4
A brain in her head, ambition in her soul, and far more self-respect . . .
Carissa—Monday, May 23—2:46 p.m.
It had been a few hours, sixteen phone calls, half a sandwich, and a generous glass of wine since I’d been ambushed onstage at Havenwood. In that time, I’d spoken to family, friends, the mayor, half the town council, and almost everyone I’d ever passed on the streets of Belle Haven. My home phone was unplugged and I became really comfortable letting my cell phone calls go to voice mail. That “ignore” feature was a miracle of modern science.
I sat at my kitchen table and enjoyed the relative calm before the upcoming storm. The past few hours should have acted as a cooling-off period, soothing my nerves and giving me some perspective. But it was not enough time to prepare myself for the imminent arrival of Malachi Knight.
Malachi Henry Knight. The only man I’d ever really loved and the only one who I’d thought really loved me back, ever since I was fifteen years old. We had broken up and gotten back together more times that I cared to admit. At last count, maybe . . . eight times? Not sure; some of the breakups were just breaks. There was one semester where we were sort of broken up until he realized that meant I could see other people too. He showed up on the Howard campus during pledge week and announced in the middle of the quad, “This is my woman. Touch her, and me and my boys are coming for that ass.” That took care of me seeing other people for a while. The men at Howard were brave—bold, even—but not stupid. Who wanted to take on the front line of the LSU Tigers because of one semi-cute ex-cheerleader? Malachi 1, Men of Howard 0.
Think the ladies of LSU afforded me the same respect? Hell no. For as long as Mal and I had been together, there was always a contingent of thirsty-assed women trying to get a long good sip of Knight water. For a little while, we’d had an unspoken rule: As long as we were apart and his “extracurricular activity” was not in my face and I didn’t hear about it, so be it. I wasn’t naive enough to believe that Malachi was staying faithful and true to me while he was in Baton Rouge and I was in DC, but later, when I packed up and moved to Houston, I expected—no, I demanded—a cease and desist of all nefarious shenanigans with other women.
To this day, I don’t know for sure if he cheated. But he damn sure didn’t act like a man with a fiancée. And that was just problem number one. Number two was his tunnel vision about winning a Super Bowl. Nothing was as important—not me, not our wedding (that kept getting postponed), not our future, nothing. Number three was the fact that he didn’t want me to work because that would “look bad” to his teammates. And number four, the killer, was what fame, stardom, and the NFL lifestyle had done to Mal. He became a persona—no longer my sweet best friend Mal, but “MALACHI KNIGHT, NFL Superstar!” His very presence was punctuated by exclamation points. There was nowhere we could go and nothing we could do without people wanting to be dazzled by him, and he was happy to oblige. This still could have been okay; I could have worked around it . . . except that he started believing his own press. When he was on that field, he was larger-than-life Number 84. When he was at home, I needed him to be just my man. But he couldn’t or wouldn’t be just Mal. He didn’t know how or he didn’t like to turn it off, at times treating me like more of an accessory than a future life mate. As he grew, I shrank.
Living together was a period of adjustment for both of us. But I wanted and needed a life outside of being the future Mrs. Number 84. He wanted and needed me to be the obedient little woman who didn’t make waves, ask questions, or slow his roll. I put up with it for five years, telling myself that this was what it took to be with him. And wasn’t it worth anything to be with Mal?
I’d known Mal almost all of my life and had loved him since high school, before I even knew what love was. In spite of any other ambitions I had for myself, my primary life goal had been marrying Malachi Knight, having two or three kids, and living happily ever after. Through all the suspected other women, the neglect, and the attitude, I still believed in my heart of hearts that he was worth it. This was Mal, after all. The guy who’d held me when I cried over my father’s callous indifference, encouraged me to go to Howard when I would’ve followed him to LSU, and been my best friend for as long as I could remember. All of my best memories to that point were wrapped up in Mal. No matter how unhappy I was, I knew that one day our life was going to turn back into the fairy tale we were destined to live. I was proven wrong when it all came to a head the night after his first playoff win.
I was waiting for Mal in the players’ parking lot beside his new Mercedes. We had plans to meet Taylor and Mac as well as Ruby and her husband, Renard, at our favorite little Cajun spot near the Galleria. They had all come to town for the game. I was so excited about the win and proud of his performance that night. He’d caught ten passes for over one hundred yards and scored twice. It was a career night. I didn’t mind waiting because I was positive he was swarmed with press. Mal was worth the inconvenience and the wait.
The sun had set and a breeze had kicked in from the east when I realized that it was getting late. The parking lot emptied out one car at a time and still I stood waiting on him. Finally, I sent a text. Hey All Star, I’m waiting. You almost done?
He sent a text back almost immediately. Went out with some of the guys. C U L8R.
