Forever An Ex (22 page)

Chapter

Twenty-Nine

I
had every single window rolled down as I sped up La Cienega Boulevard heading north toward Sunset. I didn't have a convertible, but it sure felt like I did as the April breeze blew through my car.

Life was so good. My home, my family, we were all lined up, once again living in perfect harmony. And then on the other “Harmony” front—it seemed like life was working out there, too.

The day after I'd spoken to Harmony, I received a text from Quentin. It was very simple. Two words:
Thank you.
And I'd sent him back a smiley face.

Then the next day, I heard from Harmony:
Soror, I can't thnk u enough 4 bringing the happiness back n2 my life. Q & I r 2gther again, in a good place & I owe it all 2 u. Let's get 2gther soon. Call me.

My nonresponse to Harmony was my answer. I had handled this situation, and the way I'd calmed the waters, somebody needed to give me five snaps up.

But now that it was over, Harmony and I didn't need to be friends. She was my soror, but she was my ex's next and that made her ineligible for any kind of friendship. So there was no need to pretend that we were going to be anything more than we were. I was burning that bridge. My plan was never to be in touch with Harmony or Quentin again.

All I wanted now was happier times.

That's why I was heading up toward Sunset. To prepare for happier times.

This had all been Brock's idea. He'd come up with it two days ago when I was moping over my morning coffee about the only sad spot in my life—Christopher and Evon's wedding. Even though I'd put everything back together again, I couldn't shake Christopher's resolve to go away—and not have family with them.

That was when Brock had said, “Why don't we have a celebration waiting for Christopher and Evon when they come back?”

Before the entire sentence had left his lips, I was on it. I dashed up to my office, grabbed my iPad, and ran back to the kitchen. “What a great idea,” I finally said to him. Then I sat at the kitchen table ready to make notes, make calls, make plans.

And all of that made Brock hold up his hands. “Now, we don't want a big thing. You know how Chris is. Let's just do a little something. Right here. In the backyard, where we had our reception.”

As if having the reception here at our home was going to stop me from making this grand. “The backyard is perfect.” Then I opened up my browser. “The first thing I need is a caterer.”

Brock slipped into the chair beside me. “What about trying Rendezvous?”

At first, I'd scrunched up my nose.

“What's wrong? You love that place.”

“And that's where all of this stuff started. Now I have a bunch of bad memories.”

“Awww, come on.” Brock had laughed. “Are you telling me that you never want to go back to your favorite restaurant?”

Okay, my husband had a point there. Rendezvous was too good a place to give up because I'd messed up.

“If you don't want to do it,” Brock said, “I can drop by there one day after work and speak to one of the managers.”

“No, I'll call and make an appointment,” I told him.

That's what I'd done and that's where I was headed now as the wind whipped through my hair.

I used my drive time to turn over all the plans in my head: my mother was coming home, and my brother and his family would be with her. Christopher would be thrilled about that. I was still searching for some kind of theme for the celebration, and I was thinking that I might have to give the wedding planner a call. At least I could get something out of the deposit that I'd lost after the cancellation.

I pushed aside those thoughts as I slowed my car and signaled to move into the left lane. I'd have to make a U-turn at the next corner and then pull around to the front of the restaurant.

As I edged to the left, I glanced across the street to the front of Rendezvous, and then I slammed on the brakes. I frowned at first—there was no way that I could be seeing what I saw. It wasn't until the car behind me blared his horn that I drove a few inches, then made that illegal U-turn. But I didn't pull up in front of the restaurant. I eased my car over and stayed a few feet back.

And then my mouth opened wide.

Once again, there was Quentin and Jett.

And this time, they were in an embrace. And not a buddy-buddy brother-man hug. This time, there was no conjecture. This embrace was real.

And so was . . . the kiss. The kiss that came next. Their prolonged kiss. On the lips. Not friends. Clearly lovers.

“Oh, my God!”

I slipped down just a bit in my seat and willed myself to close my eyes. If I didn't see this, I wouldn't have to do anything.

