Losing to Win

by Michele Grant

  “Wait a minute, I was supposed to come after you? You weren’t supposed to leave!”

  “You checked out way before I left,” she accused.

  “But you actually left,” I tossed back.

  She flung her hands up. “After five years of crap, I wasn’t supposed to leave?”

  “I wasn’t that bad for all five years.” I hedged, “I will admit my head got a little big.”

  “A little?!” she interrupted.

  “Okay, more than a little, and I lost my way there for a minute. I got caught up in the life. You could’ve talked to me. You should’ve made me see instead of just running away.”

  Her voice was pain laced when she spoke quietly. “I tried, Mal. I tried and I tried. You didn’t listen. You wouldn’t listen to me!”

  I sat back in defeat. It was worse than I thought. “Wanna hear something funny in a sad way?”

  “Sure, I could use a chuckle right now.”

  “Well, I actually thought I’d outgrown you,” I said regretfully.

  “Outgrown me? In what damn way? You shoved me in the dark, shoveled shit on my head, and wouldn’t let me grow! How was that supposed to work out?”

  I’d never heard her talk to me in that tone of voice. It was full of disapproval, disgust, and distrust. “I made some mistakes.”

  “On that we agree. Anyway, after I got over it—”

  Wait. “You’re over it? You’re over me?”

  “Mal, you want to hear this or not?”

  I motioned for her to continue, while tucking that question away for a later time.

  “I moved back to Belle Haven and into a room at the Idlewild, Sugar’s place. As easy as it would have been to live at home or with my friends, I needed to be on my own. When I said I needed to get back to the business of being Carissa Wayne, I also needed to find out who that was and what that meant. In a very short time, I applied to the graduate program at Tulane. I worked part time at a charter school in New Orleans while I got my master’s degree in secondary education and teaching. When I graduated, I was offered a position at Havenwood. I took the job, bought the house. Mac and I have been fixing it up ever since. And here we are.”

  I asked a question that had been dancing around in the corners of my mind. “So you and Mac?”

  “Me and Mac, what?” She arched a brow.

  “I always had a feeling he wanted to hook up with you.”

  Her head reared back as she crowed with laughter. “This is one of your problems, Mal. You see things that aren’t there. If anything, he’s half in love with Taylor and hasn’t realized it.”

  My eyes traced the line of her neck and the curve of her shoulder. Her shirt slid down her arm, revealing a bright pink bra strap. I was nostalgic for the days when I could just reach out and touch what intrigued me. A part of me would always look at her as mine. Slowly, I lifted my eyes back to her face. “Oh. Does that mean there’s no husband, fiancé, man?”

  “What’s it to you?” She glowered.

  “I’m just asking, Ris.”

  Her spine snapped straight and her voice was clipped when she answered. “The answer is no, not that it’s any of your damn business. Where’s the next future Mrs. Mal Knight?”

  “There is no such woman.” I hadn’t dated seriously after Carissa bailed. I didn’t have any interest in starting anything serious, so my encounters were mostly causal and short, cards on the table up front, no strings and no drama.

  “Mal Knight without a woman? That’s got to be a first.” Her voice was waspish.

  I sighed. “This isn’t going to work if you hate me, Ris.”

  “I don’t hate you, Mal,” she said tiredly.

  I asked the tough question. “What do you feel?”

  She waggled her shoulders up and down in a shrug. “Can’t say I like you very much, but other than that, I don’t have strong feelings one way or the other.”

  “You used to love me,” I reminded her.

  “You used to love me,” she countered.

  “Can you tell me what you used to love about me?”

  “What do you mean?” She looked confused.

  “Well, you were one of the few who loved me with or without a football in my hands. I just wondered why.”

  “If you really want to know . . . I thought you were sweet.”

  “Sweet?” I frowned.

  “Yes, sweet.”

  “Not hot, sexy, manly?”

