The Vows We Break Read online

  I sighed again as I noticed him on the dance floor, his arms around one of the guests, Adria’s cousin Chantel. Her face was split with a flirtatious grin and Jahmad, well, he looked more relaxed than he had in months. And that shit pissed me off.

  I was weighing how to get in between them and put hands on this chick in the most discreet way when an arm draped over my shoulder. Glancing up, I met my dad’s eyes and allowed my anger to subside. For now.

  “Beautiful ceremony, huh,” he said, and I nodded.

  “It really was, Daddy.”

  “I’m so happy your brother finally grew up,” he went on with a chuckle. “I thought I was going to have to take him to the mountain for sacrifice like Abraham and Isaac.”

  I laughed. “You would’ve sacrificed my brother?”

  “I was telling God to just say the word.” He winked. The humor instantly faded from his smirk as he turned somber eyes on me. “What about you, baby girl?”

  “What about me?”

  “You know I wanted to officiate for both of my kids. And, well . . .” He trailed off, and I shrugged, trying to keep from looking back over at Jahmad and failing miserably. I knew what he meant. Of course he hadn’t been able to do that with me when I decided to up and tie the knot with Leo. I hadn’t given him that honor. And I knew he was still hurt by that.

  A slow song now had Jahmad and Chantel swaying closer, his hand on the small of her back. If I wanted to be logical, the two didn’t look all that intimate. Quite platonic, actually. But I didn’t give a damn about logic at that point.

  My dad could obviously sense the heightened fury in my demeanor, because he took my hand and gently guided me to the dance floor, in the opposite direction.

  “When are you going back to the hospital to see Jamaal?” he asked as we started to dance.

  I sighed. Obviously everyone had some secret mission to keep me from wallowing in my own self-pity. Dammit.

  “I went up there yesterday,” I said. “He’s doing really good.”

  “You sure you don’t want him to stay with us for a few weeks? Just until you get situated in your place with the move?”

  I tightened my lips. If I played my cards right, I wasn’t planning on going anywhere but to Jahmad’s house. In fact that’s what we had been arguing about this morning when I had come over so we could ride to the church together.

  The thing was, my heart still completely belonged to that man. But somewhere in these past few months, he was becoming distant. One minute it was as if we were on the same page, trying to focus on us, or so I thought. But then I would feel like I was struggling to breathe under this suffocating tension that hung between us. And I really wasn’t sure how to get us back on track.

  So when I suggested we move in together now that our son was coming home, I certainly hadn’t expected the frown nor the subsequent questions about my motive for asking like I was up to some shit.

  “What is the big deal, Jahmad?” I had asked as I paced his bedroom. “I mean I thought we agreed we would try to work on this? Us?” I pointed a wild finger first at him, then myself.

  “What does that have to do with us moving in together?”

  The tone of his question had a twinge of hurt piercing my heart. Here I was thinking we were taking steps forward only to realize we were actually moving backward. Why else would the idea of living together come as such a shock to him? I mean after the whole ordeal with Leo, I had moved back in with my folks because I wanted to focus on the business, which was already stressful enough. And I honestly knew, however false the hope, that it would be temporary, because Jahmad’s stubborn ass would finally realize exactly where I belonged. With him. Apparently I was still in Neverland.

  “Kimmy, that’s doing too much.” Jahmad sighed in frustration as he shrugged into his suit jacket. “The way I see it, we don’t even know if there is an ‘us.’ And we damn sure don’t need any more complications.”

  I sucked in a sharp breath. “Complications? Since when is being with me a complication?”

  “Since when? Since I found out you were married.”

  And there he went again. Throwing the shit up in my face. As if I hadn’t berated myself enough. As if I hadn’t been laying on apology after apology so much that I was sick of hearing the words my damn self. I masked the embarrassment with anger.

  “You know what my situation was about,” I snapped, jabbing a finger in his direction. “And you know it wasn’t real.”

  “That doesn’t make it any better,” he yelled back. “Hell, if anything that shines a negative light on you, because all the conniving and sneaky shit was for money. My love didn’t mean anything to you.”

