The Lies We Tell for Love (The Love, Lies & Lust Series)

by Mz. Robinson

  “I..I..I..don’t know what you’re talking about,” she stuttered.

  I grabbed her by the arm and pushed her, forcing her to sit down on the small leather sofa. “Well, allow me to introduce myself,” I said, pulling the gun out of my pants.

  Her brown eyes grew bigger as I aimed the barrel of the gun at her face.

  “Now do you remember me?” I watched as tears began to fall from her eyes, leaving tracks down her cheeks.

  “Damon?” she whispered. Her lips quivered as she said my name.

  “I thought so,” I said. “Now, I want you to tell me what your connection is to Nadia Jones.”

  “We don’t have one,” she said slowly.

  I respected her loyalty, but it was not the time for her to be loyal to anybody but me and that weapon of mine. A person has to choose their battles, but when you’re staring down the barrel of a loaded gun, you’d better make sure you choose correctly. I was two seconds away from doing something we both would regret. I kept my eyes locked with hers as I pulled the pictures Lawrence had given me out of the side pocket of my pants. I dropped them onto her lap and cocked the gun.

  Gia jumped slightly in her seat as she moved her eyes from the gun to me then back down to the gun.

  “This is your last chance,” I told her. “You can tell me the truth the first time, so we’ll both walk away unharmed, or you can continue with this little game of yours, and I can put a hole in your head.”

  Her tears began to overflow.

  “You decide,” I told her. “What’s it gonna be?”

  “Okay,” she sobbed. “Please…just don’t…please don’t hurt me.”

  I took a step back, putting distance between the two of us. I lowered my weapon to my side and took a deep breath. “I’m listening,” I prodded.

  “Two years ago, Nadia came into the office and said she had some questions,” she began to explain. “I answered them, and she went on her way. A couple days later, my car quit on me down the street from my job, and Nadia just so happened to be passing by. She gave me a ride home and called AAA to come tow me. We struck up a friendship that very same day. I was in a very bad place financially, and Nadia offered to help.”

  “Right. Now get to the part that involves me,” I ordered. I wasn’t in the mood to listen to the damn fairytale behind their friendship. I wanted to know what her friendship with Nadia and her position at the DNA Diagnostic Center had to do with me—nothing more and nothing less.

  “That’s it,” she said. “There is nothing else. I know it was a conflict of interest for me to be involved with the testing, especially with Nadia being my friend, but I administered the test anyway.”

  Gia’s story seemed far too convenient for me, damn near contrived. “You think I believe that?” I snapped. “There’s something you’re not telling me. I want the truth, and I want it now!” I raised the gun back up, aiming it at right at her face.

  Gia threw both of her hands up in the air.

  I brought the gun back down to my side.

  “Okay,” she said. “Okay! Originally she offered me ten grand to tamper with the results, to make it out that someone else was the father, but when she called me to schedule the appointment, she told me she’d changed her mind. That’s it, Damon,” she pleaded. “I promise.”

  “Why would Nadia want someone else to be Donovan’s father?” I questioned.

  “Because she was offered money,” she said. “That’s why.”

  “Money? From whom?” I asked.

  “Your mother.”

  Gia continued to explain that my mother had approached Nadia and offered her money to claim that another man was Donovan’s father, but Nadia apparently loved me too much to do that. I had to tune Gia out as I attempted to decipher what she was telling me.

  “Nadia loves you, Damon,” she rambled on and on.

  I felt my muscles tighten and my hand shake as I raised the gun and squeezed the trigger. The bang from the shot jerked me back from my mental blackout. Gia sat on the sofa in a pool of what I presumed to be urine. Her breathing was heavy, then shallow as she stared at me in horror. The shot I’d let off had made a mess of her wall. Running my free hand over my head, I processed everything I’d just learned. “If you tell anyone about this—”

  “I won’t, I won’t! I promise,” Gia pleaded. “I won’t say a word to anybody.”

