by Tia Sirrah
"Cousin, this is the best," I said as I stuffed my mouth with her famous steak tacos.
"I know you love your tacos," Novalee smiled.
I squinted my eyes and leaned towards her. "Is that a hickey?" I asked, referring to the red love-bite peeking out of her shirt.
Her face brightened as she adjusted her blouse. "My bad."
"I guess your dinner date was a success." I winked. "Get it, girl."
Novalee smiled sheepishly. "We didn't have sex," she said softly over the blaring music.
"What you do is your business. As long as Conner treats you right, I'm all in with you dating the fuckboy from high school."
Novalee playfully shoved me.
"Fatima!" Stephanie shouted from the living room, over V.I.C.'s Wobble song. "You have to show me how to do this dance!"
"Let's go show em how it's done, cousin." I drank the last of my Corona and slammed the empty bottle on the counter.
Novalee pulled her long curly tresses away from her face and twisted them up into a makeshift bun. Then she downed the rest of her margarita in a few gulps. "Let's do this."
Life was good. I had my girls. I had my family. I had my career. Half a heart or not, I was going to appreciate all the good things in my life. I would make it without Quentin. Nine years granted me plenty of practice.
Chapter 22
QUENTIN
"YOU'RE JUST GOING TO throw it all away. Your marriage and your career? This is what you've worked for, for your entire life, son."
"This is what you've worked for. I'm done, dad. With Amy and with politics."
Dad remained quiet for a moment, as my caddie handed me my club. "What the hell are you going to do with your life now?"
I took my stance with my club, eyeing my target line and alignment spot in front of my golf ball. "I'll take on more responsibility at the firm. I am a Partner, after all." I took my final swing for the eighteen-hole. Score.
"Nice swing." Dad clasped my back firmly. We were both avid golf players and enjoyed playing a couple of rounds whenever we got the chance. We managed to get through seventeen holes without discussing the inevitable topic about my future.
While our caddies collected our clubs, dad and I headed to our golf cart. "I gave Amy the house."
"What the hell for?"
I shrugged before taking my seat behind the wheel of the golf cart. "To keep her from delaying the divorce proceedings. This divorce hasn't been exactly amenable."
"Are the allegations true? It's all over the tabloids that you had an affair."
"I'm not having an affair."
Dad nodded. "What about Amy and her friend, Novalee? I saw the photos of them kissing. That looked…fun. Were they having an affair, or were you a participant?" Dad raised his brows. "That Novalee is something else," he smirked.
"Jesus, dad." I shook my head. There was no way in hell I was telling my dad about all the threesomes Amy and I had during our marriage with a few chicks she met on Grindr. "No. I was not a participant, and no, Amy didn't cheat with Novalee. Novalee's with Conner, remember? And what the hell, dad?"
"Hey. I love your mother very much. I would never cheat on Eleanor. But I have eyes, son."
"Not for long, if Conner ever saw you checking out his girl."
Dad chuckled. "He's always been a little psycho. Ever since he was a boy."
"Let's change the subject. I prefer not to discuss my sex life and my best friend's girlfriend."
Dad remained quiet for a moment. "So…who is she?" I felt my dad's eyes on me, but I focused on the turf ahead.
"Who?"
"The other woman."
"There is no other woman." I gave my dad a quick glance. He arched a brow. "It doesn't matter," I shrugged. "We're not together. Yet."
"Is that why Amy's so unhinged?"
I rolled my eyes. "Amy is batshit crazy on a normal day." I shook my head, just thinking about the past few months. Vandalizing my cars with a hammer. Pouring bleach on my suits. Smashing my 82-inch t.v. with my golf club. Pouring paint in my shoes. Our entire short-lived marriage consisted of hate fucking, breaking shit, and smiling for the cameras. "She doesn't give a fuck—"
"Language, son."
"Amy doesn't give a freak about me, which is fine." I shrugged. "The feeling is mutual. And no, Amy doesn't know. I would never involve Fatima in my marital drama."
"Fatima?" Dad was stunned and furious. "Goddamn it, son." This time, he was the one to curse. "What the fuck? Pull over."
