All Up In My Business (34 page)

She’d sent articles about Adam’s shooting, and Shyla had devoured each one as soon as they’d arrived. In addition, she’d scoured the Internet, soaking up the news and trying to read between the lines to learn exactly what happened. Because try as she might, she couldn’t think of any reason someone would want to hurt Adam Livingston. Did it have something to do with Malcolm’s invention? she wondered. Or was it related to what Toussaint was doing on Food Network? Shyla repositioned her hat, took a sip of her virgin piña colada, and read the clip again:

“Ah, such an ugly frown on a beautiful lady. What are you reading that has you looking so sad?”

The waiter, who’d introduced himself as Marley, had befriended Shyla on her first day there. She’d welcomed the friendship. He was one of the few other Americans she’d met on the island.

“May I?” he asked, and sat down at the table once Shyla nodded her assent. “Okay, tell me what’s wrong.”

“Some bad news … from back home.” She shared a brief version of what she’d read. “He’s a rich, powerful man, and I’m sure he has his share of enemies,” Shyla concluded. “But I can’t imagine that anyone would go so far as to try and kill him! But this robbery story doesn’t make sense.”

“Why not?” the waiter asked

“Because the article says that neither his wallet nor car was taken. Adam drives an Escalade and is known to carry large amounts of cash. And nothing was taken? It doesn’t add up.”

“Well, sweetness, I say have another piña colada and soak up some of this Jamaican sun. The day is too beautiful and so are you to have this crime worrying that pretty little head of yours.”

“Thanks, Marley. You’re probably right.”

“Sure I’m right. Another drink, coming up.”

“Thank you, handsome. You always make me feel better.”

“That’s my job, baby.”

Shyla cocked her head, smiling at the tall, dark, kind man with the gorgeous smile. She’d felt a little rhythm between them and knew it was just a matter of time before they had sex. Maybe it would be tonight.

By the time Shyla had finished the expertly made piña colada, she reached for her purse. Marley was right—the day was too beautiful to have thoughts of robberies and shootings filling her head. She scribbled her phone number on the napkin and walked over to where Marley was busy wiping off a table. She placed a hand on his bare back, not missing the muscles that rippled as he worked. “This is for when you get off work” she said, slipping the napkin into his waistband. Without waiting for an answer, she walked away, not stopping until she reached the edge of the bar area. When she turned around to look, Marley was smiling.

“Will I see you later?” she asked with a smile.

Marley’s smile was equally wide. “Yeah, mon.”

T
he Livingstons gathered, en masse, in Adam’s hospital room. Ace sat in a corner, staring straight ahead. Diane sat next to him, rubbing his back. Their son, Jefferson, sat in the seat across from them, eyes red from exhaustion and from crying.

Toussaint stood by the window, looking out but seeing nothing. “Try and relax,” Alexis whispered, knowing the suggestion was pointless. But she felt so helpless at seeing the strain of the last week on her fiancé. She’d lain next to him while he tossed and turned, filled with thoughts of revenge against whoever had done this to his father. Alexis knew that he had been filled with fear, too, filled with “what ifs.” But no one had voiced those. There was no choice in what had to be the outcome. Adam Livingston had to live.

Malcolm looked up in time to see Toussaint turn and lean a heavy head on Alexis’s shoulder. It was a rare moment of vulnerability for the kid brother who’d stuck his chest out from the time he was two. The days had been filled with introspective thinking for Malcolm, since he and Victoria had reconnected and since he’d told Joyce that she could stay on as a partner with the Soul Smoker but that they would not share any type of intimacy—emotional or otherwise—again.

Toussaint had bested him in TV ratings, but due to demand,
Malcolm had tripled his next Soul Smoker production order. He was a selling sensation. They were both winners, had both achieved their goal. But what did it matter when none of that could help the man who lay on an operating table, fighting for his life?

He walked over and wordlessly put his arms around Toussaint. It was the first time these brothers had shared this type of hug in years. Not ones for affection between males, these brothers now pulled on the other’s strength and knew that no matter how strong their competitiveness ran, their love for each other ran stronger.