But it was too late.

I saw everything.

Then Quentin slipped into one car, and Jett slid into the next.

And I stayed where I was watching, not believing, stone-cold shocked.

But then my shock began to dissipate and I was pissed. I was mad at everyone and everything. No one had listened to me. From Christmas straight through to this moment, I'd been called everything except crazy.

And now it turned out that I was the only one who'd seen the elephant in the room. I'd known it, and I'd been right.

All along, it had been in my gut.

I sat up straight and revved the engine. I'd have to reschedule my meeting with the Rendezvous manager.

There was something else that I had to do. Right now.

As I sped back down the boulevard, driving past everything that I'd just passed minutes before, I hit the Bluetooth on my steering wheel.

There were some calls I had to make.

Chapter

Thirty

I
was on my knees at the altar.

Even when I heard footsteps coming in behind me, I didn't move. I stayed with my head bowed, my eyes closed, finishing the last of my prayer to God.

I heard a creak and I knew it was one of my girls sitting in the front pew. But still I stayed right where I was because I wasn't finished, and I wasn't getting up from this altar until I was sure.

When I drove away from Rendezvous, I'd made a mad dash to my church. I mean, I drove like I was being chased, hardly stopping for red lights, slowing down only to make two calls—to Kendall, to Asia.

I needed to get to my church as fast as I could because I needed God to talk to me. Not like last time when I'd asked Him about Harmony. This time I needed Him to speak to my heart, and to make it plain.

And when I'd walked into this sanctuary, I'd felt nothing but peace. I knew I was going to get my answer today.

Behind me, I heard more footsteps, but this time the footsteps didn't stop. And after a couple of seconds, I felt the cushion beneath my knees dip a little. One of my girls had joined me on the altar.

Still, I stayed in place until I had nothing but calm, nothing but peace. Then I opened my eyes, held up my head, and looked at Kendall.

“Hey,” she whispered. “Is everything okay?”

“I think so,” I said, keeping my voice as soft as hers.

“Then why did you call?” I glanced over my shoulder. Asia had gotten up from the pew, and now she stood beside me.

I pushed myself up and Kendall did, too.

Asia said, “You sounded really upset.”

I hoisted my purse onto my shoulder. “I was, but then I came here.” I glanced to my right. “I came here and left it all on the altar.”

“Well, all right, then,” Kendall said.

As we started walking up the aisle toward the front doors, Asia asked, “So, I came all the way over here for nothing?”

I stopped moving, shook my head, and pointed to the front of the church. “You can always pray.”

“No thanks, I'm good. I prayed this morning,” Asia said as if there was a daily quota and she'd met it.

“Well, you still didn't waste your time because I'm taking the two of you to lunch.”

“What's the occasion?” Kendall asked.

“We're celebrating lessons learned.”

“And what lesson is that?” It was Asia's turn to question me.

“Something that your aunt told me. That I am not Quentin's savior.”

“Yeah, I remember when Aunt Beverly told you that. It was deep.”

“And I finally got it.”

“So, that's why you called us over here? Having me driving like a maniac?” Asia asked.

“I'm sorry about that. It's just that when I got here, I decided to go straight into prayer. And by the time you guys got here, I was already in it with God.”

“Well, then it's all good to me,” Asia said. “So, where are we going for lunch?”

My answer seemed to satisfy Asia, but Kendall gave me one of her long sidelong glances that let me know she knew there was more to my story.

“I'm taking you guys to Rendezvous.”

The way the two of them stepped back and looked me up and down, I had to laugh.

“Don't worry. I have a meeting there. I'm having a reception for Christopher and Evon when they get back next weekend and I'm going over for a tasting meeting. I'm a little late, but I'm sure they'll fit me in. And, I didn't tell them that I was bringing friends, but y'all don't eat much, so it should be cool.”

They laughed.

Kendall said, “Sounds like a good deal to me since it's free. I'll go into my office afterward.”

