, as Conner strolled through the bedroom door. He wore jogging pants, a t-shirt, and running shoes.

  "Hey," I rasped, my throat dry.

  "Hey," he said as he sat down on the bed beside me. He examined my face, probably trying to access my mood.

  "Just got back from a run?" I reached for the orange juice again and took a sip.

  "I did. Just wake up?" He grazed the side of my face with his knuckles.

  "Yeah. I slept like the dead." Our conversation stalled. So many things were left unsaid, floating around us like bubbles, on the verge of popping and disappearing forever.

  "I’m going to go take a shower and head to the office." He kissed my forehead before rising. He removed his shirt, his muscles flexing and glistening with sweat.

  My eyes, which were now fixated on his abs, traveled back up to his face. "But it’s Sunday."

  "I’ll only be gone for a couple of hours. When you’re feeling up to it, text Colin. He’ll drive you to my office. We’ll go grab some lunch." He kicked off his shoes and pulled off his sweats, underwear, and socks. His heavy cock caught my gaze before I dragged my eyes up to meet his face. A slow smile curved on his lips.

  "Okay," I answered. Conner leaned over and gently kissed me on the lips before heading towards the bathroom.

  I guess we were not going to discuss what happened last night. I grabbed my phone and sent Marcus a message.

  Novalee, 6:45am

  I love him. I’m in love with him. Please stop texting me.

  I pressed send. Once the message went through, I deleted it from my phone.

  ∞∞∞

  I met Conner at his office, and we went out to lunch at a nearby bistro. Neither of us mentioned our fight from the night before. The tension slowly eased between us, though the events of last night still lingered between us. After a day of sightseeing, we returned to our hotel suite. I didn’t initiate any affection towards him, my pride still wounded from his rejection the night before.

  Later that night, I woke up from a fitful night of sleep. Not able to sleep, I decided to take a shower. Standing under the nozzle, I reflected on our relationship. Did he love me like I loved him? Maybe he just wasn’t there yet. I knew he cared for me deeply. But was that enough? Before I could ponder it any longer, Conner opened the bathroom door and pulled his boxer briefs down and off and entered the shower. The multi shower nozzles sprayed from different directions, water streaming down his muscled body as he gently pressed his lips against mine. My reluctance turned into a simmering need, as our kisses and caresses became greedier by the second. Conner swept me up in his arms by gripping the backs of my thighs. He held me up with his hands under my backside, and I wrapped my legs around him. Time stood still, as we kissed under the water streams before Conner carried me to bed. Dripping wet, he lay me down and penetrated me slowly. Our bodies found a slow sensuous rhythm. Our labored breaths, blended kisses, and the creaking of the bed were the only sounds that reverberated through the master suite. While we were connected as one, he made me feel wanted, desired, cherished and loved. As our orgasms washed over us at the same time, I had to bite my lip to keep from crying out anything, not wanting those three little words to escape again. When the moment washed away, he also remained wordless. He licked a stray tear from my cheek with the tip of his tongue before holding me tightly in his arms. While lying in his arms, I fell into a deep slumber.

  The next day, Conner closed on the condo in Gold Coast and gave me a copy of the keys. It was amazing how quickly things could be expedited when there were millions of dollars in cash involved. I still adamantly refused to sign the paperwork adding my name to the deed.

  We returned home at the end of the next week. On our last night in town, I convinced Conner to go on a double date with Lisa and Daryl. We partied the night away at a blues bar, our sweaty body dancing to the sultry sounds of the featured band of the night.

  Chapter 12

  "YOU WANNA TELL ME what’s wrong?" I asked through my Bluetooth earpiece, as I brushed my hair back into a gel slicked ponytail.

  "What do you mean?"

  "Conner, you’ve been acting weird for days now. Don’t act like this is all in my head. What’s going on with you?"

