Imitation of Wife

by La Jill Hunt

  Imitation of Wife

  La Jill Hunt

  www.urbanbooks.net

  All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Prologue

  Chapter 1 - Sylvia

  Chapter 2 - Sylvia

  Chapter 3 - Janelle

  Chapter 4 - Tricia

  Chapter 5 - Janelle

  Chapter 6 - Sylvia

  Chapter 7 - Janelle

  Chapter 8 - Sylvia

  Chapter 9 - Tricia

  Chapter 10 - Janelle

  Chapter 11 - Sylvia

  Chapter 12 - Tricia

  Chapter 13 - Janelle

  Chapter 14 - Sylvia

  Chapter 15 - Janelle

  Chapter 16 - Tricia

  Chapter 17 - Sylvia

  Chapter 18 - Janelle

  Chapter 19 - Tricia

  Chapter 20 - Sylvia

  Chapter 21 - Janelle

  Chapter 22 - Tricia

  Chapter 23 - Sylvia

  Chapter 24 - Janelle

  Chapter 25 - Tricia

  Chapter 26 - Sylvia

  Chapter 27 - Janelle

  Chapter 28 - Sylvia

  Chapter 29 - Tricia

  Chapter 30 - Janelle

  Chapter 31 - Sylvia

  Chapter 32 - Janelle

  Chapter 33 - Tricia

  Urban Books, LLC

  300 Farmingdale Road, NY-Route 109

  Farmingdale, NY 11735

  Imitation of Wife Copyright © 2020 La Jill Hunt

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without prior consent of the Publisher, except brief quotes used in reviews.

  ISBN: 978-1-6016-2928-9

  eISBN 13: 978-1-60162-929-6

  eISBN 10: 1-60162-929-X

  This is a work of fiction. Any references or similarities to actual events, real people, living or dead, or to real locales are intended to give the novel a sense of reality. Any similarity in other names, characters, places, and incidents is entirely coincidental.

  Distributed by Kensington Publishing Corp.

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  Prologue

  The last place Tricia King wanted to be was at a basketball game. It didn’t matter that it was the state championship, nor did it matter that her son was the captain and star player of one of the high school teams that were playing. Tricia had no desire to attend, and until her husband insisted, she hadn’t even planned on being here.

  Tarik, or Tank as everyone called him, had been playing basketball for the past ten years, since the age of 7. In the beginning, she would attend his recreation league games when his father was unable to attend because he was out of town working. But after Titus’s job changed and he was home more, basketball became their father-son activity. That was fine with Tricia because it meant she didn’t have to be bothered, especially since Titus made sure he was the one on sidelines at every game and practice. As Tank got older, his skills and talents on the court, along with his height, made him a standout and led every team he played on to victory: middle school, AAU, and now high school. Although she and Titus had a nice amount put away for Tank’s college savings, the scholarship offers had been pouring in for a while. Thankfully, they wouldn’t have to pay a dime for his college education. She planned on purchasing a new Lexus she’d been eying for a while and maybe sending her mother on a cruise, unbeknownst to Titus, of course. The fact that basketball had afforded her son to go to college without them having to foot the bill still wasn’t enough to motivate her to go to the game that had the entire city, except her, excited.

  “But why do I have to be there?” she said to Titus the morning of the game after he informed her that her not going wasn’t an option.

  “Because it’s the last high school game of your son’s career, Tricia. Damn, you’d think you’d want to be there. You haven’t been to any of his games this year,” Titus said. It wasn’t as if she’d planned on missing all of his games. It was just that each week she’d told herself that she’d make the next one, and before she knew it, the playoffs had begun.

  “And he’s been fine,” she responded. “Tank doesn’t care if I’m there. You’re the one making a big deal out of this, not him.”

  “Tricia, I’m telling you, you need to go to this game tonight. Tank’s worked so hard for this. The school has chartered buses and everything. It’s going to be a big deal. The press is going to be there—”

  “I don’t give a damn about the press. They aren’t going to be there for me.”