I slowed the cart and parked under a cluster of trees. I turned to look at him. "What's up, dad?" I deadpanned.
He scrubbed a hand over his face. "I thought you let this go? I thought you let her go."
"I did. And that was the worst mistake of my fuck—freaking life. I have to get her back. She loved me once; she can love me again."
Dad muttered a slew of curse words under his breath before emanating a humorless chuckle. "And you think she's going to take you back?"
I winced. "I don't know. But I have to try. I have to find a way to get her back."
"I'll never approve of this."
"Good thing I’m grown. I don't need your approval. This is happening, dad. With or without your blessing."
Dad and I faced off, our stares severe. "You're going to tell her, aren't you?"
"What would you have me do? I'm not going to lie to her ever again."
"You're willing to choose her over your family?" he asked with disgust.
"I recall you making a similar choice." His jaw ticked, but he remained quiet. "She's it for me, dad. You, out of all people, should understand."
Dad's eyes were slits. "And what do you think she'll do with that information?"
"I don't know," I said honestly. Telling Fatima the truth could very much be the end for my family. She would have the power to throw my family to the wolves. Our legacy would be ruined. My father would be destroyed. "You told me that you and Robert got rid of the evidence."
"We did."
"Do you trust Robert?"
"With my life. As he's trusted me with his sins once or twice."
"What did you do for him? Bury a body?" I chuckled. Dad gave me a cold stare, causing me to swallow. My dad killed once before. Were there other times?
"Let's leave your soon-to-be ex-father in law out of this. If you weren't my son, it would be your body we'd be burying right now. Robert is furious with you."
"About the divorce?"
"In part, yes. But you upset a lot of people when you dropped out of the race. Mainly Robert. We had plans for you, son."
"I stand by my decision. So if Robert needs to square up with me, so be it."
"It was the wrong goddamn decision and a mess that I had to clean up."
"I don't need you to—"
"Without me, you'd be toast. You upset some very powerful people when you dropped out of the race. Lucky for you, your ole' man is owed a few favors, and no one wants to become my enemy. No one is stupid enough to touch you. Not even Robert. He's an evil son of a bitch, but he's like a brother to me. And you're my son. He knows that I will gladly end anyone who tries to harm you."
"I'm sorry things got so messy."
"That they did. And this thing with Fatima…I hope you know what you're doing, son. This can get ugly. Real fast."
"I know," I sighed. "But it's a risk I have to take."
"I know, son. Believe me, I know."
Chapter 23
SENATOR QUENTIN JAMES IV
NINETEEN YEARS AGO
SENATOR QUENTIN JAMES LAY in the dirt of the fresh grave. His wet cheek pressed against the cold earth.
"Quentin. Bloody hell," he heard someone say from afar.
He closed his eyes and breathed in the damp fresh air. Pellets of rain beat against his face, and the dirt from the ground muddied his crumpled suit. He had watched the gravesite service from afar. He watched as Quincy and Faye's daughter placed roses on the coffin. Faye was in there. His baby was in there.
&
nbsp; He had to be close to them both—just one more time.
After the grave diggers covered the casket with fresh dirt, Quentin sprawled out on top of the soil in his suit and pressed his face to the earth. He'd lost track of time, but the sun had long set when he felt Robert's hands on him, trying in vain to pull him up. "You can't be here. Someone might see you."
"Leave." Quentin jerked away from his best friend and lay back down, this time on his back. He stared up at the dark sky, wondering if it was all worth it and if his son would ever forgive him if he decided to end it all.
"Christ," Robert murmured under his breath.
Quentin angled his head toward Robert, who stared down at him with pity in his eyes. "Did he tell you who was responsible?" He agreed to let Robert take care of the shooter, but whoever was responsible for the hit would suffer under his hands.
Robert shook his head before staring down at his feet. "Let it go. Nothing good will come of it."
"Faye was my life. My whole fucking heart." Quentin sat up, bending his knees and fisting the damp dirt with one hand. With his other hand, he grabbed an open bottle of Jack Daniels.