“Is Adolphe Baptiste single?” Asia asked. When I shrugged, she said, “Well, we'll soon find out.” She plopped her sunglasses onto her face, then bounced down the steps. “I'll see you over there.”

Kendall and I stood there watching Asia walk to her car. “Now, that's a sight I'm glad to see. After what she's been through, I wasn't sure she was going to date anyone again,” I said.

“Yeah, kids are resilient and Angel seems to be coming along, but . . .” Kendall paused and turned toward me. “You might be able to fool Asia 'cause she's so self-absorbed, but you can't fool me. What really happened?” she asked me.

If Kendall had met me before I got to the church, I probably would've told her everything. But once I bowed at the altar, I had such a strong feeling that I wasn't supposed to say a word. All I was supposed to do was pray and God would take care of it.

So all I said to Kendall was “It was something I saw, something that really bothered me, and something that I left at the altar.”

She nodded her head slowly. “So, you don't want to talk about it yet?”

I shook my head.

“Well, I understand that. You know I'm here if you ever want to talk,” Kendall said.

“This I know. And you know I'm here for you, right?”

“Hey!” Asia yelled out from her car window as she pulled out of the parking lot. “Are y'all gonna stand there all day or are we going to eat?”

“We're coming,” I said as Kendall and I finally walked down the stairs.

“Oh, and Sheridan,” Asia called out. “If I'm still hungry after this little taste testing, you can just take me over to Roscoe's. It's right down the street from Rendezvous.” Then she raced off.

Kendall looked at me, shook her head, then laughed. “I'm parked around the corner. I'll meet you over there.”

“Okay.”

She walked to the left and I walked to the right, but then I stopped for a moment and looked back at the church. I thought of all the prayers I'd sent up. Prayers for God's direction, prayers for Harmony, and most of all prayers for Quentin. I prayed for him harder than I did for everyone else.

Because that man didn't need my judgment; Quentin just needed my prayers. He needed to be untangled from all the lies that the devil had told him, so that he could tell the truth to everyone else, especially himself.

But this time, I wasn't going to say a word. I was just going to pray and pray and pray. And leave the rest of it to the real Savior.

Kendall Stewart

Tables Turned

Chapter

Thirty-One

I
shot straight up in bed!

Still panting, still trying to catch my breath. My eyes focused through the darkness and then I clicked on the lamp. I took a long sweeping glance through my bedroom.

There was no one there.

But there had to be. It felt so real.

My heart was pounding as I eased out of my bed. Even though I lived at the beach, I never turned on the heat. So right away the cool March air rushed me, wrapped around my bare legs, and crept all the way up to my butt since all I wore was one of my old UCLA T-shirts.

Feeling the chill didn't stop me, though. I tiptoed through my bedroom, then peeked into the hall. I moved through the entire cottage, clicking on all the lights along the way. I even turned on the light for the deck outside, lighting up the midnight black on the beach.

Now that my house was illuminated as if it were high noon, I could see for sure, there was nothing. No one.

D'Angelo was not in my house.

I leaned against the windowed wall that faced the beach. I could've sworn that he was here. D'Angelo was right in that bed with me. Really, he was. I could still feel his hands, and his tongue and his—

“Stop it!” I scolded myself.

It had to be all of that rich food that I'd tasted at Rendezvous with Sheridan today. From the collard greens quiche to the chocolate mint éclairs, that chef, Adolphe Baptiste, was the truth, but he had not done my body good. It had to be his fault that I couldn't sleep, or rather, that I couldn't sleep without dreaming.

By the time I went into the kitchen and set my old-fashioned teapot atop the stove, I had completely convinced myself that dreaming about D'Angelo was all because of Adolphe Baptiste.

That made perfect sense to me, though it didn't quite explain all the other nights when I hadn't eaten at Rendezvous and D'Angelo still stalked my sleep. D'Angelo Stewart, the man who shared my last name since he was the brother of my ex-husband. D'Angelo Stewart, a Compton legend, who'd long ago traded the streets of Compton for militia missions on the battlefields of Iraq. D'Angelo Stewart, the bad boy who had strolled, with all of that swagger, right back into my life three months ago on Christmas Day.