  She grinned. “You were that too, but underneath all the macho jock bullshit you were a nice Southern gentleman. You protected your own, you put others first, you cared about things. You loved your family, you were kind to children, you were good with your hands, and you accepted me as I was—no conditions. You were driven, but it was a healthy ambition and I admired that about you. You were there for me, you listened to me, you made me feel cherished and important. You were . . . everything.”

  Her tone clearly said I wasn’t any of those things anymore, in her opinion. “I was all of that, huh?”

  “You were. Until you weren’t.” She crossed her arms and met my gaze directly.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Mal, for the last time, I did. Over and over again. You quit listening.”

  “You should’ve made me listen.”

  “When was the last time anyone made Malachi Knight do anything?”

  She had a point. Not knowing what else to say, I sighed again. “I’m sorry. I should’ve done a lot of things differently and I definitely should’ve come after you when you left. Will you accept my apology?”

  She looked as stunned hearing it as I was saying it. Finally she relaxed and beamed. “I accept your apology.”

  “Seriously? Just like that? And you forgive me?”

  “Not just like that, but what’s the use of holding onto it all, right? Give me a little time to get my head around it, okay? It’s a lot of baggage to let go all at once. I mean, yesterday at this time, I was hoping never to see you again. And here you are, in my kitchen.”

  “You know, it’s the ‘what could have been’ that haunts me,” I admitted. What if I’d done things differently, what if she’d stayed, what if I hadn’t gotten hurt, what if we’d had the wedding and the kids. What if I’d gone after her at any time over the last five years? What if, what if, what if?

  She slashed her hand through the air. “Well, stop it, because you can’t live life looking backward.”

  A hopeful thought took seed in my brain. “Can we be friends again, at least? I miss my friend.”

  She eyed me skeptically as if wondering what my angle was. Finally she shrugged. “I’ll try.”

  “Fair enough. What do you think? Can we get past it?” I wondered out loud.

  Tentatively she started to speak, then stopped. Then she asked, “If I ask you something, Mal, will you answer me honestly?”

  “Yes.” I vowed that no matter what she asked, I’d be honest.

  “Did you cheat on me?”

  Ah shit. I took a deep gulp of water. Knowing my next question was telling in and of itself, I asked, “When, specifically?”

  Her stare was a rich brown laser beam of accusation. She rolled her eyes and crossed her arms tighter against her chest. “Not while we lived apart. I understood our unspoken agreement. I’m asking about after college, when I moved to Houston. Were you cheating?”

  That, I could answer unequivocally while looking directly into her eyes. “No.”

  She looked unconvinced to say the least. “Hmm.”

  “Swear to God, Rissa. When you were living with me, I never slept with another woman. I flirted, I teased, I was probably way more friendly than I needed to be, but I did not cheat.” I paused a beat and then added, “Not sure if you recall, but you and I were fairly energetic in that department.”

  She flushed and squirmed on the seat. “I recall.”

  “One area where we had no problem was in making that physical connection.” My voice went a little deeper as I allowed
myself to dwell on it. “We were explosive together.”

  “Um-hmm.” She cleared her throat and fidgeted a little bit more.

  I hid my grin. She remembered as well. “Even when things were bad in other areas, we were always in tune with each other in the bedroom... and the living room... and the garage . . . oh my God, that one time in the press box, ” I teased.

  “I said I recall.” It was her turn to take a deep sip of water. Her neck was a little red. Nice to know that part of our chemistry was still there just beneath the surface.

  “Even when I wasn’t what you needed emotionally, I could always reach you on that physical plane. You know, there were times when I was supposed to be on the field or in a meeting and I’d be distracted by the thought of getting back to you so I could get inside of you—it was all I could think about. Because once I was there, deep and warm with you wrapped around me, I was Superman.”

  “Oh,” she said with an unfocused stare into space.

  I leaned toward her and continued, “Between what you and I had going on and my dedication—”

  “Obsession.”

  “—obsession with football, I had no time or interest in other women.”

  “The groupies, Mal.”