Quentin narrowed his eyes and studied his best friend. Robert knew something. He could sense it. Pointing to Robert with the hand that gripped the neck of the bottle, Quentin said, "If you don’t tell me what you know, consider yourself my fucking enemy."
Robert shook his head slowly and shoved a hand through his red hair. His silence infuriated an already unhinged Quentin. Staggering to his feet, Quentin dropped the bottle and cocked his head as he studied Robert. "Did Quincy do this?"
Robert cleared his throat. "No. He has just cause and the means, but he's not responsible."
Quentin grabbed Robert by the collar of his shirt. "What the fuck did you just say? Just cause!" He spat.
"You put a baby in his wife, and then she ran away with you! If Carolyn ever left me for a bloke, I would personally see to her end." Robert pried Quentin's hands off him and shoved him away.
In Quentin's drunken stupor, he stumbled backward and almost lost his balance. But that didn't stop him from advancing on Robert once again and grabbing him by the collar. "She. Was. Mine," he gritted through clenched teeth.
"She was never yours, friend," he said sympathetically while holding his hands out in surrender, as Quentin tightened his grip on his shirt. "And you trying to prove otherwise, is what got her killed."
Quentin's fist connected with Robert's jaw. Robert's fist connected to Quentin's ribcage, causing the former to hunch over in pain. "We're done," Quentin said as he winced through the pain. "Consider yourself on my shit list."
Robert spat blood out of his mouth before grabbing Quentin by the collar. "Listen to me!" He shook him. "I need you to get your shit together. Let this go!"
"You know I can't do that!" Quentin's balance faltered as Robert released him. "I think you cracked my rib. Fucking dick."
"You had it coming with that left hook, ass wipe." Robert looked over at the fresh grave and sighed while massaging his jaw. "I'm sorry, brother. I know you loved her."
"Thank you," Quentin muttered as he focused his eyes on the grave. "Did you do what I told you to do?"
"Yes. It's been handled. The trust fund you set up for your unborn child will go to the girl. She'll get it when she turns twenty-one, and her father won't have access to any of it."
"It's what Faye would have wanted."
Robert slapped Quentin's back and gripped him by the shoulder. Quentin inhaled and exhaled with a shaky breath. "If Quincy didn't do it…" Quentin scrubbed his face and looked over at Robert. Robert didn't meet his stare. A few seconds of silence passed. "Holy fuck," Quentin said, gripping his hair. Realization crashed into him with a force that almost knocked him over. "Holy fuck," he repeated, as he slumped over. Falling to his knees, he pressed his palms against his eyes.
Robert squatted down beside him. "Don't do it, Quentin. You won't be able to come back from it."
Quentin balled his hands into fists and pressed them into his wet eye sockets. "No. No. No," he said over and over as his body trembled with rage and grief. "Are you absolutely certain?"
Robert hesitated. "I am. I used a blowtorch and a pair of pliers to get it out of the shooter," he said matter of factly. "What he told me before his untimely demise checked out to be true. I'm so sorry."
"Goddamn it, dad," Quentin muttered under his breath. "Goddamn, you."
"Don't do this," Robert warned. "He's your father."
Quentin closed his eyes and lifted his head to the sky, letting the rain wash away his tears and the dirt. "He'll pay for this, my love. I swear to God, to you, and our baby," he said towards the heavens.
"Quentin. Quentin," Robert said again, breaking Quentin from his reverie. "Let me do it, brother. I can't let you—"
"Not a fucking chance. This is on me. I'll end it."
Chapter 24
FATIMA
AFTER MONTHS OF NOT seeing each other, Quentin and I came face to face at Novalee and Conner's gender reveal party. Yeah, that happened. I was over the moon excited for Novalee and knew that despite her fears, she would be a great mom.
Quentin and I remained on opposite sides of the lawn, separated by a sea of party-goers, most of whom I didn't know. I was there with my date, Tremaine Caldwell, who my father introduced me to a couple of months prior. Tremaine was handsome, educated, athletic, tall, and had a beautiful soul. We clicked, in and out of the bedroom, and despite my attraction to him, I knew he wasn't the one. He was just the one right now.
