Driving Heat

by Day, Zuri

“Would you like something to eat?”

  “Yeah,” she drawled. “But it’s not on the menu.”

  Byron reached for his keys. “Something told me not to come here. I don’t have time for games.”

  “Sit down and slow your roll.”

  He did, begrudgingly. She heaved a sigh. Had he been a betting man, he would have put twenty on the chance of patrons seeing a nipple. He would have lost. Her large melons rolled and swayed with her breath, but settled back inside the two fingers of cloth hiding them before exposing herself to the young boy sitting near them and messing him up for life.

  “I have a confession.”

  “Okay.”

  “I lied.”

  “About?”

  “About little Ricky. He’s not yours.”

  Byron stared at her. “See, that’s the problem with liars. It’s hard to believe them, even when they act like they are telling the truth.”

  “Whatever. I’m being truthful, okay?”

  “Really? Like you were being truthful about you kicking Rick to the curb when the truth is he’s set up house with another woman?”

  “He did that to piss me off because of how I acted after the block party. He saw how finding out you were seeing somebody made me feel.”

  “Oh, and decided to go make a baby to get back at you? That makes sense.” He shook his head.

  “Because of that and because he heard me tell someone that you were little Ricky’s daddy. He knew I’d drop him in a heartbeat if I could get you back.” She raised her eyes, gave him a sexy gaze through long, thick individual lashes that looked freshly applied. “You still seeing that girl you brought to the block? Because I heard she’s one of them Benjamin stitches, the ones who you can’t even step to unless he’s got a big presence in your wallet.”

  Byron took in her flawless makeup, perfectly manicured hands, meticulous weave, and waxed, arched brows. For a woman who claimed to never have money, and except for the bazookas threatening escape, her look was on point.

  “Who I’m seeing is none of your concern. The only business between us is Tyra and the paternity test that I still want taken.”

  “Why? I said I was lying and that makes me feel bad enough. Why pay all that money to have a test done? Heck, I could use that money.”

  “Tanya, what is this, the third or fourth time you’ve done this? First, when you were pregnant. Then, when you and Rick broke up right after little Ricky was born. Y’all got back together. I didn’t hear from you. Two years ago, you were at it again, and now we’re back for another round. I don’t want to take your word on something this important. I want an official answer so we can settle this once and for all.”

  “So, you’re not going to call your attorney and get him to pull the case on this, or have it dismissed, or whatever they do?”

  “No, I am not.”

  “I know why you’re trippin’, but whether or not you’re little Ricky’s father is not going to help your situation. A high-maintenance chick like the one I heard you were with ain’t gonna settle for your sorry bus-driving ass.”

  That comment was a sayonara note if ever Byron had heard one. He finished his soda and reached for the keys. “Answer the court order, Tanya. The testing center already has my DNA. All they need are yours and your son’s to test. I’m not going to let this go, so you might as well go on down there. That way you’ll have one less reason to deal with this sorry-ass bus driver.”

  Upon leaving the fast-food establishment, he pulled out his phone, barely waiting until he’d cleared the window through which he was sure Tanya sat watching. There was no thought that he shouldn’t call her. The only thing that would be improper is if Cynthia didn’t answer the phone. Tapping her soothing, smiling face, he clutched the phone like a lifeline, as though hearing the voice on the other end would pull him back into reality from the twilight zone.

  “She lied. Again.”

  Three words formed by a mind only now acknowledging the impact similar words had on him moments before, how a few letters organized into a word and those words into a sentence structure could change, transform, impact a life—raise or ruin—based on the slightest change in a letter’s position, or the adding or subtracting of same. You are the father. You are not the father. Three letters, the lack thereof had changed many lives, including his. The paternity test would confirm her words, but in his heart he knew they were true.

  “Byron?”

  “Yeah.” He started the car and was soon in the thick of Crenshaw traffic. “She lied.”