  I gave her one more glance before pulling the hood back on my head and walking out the door. I sat behind the wheel of the car pounding my fist on the steering wheel. I had to get back to my office, trade the rental Malibu in for my Range Rover, get to my hotel room to change clothes, and make one more stop. I was hoping the woman I was going to see could shine some light and clarity on the situation because I had more questions than answers.

  “Talk to me,” Lawrence answered.

  “Listen, I just left the blonde,” I told him as I drove toward my parents’ home. “I had to get a little out of character, so—”

  “Is she dead?” Lawrence seemed somewhat enthusiastic about the possibility. The man has a sick sense of humor.

  “No,” I said quickly, “but I need you to make sure she keeps her end of the bargain and remains quiet about my visit.”

  “Consider it done,” he said. “What about baby-mama?”

  “I have a stop to make before I head in her direction,” I advised him. The more I thought about it, the more I was sure Gia had probably jumped on the phone to warn Nadia of my visit. “Tell you what,” I suggested, “why don’t you go ahead and pay her a visit, too, but don’t go in until I get there?”

  “I got you,” he said, and we hung up.

  Chapter 29

  Octavia

  In life and love, there comes a time when we realize our mate has been untrue. It could be something as simple as lying about a phone call or something as grand as having a sexual affair. No matter how big or how small the infidelity may be, it evokes painful emotions within. I was disappointed by the information Lena had provided me. She had given me a play-by-play of how Damon had given her the helping hand she needed to launch her career. The things Damon had done for her, such as giving her a townhouse, were things that shouldn’t have shocked me in the least, because my Damon has always been a giver. He’s always believed that for every million you earn, you should strive to give back to at least a million people. If I hadn’t been so hurt by the whole thing, I would have been proud of him. However, he made one mistake—he lied to me. Lena told me she hadn’t slept with Damon, and I believed in my heart that she was telling the truth, but there was a yearning in her eyes that told me she was thirsty, and she wanted a nice, tall glass of my husband. I was in no way concerned about this because despite the disappointment I felt toward him at that moment, I still loved and wanted him and I’ll be damned if I’ll ever let another woman lay a finger on my man.

  I made it back from L.A., and my first stop was by my parents’ home to pick up Jasmine. My mother told me she wanted to talk to me about something, I told her I needed to talk to her as well. The truth was that I needed some motherly advice. Mama and I sat out on her front porch, reclining on her swing. She was dressed in a soft pink peasant blouse and cream skirt that touched just below her knees. I had thrown on a pair of fitted jeans and a red fitted Victoria’s Secret shirt and white Nikes for the plane ride. My hair was pulled neatly on top of my head, tied with a red satin ribbon. I was in a dress-down mood, but I refused to look completely thrown off. Even in the midst of a storm, a woman must keep it sexy! I decided to see what Mama wanted to talk to me about before bombarding her with my drama.

  “I’m happy you met Damon,” Mama said after asking me about my trip to what she thought was Memphis.

  “I am too,” I said. No matter how I felt about his secrets, I still considered him one of the best people who has ever entered my life.

  “I sleep peacefully knowing you have someone to love and protect you,” she said, taking my hand in hers, “someone to be the man to you t
hat your father is to me.”

  I looked away so Mama wouldn’t see my telling expression.

  “I’m so proud of the woman you have become,” she continued. “The wife, the mother.”

  “Well, I learned from the best,” I said, looking back at her.

  “I love you, baby.” She smiled.

  “I love you too.”

  There was silence between us for a moment, as I meditated on her words while thinking about Damon.

  “Octavia…” she said softly, gulping slightly.

  “Yeah, Mama?”

  “I-I have cancer.” Her words were spoken soft as cotton, but the impact they had on me was as heavy as a brick wall tumbling down on my spine.