It was when we'd stood in the kitchen alone, cleaning up after our dinner, that D'Angelo and I had really talked for the first time in years . . .

“See, don't you wish you got out of here a couple of hours ago?” I'd said as I passed him a dish that I'd just rinsed off.

With the dish towel I'd given him, he dried. “Nope. I'm willing to work for that dinner that you and your dad just shared with me. I haven't celebrated Christmas like this in years. So, thanks for having me.”

“You don't have to keep saying that. We were glad to see you again. And anyway, I should be thanking you for helping me clean up all of this stuff. Dad's gonna have food for days.”

“No doubt about that,” D'Angelo said as he looked over at the containers that we'd just stacked on the counter filled with leftovers. “But what's up with washing dishes? I didn't know they made homes without dishwashers anymore.”

I laughed. “When this house was built, there weren't any dishwashers.”

“Yeah, but didn't a dishwasher just automatically pop up into every home back in the eighties?”

“Not for Edwin Leigh.” I chuckled. “You know I would've had a dishwasher installed in here for him years ago, but he just doesn't believe that a machine can clean a glass as well as a good old dishrag.”

“Your dad may have a point there.” D'Angelo paused. “Are you sure he's good? I mean, he looked kind of tired.”

I nodded slowly, thinking the same thing myself. My dad had just been diagnosed with breast cancer, so every time he grimaced, or sighed, or even yawned, my radar shot up. But I wasn't about to share that with D'Angelo. Anything that my father wanted anyone to know, he'd have to tell himself. “Dad's cool. Like you said, he's just tired. He'll lie down for a little while and then be back up again, probably ready for another piece of pie.”

“Cool.” D'Angelo nodded as I passed another plate to him. “So, it's a good thing that I stayed behind, then. Or else you would've been doing this all by yourself.”

I laughed. “And, I could've handled it.”

“I bet you could.” His voice was softer when he said, “Seems like you can handle anything. Seems like you've had to handle a lot.”

I knew where he was going with this. It was a complicated story worthy of being on the big screen. I'd been married to D'Angelo's brother, and then one day I came home from a business trip and found his brother, my husband, in bed with my sister. It had been so traumatic and tragic and I was sure D'Angelo wanted to hear every detail.

We'd cleaned all the dishes; now it was time for us to tackle the pots and pans. But I pushed aside the dishcloth for a moment and turned to my ex brother-in-law. For a moment I had to pause. The way D'Angelo's hooded eyes looked down at me . . . I held my sigh inside. Instead, I said, “I know you're curious about what happened with me and Anthony. What do you want to know?”

He shrugged. “Whatever you want to tell me.”

“Not much to tell. I found Anthony and Sabrina in bed together . . .”

“That's foul,” he said.

“And Anthony and I divorced because of that.”

“Just like that? No other drama? He didn't try to get back with you?”

“He tried, he lost. I said no. I filed the papers, I divorced him.”

D'Angelo nodded slowly. “But you and Sabrina have worked it out. Chillin' together like nothing's happened.”

“Don't let us all being in the same room without anyone getting cut fool you. Today was the first time I'd seen them in six years,” I told D'Angelo.

“You're kidding? I didn't know that. Well then, I'm sorry I ran them off.”

Turning back to the sink and away from his direct glance, I said, “It's not your fault that they decided not to stay.” That was all I was going to say about Anthony and Sabrina walking out before our big Christmas dinner under the guise that Sabrina, who was pregnant, wasn't feeling well.

I wasn't going to tell D'Angelo that I knew the real deal. I'd overheard my ex and my sister talking as they hid away in our old bedroom. Really, I guess it was more like I was eavesdropping, but whatever, Anthony had not been happy that Sabrina had contacted D'Angelo and invited him to our dinner. Anthony hated his brother; for some reason, he blamed D'Angelo for their parents' deaths, and Anthony told Sabrina that he would never sit down and break any kind of bread with him. So, they'd left, and to be honest, that made my Christmas better—with just me, my dad, and D'Angelo.