  Silence as Byron imagined Cynthia trying to figure out the riddle, even as he tried to piece more coherent sentences together while remembering to breathe.

  “Are you talking about Tanya? You’re not her son’s father?”

  “No!” There it was, relief masquerading as air, rushing through his lungs and expanding his rib cage. “Woohoo!” His shout was loud enough to get the attention of the woman in the car next to his at the light. He didn’t care if he could be heard in Arizona. Finding out that one didn’t owe a huge amount of child support, almost ten years future and eight years past if a judgment was retroactive, was like winning the lottery. When people hit the jackpot, they screamed.

  “Woohoo!” He laughed and clapped his hands, so much so that the woman in the car next to him smiled and gave a thumbs-up as the light turned green.

  Cynthia laughed as well, his joy infectious. “I guess congratulations are in order.”

  “You’d better believe it! I’m going through with the court order to make it official, but I believe she’s telling the truth this time. And come Friday night, we’re going out to celebrate.”

  “I’d love to, but I can’t. The promotion announcement will be made any day now. Unfortunately, I can’t be seen with you . . . in public.”

  “I’m going to give you a pass for what you said because it now sounds like you’re not opposed to meeting behind closed doors. But before we get together, there’s something I want to know. Is this change of heart an acknowledgment that what we have is a connection worth pursuing and a relationship that could last? I don’t want to get with you only for you to tell me later there’s another conflict of interest that has you on the run. I’m handling one situation that’s been a constant battle for almost ten years and I don’t want to start another one. Nor do I plan to keep getting bounced back and forth like a ping-pong ball, or have my love for you taken for granted.”

  A million thoughts drifted through the silence before she responded. “I’m sorry for the way I’ve handled us. There are many reasons, but I offer no excuses. I have been on the run, and gone back and forth based on my waffling feelings. Again, I am sorry for the anguish that dealing with my pain caused you. Believe me when I say that given my life’s experiences, I was doing the best I could at the time.

  “Since meeting you, I’ve been shown another life, for me a better life. Nothing has been the same since the day my car broke down and I got on your bus. Everything about my being attracted to you was impossible, and I worked hard to get you out of my system. That’s hard to do with a man who loves his family immensely, treats a girl who isn’t even his real niece like a daughter, is raising his daughter, faces down a gun to save my honor, plays my music box like a Julliard-trained pianist, and cherishes me in a way that I’d never experienced. Have I left anything out?”

  “Probably, but I like how what you’re saying so far is sounding, so don’t stop now, baby girl.”

  “I have had a change of heart. I believe ours is a connection worth pursuing. I admit we are in a relationship, one I want to see continue. I don’t know how this will affect my bid for agency director but will have to take my chances and hope all works out. Finally, when I think of you and balls, it’s not ping-pong.”

  “Ha! Is that it?”

  “No, there’s one more thing.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I love you, Byron Carter.”

  “I love you, too, Cynthia Hall.”

/>   46

  Friday came and with it the opportunity to relieve the crick in her neck from dodging the knives Margo aimed at her back. Now, however, they were a little less sharp. Her rival had chosen the day after Cynthia went to Vegas, retrieved Leah, settled down the parole officer, thus helping her client avoid jail, and get commendations on the way she’d handled the situation to do a tell-all with Tracy about her “dating” the client’s relative. That the only date Margo knew of was the time she’d spotted her and Byron at the art show in Santa Monica, an outing that in no way seemed inappropriate or even necessarily romantic, did not help her cause. Nor did the “blood relation” card Cynthia finally played. The bottom line? Deciding to voice a claim to have “very damaging” information on Cynthia that could prove “traumatic” for the agency on the day after Cynthia had returned from an agency success story made Margo come off looking petty and sounding ill-informed.

  Not that her accusation hadn’t presented a problem. While Cynthia had admitted her evening with Byron, she’d stopped short of admitting the relationship status she’d only recently admitted to herself. This decision may come back to haunt her, but she’d had to take her chances. By the time she broke this news to Tracy, she hoped Leah would be well on her way to receiving her diploma and becoming not only a successful case in the files of Cynthia Hall, but a closed one.

