“Oh!” She turned and retrieved it, and was back at his side. “I love you,” she whispered as she gripped his hand tightly.
“I love you too, baby, and I promise, we’ll spend more time together soon.”
“Did you still want to stop and get that chicken gyro?” she asked as they exited the library hand in hand, the sun now long gone and their cars parked close to one another.
“Yeah, let’s get a to-go order and chill tonight. You go on home, and I’ll go pick them up, one each.”
“Okay.” She yawned. Exhaustion was etched all over her face. He was sure she wouldn’t last another hour, but he would at least try to keep this magic alive.
“No kids, just you and me. It’s a start, right?” He kissed her again before closing her car door behind her. She rolled her window down and peered up at him, her expression contemplative, her lips slightly parted.
“Sounds good…” she said. He knew she wanted to say more, but didn’t. She didn’t trust his words right then and there. He always promised her more, and all she got was less and vice versa. They’d become lovers with the best of intentions. He bit down his regret, waved weakly to her and made his way to his car, feeling the effects of a supreme sexual release. The erotic encounter was just what he needed, but he also wanted her to be not just content, but happy—and while he made love to her, he could tell she was not and it was all because she missed him. She wanted her husband, and she wanted him now…
~***~
CHAPTER EIGHT
Xenia’s heart pounded out of her chest. She looked to and fro; the crew moved fast into their respective places and the studio audience murmured amongst themselves, vying for a chance to spot a celebrity or two. She’d run through the script a hundred times, but this felt brand new as her nerves got the best of her. Some of it was simply off the cuff, she’d have to wing it, simply go with the flow. It was to come across like a conversation, just she and a stranger, now new friends, over a cup of morning brew or in this case, steaming green tea. Palms moist, breathing labored, she braced herself under the bright, hot lights that beamed down on her. She gripped her amethyst necklace and caught her reflection in a nearby monitor.
Okay, just breathe…
She briefly closed her eyes and in that second, a large powder puff swiped across her face. By the time her eyelashes fluttered open, the make-up artist had disappeared and her co-host, a new hire by the name of Jackson Cleves, made his way next to her. Adjusting his olive and cream plaid collar, the suave looking man with perfectly coifed light blond hair, piercing blue eyes and a strong jaw looked like a permanent fixture in a top-notch fashion magazine ad. She’d gone through a few lines with him earlier and felt comfortable enough, but they hadn’t had time to develop chemistry, the kind that takes time, long conversations and disclosure. She knew Sinclair had done the shit on purpose, yanking Marvin away at the last moment like a wig off a mannequin head. He wanted her to bomb and she was determined to not let the son of a bitch have his way.
“Good morning!” Jackson announced, his million dollar dazzling smile wide, a sure crowd pleaser. “Thank you for joining me, Jackson Cleves, and the lovely and talented Xenia Aknaten. We’ve got some exciting stories, news, and information this morning, don’t we, Xenia?” He turned to her, his smile stiff and plastered, yet warm at the same time, if that were possible.
“Yes…uh, yes, we sure do and,” she adjusted awkwardly in her seat, folding her hands over the stack of papers before her, “this week we have Nicole Kidman, Hunter Hayes and Jennifer Garner just to name a few. We will also be discussing the benefits of Vitamin E, how to save one thousand dollars a year and—”
“Wow! One thousand dollars… I could use another thousand bucks!” Jackson gleamed into the camera.
“For sure, couldn’t we all!” Xenia smiled, getting into her groove. “And Jackson, get a load of this,” she stuck her hand out casually, “we will have Nancy Cruz, renowned kitchen designer, here on Thursday, to show us how to get our kitchens to look like those of the big celebrities, on a budget.”
“Nancy is really talented. I can’t wait to get her tips…”
And so the show continued. Xenia got more and more comfortable, received nods of approval from the camera crew and wild applause from the audience at just the right moments. In the distance, Shianne winked at her and gave her a thumbs up…
~***~
Saint settled comfortably in his chair, ignoring his ringing cell phone and the emails that continued to pour into his inbox. Today he was going to savor the moment. Sitting with his fingers steepled, he focused, pouring all of his attention into the here and now in his theater-dark office. The thick black and cream curtains were drawn tight and the large television, taking up most of the wall in front of him, was turned on.
