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“I don’t know. We obviously need to make a decision, because it’s not safe for us to be this close.”
“What does that mean?” She adjusts herself, tightening her grip in an attempt to comfort herself.
“Lana, you know us. You know our pattern. You and I are incapable of being around each other without falling into another routine.”
She sniffs, and I see her tears before she tilts her head down and her hair tumbles to hide her face from me.
“You said today you are falling out of love with me. Is...is there...” She stops, starting to cry, and I want to comfort her, but I just can’t. We’re alone, vulnerable and in bed—a deadly combination. “Is there still a little of me somewhere in your heart?”
I shake my head, choosing my words wisely. If I say too much, it will invite her back in, but if I say too little, she will spend the night broken. I may be standing my ground, but I’m not a total prick. “Lana, I will always love you, but if we stay together, at the rate we’re going, I won’t be able to stay in love with you.”
“I don’t blame you. I don’t,” She admits, letting her legs go and climbing under the covers. Her response isn’t what I expected. I was convinced she was going to snap. She scoots to the very edge of the bed, putting distance between us and turning her back to me. “Goodnight, Kingston.”
My mouth unhinges and I try to say something, but nothing comes out. Did she really not argue? Did she not try and guilt me? I reach over and turn off the lamp.
I cough through the thick cloud of emotion in my throat, “Night, Lana.”
The room grows quiet like the night, and I lie there listening to the sounds of her crying, my heart aching to make it right.
Two Weeks Later
“Dad, hey, what’s up?” Picking up the phone, I answer my dad’s third call this week. Ever since he found out I have been staying with Shay and Trey, just to get some distance from Lana, he has been on me. Constantly worried I’m gonna lose it. Trust me—I want to, because I feel like a walking zombie, pushing through the motions every day, not really living, more so just existing.
“What are you up to today?” His deep voice comes through the line as I pay for my coffee at the café just down the street from the studio.
“Um, I just finished up an early morning session with Ben, and now I’m headed to therapy. Why, Dad?” I call him out, pointing out his hovering.
“Is Lana going?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t talk to her this week, except for when she drops Prince off.” Lana went to the last two sessions, but it’s been bare minimum effort on her part. She hasn’t, however, put up as much of a fight when she lets me have Prince for a few hours a day, which has been nice. Still, I hate not being able to just spend any time with my son when I’m not working. The reality that this is slowly becoming our life has sunk in, and it’s pitiful.
“Son, please, work this out,” He huffs, sounding like me when I feel defeated. Dad says this to me each time we speak on the phone. He doesn’t get it. He isn’t in our home everyday. He sees the façade Lana puts on, the face she wears around others. It’s not that easy.
“Dad, I gotta go. I’m already cutting it close to the appointment. I’ll call you tomorrow, okay? Please stop worrying.” I step onto the street and make the small journey two blocks down to the therapist.
“I can’t, son. It’s easier said than done. One day, with Prince, you’ll understand.”
“I know and I love you, Dad, but I gotta go.” I dodge his words.
“I love you too. Talk to you later, bud.” Hanging up the quick one-minute conversation, I put my phone in my pocket, ignoring the tenth private message from Hilary today. After that night, I realized how wrong I had been to even entertain her, and I haven’t spoken to her since.
Riding the elevator up, I take a few sips of my coffee and watch the electronic numbers light up above the door. With a ding, the door slides open and I see the backside of the sexiest woman alive. Tiny, subtle, womanly curves covered in skinny blue jeans, along with a black, silky, loose tank top and shoulder-length curly hair. I sip my coffee to keep from biting my
lip. Lana hears my arrival and turns to face me. She did her makeup today, looking a little more like the old Lana.
“Hey, you came,” I acknowledge. She smirks, nodding without a reply. “Were you waiting to go into the suite?”
“Yeah, I didn’t want to go alone.” This floor is made up of smaller offices, ranging from a law firm to a therapy office; it’s like a strip mall of businesses inside.
“Let’s go.”
Walking in, Dr. Moore’s secretary greets us and lets us know she’ll be ready in ten minutes. Taking a seat on the light pink couch sitting against a gray wall, much like the one in Dr. Moore’s office, we wait.
“What kind of coffee did you get?” she questions, gesturing toward my cup.
“Black coffee with two sugars and whole milk,” I reply with a small smile.
“Can I have a sip? I have a killer migraine. Caffeine might help.”
