by Mason Dixon
“We’ve already had this conversation.” Kenya turned to face her. Her stomach roiled as Mackenzie played with Fernanda’s nipple like it—and the woman attached to it—was nothing more than a toy. Despite Mackenzie’s declarations of love, had she, like Fernanda, been just another conquest? A prize to be won? She wanted to be someone’s equal, not her accessory. “I can’t live like that, Mackenzie. I won’t live like that. This may be nothing more than a game to you, but it’s my life. And I will live it by my rules, not someone else’s.”
Mackenzie pursed her lips. “Are you more upset about what you walked in on today, or that Simone knew Fernanda and I were seeing each other and didn’t tell you?”
Kenya’s heart—what was left of it—sank. Simone knew Mackenzie was two-timing her and hadn’t let her know? Impossible. Simone would never keep the truth from her. Not after all the conversations they’d had about honesty and trust. “She wouldn’t do that.”
“Oh, no? Why don’t you ask her? Or are you afraid you’ll discover your knight in shining armor is as fallible as the rest of us mere mortals? Let’s not kid ourselves. This scene you’re acting out right now isn’t because of me. You’re not hurt because you were right about me all along. You’re hurt because you were wrong about Simone. It’s not me you’ve been falling for the past few weeks. It’s her. So stop playing the martyr and admit you and I aren’t as different as you think we are.”
“I never—”
“Be honest, Kenya. How many times did you think of her while you were fucking me?”
“Unlike you, I never brought anyone else into our bed.”
“Perhaps not. But who’s in your heart? Me or her?”
Kenya winced as Mackenzie’s barb found its mark. Was Mackenzie right? Had her feelings for Simone blossomed from friendship into love? If so, it would explain why it wasn’t Mackenzie’s betrayal that nearly brought her to her knees. It was Simone’s.
*
Simone’s phone was ringing, but she didn’t want to stop composing long enough to answer it. She jabbed her cell phone’s Speaker icon with one hand and kept scribbling the notes to the tune running through her head with the other.
“What’s up, Amanda?” she asked after she glanced at the display to see who was calling.
“Kenya just came in looking for you.”
That got her attention.
“She’s supposed to be in Orlando until tomorrow. What’s she doing back in Miami so soon?”
“Beats me. She looked upset, so I gave her your address. I hope that’s okay.”
“It’s fine.” Simone put her pencil down and picked up the phone. “Did she say what was wrong?”
“No, but I could make a pretty good guess.”
That could mean only one thing. Kenya had found out about Fernanda or whoever Mackenzie had chosen to be her flavor of the week. Now her mind was probably reeling as well as her heart. “Thanks for the heads-up, Amanda. I’ll take it from here.”
“Take care of her, dude, and let me know how everything turns out.”
“Sure thing.”
Simone ended the call and hastily straightened her apartment. When she arrived, Kenya would probably be too dazed to pass judgment on how messy or clean the place was, but Simone wanted to make a good impression nevertheless. She shoved her sheet music in a drawer, tossed the empty pizza box in the trash, and sprayed some air freshener to mask the smell of garlic, onions, and pepperoni.
As she waited for Kenya to arrive, she tried to decide how to handle the situation. Should she admit she had suspected what Mackenzie was up to and didn’t share her suspicions with her, or, now that the shit had hit the fan, should she play it safe and make sure none of it landed on her?
It didn’t feel right keeping Kenya in the dark. It never had. If she had spoken up when she had the chance, none of this might be happening. She needed to come clean, no matter how dirty she might get in the process.
The minutes turned into hours and still no Kenya. Simone tried getting her on the phone, but her call went to voice mail. So did the second. And the third.
“Amanda said you were looking for me,” she said, leaving a message. “I’m not sure what’s going on, but I’m starting to get a little worried. If I don’t hear from you soon, I’m going to come over and beat your door down, so hit me back, okay? You know where to reach me.”
Kenya’s terse reply came several long minutes later. “I’m not in the mood to talk,” she texted.