“You know, baby brother,” Malcolm began, “I’ve been thinking. It might be interesting to use the Soul Smoker as a giveaway item on your show. It’s a perfect item for those busy families you reach and would, you know, be a good promotional move for both the product and the network.”

Toussaint smiled. He knew what his brother was doing, and he was grateful for the opportunity to think about something else besides the prospect of his father dying, if even for a moment. “I was thinking that too,” he said with a nod. “A partnership between us.”

“We’d make an unstoppable team.”

“For sure. Especially with me as the leader.” Malcolm looked up and noted the twinkle in Toussaint’s eye. “You know big brothers rule,” Malcolm said, his voice catching.

“He’s going to pull through, isn’t he?” Suddenly Toussaint was three and Malcolm was five, and they’d just found out the ten-year-old family dog had failing kidneys.

Malcolm had been the strong one then. Now was no different. “He’s going to pull through, brother,” he said, hugging Toussaint again. “I just know it.”

Victoria, who’d been quietly praying in a corner, came over to where the two men stood. “I thought I’d go for coffee. Would you guys like some?”

Candace sat in a chair, her head in her hands. Ace and Diane’s daughter, Bianca, sat next to her, a hand of comfort lightly perched on her arm. Bianca was bewildered by what had happened and had been stunned since being pulled out of class in Paris and put on the next plane to Los Angeles. Now she sat in the hospital where her adored uncle was clinging to life. What puzzled her was why? His shooting made no sense. And her father. He’d been acting so strangely. Bianca knew that something was going on. She had a feeling that unlike what the news and the papers had reported, this had been no random act of violence. But who would want to hurt Uncle Adam? And why?

Suddenly the air shifted, and everyone looked up. Two older versions of almost everyone in the room walked in the door. Ace shot up and quickly crossed to the room Marcus and Marietta Livingston had entered. For the first time since Candace had called him a couple days before, he felt that things would truly be all right.

“Where is he?” the matriarch, Marietta, asked. “Still in surgery, Mama,” Ace replied, hugging her and then shaking his father’s hand before hugging him as well. “Come on, y’all. Sit down.”

“I still don’t understand what happened,” Marcus said, his deep voice gruff with emotion. “Somebody needs to help me understand why my son got shot.”

Ace’s explanation was interrupted when the doctor, obviously weary, entered the room. He was immediately surrounded by Livingstons wanting to know Adam’s status. “How is he?”

“What’s going on?”

“Is he going to make it?”

The doctor held up his hands, quieting the questions. “The surgery went well. There were no complications. That’s a strong man you’ve got back there. But somebody in here must have said their prayers too. If the bullet had been just another
half inch to the center, this would have been a very different outcome.”

“Is he awake?” Ace said, stepping forward. “Can I go see my brother?”

“I need to see him,” Candace said, her voice eerily quiet. “I need to know my husband is alive.”

“Well, I’m the one who saw him first when I birthed him over fifty years ago,” Marietta said, a touch indignant. “But I guess you should see him first, Candace. And then the rest of the family.”

“He’s very weak, so I want to limit this first visit to a couple people, for a couple minutes. You guys decide among yourselves who that is going to be.”

A few moments later, Candace, Ace, and Marietta walked hand in hand as they followed the nurse down the hall. All of them steeled themselves for what the doctor had warned them they’d see: a very bandaged, drugged Adam who might not recognize them.

A sob caught in Candace’s throat as soon as she saw her husband. She rushed over to his side. “Baby,” was all she could say before putting her head on the bed and crying.

A very weak hand brushed the side of her cheek. She looked up. Adam attempted a wink and then closed his eyes.

“Glad to see you back, twin,” Ace said, clenching his jaw to maintain his composure. “I don’t want you to worry about anything but getting well. Leave everything else to me.”

Adam turned his head, and when he opened his eyes, they bore into his twin brother’s.