  We’d been home from Chicago for a few days, and since then, Conner seemed distant. Somber, even. And the last few times we had sex, it was different. There was an all-consuming passion that burned between us while he kissed and caressed my body – that wasn’t what was different. It was the way he looked at me and the way he touched me, like he was committing it to memory. Afterward, he held me tightly as if he were afraid to let me go. When we slept, his legs and arms were entwined around me, almost desperately so. My gut told me something was very wrong. My heart prayed that I was overreacting.

  "I’m fine," he assured me. "I want to see you tonight…no matter what. My place or yours? Please." His voice was deep and coarse.

  "Conner, what’s going on?" I sat on the edge of my bed, my brain racking through worst-case scenarios.

  "Just promise me...no matter what."

  "Okay. I promise. I’ll come to your place."

  "Okay," he responded, relief evident in his tone. "You’d better get going. It’s almost 9."

  "I’ll see you soon."

  After disconnecting from the call, I realized that I’d never told him what time I was meeting. She and I had just decided on a time a couple of hours ago. I dressed quickly, stepping into a long flowy skirt and tube top.

  I arrived at the eatery fifteen minutes early and managed to snag an outdoor table near the outdoor bar. I sipped on a frozen margarita and browsed through my re-activated social media accounts while waiting for Amy to arrive.

  I noticed Amy a short while later walking towards the outdoor bar entrance. She was on her phone and appeared to be engaged in a heated and tearful conversation. She looked in my direction and halted her steps. After relaying a few more heated exchanges into her phone, she disconnected the call. She swiped at falling tears before heading over to me.

  "Hey, girl," she forlornly said as I stood and embraced her. After sitting down, she signaled the waiter over with the wave of her hand.

  "Hey, hun. What’s going on? Was that Quentin?" I reached out and squeezed her hand. Amy and Quentin had been arguing a lot lately. Recently, he shocked everyone by bowing out of the campaign run. Shortly after that, he moved out of their new home and filed for divorce.

  "I don’t want to talk about it." The waiter came over and stood before us. "I’ll have a shot of tequila. Make it a double." Amy turned back to me. "Men suck." I smiled graciously at our waiter. He gave a curt nod and turned away from our table.

  She laughed sardonically. "Oh, excuse me, Novalee. Not all men. Not your precious Conner, right?" Her humorless laugh was anything but funny. "We can’t all be so lucky."

  "And here we go, ladies and gentlemen. A front-row seat to the bitchy sideshow." Amy had become more bitter with each passing day. Her separation from Quentin and the rumors that surrounded it was the talk of the town. I sympathized with her, letting her cry on my shoulder whenever I could. But as of late, I’d been traveling with Conner and wasn’t as available as she would have preferred. She never let me forget that I was breaking cardinal bestie rule number one: putting my boyfriend and our relationship before my friendship with her. Being her new punching bag was becoming quite exhausting.

  Through narrowed eyes, she said, "Front row seat, huh? But a front-row seat to my sideshow would require you to surgically remove
yourself from Conner’s side." She folded her arms across her chest, defiantly.

  "Seriously? We’re really doing this now?" My anger was palpable as my face contorted in a scowl.

  "Yes, we’re doing this now, Novalee. God knows when you’ll be able to pencil me in on your calendar again."

  "That’s not fair."

  "You have no idea what’s not fair! You know what? Forget it. Chase Conner around while you can before he moves on to his next conquest."

  My stomach dropped. What were we doing? What was happening to us? "I know you’re going through a lot with Quentin. And I’m really sorry about that. But it’s not fair to transfer that negative energy to Conner. What has he ever done to you? What have I ever done to you for you to be such a bitch towards me?"

  "He’s changing you." I felt her pity. "You’ve always been needy when it comes to the guys you’re with. But Jesus, Novalee. Wake up. Grow a fucking backbone. You’re following him around like some lovesick puppy, hoping that he’ll love you back." She’d hit a sore spot. My vision blurred with unshed tears, and I could feel my nostrils flare.

