Chapter 8
Patrick…
She Can’t Know
Chance’s phone call came in the middle of the night, after I had finished my conversation with Jacoby. It followed his text asking me if I were asleep, and that he needed to talk. I hated phone calls or text messages that came in the middle of the night. They were never usually good news. Someone was either dead or had just gotten arrested. My conversation with Jacoby was still swirling around in my head, so falling asleep wasn’t the easiest thing.
“This better be good,” I answered, pissed because the only time Chance ever wanted to talk at this three o’clock hour was when he wanted me to help him figure out how to wiggle his way out of some shit.
I love my little brother, but I swear, sometimes I want to knock some sense into him.
“If you’re sleeping, it could wait until the morning.”
“Look, C. If it could’ve waited until morning, why the hell didn’t you just wait until then to text me? Stop playing games and tell me what the hell you’ve gotten yourself into this time.”
“I need your help, bro. I got myself into some shit defending someone.”
“You sound like a damn kid right now, Chance. What do you mean you got into some shit defending someone? Is this another one of your piss-tailed girls?”
Chance didn’t respond.
“I’m tired of telling you, you’re an athlete, a goddamn professional. You need to be dating a lady, not some damn girl who’s going to be putting herself in a position for you to have to defend her. You have too much to lose. And who is this girl anyway?”
“Does it matter?”
“It matters if you’re going to be getting yourself in trouble defending her.”
You live by the woman, you die by the woman. This had been Chance’s mantra since the girls─and now the ladies─started paying him attention. And just like I had done, even as a spectator at his high school games, I was always defending him. He was always reacting first and thinking later, and when it was time for him to think, it was usually too late─the damage had already been done. He was hotheaded and hot tempered, two of the reasons I never told him what his father did to me. I also didn’t want him to look at me any different. I was the big brother he respected and came to for anything, and I didn’t want the news of what his father did to cause him to look at me as some fragile boy who couldn’t stop this man from raping me. If I have anything to do with it, Chance will never find out.
“Her name’s Khoury Zeller,” he answered.
I had forgotten what I had asked him.
“I hope you did a background check on this one, ‘cause you sure know how to pick ‘em.”
“Thanks, but she’s…”
“Chance, that wasn’t a compliment,” I interrupted.
“I know, man. Look, Patrick. You know I’m not going to argue with my big brother. I need your help. When can you come?”
“I’m in Atlanta right now.”
“What’s in Atlanta?”
“Business, man, and none of yours.” I wasn’t about to tell Chance about my shrink. I didn’t like keeping secrets from him, but that was just one of the many things he was never going to know about his big brother. I wasn’t having second thoughts about any of the things I had kept from him. I liked what my little brother saw when he looked at me. But inside I was a basket case who couldn’t deal with the fact that my father, my rapist was about to be released from jail.
• • • • •
I wanted to just lie in my bed and stare at the sun from my bedroom window, but I had so much business to take care of. I wanted to spend Independence Day savoring ribs and drinking champagne with Devaan and her family. Instead, I boarded an early morning flight back to D.C. to do damage control. I’m telling you, man, if he weren’t my brother, I would leave him to learn the lessons he needed to learn. He was a hardheaded dude who thought his money could save him from everything. An idle mind is the devil’s playground, but my brother Chance Parker’s mind was the devil’s football field. This was Chance’s third team in five years, and already he was becoming better known for his antics off the court than for his ball handling skills on the court.
Chance was the number two draft pick in the 2005 NBA Draft, straight out of St. Joseph High School, the last year before the new age limit for draft eligibility. The Atlanta Hawks drafted him behind Andrew Bogut. His short stint in Atlanta was followed by an even shorter welcome in Sacramento. Now he was entering into his third year with the Wizards, and it seems he was doing everything to end that relationship, too.