  I looked at her, gauging her expression. There was peace on her face and serenity in her eyes. To be honest, it sent chills down my spine and goose bumps across my skin. “What did you say?” I asked her slowly. I wanted her to repeat her words, but not for fear that I hadn’t heard her correctly. I heard her clearly the first time, and I knew Mama was not the type to make what would be a cruel, heart-wrenching joke. In that moment, though, I needed her to have some ill, twisted sense of humor. I needed those words to be a lie. I needed that very moment to be nothing but a bad dream that I was awaiting God to wake me from. However, when Mama squeezed my hand tightly and looked at me with compassion in her eyes, I knew before she repeated herself that what I’d heard the first time was real.

  “I have cancer,” she repeated. “Breast cancer.”

  “Are you…are you sure?” I stuttered slowly.

  “I’ve been going back and forth to the doctors and specialists for the last month,” she informed me. “I didn’t want to tell you until I was 100 percent sure and until I believed it myself. It’s true, Tavia,” she said gently, “and I’ve accepted it.”

  In that moment, I wanted to pull her into my arms, stroke the top of her hair, and tell her everything was going to be all right. I wanted to tell her I was there for her and that she was going to beat that awful disease. I wanted to be the strongest woman in the world and let my mother know that there would be no tears and no sadness because that ugly, life-altering parasite had chosen the wrong woman to mess with and that we were going to win this fight. I wanted to do and say all of those things people say to each other in those moments, but I couldn’t. Inside of me, there was a wall of pain and unstable emotions. When I attempted to part my lips and offer my mother encouragement, that wall came crashing down on the inside, and my tears overflowed on the outside. I felt weaker than I had ever felt in my life. The physical pain I’d experienced during the birth of my daughter was like a pinch on the arm compared to the emotional pain I felt at that moment. I slid from my place on the swing and, like a child pleading their parent not to go, I wrapped my arms around my mother’s knees and cried out in sorrow. I felt my mother’s hand as she stroked my hair, and I heard her voice as she told me without reservation that everything was going to be all right. Still, though, I continued to cry, allowing my tears to saturate the soft material of her dress and dampen her skin. I felt like I was letting her down in that moment, and I knew I was being selfish, but I didn’t care. Cancer had invaded my mother’s body. Cancer had come into our lives and violated the only person other than my daughter that I loved more than myself. How dare this disease touch what was given to me? I was having a selfish moment, and although I knew in my heart that my mother’s illness wasn’t about me, I could not get over the agony of knowing where this new, unsolicited journey in my mother’s life might lead and where that would leave me. In that moment, as the knot in my throat felt like it would choke me, I went from being a grown married woman with responsibilities to nothing more than my mother’s baby. I was her child, and I could not bear the thought of her leaving me. “Why?” I managed to choke out. “Why?”

  “You know better than that,” Mama said, sliding her hand under my chin.

  I lifted my head so that my eyes were locked with hers.

  “We don’t question God,” she warned me. “We take whatever He gives us, and we pray. We pray for understanding and for the strength to accept that which He has given—the good and the bad. Then we thank Him. We thank Him for the chance to learn and for all that He has blessed us with. We tell Him that if He does not do anything else for us, it’s okay because that which He has already given us is much more than we’ve ever deserved.”

  “I love you, Mama,” I said, wiping my face with the back of my hand, “and I appreciate everything you have done for me and the woman you are.”

  “Thank you, love,” she said, wiping her own eyes.

  “What can I do for you?” I asked. “How can I help?”

  “Pray,” she said. “I haven’t given up Octavia, and neither should you. We will do what we can to make the best of what we have, and we will remember it is not over until He says it is over.”

  I forced myself to smile while continuing to hold on to her lap.

  “Now,” she said, “what was it you wanted to talk to me about?” she asked.

  I pulled myself back up on the swing next to her. “Nothing,” I said. “Nothing at all.” I chose not to tell Mama about my problems because in the grand scheme of things, they no longer mattered. When something so big as what my mother was going through enters the scene, all the petty little things go out the window.