  “How can you stand here and say that? You know that’s not true.”

  “Do I?” He narrowed his eyes. “How can I even trust you or anything you say?”

  “Jahmad, we’ve had this same conversation every week for months.” I threw up my arms to express my frustration. “I can’t change the past. What else can I do? Or say to move past this?”

  This time he was quiet so I used the opportunity to keep pushing. “There is no more marriage. No more Leo. No more lies and secrets, Jahmad. I promised you that before. Now it’s just us. And our son. That is what’s important to me.”

  I had to mentally repent even as the words left my lips. There were still a few lies between us. Among other things, whether he knew there was a question of paternity with my son. I sure as hell had to take that to my grave. And the money: Leo had given me plenty of it and since technically he had staged his death, that money was still tucked safely in my accounts. Like hell I would give that up. That would mean the whole arrangement would have been in vain.

  Silence had ridden with us to the church, and we soon became so engrossed in the pre-wedding preparations we hadn’t bothered, nor had time, to resume the conversation.

  I tried to bring my attention back to my father as he swayed with me on the dance floor, but thoughts continued to consume me.

  I glanced around, my eyes eager to catch Jahmad once more, but he had long since disappeared. I stopped my scan when I noticed a certain face appear in the crowd. I squinted through the dimness and distance, struggling to blink clarity into my vision. The face I couldn’t make out but the dress, I knew that dress. And the hair was the same, too much to be a coincidence.

  My dad spun me around, and I quickly angled my neck to catch another glimpse of the woman I thought I recognized. But by then, the Tina look-alike was gone.

  Chapter 2

  I knew Jahmad wanted to say something. It was evident in the way his jaw was clenched, the way his forehead seemed to be creased and those lips I loved remained frozen in something of a pout. Even as he kept his eyes trained on the road, his profile was stoic, and I knew whatever was on his mind rested on the tip of his tongue. But still he said nothing to me. I couldn’t tell if it was worry or anger, but either way, it was awkward as hell and making me fidget uncomfortably in the passenger seat.

  Funny. All during the reception I had been silently counting down until the clock signaled the party was over. I was in no mood for the ordeal, and all I wanted was to get home and snuggle up to Jahmad. The bridesmaid dress had called for the skimpiest of panties and maybe, just maybe, I could help him forget all about his little attitude as soon as we got behind closed doors. But now that the reception hall was fading in the sideview mirror, this stifling silence was making me wish we were back in the noise and laughter. Just something to fill the air besides this tension.

  A familiar scene began to play in my mind, and it was one I often lingered on whenever I felt distance between us. Jamaal had just been born, granted prematurely because of Tina’s crazy ass. She had tried to kill me when I’d found out she was behind the whole ordeal. Thankfully, Leo had saved me, and now, whether Tina was in jail, or dead, I didn’t give a damn. Leo assured me I wouldn’t have to worry about her anymore and I didn’t. My only concern was my son and his survival.

  But
despite the labor three months early, he had been born and was doing as well as could be expected for a preemie. Jahmad and I had visited the NICU together, and as we both stared down lovingly at the baby’s tiny figure in the incubator, he had slipped his arm around my waist and planted a gentle kiss on my forehead. “Thank you,” he had whispered, his breath tickling my cheek. He didn’t elaborate, and I didn’t question his soft words. I just savored the intimacy, because right then, it felt like we, all three of us, were going to be just fine.

  But that had been four months ago. My son was doing better, but I couldn’t say the same for me and Jahmad. And it was tearing me up more than I cared to admit. And now this damn quiet was damn near deafening.

  “I loved Adria’s dress,” I started. The words felt forced even as they left my lips, despite the sincerity of the statement. When Jahmad merely nodded, I sighed, struggling to mask my frustration. “You want to talk about something?”

  This time, he did speak. “Yeah. Just not really right now.”

  “I think we need to talk about ‘us,’ Jahmad,” I pressed. “It’s so awkward between us.”

  “You’re right. And we’ll talk. Later.”

  “Why not now?”

  “I have a lot on my mind,” he stated simply, and it was evident he was ready to end the conversation.