I wasn’t planning on calling Chance until I was settled in my hotel room, sipping on something cold─and I wasn’t talking about water─but he had something else is mind. I reserved the presidential suite in The Melrose Hotel on Pennsylvania Avenue in the Georgetown section of D.C. I hadn’t given that information to Chance. I also hadn’t told him he would be picking up the tab for this trip. When my phone rang, I thought about ignoring it, but I knew he wasn’t going to stop calling until I picked up.
“Wassup, bro?” he asked when I answered, as if I had come out here to run the streets with him.
“I’m going to tell you now,” I said through gritted teeth, “I’m gonna lay in that ass when I see you later. You’re still acting like you don’t have good sense.”
“Dude, you can’t talk to me like that. I’m an adult.”
“That’s the last time you’re going to ‘dude’ me. And if you’re going to be adamant about being a damn adult, start acting like it, and stop getting your ass caught up in the kind of shit that only misguided knuckleheads get into.”
Chance was silent, which was the best thing for him to be.
“Where’re you staying?”
“The Melrose Hotel on Pennsylvania. And so you know, you’re picking up the tab.”
I was driving across the Key Bridge. There was little traffic on this Independence Day. Soon, everyone would be making his or her way into the city to watch the spectacular display of fireworks illuminating the Washington Monument.
“That’s no problem,” Chance agreed.
“It shouldn’t be.”
I looked in the rearview mirror and noticed a police cruiser following one car back, behind a white Dodge Charger.
“Yo, Chance, you know D.C. gets crazy with these hands-free laws. Gonna get off this phone.”
“Aiight, bro. Oh, when and where is dinner?”
“Meet me at 901 on 9th and I… at 6… and don’t be late, Chance.”
“Can I bring someone?” he asked as I removed the phone from my ear.
“No, Chance,” I yelled emphatically, “that’s what’s gotten you in this shit you’re in now. Come alone. And Chance…,” I paused to make certain I had his undivided attention.
“Wassup?”
“Don’t be late,” I warned.
My brother has never been on time for anything. My mother always teased he was going be late for his own damn funeral. He was even late for his own draft, thinking he wouldn’t be drafted until the second round. As soon as I hung up the phone, the police cruiser came racing by with its reds, blues, and whites flashing busily, though his siren remained silent.
I had just turned right on M Street, passed the now famous Georgetown Cupcake, and came to a stop at one of the many stoplights before me. It bothered me that D.C. hadn’t followed New York’s lead and synchronized their traffic lights. It was like I was stopping at every intersection. I made a slight right onto Pennsylvania Ave, heading towards my hotel, which was now a few blocks ahead on the right.
I had called ahead and requested an early check-in. I pulled up to the blue canopy, threw the car in park, and exited my rented Acura RDX. I walked to the back, removed my two bags, and handed the keys to the valet. Two large potted greens sat on either side of the glass doors. Once inside, I stood in the foyer admiring the simplicity. The Landmark restaurant, which was emptying as it neared closing, sat to the right. The Library Bar was
located on the left, and seemed a nice, quiet place for a nightcap. I walked up to the semi-circle counter with its cream-colored granite countertop and presented my I.D. The brotha standing behind the counter was handsome with a smooth dark complexion. He was a few inches shorter than me, and looked about 50 lbs lighter.
“Your first time staying with us Mr…?”
He grabbed my ID and credit card, which I had placed on the counter, and then stared at it with a smile.
“Mr. McKay,” he added.
“Yes, it is,” I said, answering the question he’d asked earlier.
As he typed, he smiled. And I wondered what on the screen amused him.
“I’ve made it a habit of not staying in the same hotel when I travel,” I continued.
His eyes remained fixed on the computer screen, as if he were forcing himself to avoid looking at me as I spoke. His fingers tapped each key faster than a court stenographer.
“Hopefully, The Melrose will help you break that habit, Mr. McKay.”
He finally looked up and gazed directly into my eyes. His oval silver-plated name tag had the name Chisholm etched in black letters.