  “I didn’t say they were.”

  “You know how much I hate crowds, Titus, and isn’t that game five hours away? I’m not riding on a damn bus for five hours. I’m sure someone will broadcast the game since it’s such a big deal or go live on social media. I can watch from right here.”

  “It’s only four hours away, and you don’t have to ride the bus with the other parents. We can drive.” Titus shook his head. “Listen, I don’t ask a lot of you. But you are going to this game to support our son. So get ready.”

  She thought about the plans she’d made for the day: appointments to get her hair, nails, and feet done, and a full-body massage, after which she planned to stop by Total Wine and pick up a couple of bottles of cabernet, then come home and enjoy the Hallmark channel while she ordered takeout and relaxed. All of those things sounded so much better than driving five hours and then sitting in a crowded gymnasium full of loud people yelling at her son and his team.

  But Titus was right, this was Tank’s last basketball game in high school, and though she wanted to be selfish, she also knew how important this game was for her son. So she relented and agreed to go. It really was bittersweet because this game solidified the fact that her son was growing up and would be leaving home.

  Tricia spent most of the five-hour car ride playing games on her cell phone while Titus drove the entire way, listening to old-school hip-hop in between talking to his friends and relatives on the phone about the game they were headed to. When they arrived, the line into the coliseum where the game was being held was wrapped around the building.

  As they made their way inside, her anxiety increased, and by the time they made it to their seats, it was on level ten. Most of the other parents had on blue and gold, the school colors, or shirts with the mascot and their son’s name and number. Her last-minute decision to attend hadn’t warranted a wardrobe change, and her outfit, which consisted of a simple Mickey Mouse graphic T-shirt and jeans, certainly was less spirited than everyone else, including her husband, whose own shirt had Tank’s picture on it.

  People walked up and spoke to Titus and congratulated him on Tank’s success as if he were the one winning the games instead of their son. There were even a couple of sports reporters who asked to speak to him. Titus laughed and smiled, enjoying making small talk. Tricia kept glancing at him, hoping he would just sit down. She was relieved when the game finally began.

  It was a close game the entire time, and while everyone else seemed to enjoy it, Tricia didn’t. Between her rowdy husband, who spent most of the game on his feet screaming along with the rest of the crowd, and the anticipation while watching her son and his teammates play their hearts out, her nerves were shot, and she was ready to go. She was on sensory overload. But she fought the urge to leave and stayed. At the very end, when Tank hit the winning shot, she was elated. He did it. Her son was a state champ. Everything he’d been working and sacrificing for had paid off, and
she was happy for him.

  The crowd went wild, and it was she, not Titus, who rushed down the bleachers, pushing past everyone as she called her son’s name. His face lit up with surprise as he ran over and hugged her, making her glad that she’d come. Then Tank looked over and saw his father and ran to give him a hug. Tricia stood watching the two men in her life cry while embracing one another. It was a proud moment for them.

  Moments later, Tank began calling out for someone. Her son took off toward a gorgeous young lady standing near the bottom of the bleachers, smiling at him. Tank swept the girl into his arms, kissing her as he lifted her off the ground. All eyes were on them until, suddenly, two men began screaming at one another then shoving each other. Tricia reached for Titus, but instead of him protecting her from the chaos that was ensuing, he took off toward it. The next thing she knew, her husband was shoving one of the men, blocking him from a woman grabbing at Titus’s arm. Seconds later, security was pulling them apart before taking them away.

  “What’s going on? Who is that?” Tricia asked Tank, who looked just as confused as she did.

  “I don’t really know, but I think one of the guys was Peyton’s dad.” Tank frowned. “Mr. Blackwell.”

  “Who the hell is Peyton?” Tricia demanded.

  “She’s my girl,” Tank said as if she should’ve known the answer to her question before asking it.