Simone tried to slow her racing heart as her fumbling fingers tripped over the letters on the touch screen on her phone. “To anyone or just to me?” she wrote.
Kenya’s subsequent reply was even more clipped than her first. “Take your pick.”
“Tell me what I can do to help.”
“Ask me a question.”
Simone mentally reviewed the final questions on her list, searching in vain for one that might lighten the mood. So she threw the list aside and went with her gut. “Question sixteen. If you could wake up tomorrow having gained an ability, what would it be?”
“I would channel Cher and turn back time. Next question.”
Simone’s palms began to sweat. She could feel Kenya’s hurt. Her anger. Her pain. She didn’t know how to fix any of it—or to adequately explain any part she might have played in causing her distress. Was Kenya unaware she had prior knowledge of Mackenzie’s affair? Or, even worse, did she know the whole truth and was trying to fulfill her part of the bargain they had made before she cut her out of her life for good?
“Question seventeen,” she wrote. “Who was the last person you hugged?”
“Celia. Next question.”
“Question eighteen.” Simone felt a mounting sense of dread as she typed the words. “Who was the last person who made you cry?”
“You are. Any more questions?”
“Shit.” Simone’s entire body went numb. She needed to set things right before the situation spun completely out of control. “Just one,” she wrote. “Where are you? I have to see you.”
“If you plan to tell me what you started to tell me that day in the Art District, forget it,” Kenya texted back. “I already know. What’s your excuse for lying to me? I would love to hear it.”
Simone hung her head in despair. Everything she had hoped would remain in the dark had finally come to light. Kenya knew. Not just about Fernanda. About her, too. She wanted to blame Mackenzie for ratting her out, but she knew she had no one to blame but herself. She should have stepped up when she had the chance. If she had, Kenya might be thinking more of her right now instead of less.
“I wanted to tell you,” she wrote, “but I didn’t want to hurt you. What can I do to make it up to you? Tell me what I need to do to make things right.”
She hit Send and waited anxiously for Kenya’s response. One minute went by, then two. When the reply finally came, she wished it hadn’t.
“Simple,” Kenya had written. “Forget you ever met me.”
Chapter Eleven
“I can’t do that.”
Simone’s reply to her demand reminded Kenya of her own response to Mackenzie’s request for an open relationship. I can’t live like that, she had said as she watched Mackenzie bask in the afterglow of her romp with another woman. I won’t live like that.
Mackenzie had said they could be a beautiful couple, an admission of her preference for style over substance. Who cared if their relationship wasn’t working as long as they looked good standing side-by-side in front of the cameras? Was that why Mackenzie had chosen her in the first place? So she could help her pull off the façade of a power couple after her long string of models, actresses, and party girls had failed to give her the respect she so obviously craved?
If Mackenzie had only wanted the semblance of a relationship rather than the real thing, why couldn’t she have said so from the beginning? Why had she gone through with the pretense of wooing her when she never intended for them to have the kind of relationship Kenya had told h
er she wanted? Had the past few weeks been nothing more than a bad joke, or was Mackenzie shallow enough to think her luxurious, jet-setting lifestyle would prove too intoxicating to resist? It nearly had.
Kenya had stayed with her longer than she should have. Longer than she probably would have if Mackenzie had been someone else. Anyone else. But Mackenzie wasn’t anyone. She was everything Kenya had ever wanted. Except none of it had been real.
“Give me a chance to explain,” Simone’s text pleaded.
Kenya powered off her phone without bothering to send a reply. Mackenzie’s duplicity wasn’t nearly as surprising as Simone’s. Mackenzie had a reputation for straying. A reputation her kisses had convinced Kenya to ignore. Simone, on the other hand, had been nothing but honest from the beginning. Or so Kenya had thought. Her instincts had failed her yet again. How could she ever learn to trust someone else if she couldn’t trust herself?