“Hopefully,” I responded, finally breaking our concentrated gaze.
A second desk attendant, whom I hadn’t paid much attention to, attended to our exchange from the corners of her eyes. I looked at her and smiled, taking my keycard from the handsome attendant.
“Your suite is on the 8th floor, suite 824,” he said, and pointed to the elevator at the back of the hotel, on the right.
The presidential suite was luxurious and had impeccable comfort in its king bed, down comforters, and linens as soft as a baby’s bottom. I hadn’t felt any effects from my early morning travels until I was stretched across the bed, and for a moment, that was where I wanted to be. I had enough time to nap and grab a mid-afternoon lunch, before getting ready for dinner with Chance. I closed my eyes for a brief moment and realized I hadn’t spoken to Devaan since my text message just before take-off. I’d only told her I was heading to D.C. to take care of some business for Chance. I figure I would tell her everything as soon as I knew what everything was.
I could have walked to one of the nearby Georgetown area restaurants, but the July sun was already unrelenting. I was standing in front of one of the large windows in the suite, waiting for room service to arrive. I had ordered a light snack, something to hold me over until dinner. In the meantime, I had some business I needed to take care of. I was in D.C., which wasn’t a part of the plan, and I hadn’t heard back from Devaan since my text message. When I picked up my cell phone from the desk, there was a call coming in.
“Hello,” I answered.
I removed he phone from my ear and took a good look at the phone number.
“How are you, Patrick?”
“I’m good. What’s up Dexter?”
If anyone had a heart, it was Dexter. Sometimes I wondered why he still talks to me, after some of the things I’ve done to him. I think deep down Dexter actually knows I’m a good person.
“I’ve been trying to reach you all morning. Didn’t you get my message?” Dexter asked with attitude and urgency.
“Hold up, man. You know if I had gotten a message I would’ve called you. I’m in D.C. What’s going on?” I asked, walking towards the door.
After the second knock, room service had announced my delivery. I opened the door and directed the server where to place the service tray. I tipped him, and then showed him out before continuing my conversation with Dexter.
“Where in D.C. are you?”
“I’m at the Melrose on Pennsylvania. I came to handle some things with Chance. You still haven’t told me why you’re calling,” I said, removing the lids from the trays to inspect my order.
“Can I come see you? Since you’re here, it’s best I tell you in person.”
“Are you sure you can’t tell me over the phone.”
“Patrick!”
Dexter said he wasn’t far from the hotel and would be there in a few minutes. A small hint from him could’ve set my mind at ease, but he offered me nothing. For now, I was busy pacing my room, anticipating his arrival. This trip was already filled with things I hadn’t planned on dealing with. Maybe Dexter was just looking for a reason to see me. He hadn’t counted on me being in D.C., but this was just his luck.
I passed the time snacking on pulled pork towers, roasted tomatoes, goat cheese, and polenta. This was supposed to be a lunch portion, but it looked more like dinner for two. It seemed time slowly ticked by. I had a hard time gauging my emotions. When I became nervous, I settled my nerves by fabricating my own reasons for Dexter’s visit. We had a wild history, but he was someone I never stopped loving, and from many conversations, I wouldn’t be wrong if I said his love for me hadn’t turned to hate. I knew Dexter still loved me, even if he never admitted it. Yes, I had hurt him with the accident that almost cost him and his nephew their lives. I’d hurt him with Jacoby, and with Harrell, but none of those situations were enough to kill the love I knew Dexter still had for me. Dexter and I had always had some dysfunction in our functional relationship. Correction, we’ve had a lot of dysfunction.
I had given Dexter my room number and asked him to come straight up to the room without stopping at the front desk. I’d already decided Chisholm didn’t look as if he did a good job minding his own damn business. I didn’t pay much attention to his flirtatious exchange during check-in, and I didn’t want to give him any other reasons to think I was playing on his team. A visit from any man would probably raise his hopes.
