by Nia Arthurs
I try to get out of my own head and live in the moment, but by the time we drive back into the city, I know Kent is feeling the weight of his choices and so do I.
It’s a sobering thought. After this night, I may never see him again.
There’s no way I’m letting him go until I have to.
Kent spends the night at my place, but the medication the doctor gave him yesterday knocks him out so all I can do is hold him while he sleeps and cry until exhaustion claims me.
The next morning, I wake up. Kent is gone.
“Kent?” The blanket tumbles to my lap as I glance around the room. “Kent?”
There’s no answer.
I grab my phone and dial his number, hauling my legs off the bed. Something buzzes on the dresser. I freeze. Glance behind me.
A phone vibrates on the desk. It’s the one I gave to Kent.
I crawl over to it and almost fall apart at the name on the screen.
THE LOVE OF MY LIFE
When I pull myself together, I notice a note beneath the phone. I pick it up and recognize Kent’s handwriting.
Amaya,
If I left in the morning, I wouldn’t remember you so I’m leaving. I want the last time we see each other to be happy, not confusing for me and distressing for you.
I’ll be back. I’ll remember you. But if I don’t, remember this—you deserve to be happy, loved and treasured. You deserve the world.
I will always love you.
Kent
“No.” I shove my feet into slippers and swipe my car keys. “No, Kent.”
I need to see him like it’s my next breath. Nothing else matters.
It’s a miracle my desperate drive through the city doesn’t earn me a ticket.
The moment I step into the hotel, Uniqua calls me over. “Amaya! Hey! Mr. Barton said you would be here.”
Her words are a sucker punch to the gut. “He really left?”
“He signed out along with Wilson and that other lady this morning.” She notices my expression. “Are you okay?”
No, I’m not. “I’m fine.”
“Oh, before I forget. He wanted me to give you this.” She slides an envelope over to me. “And also this. He said the wallet’s for Tyron.”
I accept the wallet and envelope. “Thank you.”
When I’m back in my car, I take a few calming breaths and then open the envelope. It has a sheet of paper in it. My eyes widen when I read the words. It’s the note I gave Kent the night Julius threw a rock through my window.
This woman is mine, and I am hers.
I’m such a wuss I start crying again. Uniqua can do nothing but stare at me, horrified.
I cry a lot those first few weeks.
Diandra does her best to cheer me up. Zora… she’s cold, but at least she’s got hope the surgery will do well. Hope is all I have.
Well, that and music.
There’s nothing like heartbreak, fear and anxiety to speed along the creative process. In three months, I’ve recorded and produced ‘Every Tomorrow’.
Kent predicted it would be a hit. He was right.
I keep myself busy with the institute and my performing gigs, which is perfect since Wilson is terrible at updating me on Kent’s progress.
All I know is that he’s alive.
It should be enough, but it isn’t. I’m desperate to see Kent again. To hold him. To tell him I love him.
One day. That’s all I can hope for.
A few weeks later, I get an international call. My heart thumps when I see the unfamiliar number and I pounce on my phone. “Kent?”
“Sorry,” Wilson’s voice echoes over the line, “Amaya, I have some bad news.”
I sink into the chair. “Did he… is he dead?”
“No.”
Relief almost cuts me in half. “Then what’s wrong?”
“The surgery was unsuccessful.”
My heart sinks, but at least I’m getting more information than usual. “Let me talk to Kent. I need to hear his voice.”
There’s a long pause. “Kent’s… not here.”
“What?”
“He snuck out of his hospital room a few days ago. We’re doing everything we can to find him, but… it’s not looking good. He was severely disoriented after the surgery. He walked out with nothing more than his backpack and a hospital gown. They’re warning us he might not make it in the cold.”
I cover my mouth in horror.
“We’re staying optimistic. Kent has no money. No way to understand the language or get around. We’ll find him by the end of the day.”
But Wilson doesn’t find him that day. Or the day after.
A week passes with the same terse message from Kent’s cousin—no news.
I want to hold out hope, but my heart feels like it’s being squeezed dry. At this point, it doesn’t even matter if Kent remembers me or even if he remembers anything at all. I just want him to be safe. The helplessness is oppressive.
“Amaya? Amaya!”
I straighten and glance at the director, Gregory Lance—a self-proclaimed reggae video legend.
“Sorry, Greg. Where do you want me?”
“On the ledge, right there by the Belize sign. We want the wind to blow your hair away from your face and really full out that white skirt.”
I nod and glance down at the dress a popular department store sponsored for the project. Workers are scurrying around the park where we’re shooting the last scene of the day. Gregory wants to catch the sun setting in the background.
“Time is money, people!” Gregory yells like we’re on a multi-million dollar set instead of a tourist attraction in the city and the workers aren’t junior college film students.