She’s doing great. Kind of a rough start, but she got herself together. You’re doing well, baby…
He grinned wide, so proud of her. After a few minutes, a commercial came on. He put the television on mute and turned to his computer to briefly peruse the emails. His meeting notice to Jagger had just been accepted a mere minute ago. Saint had sent the damn thing days ago. The man had been dodging Saint for a week, as if he knew exactly what he wanted to talk to him about. Every time he attempted to corner the guy, he weaseled out of it, stating he had a full schedule and things to do. Saint was surprised he didn’t turn into a shadow, as he professed he could, and simply disappear. Jagger had him against a wall. This wasn’t a topic one could discuss in mixed company; Jagger knew he had the advantage, so he continued to dole out excuses. Jagger would talk about open wounds, casualties of war, the stench of death and the gruesome fights between Angel Children that had lost their path from all around the world—but the discussion of love and affairs of the heart sent him scurrying away like an elephant from a tiny mouse. Regardless, the man wasn’t getting out of this. Saint was done trying to call and text him, only to be ignored. This meeting was official, and Saint sent out only one sentence in regard to it:
MEET ME AT THIS TIME, IN MY OFFICE, OR ELSE…
That message let Jagger know, in no uncertain terms, that he wasn’t fucking around. The day of reckoning had arrived. Soon the commercials were over, and the theme music beckoned his attention. He set his sights back on his wife. He couldn’t help a smile as he watched her now move around the kitchen set decorated with vibrant crimson and steel appliances with her cohost close behind. A chef from China showed them how to make authentic Hong Kong French toast. The sight of the deep fried mass coated in butter made his stomach cave with pangs of queasiness, though he did admit it looked pretty tempting on the high definition screen. Soon, the nausea increased, and then a bit more.
“Ahhhh.” He groaned and turned away from the television, bent over, clutching the arms of his chair. Much to his dismay, that was only a teaser. Seconds later, he gasped in pain. He scooted back in his seat, his mouth agape as he gripped the black fabric of his silky shirt around his gut in his fist and the cramps went from manageable to major.
“What the hell! Fuck, this hurts!” he blurted, straining, feeling hot one moment and cold the next.
Panic bore down on him as he further lost control of himself. He felt like he’d been sucker punched by an unknown entity, as if her and Jagger were once again sparring, only this time, he had no idea the motherfucker was in the room. The throbbing abdominal pain intensified. Energy filled the air, one of warning, one all too familiar. As he floated into an abyss that threatened his consciousness, the room became blurry, then crystal clear. His wife’s sexy laughter echoed in his ears. Trying to keep his equilibrium to no avail, he extended a hand over his desk and held on, but only succeeded in knocking some things onto the floor—his phone, paperwork, the computer mouse and other items collected in a heap at his feet.
The minutes felt like hours. After a while, the show ended and he looked wearily up at the screen to watch Xenia wave goodbye and blow a kiss into the camera. His eyes fluttered as he flirte
d with the pain, trying to sweet-talk it into leaving him so he could crawl like a baby toward his office door. It took a while for him to lift himself up. Then he finally found his voice and screamed out with all his might, the pain increasing as his lungs grasped for air, begging the invisible swirls of oxygen to show him mercy and allow him to swallow them whole. Soon, someone was at his door and the sounds of muffled voices came through. The room spun. He heard men speaking, and his name being called. Although he opened his mouth to speak, nothing came out. After a while, the door burst open. Lawrence led a small crowd of Rainbeau men into the room and rushed to his side. One lone voice said his name over and over, and it echoed in his ears a million times.
“Saint! Saint! Saaaaaaaiiiint!”