  I bit my tongue to keep from pushing the issue. Fine, he wasn’t ready to talk now. I could wait until we got home if that was the case.

  A phone’s ring pierced the air, a welcome disturbance to the strangled silence. My phone was on vibrate, so I knew it was Jahmad’s. He shifted, managing to steer the car with one hand while pulling the device from his pants pocket with the other. I tried to keep from staring as his eyes dropped to the screen, but I couldn’t help but notice the little flirt of a smile at the corner of his lips as he obviously appreciated the phone call from whomever. My frown deepened, even more so when he clicked a button and lifted the phone to his ear.

  “What’s good?”

  Now my ears were perked, trying my best to detect some sort of voice on the other end.

  Jahmad listened, and so did I. Nothing.

  “Glad to hear,” he said, a wide smile now fully planted on his lips. Damn, I had missed that handsome face. When was the last time he had smiled at me like that?

  “Sounds good. Let me call you when I get home.” The caller obviously agreed because with that Jahmad was ending the call.

  I waited to see if he would divulge anything about the mysterious call that had obviously lightened his mood. He didn’t. As if my mind was hell-bent on making the situation worse, a sudden image of Jahmad with Adria’s cousin Chantel dancing at the wedding played in my vision. Well, damn, he was back to his old ways. And here I was trying to give this man all of my heart and soul. And yet again he had me looking stupid.

  It was times like this I wished I could call Adria. She would be my logic, my voice of reason. She would talk me down from this threatening anger I knew was coming only from my own assumptions. I knew I was just jumping to conclusions, but, dammit, they were rational conclusions. Jahmad hadn’t always been the model one-woman man. And I would remind Adria that he had made a fool out of me before. Of course, she would be fair and put it in my face that I had done the same thing when I was with Leo. But what did I expect? My girl had always been Team Jahmad. So maybe it was best she was living and loving it up with my brother in some Buckhead hotel before their flight in the morning. Now I wouldn’t have to justify my feelings. I wouldn’t have to come to terms with the fact that, despite everything I had done, down to having a baby I really didn’t want at first, Jahmad just didn’t love me like I loved him. That shit hurt. I couldn’t face that part just yet.

  We pulled up to his brick townhome just as the rest of the night took over. My powder-blue Audi Q7, an upgrade from the Porsche Leo had given me, sat in his driveway encompassed in the dark with only a piece of light from the porch casting an eerie shadow on the windshield.

  Jahmad cut the engine off and waited, as if he wanted me to initiate. But, hell, I didn’t know what to say. I wanted to stay over, but perhaps that was too zealous.

  “So, you packed some clothes,” he asked as if reading my thoughts. My mood instantly lifted. I could already feel my body humming to life in anticipation.

  “Who says I need clothes?” I tossed him a sideways glance.

  To my disappointment, he shook his head. “Nah, we not getting all into that tonight.”

  “What?” Now I didn’t bother hiding my anger. Had he actually told me no? “Jahmad, I know you’re not serious.”

  As if in response, Jahmad climbed from the truck, and I quickly followed suit. Now I knew we needed to talk.

  “Jahmad, you really not going to address me?” I asked as soon as we’d stepped inside the living room.

  “I told you—”

  “Yeah, I know you didn’t want to talk about it.” I threw up my hands in exasperation. “Well, I really don’t give a damn that you don’t want to talk about it. You walking around here like everything is all good between us is not fair to me.”

  “I’m not walking around here like we good,” Jahmad said with a nonchalant shrug.

  “Okay, so clearly we’re not good. You know it too. So what is it?”

  Jahmad stared at me, and for a brief moment, I thought he would actually speak up. Actually have this conversation. Then he sighed and rubbed his hand over his head, an outward display of his stress. Well, damn his stress. I was pissed. Not to mention horny.

  “You’re right,” he said with a sigh. “We need to talk. And we will, Kimmy. But it’s late. I’m tired. You’re tired. And now is just not a good time. Not until I make some decisions.”

  My heart slowed as I took in his words. “Decisions?” I echoed. “About me?”