I had a hard time keeping my thoughts focused or connected. I thought between sitting and standing. I tried not to think about the worst, but to prepare myself for the worst, that was all I thought. I knew Dexter well enough to know if he has something to tell you and insist he tell you in person, he wasn’t bringing good news. I had put off calling Devaan until I knew what Dexter had to tell me.
Twenty-five minutes later when I heard a knock on the door, I ran and opened it with enthusiasm. Though my heart was pounding, I tried to act as if I was calm. It was good to see Dexter, and already, I was trying to avoid impulses I was feeling in my loins.
“You know you didn’t need an excuse to see me?” I said seductively.
Dexter walked across the room and stood looking out the window.
“Don’t I even get a hug? I haven’t seen you in months.”
I walked over and stood behind him. I was close enough for him to feel my breath on his ear, and suddenly I wasn’t interested in the purpose for his visit.
Dexter turned around and stepped away from me.
“I didn’t make up an excuse to see you, Patrick. Remember, I didn’t even know you were in the area. Like I told you, I need to tell you something.”
“Can’t it wait till after?” I asked, stepping closer to him.
I had him cornered between my body and the window.
“After what? No.”
His eyes were locked onto mine, and I could tell he was serious.
“Nothing is going to happen now for there to be an after. I need to tell you now.”
“Rock me tonight, for old time sake.” I said, quoting a line from an old Freddie Jackson classic.
Dexter looked at me and smiled.
“Patrick, I didn’t come here for this. Can you get serious for a minute?”
“Damn, what the hell is it?”
I sat in the chair under the desk next to me.
“She knows,” he yelled without warning.
I jumped to my feet.
“What do you mean, she? Knows what? What are you talking about, Dexter?”
“I’m talking about Devaan.”
Dexter walked over to the server’s tray and poured a glass of water. After he drank, he spoke.
“She met with Trevor and he told her everything─at least what he knew.”
“She hasn’t said anything to me. How the fuck did that happen?” I asked, almost yelling.
“So now you think she got me all figured out?”
“What I think doesn’t matter. What you do with what I’ve said does, and is entirely up to you.” Dexter started towards the door, but before leaving, he did have one last thing to say. “You know, it wouldn’t hurt to tell her the truth.”
“Dexter, if telling the truth was that easy for me, I would have done it with you and Jacoby.” I spoke without looking in his direction.
“I love Devaan, that’s the truth.”
“Right!” I couldn’t tell if he agreed or questioned my confession. “You have a past, Patrick, and just in case it comes back to haunt you, she needs to know what that past is. And it doesn’t matter that Trevor has already told her. She needs to hear it from you.”
“You sound like you know what she’s up to.”
“I’ve told you what I know, and I’ve told you what you should do. Whether or not you listen, is entirely up to you. Call me before you leave D.C.”
After Dexter left, I poured a small glass of whiskey on the rocks, sat on the couch, and pondered. I couldn’t wrap my mind around the fact that Devaan had held on to what she knew for this long. I hadn’t noticed any change in her behavior, but that could be because I was too busy with Chance and his shenanigans, my father’s impending release from prison, my trips to Atlanta to consult with Dr. Kendrick, and my clients. I realized too much was happening in my life, and no one thing was getting the focus it deserved.
When Devaan stopped coming to me, when she stopped talking about her brother Jackson and his relationship with Trevor, I figured our fear-tactic had worked. I thought Bran─or Devaan─had driven that wedge I needed her to drive between Dexter and Trevor. I had no idea the two─Devaan and Trevor─had joined forces. Trevor didn’t know much, and most of what he knew Dexter told him. Now I had to figure out what Devaan was planning to do with what she knew. Most importantly, I needed to find out what else she knew, and who else she had helping her. Since Dexter, it’s only been Devaan. Now I needed a way to make her believe she’s the only one without her believing any of what she has been or is being told about me.
Second Thoughts Page 6