Page 47 of Session 33
I knew I shouldn’t. Angel was pregnant, and anything could happen. But the allure of escaping my current reality, even for a little while, was tempting. “I don’t know, Ciara. Things are different now.”
She leaned in closer. “Just think about it. It would be good for you to get away, clear your head. Besides, you know you want to.” She gave me a seductive grin.
My phone vibrated again in my pocket. But as I looked at Ciara, I found myself wanting to go back to that time before everything bad happened.
“Okay,” I said, the word slipping out before I could stop it. “I’ll come to Miami.”
I might as well. I had already fucked up.
Chapter thirty seven
I hadn’t found it strange that Cassius never invited me over to his house. We were still figuring things out between us, and I knew his place held bad memories for him. I didn’t push. But standing there now, with Naomi by my side, the reality of the situation hit me. I didn’t know a lot about the man I was about to have a whole baby with. I’d fucked up and knew better before I fucked up. I hadn’t heard from him in three weeks. His voicemail was full, and texts went unanswered. I was starting to worry. Jonas and Naomi were worried too. Even Silas, who I didn’t trust but knew Cassius had history with, claimed he hadn’t seen him.
The house was big, almost too big for the neighborhood. Across the street was a meat store, and a few blocks away, the projects. Next door, a group of old Black men were already drinking, even though it was barely noon. His house was a castle in the hood. Seeing where he came from made who he was make sense.
Naomi gave me a look I couldn’t understand before unlocking the front door. I hesitated but eventually stepped inside. The familiar scent of Cassius hit me immediately—something that had always made me feel at home but now felt strange and out of place.
Naomi didn’t care that we weren’t invited. She started moving through the house, calling his name. I stayed in the living room, trying not to focus on anything too much. I didn’t want to see what he didn’t want to share. But my eyes landed on a picture of a man who looked a lot like Cassius, just darker-skinned, mixed race. Cassius had never talked much about his race, but I kind of knew.
The house was filled with modern furniture and electronics, all dark—a bachelor pad, for sure. It felt more like a place to crash than a home. No wonder he didn’t stay there. Naomi came back down the stairs, shaking her head.
“He’s not here,” she said, turning off lights I hadn’t noticed were on. “Come on, let’s go.”
We headed out to the garage, where three foreign cars and an SUV sat inside. The Dodge Charger was gone.
“Let’s ride past the hotels he likes and see if we spot his car,” Naomi suggested.
My heart dropped at the thought. Was he alone? I was still mad, but I loved him, still wanted him. The idea that he might have moved on fucked with me as we drove around, checking every hotel parking lot she could think of. But we didn’t find him anywhere.
As we drove past Keisha’s place, I held my breath, praying I wouldn’t see his car there. But it wasn’t. Naomi reached over and squeezed my hand.
“We’ll keep looking after Jonas and I get back from the ceremony in D.C.,” she promised.
When I got home, I was exhausted. I took a long, hot shower, trying to wash away the stress and worry. But when I climbed into bed, sleep didn’t come easily. I tossed and turned, my mindracing. Eventually, I drifted off, only to be jolted awake by sharp pain in my stomach.
I fucking freaked out. I didn’t want anything to happen to my baby. I grabbed my phone and tried calling Cassius, but there was still no answer. Tears welled up in my eyes as I dialed 911, my heart racing with fear. Naomi and Jonas were out of town. I felt so alone.
The paramedics arrived quickly. The ride to the hospital felt like it took forever. Every bump in the road made me wince, and I couldn’t stop imagining the worst. Was the baby okay? Was I about to lose him? Fucking Cassius should have been there to support me, us.
When we finally got to the hospital, they rushed me into a room. Nurses moved around me quickly, hooking me up to monitors, checking my blood pressure, asking more questions. I was lying there, trying not to panic, when I heard the steady thump of the baby’s heartbeat through the monitor, and I calmed down.
One of the nurses gave me a small smile. “Everything looks good so far.”
The ER doctor came in not long after, reading the charts and examining me.
“You’re experiencing Braxton Hicks contractions,” she said. “It’s false labor, which is common at this stage in your pregnancy. Your body is just preparing for the real thing.”
Relief washed over me, but it didn’t completely erase the fear that had gripped me. After I was released, I was about to call an Uber when my phone buzzed. It was Solomon. He must have sensed something in my voice because he asked me what was wrong. I told him, and he insisted on coming to get me. He had been checking on me once in a while since the day Cassius showed his ass outside the restaurant.
“I’m fine, Solomon,” I tried to assure him. “I’m just tired.”
“Angel, let me help you. Please,” he insisted.
I was too exhausted to argue, so I agreed. I didn’t even care that I looked a complete mess in pajamas that had been washed so many times the thread was thin and see-through, and my hair was matted to my head.
Solomon pulled up twenty minutes later. He got out of the car in gym clothes; he smelled good, like expensive cologne and sweat—musky, manly. My mind didn’t have any business thinking about it.
I must have fallen asleep in the car because the next thing I knew, I was waking up on my sofa. I barely remembered him helping me into the house. The house smelled good—like food. I sat up, groggy and disoriented, to find Solomon in my kitchen looking like he belonged there.