  Having promised Byron a night of “celebration,” she placed a call to Stewart through her car’s Bluetooth. She was relieved when the call went to voice mail. “Stewart, this is Cynthia. I’m sorry to have to cancel tonight’s discussion, but something came up that cannot be helped or avoided. Please accept my apologies and give me a call tomorrow. I should be free any time after nine.”

  Mission accomplished, she turned up the radio and sang out of key, hurrying home to spend time with Jayden before he went on his play date, and she invited hers over.

  By seven-thirty Jayden had been safely delivered to Bobby’s house for a night at the skating rink, and Cynthia had showered and changed for a casual evening that at Byron’s insistence included dinner at a restaurant. She would have been fine with one pizza and two climaxes and not necessarily in that order. Byron assured her that he’d not leave her hungry. Cynthia assured him that he’d have his work cut out. A month had passed since their last encounter. She was starved.

  She’d just sprayed on cologne and reached for her purse when the doorbell rang. She almost skipped down the steps with the glee of a child meeting Santa. Had anyone asked, Cynthia would have had to tell the truth—Byron’s candy cane was quite a present.

  “Hello, there—ah!”

  Before she could finish the greeting, Byron had swept her off her feet, closed the door with his heel, deposited her on the couch, and begun undoing all the work she’d done in the previous hour: hair mussed, makeup smudged, clothes . . . coming . . . off. This rough and tumble taking without so much as a hello turned her all the way on and within minutes she was singing.

  “I thought . . . you were . . . after we ate.”

  Byron answered her to the beat of his thrusts. “I. Changed. My. Mind.”

  An hour later, two freshly showered, hungry lovers left Cynthia’s condo in search of food. They were giddy from the aftereffects of a good sexing, so much so that they didn’t notice they were being watched, and recorded.

  Early the next morning, Byron received a call from his attorney requesting a meeting. Cynthia joined him in the shower. She planned to pick up Jayden, take him to breakfast, and then spend the day doing whatever he liked. She also wanted to talk to him about his father, so she’d have a clear direction of where to take the conversation when Stewart called. Five minutes after Byron had kissed her good-bye, the doorbell rang.

  She walked over to let him back in, unlocked and opened the door.

  It wasn’t Byron.

  “Stewart?” She looked beyond him, wondering if his and Byron’s paths had crossed.

  “Oh, he’s gone. And a good thing, too.”

  “Stewart, what are you doing in Los Angeles?”

  “Will I be forced to explain while standing at your front door?”

  “No, of course not.” Cynthia moved aside. “Come in.”

  Stewart quickly scanned his surroundings. “Came to surprise you, and to meet my son. And from the looks of what I saw leaving your condo, I got here just in time. What street corner did you pull him from?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You know, holding a sign, will work for food.”

  “Your snide remark is closer to the truth than you realize. Except I was on the street corner when he picked me up.” She had more to say but was frozen silent at the words “bet I beat you,” followed by the sound of tennis shoes pounding up the stairs.

  She raced toward the door but stopped midway. Did she open it? Try and hide Stewart? Somehow prevent Jayden from entering his own home. Her attention went from the door to Stewart and back again. Her body followed. A step toward the door to, what, tell her son just a minute while she try and hide a grown man. Then toward Stewart. And back at the door as Jayden ringing the doorbell was followed by a knock. “Mom! It’s me. Let me in!”

  “Don’t say anything,” she warned Stewart. “Hang on, Jay!” She opened the door. Jayden scurried past her and stopped short.

  The look on her face must have telegraphed horror. Bobby’s mother picked up on it at once. She prevented her son from following Jayden inside. “No, Bobby, we’ve got to keep moving. Good morning, Cynthia.” The woman looked at Stewart, then at Jayden, and again, and once more before she said in a tone that was full of apology, “You didn’t get my message? My sister went into premature labor and just gave Bobby a cousin. We’re headed to the hospital now.”