~***~
Three hours later…
“I don’t remember it very clearly.” Saint sat up slowly in his master suite, butter pecan colored sheets wrapped around him. Xenia stood by the doorway, still dressed in her work outfit, the one he’d helped her pick out. He loved how she appeared, but hated her expression of worry. Her big dark eyes, sad and moist, glossed over as she studied him. She toiled with her sparkling necklace, twisting it nervously in her grasp. He could smell her perfume all over him, she must’ve held him in her arms, but he didn’t recall it…
I’ve ruined her debut…
“I’m sorry, baby,” he said weakly, running the cool cloth offered to him across his brow.
“Saint, hush! I don’t care anything about that, I care about you. Is anyone going to tell me what is going on here and why he wasn’t taken to the hospital? Lawrence, you called me at work telling me Saint was having stomach trouble. I told you I would meet you at the hospital and you said, ‘No, go to your house, we will see you there.’ I tried to call 911 after I got here.”
“Xenia, please—” Lawrence began but he was cut short.
“He was still in pain and writhing around all over the bed and you grabbed the phone out of my hand, so rude and unlike you by the way,” her voice lowered as her gaze narrowed on the Native Indian’s form. “…and ended the call. Now here he lays,” she pointed to her husband, as she continued to go off, “and I still am not told why my husband isn’t getting medical treatment. Someone had better tell me something now, or I am calling the ambulance and you better not try to stop me.”
“Xenia, I needed to examine him first. And the doctors wouldn’t have found anything. It’s not a medical issue that way, Xenia.” Lawrence looked over his shoulder at her. “He had sympathy pains.”
“Sympathy pains?” Saint shot her a glance, one of warning.
Xenia…No! Not like a pregnancy…don’t say one word about that!
He wished he could touch her heart, to speak to her telepathically, but she was so far away, standing by their bedroom door with her face twisted in confusion.
“Why are you way over there?” He coughed into his hand.
“You were kicking and thrashing about. I had been holding you, and it was like another wave of pain hit you, and you lost control. Lawrence requested I stand far away while he got you calmed down.”
All three were quiet for a few moments.
“Xenia, when someone close to Saint is in physical pain, he may sometimes feel it,” Lawrence offered. “I suspect that is what has happened here. There is no rhyme or reason to it. Sometimes we can pick up on it, and sometimes we can’t. The fact that he could means he is supposed to do something about it. Now we just have to figure out who it is.”
Xenia drew closer to him, and he was so glad. Sitting on the bed, she ran her hand up and down his arm. He gripped her fingers and offered a smile, the best he could muster.
“Did I hurt you through all the commotion?”
She smiled faintly and shook her head.
“He’ll be fine after a little rest. Tomorrow morning, he should be good as new but I’d still take the day off, just in case.”
“I can’t, we’ve got too much going on tomorrow,” he protested.
“Saint, baby.” Xenia caressed the side of his face. “It’ll have to wait. I’m staying home and taking care of you.”
“Oh no you aren’t! Tomorrow is the second day of the show. Who in the hell has the audacity to call in sick on their second day on the job, Xenia? Not my wife, and sure as hell not on account of me.”
“But Saint, you—”
“But Saint, nothin’.” He sat up straighter, mad as hell. “That’s the type of shit comedians make jokes about, because it is absurd and dishonorable. No, not on my watch.” He moaned in sorrow, as if mourning the death of a beloved pet, when something caught his eye—a lovely sight, to be sure. There, neatly laid out on her nightstand, was Xenia’s lavender negligee paired with an assortment of peppermint massage oils and lotions. She had been planning a pleasurable evening for just the two of them, but now, he was going to be forced to sleep, much against his will. They were going to celebrate, and he was going to show her just how turned on he’d been by seeing her prance around stirring batter in that big orange bowl on the television screen…
Mmmm, yeah baby. I plan to do the stirrin’ in your bowl tonight…
“Oh God!” Lawrence turned away from him. “Saint, I heard that.” Lawrence cleared his throat, his complexion bright red and a faint smile of embarrassment on his face.
“Sorry.” Saint grinned and winced as a dull pain moved about his intestines, then grinned again, unable to shake the sordid thoughts from his mind. “My bad… Look, let me make some calls at least, see what’s going on.” He raised an arm and pointed to his clothing that lay haphazardly across the bottom of the bed. Lawrence grabbed his pants, slid his hand in one of the pockets, removed the iPhone and handed it to him. He tried to sit up taller, but slumped back as another dull wave of nausea ambushed him. Xenia shot both men a look of bewilderment.