Now that her “relationship” with Mackenzie was over, she finally realized what had been missing. Their connection had been on a purely physical level. The sex had been great—mind-blowing, in fact—but that was all there was. The emotional bond that formed the heart of most unions had never developed. Not like the one she had crafted with Simone. Being with Mackenzie had made her toes curl. Being with Simone had made her heart soar. Mackenzie had captured her body. Simone had captured her imagination.
Kenya stood on her balcony and stared down at the harbor. She wrapped her arms around her middle to ease the pain. Two years ago, she had come close to losing everything. Her home, her financial standing, and her emotional well-being. She had thought she had hit rock bottom back then. Today, however, she felt like she had reached a new low. She had fought her way back from the brink before, but she didn’t think she could do it again. It was just too hard.
True love couldn’t be forced. It had to be found. Kenya’s doorbell sounded while she tried to come to terms with the idea that she might never find what she was looking for.
She tried to ignore the ringing, but her visitor was insistent, leaning on the buzzer until it produced one unbroken, discordant noise.
“Okay,” she said irritably. “I’m coming.” She snatched the door open and slammed it shut as soon as she saw Simone standing on the other side. “No.”
“Please, Kenya, you have to let me explain.”
“Whatever you’re selling, I’m not buying,” Kenya said without bothering to open the door. “You’ve had plenty of time—and chances—to explain. It’s too late now. I don’t want to hear it. Go home, Simone.”
Simone pounded on the door. “Kenya, let me in. It’s not what you think.”
Kenya opened the door before her neighbors could make a stink about the disturbance. The last thing she needed was a visit from the head of the homeowners’ association asking her to keep the noise down. He might jack up the fees even higher than they already were. “How could you possibly know what I’m thinking?”
Simone backed up a step as if Kenya’s attack had been physical instead of verbal. “Because I would be thinking the same thing if I were in your shoes.”
Simone’s eyes pleaded for understanding. For forgiveness. But Kenya wasn’t in a forgiving mood.
“You’ve got ten minutes. Tell me what you came to say, then get out.”
Simone stepped around Kenya with the caution of a bomb squad technician approaching a suspected explosive device. “The night I asked you my fifth question,” she said hesitantly, “I saw Mackenzie kissing some redhead in the alley behind Azure. I took a picture of them so I could send it to you, but I couldn’t go through with it.”
Simone held up her phone. Kenya glanced at a picture of Mackenzie kissing Fernanda next to a waiting limousine. The time stamp in the corner of the screen backed up Simone’s story. Kenya turned away, but the image remained with her. “Why didn’t you show me that before now?”
Simone put her phone away. “I didn’t want you to be blindsided, and I didn’t want to end any illusions you might have had about your relationship when you seemed to want it so much. I didn’t want to be the one to break your heart.”
Kenya thought of all the energy she had put into trying to build a relationship with Mackenzie. Wasted energy she could have conserved if Simone had made one phone call or sent her one text message. “So instead of telling me what half of Miami already seemed to know, you said nothing.”
Simone floundered for a moment, obviously at a loss for words. “I was right about you,” she eventually said. “When you love someone, they know it. And when you don’t—” She briefly lowered her eyes before bringing them back up to meet Kenya’s. “When you don’t, they know that, too.”
Simone had used those exact words to describe Kenya the night they’d met. Kenya didn’t want to be reminded of that night. The night her life had changed forever. “You have eight minutes left.”
“Why are you pointing fingers at me? I’m not the one who hurt you. Mackenzie is.”
“Are you sure about that? When you asked me how I felt about keeping secrets, did you think my answer applied to everyone but you?”
“I didn’t want to keep secrets from you. I started to tell you everything the day I took you to the Wynwood Walls, but Mackenzie said she and Fernanda were over and she claimed she was devoted to you. When she offered me a hundred grand to keep my mouth shut, I should have known she was doing it to cover her ass, not to keep you from being hurt.”
Simone’s eyes widened as if she thought she had said too much. As far as Kenya was concerned, she hadn’t said nearly enough.