  “It’s okay,” Cynthia said as brightly as possible. She hoped that Jayden wouldn’t suspect anything wrong, even though at this moment everything totally was.

  Cynthia took a moment to gather herself before turning around, a little self pep talk to regain control. You can do this, Cynthia. Just act normal, introduce Stewart as an old friend who popped by for a visit, and then politely thank Stewart for his visit as she saw him out the door.

  That was the plan. But everything changed with a comment and a question.

  “Hi, I’m Jayden. Are you my dad?”

  47

  Cynthia had her girls’ attention. From her mother’s presumptive wedding preparations, to Byron spending the night, to Stewart arriving the next day, to Jayden showing up totally unannounced, barging into the living room and coming face to face with his father, a better script could not have been written. For a blockbuster catastrophe, that is. It had been the worst possible scenario for how Jayden would meet him, yet she had to give it to Stewart. He’d handled the question with a calm assurance, followed up by a sincere, age-appropriate conversation with Jayden that reminded Cynthia of the good qualities that Stewart possessed.

  “Girl, I can’t believe all this happened in one single weekend. The only thing missing was a fight with Byron and this would have been a movie worthy of taking first place at the box office.”

  Dynah chimed in. “Lisa, you probably shouldn’t say that with so much relish.”

  “Honey, the only thing I’m missing is the popcorn and chocolate-covered raisins. I just want to know about the sequel, because you know it’s coming.”

  “Seriously, Cynthia,” Gayle said, very seriously, “I can understand your being upset, but I’d like to offer another perspective. Since most of what occurred had to happen eventually, at least it all happened at once. Jayden met his father. Great! They hit it off. Even better! Your mother is planning the wedding. Takes the pressure off of you. For everything else your mother might be, she’s an excellent planner of social events. Your wedding will be stunning.

  “It’s time to end the fling with Byron and accept the offer to try and rekindle passion with the type of man of whom most women can only dream. And I’m not just saying this because Byron’s a bus driver and Ste
wart is a business mogul, although that in itself is a fairly significant detail. I’m saying it because Stewart is Jayden’s father and the type of man you should marry.”

  “How can you sound so sure?” Cynthia asked this not because she’d planned to change her mind, but because Gayle seemed so sure of how her life should be lived.

  “You’re a Hall who grew up a certain way, are used to a certain lifestyle, and quite frankly have an obligation to allow your son the same privileges your upbringing afforded. We all know that’s more than money. It’s connections, and the right schools, and the right clubs, and attending the right parties to not only smooth your son’s path but to ensure you’re a shining star in society. I did a little research on Stewart and I must tell you he has a stunning portfolio. Quite the catch.”

  The old Cynthia would have agreed with anything Gayle said. The new Cynthia knew otherwise.

  Dynah spoke up. “Cynthia, you know I’ve always advocated that you err on the side of love but at this point, I must agree with Gayle. Not so much because of materialism and status, although some of what Gayle said, particularly about connections and schools, is important, but because Jayden has a right to a healthy, ongoing relationship with his father.”

  “I agree, Dynah. But I don’t have to be married to Stewart for that to happen.”

  “Jayden’s relationship with Stewart will be much different if you’re married and living in the same household and traveling in the same circles than if you live on opposite sides of the country with Stewart getting every other holiday and a month during the summer.”

  “No matter what we think it’s Cynthia who’ll be living with whoever she chooses, which is why it should be her choice.”

  “Thanks, Lisa.”

  “You’re a smart woman, Cynthia,” Gayle concluded. “Which is why I’m not going to contemplate anything other than purchasing monogrammed linen emblazoned with the letter M.”

  Cynthia actually laughed at this comment. “Be sure and keep the receipt.”

  Shortly after ending the call with Lisa, Dynah, and Gayle, her phone rang.