  “I kept them around for appearances’ sake. Sounds weak as hell, but it’s true. I swear to you, Carissa Melody Wayne, on my mother: I did not cheat. I was an asshole, not a scoundrel.”

  She considered for a moment and then nodded.

  “Anything else?”

  She took a deep breath and it was her turn to look me squarely in the eye. “When are you going back?”

  “Where? To Houston?”

  She rolled her eyes again. “To the NFL, Mal. When’s your tryout?”

  I shouldn’t have been surprised that she’d connected the dots, but I was. “How did you know?”

  “I know you, Mal. And at your core, you’re a football player. You can’t help but give it one more try. You haven’t given up the dream yet.”

  She always understood me better than most. “My tryout’s in August.”

  “Good luck,” she said simply and slid off the stool to place her empty bottle in a recycling container in the pantry.

  “Do you mean it?” After everything we’d been and done to each other, I still wanted her approval. She was Carissa. It was as simple and as complicated as that.

  “I do. I know how bad you want it. I hope you get a chance to win the ring.”

  I’d gotten this far; I decided to wade in a little deeper. “What will this do to us?”

  She spun around quickly. “Us? What us? What are we?”

  I stood up and walked toward her. “I don’t know what we are exactly, but I don’t think we’re done.”

  “My life is here. With the money from this ridiculous show, I’m going to start that college prep and mentoring program for teens. I’m going to fix up this house, finish the garden. I’m going to help Ruby expand the restaurant. I’m going to—”

  “I got it. You have plans. Right here. Plans that don’t include me anymore.” I took a step closer. “What if I wanted to be part of those plans?” I put my hands on her shoulders and drew her against me. She was stiff, but she wasn’t pushing me away. After a few minutes, I felt her relax and lean into me.

  “In what way, exactly?”

  “I don’t know, Carissa. But what if I wanted back in your life, in some form or capacity. What would you say to that?”

  “I’d say it’s going to be some time before I allow myself to care about what you want again.”

  That stung, but I wrapped my arms around her and held tight. “Okay, what about what you want? Have you missed me at all? Just a little bit? Maybe at night sometimes when you’re listening to Maxwell before you go to sleep? You still do that?”

  She leaned back and looked up at me. “What are you doing, Mal?”

  “Testing something. I’m curious. I wonder . . . Just let me check something right quick, okay?” Before she could answer, I leaned down and covered her lips with mine. I pressed once and then twice before coaxing her mouth open. We both groaned as our tongues meshed together. It was like coming home after a long journey and finding it better than you remember. We slowly rediscovered the licks and laps that took our breath away. I’d forgotten how small she was against me. How soft. God, she smelled good. She felt good. Her perfect lips and tongue teased mine and awakened sensations long dormant. We slid into each other with comfort, delight, and hunger. Everything was familiar, yet different. One thing hadn’t changed: one taste of Carissa Wayne and I wanted more. I wanted everything she had to give.

  Her arms slid around my middle and up my back as I pulled her even closer. Christ, it was like she was made to fit perfectly in my arms. Had it always felt this way... so destined? God, she smelled good, like vanilla and flowers. Pressed against me, she felt amazing. Why had I ever let this go?

  Without breaking the kiss, I backed her against the counter and slid my hand down her side, curving around her rear and down her thigh. I cupped the back of her knees and lifted her up. She wrapped those long legs around me as I set her down on the counter so we fit even tighter together. I couldn’t resist grinding against her once just to see how that felt again. Perfection.

  Her head fell back. “Malachi.”

  “Right here, babe.” I kissed a trail down her jaw and along her neck, resting my lips against the fluttering pulse at the base and licking lightly. She shuddered in my arms.

  “What are we doing?” she whispered before wrapping her arms around my neck and kissing me with more heat and passion than I remembered. I was seconds from going up in flames and taking her right there on the kitchen counter.

  “That’s what we’re wondering,” a deep male voice said from behind us.