  ***

  My drive home seemed longer than usual as rain pounded fiercely against my windshield. I was trying hard to focus on the road in front of me, but my visibility was extremely low in the downpour, and the thoughts running through my mind were keeping me from being able to concentrate. If I had been alone, I would have continued to drive, but Jasmine was in the back, sleeping peacefully in her car seat, and I refused to risk my daughter‘s life. I drove a little further and stopped at the first gas station I could find. I pulled into the parking lot and killed my engine. Leaning against the driver side door, I stared out the window. My tears resurfaced, and I began to cry again. I pulled my Blackberry out of the console and dialed Damon’s number. I attempted to call him twice, only to get his voicemail both times. “Please call me,” I pleaded on his recording, “and if it is at all possible, please come home. I need you.” I wanted my husband there with me to hold and comfort me. I sat in my car waiting for the rain to ease up, and finally my phone rang, but it wasn’t Damon.

  “Where are you sweetheart?” Contessa asked with concern oozing from her voice.

  “Ms. Contessa…” I cried.

  “Charlene told me,” she said. “I know, baby. I know.”

  I could not manage another word, so I just cried softly.

  “Where are you?” Contessa asked again. After I told her my location, she said, “Stay there.”

  Thirty minutes later, there was a tap on my car window. I let the car window down and saw Kelly standing in the rain. “Unlock the door,” he ordered.

  I did as he requested, and in less than twenty seconds, he’d pulled me out of the car and had his arms wrapped around me. I didn’t protest or resist. Instead, I succumbed to the strength of his embrace, allowing him to comfort me and do what my husband couldn‘t do at that moment.

  ***

  Contessa looked relieved to see Jasmine and me when we came through the front door. I inhaled the scent of Pine-sol and lemon Pledge and noticed that the house was spotless, as always. Contessa immediately took Jasmine out of my arms then kissed me on my cheek and said, “I’m here if you want to talk.”

  “Thank you, Contessa,” I said. “If you could just keep an eye on Jasmine for a couple of hours, that would be a big help.”

  “Of course.” She smiled. “I’m going to lay her down for her nap and then I’ll be in my room if you need me.”

  “Okay.” I watched Contessa carry Jasmine up the stairs leading to the second floor of my home.

  “I’m going to go get your bags out of the car,” Kelly said gently. “Where would you like me to put them?”

  “Anywhere wil
l be fine,” I said while pressing the send button on my phone to call Damon. I slightly held my breath, hoping that this time, I would hear my husband’s live voice rather than his recorded greeting on his voicemail. I was again disappointed and forced to leave another message begging him to call back or come home. I walked to the kitchen, retrieved a bottle of Fiji water from the refrigerator, and plopped down at the table. My mind was reeling with thoughts of death and sickness and worries about nearly everyone in my life, myself included. Where is Damon? In the paranoid state I was in, I began to fear that something may have happened to him. What if he’s lying in some gutter or alley, hurt or even dead? I suddenly felt terrified and shaky as hell. Looking at my watch, I saw that it was four thirty p.m., which meant it was only five thirty in Atlanta. Maybe he’s still in his office or in a meeting. I scrolled through my contacts and found the number for the Nomad Atlanta office. The answering service advised me that the office was closed and no one was in the building. I slammed my phone down on the table, and my heart rate began to increase more and more with every passing second. I made my way to the cabinet where Damon and I kept our liquor. I retrieved an unopened bottle of Hennessey Privilege and a glass.

  “I left your bags in the foyer,” Kelly said, entering the room.

  “Thanks,” I said, opening the bottle. I could feel Kelly’s eyes on me, but I ignored his stares and filled my glass. I tossed the drink back and swallowed hard, flinching slightly from the burning sensation moving down inside my chest and hitting my nervous stomach like a lead balloon.

  “Hey,” Kelly said, walking up to me, “are you all right?”

  I dismissed his question and continued to pour.

  “You need to slow down,” Kelly commanded, touching my elbow.

  I stepped away from him and glared at him, right in the eyes. “Don’t tell me what I need right now,” I said firmly. “You have no idea what I need.”