“She offered you hush money? A hundred thousand dollars. Is that all I’m worth? On second thought, don’t tell me.” She pushed down the unpleasant image of Simone and Mackenzie tossing figures back and forth until they decided on a final number. “Did you take the money?”
Simone’s expression changed from regret to indignation. “Of course not. Did you really think I would?”
Kenya didn’t know how to answer the question without hurting Simone’s feelings.
“Right now, I don’t know what to think. I thought I knew you, but it’s obvious I don’t. The Simone I thought I knew wouldn’t keep something so important from me. She would tell me the truth, not cover it up.”
Simone’s exasperated sigh sounded like a locomotive letting off steam. “You’re not telling me anything I haven’t told myself a hundred times over. Do I wish I had told you everything? Yes, I do. If I could do it all over again, would I do things differently? Yes, I would. I screwed up. I admit it. But it is the first and last time I will ever keep anything from you, Kenya, I swear.”
“I know. Because it’s the first and last time I will give you the chance. I’m done with sweet-talking women telling me I can trust them before proving I can’t. By my count, you have three questions left. Let’s get them out of the way so we can go our separate ways.”
“We don’t have to end this way. We don’t have to end at all. We can get past this. Just give me another chance. Everyone’s entitled to one mistake. Let this be mine.”
Kenya held up her hands to keep from postponing the inevitable. She needed to get this over with so she could put this day and everything that had transpired as a result behind her. “Question nineteen?”
Simone opened her mouth to say something but seemed to think better of it. “Fine,” she said robotically. “Question nineteen. What’s your greatest fear?”
Before today, Kenya hadn’t thought twice about revealing her innermost thoughts to Simone. Now the desire to preserve what little self-esteem she had left made her hesitate.
Simone’s shoulders slumped as the fight drained out of her. “No matter what you might think of what I did or didn’t do, I haven’t changed, Kenya. I’m still me.”
Kenya wanted to take her at face value, but her emotions were too raw to open herself up to the possibility of getting hurt again.
“My biggest fear,” she eventually said, “is being alone. My closest friends are eith
er married or engaged. I want what they have, but I just can’t seem to find it.” Simone reached for her, but Kenya held her at bay. “Don’t.” She knuckled away a tear. “Just don’t. The last thing I need right now is to have you feeling sorry for me. It just makes everything worse.”
“I don’t feel sorry for you, Kenya. I—What’s the use? You don’t want to hear it.” Simone abandoned her attempt to give Kenya a much-needed hug and dropped her arms to her sides. “Question twenty. What’s the one thing you most regret not having told someone?”
Kenya didn’t possess Celia’s enviable ability to effortlessly dish out the perfect rejoinder. Most of her witty comebacks didn’t occur to her until after it was too late to use them. None of those missed opportunities, however, had attained the rank of lifelong regret. She had been open and honest with Mackenzie from the day they’d met, which meant she had left nothing unsaid. Almost. She could have used a few more expletives on her way out the door. It wouldn’t have changed the end result, but she might have felt a hell of a lot better during her drive home.
“I wish I had told Mackenzie to go to hell today instead of holding my tongue. I was trying so hard to retain my dignity that I—”
“Stop.” Simone put her hands on Kenya’s shoulders and slowly slid them down her arms. Kenya felt every inch of the gradual descent. “Don’t give her that kind of power over you. It’s over now. She’s out of your life. It doesn’t matter what she thinks about you or anyone else. She doesn’t deserve you. She never did.”
Simone took Kenya’s hands in hers and squeezed. The gesture was probably supposed to be comforting, but it achieved the opposite effect. Kenya’s pulse raced as if she’d taken a shot of adrenaline direct to the heart. She wanted to let go—she wanted to pull away—but she couldn’t move.
Simone’s eyes bore into hers, asking questions she wasn’t prepared to answer. Simone’s lips parted and she tilted her head to one side. She leaned toward Kenya as if she meant to kiss her. Kenya’s breath caught in a strange mixture of anticipation and dread. It was too soon for this. Too soon. And much too late.