I totter on the ledge in my six-inch heels. Greg insisted it completes the outfit even though the dress is so voluminous it covers my feet.
An aid helps me up. I stare straight ahead, refusing to look at the water trashing just behind me.
“Alright,” Greg climbs into his foldable director’s chair. “We’ll start from the second chorus. And… go.”
Smoke billows from a machine. The wind blows my hair and tosses my dress, more reliable than an actual fan. A small radio blasts my song.
I say the words aloud as if the camera is a person. As if the camera is Kent. “I know all we’ve got is tonight. But I’ll give you every tomorrow. Every tomorrow…”
Then something incredible happens. As if conjured by my longing, a man steps into the park. He clutches a black backpack in his pale fingers. Our eyes collide. His are green, uncertain, searching.
I freeze.
Gregory hisses, “Sing. Sing!”
I ignore him and step forward to jump off the ledge when I lose my balance instead. My arms flail by my side, wheeling around as I struggle to catch my balance.
“Don’t you dare fall!” Greg points his fingers, like his words alone will give me the power to defy gravity.
All my effort fails and I end up crashing into the Caribbean Sea. I sink like a rock, struggling to the surface while the dress becomes an anchor, dragging me down.
A moment later, someone else crashes into the water. A strong hand bands around my waist and lifts me up. We break the surface together. I cough out water and fall into Kent’s mesmerizing eyes.
“Are you okay?” he asks.
I nod.
He starts to let me go, but I cling to him. My heart is pounding, twirling, melting. My hands caress his face. “You’re here. You’re okay.”
“I’m—”
Before he can finish, I yank him close and press my mouth against his. He tastes like the sea, like salt and fresh air. I kiss him until my lungs beg for air. The sound of cheering above warns I have an audience.
I pull back. Lick my lips. Drink in the sight of him—that dirty blonde hair, pale skin and hazel eyes. He’s rocking a thick beard. I like it. Makes him look rugged.
“Wow.” He blows out a breath. “I didn’t expect that. I’m guessing you’
re Amaya?”
For a split second, I feel disappointment that he doesn’t remember me, but who cares. “Yes.”
“I’m Kent Barton.” He bobs in the water and shyly removes his hand from my waist. “I heard your song while I was in Europe and I knew I had to see you. It probably doesn’t make sense but—”
“It makes sense.”
“It does?”
“I nod. That’s our song.”
“Ours?”
“Yes, Kent. No matter what happens, I want to be with you. For every tomorrow.”
Epilogue: One Year Later
Kent
Amaya’s house is filled with friends and family. Laughter and excited chatter rises above the music. Her hit song, Every Tomorrow, plays in the background. She’s got a new album, but I put Every Tomorrow on repeat.
I’ve never been a fan of reggae, but that song is my favorite.
My gaze travels around the room. Everyone is here to celebrate our engagement party. Although I don’t remember proposing to Amaya, she’s informed me I’ve done so five times already.
Francine, Amaya’s mother winks at me from the corner. She’s dressed in a silky blue number that fits her slim figure well. She brought a date, a guy named Fenny Bean. What kind of name is that?
Francine’s already warned that I better not spend my money getting married to Amaya five times.
Amaya jokingly informed her that we would do what we want.
Tyron’s here too. He brought a girl and got severely roasted for it. She seems nice and he seems happy. He’s graduating next year. On the honor roll. As far as I know, he’s retired from the mugging scene. So that’s good.
Papa James is here too. He’s walking Amaya down the aisle for our wedding. He broke down and cried when we told him, claiming it was an honor. On the contrary, I wish we could do more for him. I owe Papa James my life.
A year ago, we met in Europe by chance. I was walking around barefoot, in a hospital gown, fresh out of surgery. Papa James took me back to the bed and breakfast where he was staying.
He claimed we’d met before, but I insisted he had the wrong guy. We argued over my identity—which I didn’t remember at the time. Then Papa James showed me Amaya’s picture and let me listen to her new song.
That was it. Even though I couldn’t remember her or anything about her, the picture caught my attention and her song stirred my soul. I begged him to take me to her. And the rest, as they say, is history.
A hand clamps on my shoulder. I glance around and spot Wilson with a huge smile on his face, Violet beside him. They came as a couple. Whether that means they’re back together or not is something Wilson hasn’t shared with me.
I wish them the best though.
“This is the last time you’re proposing, right?” Wilson arches an eyebrow. “I’m getting tired of congratulating you for the same thing. Just get married already.”
“I’m not the one slowing us up. Amaya keeps misplacing my journals.”
“I don’t do anything.” Amaya approaches me, wine glass in hand. “You leave them everywhere and always forget where you put it.”