He said, “We come from quite a dysfunctional family. My brother hates me for something I didn't do and you hate my brother and your sister for something they did do.”

I shook my head. “You've got it all wrong,” I said. “I don't hate them at all. In fact”—I paused and thought about what I was going to say—“I've forgiven them.”

He looked at me for a long moment. “Well, then I guess you're ready to move on,” he said.

“Yup, already have,” I said as I scrubbed one of the pans.

“Good, then that must mean that you're free to go to the movies tonight.” When I tilted my head and looked at him like I didn't understand what he was saying, he explained: “You know there are a couple of movies that opened today; we can catch any one that you want to see.”

When I'd given D'Angelo that look, it wasn't because I didn't know what he meant. It was just that I could not remember the last time that someone had asked me to go anywhere. And I told him what I would've told anyone who asked me out. “Thanks, but no thanks,” I said.

D'Angelo leaned back like he was shocked. I guess my answer was probably a surprise. How many women ever said no to this man who looked like Denzel, if he'd been a jock. I had no doubt women were lined up, ready and willing to do D'Angelo's bidding. “Whoa,” he said. “I guess my brother and your sister did some job on you.”

Why did it have to be all that? Why couldn't it just be that I didn't want to go out with him? I guess for a man like D'Angelo, who wore his bad-boy-sexy like it was a cologne, the concept that a woman didn't want to be with him was difficult to grasp.

But I wasn't going to go there with him, so I just shook my head. “It's not Sabrina and Anthony. I told you, I've forgiven them. Plus, if the truth is told, Sabrina is much better for Anthony than I ever was.”

“Ah . . . you're a progressive woman.” He chuckled a bit. “But that still doesn't explain you saying no to me. You know, that doesn't happen much.”

I twisted my lips trying to hold back my smile, though that didn't work. “I can imagine. But I said no because I was never meant to be a wife.”

“Did I ask you to marry me?”

I laughed. “No, but . . .”

“Oh! I see what you're saying. Once a man goes out with you, he'll be so enthralled that he'll rush you to City Hall and by morning you'll be a wife.”

I snatched the dish towel from his hand, swatted his arm with it, then handed it back to him. “That's not what I'm saying. I just know that a date could lead to dating could lead to something more.”

“And you don't want the something more?”

“Exactly!” I said. “As much as Anthony and Sabrina were dirty for what they did, I should've never married your brother. He was in love with me, and I loved his business acumen. He wanted romantic dinners, and I wanted long planning meetings. He wanted a family and a future with me, and I wanted to open five spas and build an empire with him.” I shook my head. “To be honest, he wanted it to work, and I didn't.”

“Wow. It takes a grown-up to admit that.”

I shrugged. “But don't get it twisted, they were still foul! They should've at least waited for me to figure all of this out.”

He laughed. “So what happened to the house?”

“In Malibu? Anthony got it in the divorce, but I just heard today that they sold it.”

“Man! I know how much you loved that place.”

“I did. You found us the perfect home,” I said, thinking back to that time. Anthony and I had just married and D'Angelo had his hand in all kinds of ventures, including real estate. The house had been a surprise after Anthony had told him in passing that my fantasy home was anywhere in Malibu.

“Well, maybe I can do that for you again,” he said.

“Really?” I chuckled.

He nodded. “And if I do, will you go out with me then . . . ?”

The whistle from my teapot brought me back from Christmas, brought me back to the present and the beach cottage that D'Angelo had found for me just a few weeks ago. I jumped up, but now that the water was boiling, I didn't need any tea. I was ready to go back to bed.

This time, when I walked through my home that I loved, I turned out all the lights, and then I climbed back into my bed. It wouldn't take me long to fall asleep. Sleeping wasn't the problem. It was what went on in my subconscious after I was asleep.

But that was okay. It was only a dream. A dream that meant absolutely nothing to me.