  The waiter came back with Amy’s double shot. She downed it in one chug and winced before sucking on a slice of lime. Her ivory skin was now flush. Her heated glare softened as she looked at me. We were both on the verge of tears. "I don’t want to see you get hurt, Novalee. I don’t want you to go through what I’m going through. I married a man who is incapable of loving me. He’s incapable of loving anyone but himself. Quentin and Conner are cut from the same cloth." Amy had just voiced my biggest fear.

  My phone vibrated between us. We both looked down at it. Conner’s name was displayed on the screen. I ignored the call. Amy reached for my hand and clasped it.

  I gave her hand a squeeze. I had nothing to say about her observation of Conner and Quentin and their similarities. I was too fearful of voicing my doubt. "I’m sorry I haven’t been there for you, Amy."

  She shook her head. "I’m sorry. I’m such a raging bitch right now. You don’t own me an apology. I owe you one. I’m so sorry…for everything." She signaled the waiter for a refill. "I think Quentin’s having an affair," she said after a moment. "Probably banging some black trashy video vixen. He likes to slum it, you know." She looked up at me through red-rimmed eyes. "No offense. I didn’t mean anything racist. But he and his little bro have always had a weakness for black chicks. The low-class types. Runs in the family, I guess."

  "Oh, Amy. Is it time for us to have another lesson in racial sensitivity? Another place, another time." I sighed, exasperated with this entire night. "I already knew Victor liked black girls. But Quentin, really?" I sipped on my margarita. "Got any proof that Quentin’s cheating?"

  She shook her head. I relaxed the tension in my shoulders. "Enjoy it while you can, Novalee. Men like Quentin and Conner aren’t meant for happily ever afters. They’re meant to be beautiful mistakes that scar us a little."

  This was so not helping my insecurities. "Amy, please. Why do you always do that? I really don’t need this right now," I shouted through gritted teeth. "Why is it so hard for you to believe that what Conner and I have is real?"

  "Oh. My. God. Are you serious? He’s not going to settle down with you, Novalee. He’s eventually going to find a socialite who’s hand-picked by mommy. He’ll settle down, get married out of duty, and make a bunch babies to further the Brathwaite empire.

  "Have fun. Get laid. But please don’t fall in love with a man like Conner. He is going to use you and spit you out." Amy glared at me, nostrils flaring, her pale cheeks beet red with anger. "You deserve so much more, Novalee." She broke eye contact with me and looked out at the spraying orchestrated fountains across the street. "You deserve someone who really loves you." The waiter brought Amy another double shot, which she quickly consumed.

  The need to defend what Conner and I had was strong. "Why don’t you worry about your failed marriage, rather than worry about the state of my relationship. Conner and me? We’re good."

  "Wow, really?" She gathered her bag, abruptly stood, and threw a few bills on the table.

  "This is getting out of control, Amy. It’s exhausting." I pinched the bridge of my nose.

  "You’re right. This is. I can’t sit back and watch you be with him."

  "What am I supposed to say to that?"

  "Call me when you’re ready to be around those who really love and care about you." She shook her head in disgust. "I ran into your father last week. Apparently, you’ve been avoiding your parents too." She adjusted the shoulder strap of her purse and flipped her long hair. Turning on her heels, she stormed out of the restaurant.

  I tossed a few bills on the table and went after her. "Amy, you can’t drive. You’ve had too much to drink. Let me hail you a cab. You can get your car tomorrow."

  "Fine," she bit out. We walked out of the restaurant together and sat down on a nearby bench. I leaned forward, resting my elbows on my thighs. Amy did the same. After a few minutes, she said, "I didn’t mean to hurt you. All those things I said about you and Conner. I’m just so unhappy. Nothing is working out for me the way I planned."

  I sighed deeply as I looked over at her. I didn’t have it in me to console her. Not now. Not tonight, at least. "I appreciate that," I solemnly said.

  "You really love him, huh?"