“I can tell you that the kids are fine; they are downstairs with Mama. She came right over,” she said.
“Raphael sent me a text message that I haven’t replied to yet.” Saint scrolled through his messages.
“I spoke to him. He was calling about visiting but you hadn’t gotten back in touch with him.” Xenia crossed her arms. “He is fine. He’s at his son’s game.”
“Well then that leaves—” He paused; fear struck him deep within. He immediately punched in speed-dial.
“Hello?”
“Oh good, you picked up. Hey, Dad.” He cleared his throat, coughing into his fisted hand. “You been okay?”
Everyone was quiet as the two spoke. Lawrence crossed his arms and listened in on the conversation.
“For the most part. I’ve had a little pain in my stomach lately, must be eating too much.” He chuckled.
“Oh, you’ve been under the weather?” Saint scratched his head, and the pain started to subside. As time passed, he felt more and more like himself. “Why haven’t you gone to the doctor?”
“Because I’m getting old.” Osaze laughed. “I always get aches and pains, son. I’d be there every week if I reacted to everything that happened.”
“Mmmm hmmm, well, this is different. I think you need to get that checked… Did you happen to have any problems today with it?”
“Oh, a little, but nothing too bad.”
“Yeah, well, here is the reason. Dad, I felt it. I took your pain, so even though you weren’t feeling well, you didn’t get the entire brunt of it, and it was really bad. I mean, shit, I can take a punch, did in fact take one not too long ago,” he smirked as he looked in Lawrence’s eyes then back down at his lap, “and a stomach ache, that’s nothing. I had plenty of those over the years, but this was like…just trust me, it was horrible. I am begging you to make an appointment today. Not tomorrow, not the next day, but right now.” Saint tried to keep calm. He knew his father hated going to see doctors for examinations and if he got too excitable, the man would surely hang up the phone and refuse to seek assistance at all. Stubborn.
After a long pause, Osaze sighed. “Alright, I’ll mak
e an appointment.”
“Do you promise?”
“Yes, Saint, I promise,” the older man answered begrudgingly.
Alright, thank you…and l love you.”
“I love you, too.”
Saint disconnected the call.
“Well, I’m sure you heard.” He shot Xenia and Lawrence a look. “It’s my dad. He has been having stomach pains. It’s been going on for weeks now.” A lump formed in his throat. If anything happened to his father, he was certain he’d lose it. He and the man used to fight like cats and dogs, but now, things were different. They were forging an open and honest relationship, and real repair and healing was taking place. He couldn’t stand to lose him.
“Okay, now that that’s settled,” Lawrence crossed his arms over his chest, “I have one question.”
Xenia and Saint looked at one another, a sense of doom hovering in the air.
Oh God, please don’t let him ask me that. I’m not hiding anything Lawrence, I swear!
Saint had tried with all of his might to block the information, but at times, his pain gripped him, forcing him to let go of the psychic fortress, and if for one second Lawrence was trying to read him, then that would be all the room he needed to enter his thoughts and forge through the sludge, searching diligently for the missing file, the hidden information. Jagger was even quicker, like a mind reader on speed with a handy psychic crack pipe dangling between his lips at all times… Thank goodness it wasn’t him he was evading. In his weakness, he was a sitting duck for the likes of them. He looked Lawrence in the eye, gearing up to put on a star performance. He didn’t feel the man knocking on his intuitive door, but he remained guarded, all the same. Saint tried to show a stiff face, one void of emotion, memory or inclinations. He had to play dumb, and here he was the man’s prisoner, partially incapacitated.
“Where is this delicious strawberry and pecan chicken salad you are known for, Xenia? Saint had been bragging yesterday about all the leftovers, and how he was going to chow down. Due to Saint falling out on the job, I haven’t had time to eat and I’m starved!” They all laughed.
Saint's Sacrament - Sins of the Father Page 23