Ace nodded, having clearly received Adam’s unspoken message. “Oh, yes, brother. We’ll handle the reason this happened. Don’t you worry none. As long as I have breath in my body, I vow we’ll handle this.”

A couple more comments and a light kiss to the forehead and the nurse shooed the family out of the room. Candace wiped away tears as they walked down the hall.

“It’s my fault,” she whispered to Ace, her voice again breaking.

“Shhh, don’t even go there. You don’t own a gun and you didn’t pull the trigger.”

“I know but—”

“But nothing,” Ace cut in. “Adam is going to need you to be strong. To help him recover. You keep your mind focused on that and let the men handle … that other stuff.”

The Livingston family gathered at Candace’s that night, all breathing easier now that they knew Adam would live. The clan had taken a hit, for sure, but they stood taller, stronger, closer than ever. As she surveyed her family room, Candace was overcome with emotion, with the knowledge of how special the Livingston love was that she’d taken for granted. What she’d almost thrown away for seconds of pleasure.

“He’s really going to be all right?” she asked Adam’s mother, who came up and hugged her.

“Baby, he’s a Livingston,” Marietta said, her voice filled with faith-fueled confidence. “He’s going to be fine.”

That’s right, he’s a Livingston
, Candace acknowledged. And so was she. That meant that not only would Adam survive, but so would their marriage.

T
he mood was much brighter as everyone congregated in Adam’s hospital room. There was even laughter after Marcus, the patriarch, made a teasing comment about Victoria’s cooking. The door to Adam’s room opened, and when all eyes turned and saw who it was, the laughter stopped.

“Who are you?” Candace demanded. “This is a private room. You have no business here.”

Toussaint rushed forward. “It’s okay,” he said to the woman who stood just inside the door. “This is Chardonnay, Mama. She works at the Buckhead location. She’s the one who found Daddy …”

“Yes, now that you mention it, I do recognize her. Sorry, Chardonnay, I’m not thinking clearly.” Candace stood. “I want to personally thank you for calling nine-one-one and saving my husband’s life. It’s rare for anybody to be there at that time of night. Thank God you found him.”

Various thank-yous and accolades were heard around the room. “I’m curious, Chardonnay,” Toussaint said. “What were you doing there that night? I don’t remember ever seeing you at corporate.”

Chardonnay shifted from one foot to the other. There was no way she could tell them the reason—that she’d heard rumblings
about a bankruptcy and had planned to sweet-talk the guard into letting her up in the offices. She’d been determined to find out if that was true and if it was, to get out while the getting was good. What she’d found instead was much more than she’d bargained for.

“And how did you get back here?” Candace probed. “We gave very specific instructions that only family members be allowed in this room. It’s not personal, Chardonnay. We appreciate what you did. But we’re discussing private matters and—”

“Yeah, well, I told them I was a cousin, because I need to be a part of your discussion.” Chardonnay’s voice dripped with attitude—being dismissed from the room of the man whose life she’d saved.

“Excuse me?” Malcolm asked, rising from his chair.

“Chardonnay, watch your tone,” Toussaint warned. “That’s not only the wife of the man who signs your checks, but also my mother.”

“Young lady,” Marietta Livingston began, her voice filled with seventy-something years’ worth of don’t-start-none-won’t-be-none. “I don’t know who you think you’re talking to, but we’re discussing family business. So unless you’re a Livingston—”

“I know who shot Adam.”

It was as if time stood still in the room. Nobody moved or breathed.

“Who?” Ace finally asked, although he believed he already knew the answer.

Chardonnay hesitated in giving her answer. She didn’t think there was any tactful way to exchange information for money, but that is exactly what she was planning to do. “I’m risking my life by telling you what I’m getting ready to tell you. How much is this information worth to you?”

“And how much is your living worth to you?” Toussaint growled, his steps deliberate, menacing as he walked toward
her. “Because you’re risking your life if you
don’t
tell us. Now, out with it! Who shot my father?”

One look at his face and Chardonnay knew Toussaint was serious. She knew when to back off, and did. “Quintin Bright.” Candace gasped. “Oh, no!”