AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Chapter Twenty-One
Malcolm
No more crutches. There’s a cane riding shotgun next to me, but that’s way more pimp than crutches.
Kings use canes. So do rappers.
I’m a motherfucking king, so I’ll rock this bitch. My good mood carries me through freeway traffic and into Nala and Jordan’s parking lot. Red and I have a date to get the website up and running tonight. Unlike her Neanderthal boyfriend, I’m actually capable of learning and writing code, so I’m observing her closely. Not that I plan on being the one to update the website, because that’s what PR firms and managers are for, but before I give anyone power, I like to know I have the ability to take it back if need be.
Some people have referred to it as a God-complex. I’m okay with that.
I’m all but singing a fucking tune when I hop out of the truck, grabbing my cane and my laptop before slamming the truck door. Within the next few weeks, as the leg gets stronger, I might even start driving the Challenger again. Fuck do I miss my car and the way she roars.
Not even the fact that I’m slightly out of breath when I get to their floor ruins my good mood. It’s as if something has been removed with those crutches, like I’m suddenly a man again, a whole one—one capable of being strong. Call me an arrogant sexist, but I need to be stronger than the people around me; I’m wired to be the guy who defends, whatever the cost, and being on crutches the past couple of months has severely fucked with my identity.
Which, I can admit to myself, is one of the reasons I haven’t made a move on Nala. Hunter asked me a few weeks after New Year’s what was going on, why I hadn’t gone for it when it was clear Nala and I were back to not hating each other. I couldn’t explain then, because I didn’t understand it. I just knew it wasn’t the right time. But now, today, I know the answer. I wasn’t the right man—even yesterday.
Nala has been at the forethought of every move I have made in the last five years. Not coming home, coming home, leaving home, all of it with her in mind. Being here now, loving her now, I want to love her the first time with the best version of me, not the broken one.
I won’t be telling Jacks that, because however romantic his own relationship has made him, I refuse to become a pussy who wears my heart on my sleeve like my two best friends, however whipped I am.
My fist bangs on the outside of their apartment door. The door next to theirs opens. A preppy-hipster done up in a patterned button-down, fitted khakis, and weird dress shoes—complete with black-framed glasses—raises his brows in acan I help yougesture. I stare at him, giving him nothing for long enough that he clears his throat and looks away.
“You here to see Nala and Jordan?”
I nod, reaching out to bang on the door again so I don’t have to make conversation with Mr. Trendy. The door swings open before my hand makes contact, and it’s almost comical the way Nala and I stare at each other.
The air has left from my lungs, because we’re barely two feet apart and she’s wearing a tie-dyed shorts/shirt combination thingy, with straps so thin one twist would snap them off. The skin of her shoulders glows golden, pale tan lines crisscrossing this way and that in a natural tattoo, because she never has the same bikini on long enough for them to form a definite line.
Her hair is left loose, a band of white flowers wrapped around like a crown. Metal wrapped around stones drape over her neck in a beautifully chaotic display, dripping inside the plunging vee of her neckline, more glinting in her ears.
My ring sits alone on her pointer finger, her thumb and middle and ring fingers on each hand carrying two more rings apiece. All of these are on display because with one hand she is gripping the door, and the other is wrapped tightly around a small cloth bag in the same blues and whites as her outfit.
“Well, damn girl, you look hot.”
Shedoeslook hot, but I whip around and look at the douche from next door, about to rail into him and ask him what in the ever-loving fuck he’s still doing here, but then Nala thanks him, slipping past me until she is standing in front of him. My face must give away my shock, and rage, because douchebag Urkel grins and puts his arm around her shoulders, pulling her in for a stiff hug.
“Ready?” he asks. Nala nods, and then she looks at me.
“Jordan’s inside waiting for you, Mal.”
I don’t say anything, and I don’t turn around. Instead, I hold her in my sight while she disappears down the outside hallway and then the stairs, only more enraged when she looks back and gives me another small wave. When I finally do turn around, I forget about my cane, and I take two unsupported steps, tripping over the lip to the doorway and almost eating shit on their apartment floor.
“Wow, that was kind of brutal.”
I look up to see Jordan watching me. I think back to watching Nala walk away with some other guy, and I nod my head. “You have no fucking idea.” Then I blow out a breath, and throw my shit on the couch before scrubbing my hands over my face. “I’m gonna need a beer or ten before we begin, Red.”
She nods, pausing to touch my arm on her way past me. “You know why she went, don’t you?”
“Because she knows it tortures me?” I hazard.
Jordan rolls her eyes. “No, dummy, because she’s trying to prove to herself she’s okay with the fact that you don’t want her.”
“What the fuck does that even mean?” I try not to shout, butJesus. “Don’t want her? Of course I fucking want her. I can’t want anything else; there’s no room, only her.”
Jordan watches me rip off my snapback and run my hands through my hair, unfazed by my tone. “Then tell her,” she says, and it’s so fucking simple. “Tell her you want her, Mal, because that date?” Her head shakes back and forth. “It’s not for her. It’s not what she wants.He’snot who she wants.” And then Jordan’s own frustration leaks through, and her cheeks are pink. “So get it together, Brady, or you’re going to have no one but yourself to blame.”
+ + +