  “Tank! Get to the locker room now! Come on!” the coach yelled as another set of security guards began rounding up the players and instructing everyone to clear the arena.

  “Wait, that’s my son,” Tricia tried to explain.

  “I understand, ma’am, but we need to make sure these players are safe, so everyone needs to get out now. You can wait around back by the buses with the other parents,” the guard told her as he pointed toward the nearest exit.

  “I didn’t ride the bus with the other parents,” she snapped. “And I need to find my husband.”

  “Then you can find him outside. But either you leave now, or you will be arrested,” he threatened.

  Instead of cussing him out like she wanted to, Tricia just turned and followed the rest of the crowd out the door. When she got to the parking lot, she called Titus to see where the hell he was. It took three tries for him to finally answer. He said they were holding him in the security office and for Tricia to wait in the car. By then, she was hot, tired, and angry, so she didn’t say anything. She went to the car, which was parked near the charter buses, and waited.

  Thirty minutes later, Tank and his team walked out. Tricia hopped out of the car as she waved toward him and called his name, but he didn’t answer. She was about to walk over to him when Titus came running out and stopped him just before he got on the bus. Even though she was too far away to hear what they were saying, Tricia could tell that it was a heated exchange, based on their body language and the look of anger on her son’s face. The coach said something to both of them, then Titus headed toward the car where she was waiting.

  “What the hell was that about, Titus?” Tricia demanded as soon as he got to the car.

  “He’s upset right now because security made everyone leave before they were given the trophy, and they didn’t get to cut down the net,” Titus said as he started the engine. “I told him he’ll be fine, and Coach explained that there will be a victory celebration at the school.”

  “That’s not what the fuck I’m talking about,” she snapped.

  “What?” Titus asked as if he had no clue what she was referring to, which made her even angrier.

  “You jumping into that fight and getting hauled off by the police, that’s what.” She frowned.

  “I didn’t get hauled off by the police. It was just security, and I didn’t jump into a fight. I was trying to break up the fight and got swept into the commotion, that’s all. Everything was straightened out when we got into the security office.” His phone began ringing, and he answered it. “What’s up, Tony? Yeah, my boy did good. Thanks, man, I appreciate that. No doubt, you know I’m hella proud of him.”

  Tricia sat back in her seat and took out her own phone, turning her attention to her game since it was clear Titus was finished with this conversation, even though she wasn’t. For the remainder of the four-hour ride home, she listened as he took call after call from people congratulating him. The only conversation they shared was when she told him she was hungry, and he asked what she wanted to eat.

  When they finally arrived home, Titus went into his man cave after taking a shower, and Tricia settled on the sofa in the den to watch television before going upstairs to bed. She didn’t realize she’d fallen asleep until the sound of the toilet flushing woke her up. She sat up, looking at her watch, and saw that it was eight in the morning. The drive and the game must’ve worn her out, because she hadn’t even heard her son come home. Her attention went to the corner of the room, expecting to see Tank’s basketball and gym bag, but it wasn’t there: a clear indication that he wasn’t home. It wasn’t her son in the bathroom. It was Titus.

  “Titus, where’s Tank?” she called out.

  “What?” Titus walked into the den, rubbing his eyes.

  “Where is Tank? I didn’t hear him come in last night, and his stuff isn’t by the doorway.” She pointed.

  Titus looked over then shrugged. “You just didn’t hear him. He’s probably upstairs asleep and took it with him.”

  “I would’ve heard the alarm when he opened the door. He didn’t come home, I’m telling you.”

  Titus turned and yelled, “Tank!” When there was no answer or response, he headed up the staircase toward Tank’s room.

  Tricia stood up and walked over to the bottom of the stairs, waiting for him to confirm what she already knew. Her son wasn’t there.

  “I told you.” She shook her at Titus, who was walking back downstairs. “I knew his ass didn’t come home.”

  “Calm down, Tricia. He probably was out with his teammates and fell asleep. The boy did just win his state basketball championship. It’s fine.”