  “It’s late,” he murmured again. “Just sleep here and head back to your parents’ house in the morning.”

  It sounded like a pity invitation. Not at all like he wanted me to stay. I rolled my eyes at his comment. “No, I’ll just leave,” I snapped, snatching my keys from my clutch purse. “Wouldn’t want to put more on your mind.”

  “Kimmy—”

  “Just make sure you’re at the hospital tomorrow,” I said, snatching open the front door. “Wouldn’t want to disappoint me and your son.” I slammed the door on my words and stood on the porch, basking in the moonlight, the chilly air, and the heartbreak. I wasn’t even surprised when he didn’t attempt to come outside. His silence was loud as hell.

  The stark, white envelope rested on my windshield, underneath the wiper. I glanced around the darkened street, and over my shoulder at Jahmad’s house. I was alone. At least now I was. When had he come? How had he known where Jahmad stayed?

  I quickly snatched the envelope from the window and got in the car. I knew what it was. Leo had been sending me a check for $6,500 every month since my son had been born. Like clockwork. He would scribble “for child support” on each one. No, I didn’t believe Leo was Jamaal’s father—I take that back. I didn’t want to believe he was. But I had struggled to push that little uncertainty to the back of my mind. Because as I cashed and hid each check, I didn’t feel as much like some money-hungry gold digger if I knew there was a possibility my son was actually due this money with the Owusu blood pumping through his veins. But still, the checks had always been mailed without a return address to the PO box I had for Melanin Mystique. Always mailed. Certainly never placed on my car like a hand delivery.

  I glanced down both sides of the quiet street. Of course I knew Leo was alive. He had admitted to faking his death after finding out his first wife, Tina, was trying to kill him. But he had insisted he would stay away from me. I had told him that this thing with us was over. And he had walked away. But why, then, was he back now? Hiding in plain sight?

  I flipped the envelope between my fingers and noticed for the first time the handwriting. The words were enough to send chills down my spine and shut my eyes to b
lock out the increasing fear. “Tell my son hello. See you both soon. Love you.—Leo”

  Chapter 3

  A familiar feeling always seemed to settle on me when I walked these halls. I’m not sure if it was excitement, nervousness, fear, or, hell, a combination of all three. But each time I trekked down the glistening linoleum of the hospital, each time my steps brought me closer and closer to the NICU, a shred of panic would have me quickening my pace as if something might go wrong at any moment. I’m sure it was that lingering anxiety from when my son was born.

  Jamaal had emerged at only one pound and six ounces, a micro-preemie, the nurses had called him, and with good reason. His brown body was translucent and so tiny it was a wonder he was even alive at all. What made it worse, the doctor had initially said he only had a 50 percent chance of survival. And if—I still cringed even now at the obscure word—if he survived, he would probably be disabled. Jamaal’s lungs had been so underdeveloped he had to be put on life support, and his eyes were still fused shut. He had also suffered a brain hemorrhage during delivery.

  Those first few weeks were delicate, and with the collection of medication, infections, surgeries, and near-death scares, Jahmad and I found ourselves damn near living at the hospital, only rotating out with Adria and my parents at their insistence that we go home, shower, and pack more clothes. I often would return and find my parents’ heads dipped in prayer, gripping each other’s hands so hard their knuckles were white.

  “He’s a fighter,” my dad would murmur as worry creased my forehead and tears dampened my cheeks. “God’s got him.”

  But each day I found myself losing faith as I would look down at my baby hidden among tubes, machines, and wires, his tiny chest lifting with the assistance of his oxygen machine.

  But my dad was right. Finally, Jamaal started breathing and eating on his own, and he was taken off the heart monitor. In another week, he would be coming home. Sure, with a ton of medications and regimens, plus around-the-clock monitoring, but he was indeed coming home, and my excitement was growing for sure. Never had I considered myself the nurturing type. I was all about myself and my money. But from the moment my son came squirming into this world, it was like something changed inside of me. A good something. All that other petty shit didn’t seem to matter anymore. What mattered was that I did everything in my power to make a good life for Jamaal. Whether that was with or without a father.