“I wanted your fiancé out of the way.” His voice is gruff, prompting me to pull back just enough to see his face. “And I didn’t care that I was there with Tara. I didn’t care that you were with him. I’d wanted you for years, since the first time I saw you, and I resented him touching you. Resented his ring on your finger. I resented him having you when I never got my chance.”
He pauses, a deep swallow bobbing his Adam’s apple.
“I thought about that when I heard he had died,” Decker says. “I felt guilty for even wishing him out of the way.”
“But you didn’t . . .” I pause to sort my thoughts and find the right words. “You had nothing to feel guilty about. Your desire for me didn’t kill Will. He did that.”
“Exactly, Avery.” He brushes my hair back from my face. “Exactly.”
His words sink in and I try to put myself in that place where I’m absolved of guilt. I can’t quite do it yet. I know he’s right theoretically, but that night I found Will wasn’t theoretical. It happened to me, and I haven’t gone a day without seeing him that way. Without asking if he was there because of me.
“I can’t imagine how much pain Will was in to do something like that,” Decker continues. “I assume it’s something he wrestled with at other points in his life.”
“All through college.” I pause, before sharing another thing I haven’t even told Sadie yet. “His mother actually told me his first attempt was in high school, and then again in college. I had no idea.”
I shake my head, overwhelmed with how much I missed. “How did I live with him, share my life with him, wear his ring, plan our future and not know he’d tried to take his own life? Twice?”
“How would you have known if he didn’t tell you?” Decker asks. “We hide in the open. We cover our scars so we can move on. Sometimes we hide because we’re ashamed. Because we’re afraid people won’t accept us or love us or understand. No matter the reason, you didn’t know. But even if you did, would you have stayed in a broken relationship for the rest of your life from fear that he would do something like this? These were demons he’d wrestled with before he even knew you, Avery. You can’t take responsibility for his life, for his decision. You couldn’t do it while he was alive, and you can’t do it now that he’s gone.”
My therapist has said these things to me. I’ve replayed them to myself on days when I thought the guilt, the weight of his death would drive me mad. But there’s a ring of truth when Decker says it that I haven’t allowed myself to hear before. Maybe I thought I was letting myself off easy. In situations like this, you need someone to blame, and it feels wrong to blame Will. If I allow myself to place the responsibility with him for even a second, I become furious. I get livid with him for leaving me and his mother and his friends who care about him. Who love him and miss him and will live the rest of their lives asking the same questions I do.
Why?
How could you?
What didn’t I do?
Could I have been enough to keep you here?
I want to throw things at the wall and I want to punch him in the face. More than anything, I want to rewind to an illuminating moment when I could have made a difference. I replay our years together over and over, watching from an objective distance, searching for that second when I could have looked in his eyes, seen how truly miserable he was with this life, and fixed it.
And maybe that’s the problem. I’ve accomplished all my goals and created the destiny I envisioned for myself. A woman accomplishing what I have in sports and television is rare, much less a woman of color. I rose above expectations and limitations at every turn. I defied the odds. Every hurdle, I’ve jumped. Every problem, I’ve fixed. But I could never solve Will.
If you can’t come through when it’s life or death, when it counts, then what good are you?
I finally drift off to sleep in the rare comfort of someone else’s arms and realize that is the question that’s been haunting me. I may find no peace until I have an answer.
12
Decker
I’m making French toast when she enters the kitchen the next morning.
She’s not exactly shy, but she has trouble meeting my eyes. I hope it’s just morning-after awkwardness, not regret. Last night was the best sex of my life. One of the best nights of my life period, even though there were tears and pain and it was hard.
It was her.
It was my chance to unwind the labyrinth that has been Avery all these years. To understand her and get a glimpse of what’s beneath all that control. It’s beautiful. So beautiful that now I’m addicted to her honesty and her vulnerability and her boldness and her brand of brokenness. If last night was my only hit, she’s a high I might chase the rest of my life.
“Morning.” I glance up from the toast sizzling in the pan.
“Morning.” She toys with the belt of my silk robe she’s wearing. The hem trails the floor behind her because there’s more material than her much shorter body knows what to do with. It still looks really good on her, gaping in front, hinting at two high, perfectly round breasts and copper-toned skin stretched over a taut plane of feminine muscle in her stomach. Her hair, tousled around her shoulders, rests dark against the maroon-colored silk. She runs a self-conscious hand over the tangled strands, combing her fingers through and pushing them behind her ear.
“You look beautiful,” I reassure her.
Her fingers freeze in the process of setting her hair to whatever rights she’s attempting. She climbs up onto the high stool, leaning her elbows on the counter.
“Breakfast?” she asks unnecessarily.
I turn the toast with a laugh. “Looks that way.”
She grimaces over my answer before surrendering a grateful smile when I pass her a cup of coffee.
“Sorry it’s not your cold brew.”
“It’s fine.” She takes a long sip. “Oh, God. Thank you.”
She clears her throat, shifting a little uneasily on the stool.
“And thanks for the ibuprofen you left.” She rims the lip of the mug with her finger, not looking up. “That was very thoughtful.”
