Page 29 of Bodyguard My Heart

“Are you serious?”

He eyed me with a devilish smirk coating his face as he grabbed his crutches and pulled himself up from the bed before he stopped. Leaning down, he caught my lips. My mouth betrayed me and my lips parted, allowing his tongue to touch mine. He kissed me like this was the last we’d ever kiss again. As soon as it began, it ended. Demetrius pulled back with no words, just a shake of his head, his eyes burning a hole in my soul.

“When you ready to answer my questions, come holla at me. I’m going to shower. See you at breakfast.” He stood before hopping his crippled, petty ass out of the room.

8

Demetrius

“Don’t tell me you cooked all this for me, Gran.” I kissed my grandma on the cheek as I entered the dining area for breakfast.

“Don’t trip. I cooked it for Samara,” she replied. “We don’t get too many girlfriends around here.” She was setting the table and humming an old Haitian hymn I could never quite make out. It had been nearly a decade since I’d been here, and mostly everything still looked the same. It still gave me this strange sense of belonging.

“She’s my wife, Gran,” I corrected as I stared up at the mantelpiece and eyed my parents' old, tarnished wedding picture. They looked so happy in it. Their eyes were so full of love and hope for their lives together. It was a very different contrast to how I saw them growing up. By the time Polo and I came, my father was a busy lieutenant in the cartel, and my mother was a full-time, stay-at-home, exhausted mother.

“You said she was your ex-wife. Why you say that?” She swatted a dish rag at me. I’d said that shit earlier just to get a reaction out of Samara. Even if Samara had turned the divorcepapers in and our shit was final, in my eyes she would never be my ex-wife.

“It’s complicated, Gran.” I shrugged.

“Then uncomplicate it. You two having trouble?”

I stared at my grandmother. She didn't know how complicated Samara and I were. When I called to tell her I was married, I’d left out all that shit about it being fake. My grandparents didn’t know anything about my profession. They thought I owned businesses just like they thought my father did before he died.

“I’m trying, Gran.” I sighed. If I wasn’t doing anything else, I was trying. Samara had some walls on her that were hard to tear through.

“Fabian says she’s a nurse. Smart girl! That’s what you need.”

An instant pain shot through my chest. My cousin was gone due to a hit that was meant for me, and he wasn’t coming back. That shit was heavy, and no time seemed like the right time to break that to my grandparents. Fabian was all they had left of my aunt, and now he, too, was gone.

“Gran, Fabian is…”

“Here taste this.” She shoved a fork full of her famous cornmeal porridge in my mouth, making my words trail off. She was avoiding my bad news like she knew what it consisted of. I gave the porridge a good taste.

“That taste just like my mom’s, Gran.”

“Who do you think taught her? An American woman don’t know how to make cornmeal porridge.”

We shared a laugh before she turned to the doorway.

“Tan pou manje!” she yelled, announcing that it was time to eat. Grandpapa and Claude came running into the kitchen fast.

“I’ll go get Samara,” I announced as I turned on my crutches.

“Chita ou enfim tet ou. Sit yo’ cripple ass down. She’s already on the way,” Claude replied just as Samara entered the room.Her eyes immediately found mine and her lips turned up. If looks could kill, I would be as dead as a motherfucker. I watched as she strutted her pretty, thick ass to the other side of the table and sat down. I knew she was pissed about me stopping her orgasm, but hell, I’d stopped my nut too. It took everything in me to pull that Dyson vacuum cleaner that was Samara’s mouth up off my dick, but it was a sacrifice worth making.

Samara really thought she was gon’ keep benefiting from fucking a nigga and not accepting everything else that came with it. I didn’t chase women; they flocked to me, willing to give me any and everything that I wanted. But for the last six years I’d been running after Samara. I had my lil links on the side, but the more I slid up in Samara the less I wanted to mess around. I just wanted to openly love and cherish her for the rest of my life, even if I didn’t properly know how this love shit worked. I stared at her pretty ass from across the table as we all sat down to eat. She was trying not to look at me, but she kept looking up, stealing glances, showing all the feelings she thought she was doing such a good job tucking away.

“We have eggs and plantains, spaghetti and sausage, and my infamous cornmeal porridge,” Gran announced, mainly for Samara as she was the only non-Haitian at the table. Samara loved to try different types of foods, so I wasn’t worried about her not liking any of it.

“It all looks good, Gran. Thank you,” Samara replied.

“Let’s eat!” Grandpapa announced, and we all dug in without saying anything else. I took a few bites, but honestly, I ain’t have much of an appetite. My mind kept wandering to all the shit I had going on.

“D, I was thinking about moving to the States like Fabian. You think you can put me up until I get on my feet?” Claude questioned. The air sucked right out of my lungs. I glanced around the table at my grandmother. I couldn’t think of a bettertime than now to break this news to them. My eyes shot to Samara. She was staring at me, her chest heaving up and down. I felt her foot find mine under the table. It was a small gesture, but I appreciated it. She nodded and I took a deep breath.

“Fabian was in the car—”

“How do you like everything?” Gran interrupted. It was like she knew what I was about to say and didn’t want to hear it. I turned to her.