Darien
THIS IS ONE of the shittiest weeks I’ve had in a long time. Can’t even think straight as John goes over the policies of his bank. This shit is boring.
All I do is think about Alana, want to call her, but I don’t. I’m giving her time and space. She still has her stuff at my condo, and that picture she drew on my walls keeps staring at me, so I’m staying in a hotel until I’m ready to get rid of the artwork. Even my bedroom smells like her—Chanel No. 5.
Lisa calls my office and I put my finger up to stop John from talking, placing the phone to my ear. “Yeah, Lisa?”
“Charles Tucker is here to see you,” Lisa says.
Raising an eyebrow, I say, “I don’t know a Charles Tucker.”
“He says he knows you and wants to talk to you about Alana.”
I tell John to hold on, and I walk out to the lobby. A guy there is wearing black pants and a plaid shirt. He is pale, and his hazel eyes look dull. We stare at each other for a minute. This is the lowlife that Alana married. Hate that she is taking care of him. I talked to Gunner, and he told me that Charles doesn’t have anyone to take of him. My Alana has a heart pure as gold. I want to punch him in the face for how he treated Red.
“Is Alana okay?” I ask, shoving my hands in the pockets of my black slacks.
“Yes, physically.”
I show him to my office and tell John to give me thirty minutes. The old guy walks out of the office.
“This your office?” Charles glances around and picks up a picture of Alana sleeping on my bed on the yacht. I miss my sweetheart.
I nod my head and say, “Why are you here?”
“Alana is depressed and the last time she got like this is when our son died. She is in denial about my death. She thinks if I take the medication, I will survive.” He wheezes and makes his way to the black leather couch. “Wanted to meet the guy who got my girl’s heart. Not gonna lie, I was jealous that she told me that she loves you.” He rests his foot on his thigh.
His girl? Want to punch his ass for saying that. “Says the guy who dumps her for another woman.” I’m pissed that he has the audacity to come in here.
“I deserved that. I don’t have much time. I went to the doctor a few days ago, and my cancer is spreading fast. Instead of three months, it’s one month. Haven’t told Alana because she’s already worried about me.”
I go to the cooler, grab a bottle of water and hand it to him. He struggles to turn the cap on the bottle. Rolling my eyes, I snatch the bottle from him and unscrew the lid and hand it back to him.
“Thanks, man,” he says, before taking a gulp of water. “She told me you guys broke up, and she didn’t say why, but I gotta feeling that it’s because of me.”
“What do you want?” I grab a fistful of hair and pull. This fucker is getting on my last nerve.
“Take care of her when I’m gone, Darien. We share two things in common—we both love the same woman, and we hate each other’s guts—and if I weren’t sick, I’d probably kick your ass.”
I scoff at his words. As if he would have a chance. “And if you weren’t sick, I would beat the fuck out of you for what you did to Alana. Now get the fuck out of my office.”
I meet with Logan at a Mexican restaurant. The waitress drops off my beer, and I peel the label off of it. This year is starting off as rough as fuck. I miss Alana so fucking much. I check her Facebook every single day to see if she updates it, but she doesn’t. Want to call her, but I don’t. Instead I sulk like a little bitch. She hasn’t changed her Facebook relationship status, and I’m not going to change mine. Don’t care if she is taking care of that lowlife, she is still mine.
The waitress with the white shirt and black tie and black pants sits on Logan’s lap. I tilt my head to the side and cock my eyebrow.
“You’re a dick for cheating on Trish. She doesn’t deserve this.” I take a swig of my drink.
“We are not together anymore. I broke up with her a few months back.” Logan laughs.
“Right,” Claire says—well, that is the name on the nametag.
“How many times have you guys broken up?”
“Too many. I’m not meant to be in a relationship,” he says. Claire gets up from his lap and disappears into the kitchen. Moments later, she comes back with a plate of chicken fajitas and sets it in front of Logan.
“How do my godkids feel about that?”
“They know that I don’t stay in the home with them anymore, but they don’t understand why.” He exhales. “She got the abortion. Told her that I will pay child support. What about you and Alana? How the hell did you get Gunner’s approval to date his sister?” He bites into his food. Claire comes back to the table and asks me if I want anything. I tell her no and she tends to the table behind us.
“He knows I’m not gonna take advantage of his sister. I’m not the type to date casual. Might sleep around, but I’m looking for something more. But I fucking ruined that shit though.”
The waitress brings me another beer and collects the empty bottle.
“How?” He takes a napkin and wipes his mouth.
“Her ex is dying.”
“She chose him over you?”
“No.”
“I’m confused.” He cocks his eyebrow.
“I broke up with her because I didn’t want her to have to choose.”
“Wow. And now he is probably fucking her.” He pats my shoulder. “Congrats on being the biggest dumbass I know.”
I grind my teeth at his words and say, “Doubt it.”
“Oh, he’s tapping that. Alana is one sexy kitten.”
“Shut the fuck up.”
“Just ’cause he is dying doesn’t mean he can’t fuck her. That’s his ex after all. They are probably reminiscing about their time together.”
“Logan, I’m warning you.”
“You know it’s true.”
I grab my coat and storm out before I punch the fuck out of him. Fuck Logan. I get in my car and drive around downtown Newark. Can’t believe people are still out this late at night. Most of the businesses are closed, and the nightclubs are open, and women and men are bundled up in their coats in this harsh February cold. Green, red, and yellow light up the city like Christmas lights. Tapping my index finger on the steering wheel, I don’t know where I’m going. Just want to burn off some steam. What if Logan is right? Maybe she is fucking him. Maybe she still wants him. I need to see her, hug her and tell her that I love her.
After driving around for about thirty minutes, I decide to go back home. I push open my door, and everything in here reminds me of Alana. The couple that she drew on the wall a while back, the scent of her shampoo, the few pairs of her shoes still on the rack. She even has her drawer here. I can still smell her shea butter dove soap from the bathroom, reminding me she was here.
I made a stupid mistake letting that woman go. The biggest mistake of my life.