“You had a good bit to drink last night.” I turn off the toast and start scrambling eggs in a second pan. “Thought you might be a little hungover.”
A wicked smile starts in her eyes and then creeps its way to her lips.
“It’s not my head that’s sore.”
I pause in the preparations, processing what she is saying. My laugh bounces off the kitchen walls and I walk over to her, notching my hips between her knees. My hands stroke her back through the silk. She’s soft and warm and smells fresh.
“You showered?” I whisper kisses behind her ear.
“Yeah.” Her answer is breathy. “Hope that’s okay.”
“I only hate that I missed it,” I rasp at the fragrant, silky skin of her neck where my teeth marked her. “Sorry about this.”
“My neck isn’t sore either.” She laughs, a liberated sound I want her to keep making.
“Oh.” My hand wanders over her nipple and it beads under the silk. “Here?”
The slightest hitch of her breath is the only indication she’s feeling this.
“No, not there.”
“Hmmm.” I pucker my eyebrows into a frown. “I’m running out of options.”
I step deeper into the vee of her thighs until the robe splits and falls away, baring the toned length of her legs.
“Maybe it’s here.” I run one exploring finger from her calf, over her knee and inside her thigh, just shy of her pussy.
“You are getting so close,” she says, eyes not leaving my face.
I slide a finger along either side of her clit, trapping it between the digits and then stroking it with my thumb.
“Shit,” she mutters, her hips moving in the rhythm my fingers set. “That’s it. Right there. Not a hangover. A fuckover.”
I chuckle and stop my fingers, move my hand away.
“Oh, I’m sorry. If you�
��re sore, maybe I shouldn’t—”
“You should,” she cuts in, returning my hand to her center. “Believe me you should.”
And while our breakfast gets cold, I do.
* * *
Stretched out naked on my pillows, Avery licks sticky vestiges of syrup from her fingers, an empty plate in her lap and a sheet haphazardly covering her.
“That was good,” she says, purring like a contented cat.
“Breakfast or . . .” I let my words trail off and I glance at the well-used bed where she writhed under me not too long ago.
“Both. Breakfast. Last night. This morning. All of it.” She bites into the grin that graces her kiss-swollen lips until it fades with the careful look she angles up at me. “Thank you for everything. It was perfect.”
We spent last night together, and half of today since breakfast became brunch the more we kissed and touched. And fucked.
Man, did we fuck.
And after just a day having her, it has been more intimate and more perfect than anything I experienced in years of marriage to Tara.
So the finality in Avery’s voice wears on my nerves.
“You sound really grateful.” I leave the bed, pulling on a pair of gray sweats from the floor and tying them at the waist. “What? You gonna send me a fruit basket or some shit?”
I meet her eyes head on, silently challenging her to tell me she regrets last night, this morning. That we won’t pursue more. That it . . . that we . . . won’t happen again.
“Deck” she starts softly, staring at her fingers toying with the sheets bunched at her waist. “We talked about this, about—”
“That was before,” I butt in. “Before everything happened. Before we made love and we talked and we . . .”
I claw frustrated fingers through my hair. “Dammit, Ave, that was before and you know it.”
“Nothing’s changed.” She scoots up to sit straighter against the headboard, gathering the sheet around her like forgotten armor. “I’m still as emotionally unavailable as I was at that party last night.”
“Liar.” The one word blasts into the chilling air separating us. “You were more available to me last night than any woman I’ve ever been with.”
“I’m not talking about sexually, Deck.”
“Neither the hell am I, Avery.”
We glare at one another, our breath coming quicker with our mutual frustration. It’s not totally unexpected, her withdrawal, but I thought I would have a little more time to convince her that we should try.
“I’m moving to California,” I say abruptly. Her eyes widen before she catches the reaction and controls it.
“Oh, I thought . . .” She stops the nervous tugging of the sheets. “Oh.”
“I told you my ex moved there. She keeps making it harder for me to see Kiera.” I sigh wearily and scrub a hand over my face. “She’s just pissed because she didn’t get more out of the divorce.”
“They say it’s cheaper to keep her,” Avery says with a cynical twist of her lips.
“Then ‘they’ don’t have my lawyer or my pre-nup.” We share a smile that comes a little easier to us both. “At the last minute, she pulled some crap so I have to go to LA to see my baby girl for Christmas, when she was supposed to come here for two weeks.”
“I’m sorry, Deck.”
“Yeah. So am I. It’ll just be simpler for me to live out there.” I hesitate for a moment before sitting on the edge of the bed, within touching distance if she decides to touch me. “I’ve been offered a front office position with that new expansion team the San Diego Waves. President of Basketball Operations, with the possibility of partial ownership eventually.”
Ever the journalist, curiosity and questions stack up in Avery’s wide eyes.
“And we are off the record, by the way,” I remind her. “This isn’t public yet.”
“All right, all right. I get it.” She pulls her legs up to her chest, resting her chin on sheet-covered knees. “Congratulations.”
“Thanks. It works for me personally, so I can be closer to my daughter, and professionally because it’s the kind of opportunity I’ve wanted, but didn’t think I’d get for at least another five years.”