  With a groan, I recognized my brother’s voice. Sighing with regret, I leaned back and tilted my head to the side. Taylor; Mac; his brother, Burke; and my brother, Meshach, all stood in the arched doorway to the kitchen with varying expressions of amusement and dismay.

  Meshach glanced at his watch. “Took you two almost eight hours to start groping each other like you’re back under the bleachers in high school after a pep rally. Some things never change.”

  I looked back at Carissa to gauge her reaction. To my relief, she had her hand clapped over her mouth and a few giggles escaped. “Jesus, I can NOT be trusted around you. Stay at least five paces back!” She pushed me away and hopped down from the counter. “So, beyond the entertainment, what are y’all doing here?”

  Burke walked over and gave Carissa a hug. “Good to see you, girl. We’re here to take you out for your last supper.”

  6

  You don’t know the half

  Carissa—Monday, May 23—5:16 p.m.

  We were settled in the long booth along the back wall of Ruby’s restaurant. I was huddled at the far end closest to the kitchen with Taylor and Mac on one side and Niecy and Sugar on the other. Filling out the long table were Burke, Pierre, Renard, Meshach, and Malachi. One table over sat three contestants—XJ, Jordan, and Suzette—with the show producer, Bliss, and the associate producer, Marcy. I had been introduced to Jerry, one of the cameramen, when I came in. He was seated with Ren and some other staff near the front of the restaurant. If nothing else, this show was already good for business. Ruby’s hadn’t been this packed on a Monday evening for quite some time.

  I finished scanning the other tables while studiously avoiding any type of eye contact with Malachi. I wasn’t ready to deal with the implications of my little kitchen relapse just yet. When I drew my attention back to Mac and Tay, I found them eyeing me with equal parts exasperation and humor. I guessed I was going to have to deal with it.

  I exhaled deeply. “I know, I know. You don’t have to say it,” I said, shaking my head before letting it fall into my hands. I massaged my scalp as if willing some sense to appear there. “Believe me, I know. It was just . . .”

  “Inevitable?” Taylor suggested, rol
ling her eyes.

  “Stupid?” Mac added with a smirk.

  I held up my hands. “Spur of the moment,” I amended.

  “What are you going to do, Rissa?” Niecy asked quietly.

  “What I always do.”

  “Run in the other direction?” Mac said.

  “No!” I frowned; did they really think I ran when things got tough? “I’m going to pretend it’s all okay until it really is.”

  “Avoidance.” Tay nodded. “I guess that works.”

  I raised my brows. “You two would know.”

  “Beg pardon?”

  “Beg away. Are we going to pretend that you two aren’t circling each other like prey?” It had long been my opinion that the two of them were perfect for each other but did nothing about it for fear of ruining the friendship, or some such other random reason. But the air around the two of them was constantly charged and uneasy like a storm waiting to break.

  Taylor glared at me. “Don’t deflect. If we hadn’t walked in, you were a scant good minutes from a horizontal mambo with your ex-fiancé. Talk about two people circling each other.”

  I might as well own up to it. “Clearly there’s unfinished business there. Maybe it’s physical, maybe it’s nostalgia, maybe it’s more. But I’ve learned my lesson. I don’t have to give into it; I’ve been down that road and nothing has really changed. You two, however . . .”

  “Hey Rissa.” Jordan came over from the other table and squatted down next to me. “I haven’t had a second to talk to you since this whole thing started.”

  Jordan Little had been the first person to greet me at Tulane registration. He was a North Carolina guy, a Southern gent with a sharp sense of humor and steel-trap mind. He’d been in a master’s program for behavioral psychology, so some of our classes overlapped. We became fast friends and study buddies. Soon after graduation, we lost touch with the exception of Facebook updates and holiday cards. Last I heard he had a practice in child psychology and was married and living in Atlanta.

  I scooted down and patted the spot beside me, inviting him to sit. I teased, “Hey there, Jordy, how did they get you to agree to this nonsense?”