“Hey, babe.” I capture her hand and kiss her cheek. She is stunning in a champagne-colored dress that sticks to her amazing figure and inspires some song lyrics of my own.
“It’s nice to see you again, Violet. I didn’t think you’d make it.”
Violet shrugs. “I couldn’t make it the first four times so I figured I’d come now.”
Heels clop behind me and, a moment later, Zora pops up beside us. Her long black hair is brushed away from her face and she’s wearing a slinky red dress.
Wilson immediately stiffens at the sight of her. I note his reaction with amusement.
“Amaya, Mrs. Barton is calling to congratulate you. She says she’s sorry she couldn’t be here but she’d love to help plan the wedding. If you want.”
“I should get this.” Amaya sends me a loving smile. “Be right back.”
I nod and let her go.
Zora folds her arms over her chest and looks Wilson up and down. “Didn’t think you’d make it.”
“I’m sure you were hoping for that.”
I glance between the two of them, a question mark on my face.
Violet asks before I can. “What’s with you two?”
“Nothing.” Zora glowers and prances away mumbling, “I need another drink.”
“So do I.” Wilson charges after her.
Violet and I are left alone. She tosses her raven hair over her shoulder. “How have you been, Kent?”
“Good. The surgery might have been unsuccessful, but it did slow my condition. If I die, it won’t be because of my brain.”
“That’s good news.” She forces a smile. “I’m happy for you. Really happy.”
“Maybe you and Wilson can be happy too?”
She looks down. “Maybe.”
Amaya appears then and slips her hand over my elbow. “Can I steal him away, Violet? Mom wants us to cut the cake.”
“Sure.”
Everyone gathers as Diandra brings the cake out.
I glance around. “Where’s Will?”
“Where’s Zora?” Amaya adds.
Before we can find them, Diandra urges us to cut the cake and feed it to each other like it’s our wedding day. Everyone cheers when we do. It’s weird and cheesy, but I like it. I like every moment I spend with Amaya.
We dance. We laugh. And we take pictures. A ton of them. Amaya’s creating a scrap book to help me remember these moments. I think she got the idea after I proposed to her the third time.
When everyone is gone, we sink into the living room chair. It’s quiet but content.
Amaya cuddles against my chest. “Let’s get married. Soon.”
“I’d marry you tomorrow.” I kiss her forehead. “Which proposal out of the five was your favorite?”
She laughs. “Every one.”
“Is that your answer to everything now? Every tomorrow. Every proposal. Every kiss.”
“Yes, yes and,” her gaze dips to my lips and she kisses me, “yes.”
I hold her close. Life isn’t perfect. I’m not perfect either, but this moment and this woman, right here, is perfection to me.
THE END
A Word From The Author
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Other Books by this Author
The Taming Series
Taming Mr. Jerkface
Taming Mr. Charming
Taming Mr. Know-it-all
Taming Mr. Darcy
The Seven Realms Series
Genesis
Revelations
The Tree of Knowledge (coming soon)
Love & Reggae
Amid the Noise
Count Me In
Buffalo Soldier
Confessions of A Church Girl
Glass Houses
Fitting In
Standing Out
Standalone
Whiter Than Snow
Married By Science
Tsea
Fool Me Never
Audrey’s Choice
Scarlet
From the Stars
River’s Journey
That Was Then
Energy
Becoming Rachel
Desperate for a Date
Something New
Love In Many Shades Series
Cece & David
Cece & David 2
Cece & David 3
Cece & David 4
Boyfriend By Series
Boyfriend By Blackmail
Boyfriend By Midnight
Boyfriend By Design
Lovesick Series
Play
Dance
Trust
Sneak Peek
EVERY REGRET
Zora and Wilson’s story.
Read on for an excerpt.
Chapter 1
Zora
“They’re so in love, it’s nauseating.” I glare at the couple smiling and kissing in the living room and then focus my scorn on the wine glass dangling between my fingertips. “Didn’t Amaya buy anything stronger?”
Diandra tosses her long black weave in annoyance. I ignore the attitude and just focus on her hair. I have to ask her where she got it because that’s some high quality extensions right there.
“Sorry. After Kent’s third proposal, Amaya wanted to keep these parties low key. This is all we got.”
“Awesome.”
Diandra stares at me, saying nothing. She’s got these big, brown eyes that fool people into thinking she’s some naïve Bambi who has no knowledge of the world. I know the truth. Diandra’s as savage as Amaya when she wants to be.
“What?” I lean back as she sticks her nose into my personal space.
“Something’s different about you.”
“I ditched my old lashes. In case you didn’t notice.” I scowl at her. Neither Amaya nor Diandra told me about my fake eyelashes and their propensity for drooping. I was walking around looking like a maniac for six months.
“It’s not that. It’s… I don’t know. You look different.”
“Different how?”