“That’s great, Deck.” Her face has become the mask she showed me when we first started hosting her show together three weeks ago. “I’m happy for you.”
“I don’t want you to be happy for me, Avery. I want you to tell me that what we had the last twenty-four hours is enough to build on. That when I go away, we can try to build more.”
“You saw me last night.” Her mouth is the only thing wavering in her obstinate expression. “You know I’m a mess.”
“We’re all a mess.” I scoot closer, palm her jaw and press my forehead to hers. “We’ll figure it out.”
She shakes her head against mine, not breaking the contact between our skin.
“There are some things I need to figure out on my own. Questions not just about Will, but about myself that I need to answer.” She mirrors my touch, her hand cupping my jaw. “As much as I enjoyed last night, as much as I . . .”
She swallows, shutting her eyes.
“Deck, deep down you know I’m not ready.”
I glance up to find her cheeks wet again, tears leaking from under her closed eyelids. I want to deny it. As much as I want to convince her that she is ready; that I’ll make her ready, or be ready enough for both of us, I know it doesn’t work that way. I still hear her sobs and feel her shaking in my arms, recounting the horror of finding Will in their apartment. I still hear her agony over his last words to her.
“Okay. I accept that you’re not ready. I have to go to California, and I know you have to stay here in New York.”
I dip my head to kiss her, coaxing her lips open for a languorous dueling of tongues that quickly ignites fire in me. In Avery, too, if her nails digging into my back are any indication.
I give her hair a gentle tug until she’s looking deeply, directly into my eyes.
“The time may not be right, but we feel right, Ave. Tell me you see how right we feel together.”
Her nod is the only answer she offers, sniffing at the fresh tears I know aren’t all for Will. Aren’t all for her. I know that some of them are for me. I bend to kiss her cheeks, darting my tongue out to gather the salt of her tears.
“Hey, look at me.” I gently angle her face up so we have no choice but to see one another. “Promise me that when you have the answers you’re looking for, that when you’re ready, you’ll find me.”
She leans deeper into me, uncaring that the sheet drops, baring her stubble-burned breasts. She takes my mouth in a kiss that is part consolation, part declaration. She eases away, licking her lips like she can taste me there.
“That’s a promise I plan to keep.”
13
Avery
“Are you sure about this, Avery?”
I ease into my cashmere coat and turn to face my mother.
“Yes, definitely.” I pull my hair free of the collar. “Mrs. Hattfield only lives fifteen minutes away. I’ll be back in time for dinner. Promise.”
“It’s not getting back I’m concerned about.” My mother stares at me, her expression inlaid with concern.
“I know you lost Will, and he was your future. You loved him,” Mom says. “But Will was her son. It may not feel like it now, but you’ll find someone else. Marry. Have a family. You will move on. She only had one son. The pain of losing a child, you can’t imagine it.”
I finish tying the belt of my coat with slowed hands and a rapid heartbeat. Will wasn’t my future. I wasn’t in love with him, and it’s a different man I already can’t get out of my mind. The one who kissed my tears and rocked my world. I felt lighter after telling Deck the truth, and right now I want to tell someone else.
“Mom, there’s something I haven’t told you.” A self-deprecating laugh escapes me. “Hadn’t told anyone really until recently.”
I get my nose for news
from my mother. A journalism professor at Georgetown, it kind of broke her heart when I chose to attend Howard. She may have chosen the classroom, and I chose the field, but she still has the inquisitive mind of a journalist, and the questions gather in her eyes and between her brows as a frown.
“Okay.” She leans against the stairway bannister in our foyer. “What is it?”
Considering how closely I’ve guarded this secret, you’d think I’d reveal it with some ceremony. Not on my way out the door with the car already running and warming up.
“Will and I, well . . .” I drop my gaze to the hardwood floor and tug at the fingertips of my leather gloves. “We weren’t happy at the end.”
I glance up after a few moments of quiet. It’s not a stunned silence. It’s a knowing one. My mother doesn’t look surprised, merely curious, waiting for more.
“I suspected as much,” she finally says. “I could tell as soon as I met him that Will was a sad man, but you made him happy. As happy as one person can make another, but ultimately our happiness doesn’t hang on other people. We have to first be happy with ourselves, and I don’t know that Will ever was.”
Now I’m stunned. We haven’t talked much about Will’s suicide. Mom knows I found him in our apartment, but not much else.
“I was getting my things from the apartment because I’d broken off our engagement.” The soft admission reverberates through the foyer. “I had agreed to wait to tell everyone. He wanted that, for us to be sure, but I was sure.”
Rarely have I seen my mother truly off kilter, but I do now. Her mouth forms a little O of astonishment, before she covers it with her hand. She crosses the few feet from the stairs to reach me.
“Oh, baby.” She takes my face between her hands. “I had no idea. You’ve been blaming yourself, haven’t you?”
“Mama, he left a note.” I lean into the soft comfort of her hand. “For me. It was just to me, and I never told anyone. I kept it. I didn’t show the police or . . .”
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