Tremaine went to get us drinks from the open bar, and I watched from afar, as he and my dad laughed and conversed, while waiting for their drinks. Dad was Tremaine's mentor and fraternity brother, and the two were tight. So tight, in fact, that my dad mentioned on more than one occasion, that he'd hoped Tremaine and I would settle down together.
"Fatima. Hey. How are you?"
I knew that voice. The deep timbers of it spread warmth through me. I turned around to face him. "Quentin. Hi. I'm great. How are you?" I tried my best to play it cool, offering him a polite smile. I read in the tabloids, like everyone else, that his marriage to Amy had ended. Not that I was surprised.
His eyes focused in on the top of my head before he unexpectedly reached out and touched my hair, causing me to lean away from his touch inadvertently. "Sorry," he said, with that crooked smile I used to love. "You have something in your hair."
"Oh." My locs were secured in three vertical buns, all twisted around one another, creating a chic mohawk updo. Silver thread adorned a few locs, complimenting my silver jewelry. "Can you…?"
"Sure." Quentin stepped closer to me. He smelled good. Really good. I held my breath as he picked what looked like a piece of blue confetti from my hair, no doubt from the confetti explosion that took place a few minutes before. The veins in his exposed forearms looked lickable, and I wanted to nuzzle my nose against the light blanket of hair on them.
I cleared my throat and silently reprimanded myself for thinking such thoughts while my date was only a few feet away. "Thanks."
"Sure." Heat poured out of his eyes, and I took a much needed step back.
I tore my eyes from Quentin's hazel ones, the gold hues in them, reflecting off the bright sun. He did not disappoint in his tailored slim fit khakis, brown Italian leather shoes and matching belt, and a pale blue polo shirt. Designer sunglasses were perched on his head, and his dirty blond hair was freshly cut, the longer waves on top combed back with mousse.
Quentin's eyes quickly trailed down my body before focusing on my face. "You look beautiful."
"Thanks." I wore a 'Novalee creation'—a sleeveless lime green cocktail dress that fit me like a glove, with a boat neckline. "This turned out nice, right?" I looked away from his impending stare and out at the crowd.
"It did."
"Twin boys. Whew. They will have their hands full."
He chuckled. "No doubt."
A waiter passed by with a tray of champ
agne flutes. It was a welcomed distraction, and I eagerly grabbed one and took a much needed sip.
"I called you last week," he said.
"Really?" I feigned surprise. "I probably didn't recognize the number." Of course, I did. "Did you leave a message?"
"I did, actually," he said, amused.
"Hmmm. I must have missed it." I was such a lousy liar. I played the voicemail back seven times before deleting it from my phone. "Work's had me swamped." He nodded knowingly. "So, what's up? Why did you call?"
"I wanted to ask you out on a date."
I choked on my champagne. I held my finger up, gesturing for a minute. "I'm fine," I rasped. His concern turned into amusement. "I'm sorry. Did you say a date?"
"I did."
"I don't think that's a good idea."
He cocked his head to the side. "Why not?"
"Because."
He remained quiet, waiting for me to continue.
I scanned the crowd again, looking for Tremaine. We made eye contact through the crowd, followed by my dad joining in on the staring contest. Both men shared a few words before Tremaine excused himself from my dad's side. "I don't want to date you, Quentin. And you've been divorced for like five seconds."
"Who’s that?" Quentin jutted his chin towards Tremaine. My dad remained by the bar, his disapproving glare burning lasers through Quentin.
"Tremaine? He's a close friend."
"Close friend," Quentin repeated the words, mulling them over on his tongue as if they tasted unpleasant. "Hmmm." He leaned down to the shell of my ear, and I all but shivered at the feel of his hovering lips. "You and I were close friends once. Are you two close like that?"
My eyes slid shut on their own accord because snapping out of it. "That's none of your business." I took a step back.
Quentin's lips tilted in a smirk. "I've missed you so much."
"That's nice," I said with a blasé attitude.
Tremaine made his way through the crowd, with a look of determination and a hint possessiveness in his eyes.