  “It’s not fine. I don’t give a damn if he won the Super Bowl. He doesn’t get to stay out all night, especially without calling and getting permission,” she said with a glare. Then she asked, “Wait, did you tell him he could stay out all night without discussing it with me first?”

  Communication was not her family’s strong suit, and it wasn’t unusual for her husband and son to make plans without her. Over the years, it seemed as if Titus didn’t feel the need to discuss any parental decisions with her. When she’d complain about it, he’d apologize and say it was no big deal and explain that most of the time, the discussions they had were at a time when she wasn’t around. He never took into consideration that that mostly happened because the two of them were always together and hardly ever at home, where she spent most of her time, while they were always at the gym working out, at basketball practice, a game, or hanging out somewhere else. The two of them were tighter than a fresh set of braids done by an African stylist.

  “I need for you to rethink that question you just asked. No, Tricia, I didn’t give him permission to stay out all night. I ain’t even know the boy wasn’t here until you said something. Don’t you think if I’d given him permission, I would’ve said something?”

  She paused, and instead of pointing out that he probably wouldn’t have said anything to her, she picked up her phone off the coffee table and dialed Tank’s number. It rang once then went to voicemail. She sent a text, demanding that he call her back, then told Titus, “Go call him.”

  “Uh, didn’t you just do that?”

  “Yes, but he’ll probably answer for you before he does me. You know how the two of you are.”

  “That’s not true, but fine,” Titus said and walked out. When he didn’t come back after a few minutes, Tricia went into the man cave and found him watching television

  “Well?” She put her hands on her hips as she stood in front of him, blocking his view of the screen.

 
“He didn’t answer for me either.” He leaned to look past her.

  “Did you text him?”

  “I did.”

  “Did he get it?”

  “I’m assuming he did.” Titus shrugged.

  His nonchalance made her angrier by the second. “Isn’t one of the big deals the two of you are always bragging about your iPhone is that you can see when someone reads your text message?”

  Unlike the two of them, she was the only one in the household with an Android phone, another little idiosyncrasy that made her an outsider to their all-boys club. She knew Titus could track her son through his phone and probably knew exactly where he was. He was way too calm about their son’s absence not to know.

  “Yeah, the message has been delivered, but he hasn’t read it yet,” Titus said, looking at his phone. “Let me see if any of his friends know where he is. I’m sure he’s fine.”

  “Why are you so damn calm? You should be pissed.”

  “Tricia, look, I’m just as upset about him not coming home as you are. The boy just won the state championship last night, and he probably went out to celebrate with the team. Now should he have called? Yeah, he should have. My main concern is that he’s safe, and once that’s confirmed, I’ll talk with him, and he’ll have to deal with the consequences of his actions. He ain’t getting a pass.”

  “You’ll deal with the consequences.” She rolled her eyes. “We are supposed to deal with them.”

  “Fine, we.” Titus shrugged. “I’ll take a quick shower and go find him.”

  “You don’t know where he is, remember?”

  “I’ll find where he is, Tricia.”

  “He’s probably with that girl he was kissing after the game. And when the hell did he get a girlfriend anyway?” Tricia asked.

  “I didn’t know about that shit until last night. And no, he ain’t with Peyton. That I’m sure of.”

  Titus’s response was not what she expected. She assumed he’d known about the girl and thought he would’ve been satisfied with her considering how pretty she was. Instead, he seemed bothered, which meant that, whoever she was, there was a problem with her. From the way she was kissing her son, she was probably some little trick who was probably planning to trap their son. If Tank had been with his teammates or friends, he would’ve at least called and checked in. He hadn’t, which probably meant that he was somewhere else that they wouldn’t approve of. Unlike her husband, she knew how predatory teenage girls could be. Not only was Tank good-looking, smart, and athletic, he was well-mannered and had a bright future. There was no telling what that girl was plotting for her son.