  I nodded, not even wanting to vocalize the words. "I’m not sure he feels the same, though," I confessed. I sat back and looked out into the street.

  "He does," she soberly said.

  I shrugged. "Conner called me tonight. Something’s up…"

  "What?" She looked over at me with furrowed brows.

  "Nothing. Never mind," I said with a wan smile. My problems were minuscule compared to hers. Amy didn’t need to hear about my doubts and fears. Besides, she might use them as ammunition with an I told you so campaign.

  We both stared ahead at the passing cars. "I’ve been a terrible friend to you," she said, her words choked with tears.

  "I’m sorry I haven’t always been there for you. We’ll get past this."

  "Yeah." She seemed unconvinced.

  Amy’s car arrived first. "Take care of yourself, Amy-bear," I said, using the nickname I used to call her when we were kids. She nodded, a slight smile forming across her face.

  My car came soon after. "Can you make a stop at the corner market?" I asked my driver. I needed to pick up some ginger ale. The margarita from earlier was messing with my stomach. It was most likely due to drinking on an empty stomach. When was I going to learn my lesson? Nausea rolled around in the pit of my stomach.

  "Sure, no problem," my driver said as he turned into the parking lot of a mini market.

  As I made it out of the store with my ginger ale in tow, bile rose from my throat. I vomited in a store-front garbage can before getting back in the car. I gave my driver Conner’s address before tilting my head back against the headrest and closing my eyes.

  As we neared Conner’s neighborhood, I sent Conner a text.

  Novalee, 10:32pm

  Hey babe. Finished having a drink with Amy. Almost at your place. I feel like death rolled over twice.

  A few seconds later, he called. "Hey," I answered.

  "Hey…everything alright?"

  "Besides the fact that I just vomited in a public garbage can due to drinking on an empty stomach? I’m peachy. Not to mention, I had an argument with Amy?"

  "Sorry, angel."

  "No worries. Just an upset stomach. And Amy and I will be okay."

  "What was the argument about?"

  "Oh, you know, I suck as a friend. I haven’t been there for her like I should." I decided against mentioning Amy’s "Hate Conner Movement."

  Silence.

  "Conner, you there?

  "Yeah, angel. I’m here."

  The driver pulled up to the neighborhood security gate, and I used my remote to enter through.

  "I’m not feeling too good." I felt dizzy and out of sorts.

  "Where are you?"
r />   "About three minutes out, actually."

  "Okay. I’ll meet you outside."

  Upon entering Conner’s estate grounds, I popped a breath mint in my mouth and took a swig of my ginger ale. Conner was waiting in the driveway as we pulled up. After paying the cabbie, Conner retrieved me from the backseat by gathering me up in his arms. I didn’t protest to being carried.

  "Conner, are we okay?" I asked as he carried me up the stairs to his bedroom.

  One Mississippi, two Mississippi, three Mississippi. "Of course."

  "Okay." I didn’t buy it. Not one bit.

  "Let’s get you to bed, angel."

  "Sounds good," I said on the yawn.

  ∞∞∞

  I LOVED COOKING IN Conner’s large gourmet kitchen. Top of the line appliances blended in with the clean lines of stark white cabinetry. The white quartz countertops were large enough to prep for an entire army. Conner’s chef, Javier, had gotten every single item that I needed to make my Grandma Rose’s Famous Seafood Gumbo.

  I knew that it was inevitable. I had to get down to the bottom of Conner’s recent cryptic and strange behavior. As I sorted through the groceries, Conner busied himself by gathering pots and supplies from the high cabinets. He hadn’t said anything about our conversation yesterday, and my fear and cowardness caused me to remain silent. A knot formed in my stomach and self-disappointment lay in the center of my chest.

  "Here. Slice these links while I dice the onions." I pushed a cutting board over towards him.

  "Oh, you want me to help?" He looked surprised. I stared blankly at him. He replied, almost to himself, "Okay, I can do this." I couldn’t help but smile at his self-pep talk.