I stood there staring at the phone in disbelief. He knew we had my friends and family in town but chose to go hang out with some teammates without letting me know? Really? I decided to give him the benefit of the doubt. I texted back. We have plans with Belle Haven peeps. Meet us at the restaurant?
He wrote back. Can C them anytime. Make my excuses.
I pressed the icon to dial him. I needed to hear this from his voice. The phone rang twice and then went to voice mail. Since he had texted me less than thirty seconds before, I knew this meant he’d hit the IGNORE button. I dialed three more times and the same thing happened. I leaned against the car and let that sink in. The love of my life, my future husband, my MAN had hit the IGNORE button so he could hang out with guys he saw every day.
I sent a text. R U srsly not answering?
Ris, can’t argue now. This is important.
So is this.
We just won.
I know. I was right here supporting U and watching U like always. R U coming?
I’m not coming.
Wow.
Grow up & live outside my shadow 4 1 nt.
Something inside of me cracked right at that moment. Broke everything I thought and believed into jagged pieces inside of me. He wanted me to live outside his shadow? I never asked to be in it. This was what our life was going to be about? I sat around looking cute, waiting for him to come home, and planning for a wedding that never happened while he hung out with his boys and did God knew what?
Okay, I reasoned, maybe I should have made my growing unease and displeasure clear a long time ago. Maybe I shouldn’t have let it get this far. But enough was enough. I worshipped him and he disrespected me? Hell no. He may have been MALACHI KNIGHT, but I was Carissa Wayne, by God. Former valedictorian, prom queen, and winner of the Beleiux County Fair Beauty Pageant for three years in a row. I was a beautiful, degreed black woman with a brain in her head, ambition in her soul, and far more self-respect than my day-to-day existence reflected. I was not one of Malachi Knight’s damn groupies. What I was, as of that very moment? Done.
“Are you okay, Mrs. Knight?” the security guard called out and headed toward me. He was ready to go home and I was holding him up. I waved at him to let him know I was okay and dug in my purse for the keys to Mal’s car. Mrs. Knight, my ass, I thought angrily. I drove to the restaurant on emotional autopilot. My friends and family took one look at my face when I entered the dining area and it was instantly evident to them that something had gone wrong.
“Where’s Mal?” Ruby asked with alarm, searching the space behind me for my absent fiancé.
I laughed shortly. “Out with the boys, I guess. He says he wants me to stand outside of his shadow for one night.”
Taylor gasped. “The hell?”
Mac sucked his teeth. “That boy has lost his damn mind.”
Ruby went right to the heart of the matter. “What do you want to do, Rissa?”
What did I want? That was a damn good question. I took a deep breath and really thought about it for a second. Immediately, the answers popped into my mind. “I want to leave Mal. I want to go home. I want to go back to school. I want to go back to being about the business of Carissa Wayne and I want to do it tonight. Right now.”
They all exchanged glances as if they had known this moment was coming. Renard was the first to stand up. “Let’s go get started.”
Four hours later, when Malachi strolled into our Tuscan-style, six-thousand-square-foot home in Hunters Creek Village, I’d already sent six suitcases and four boxes ahead with Ruby. Two additional suitcases were in the trunk of the car. I’d turned down Mac, Taylor, and Renard’s offer to stick around and kick Malachi’s ass. I was sitting in the den in the dark with my overnight bag and my purse.
“Mal,” I said quietly from the plush navy wingback chair I’d lovingly designed and custom ordered for this room.
He spun around at my voice. “Hey babe. What are you doing up? You didn’t have to wait up for me.”
“Yeah. I got that. I wasn’t waiting up. I was waiting to leave.”
His brows shot up. “Leave?” He spotted the suitcase at my feet. “Where are you headed? It’s the playoffs!”
If I’d had any doubts about leaving, that did it. “It’s the playoffs for you. For me, it’s just another long lonely winter.”
He rolled his eyes. “Oh, here we go. Here’s the ‘how Mal done Rissa wrong’ song.”
“Nope, no tunes left to sing. I’m going home.”
“To Belle Haven?”
I stood up. “Yes.”
“For how long?”
I slid off the seven-carat, emerald-cut canary diamond ring I had never liked and set it on the coffee table. “Forever, I guess.”
“Just like that? After all this time? ’Cause I wouldn’t hang out with your crew tonight?”
“Mal, if you really think I’m leaving because you were an insensitive ass tonight, you are further out of touch than I thought.”
“Come on, Rissa. I’ve had a long day. Let’s get some sleep and talk about it in the morning.” His eyes searched mine and he held his hand out, expecting me to take his in acquiescence.
I slapped my hand down on the arm of the chair in exasperation. He still didn’t get it. “What happened to the guy who refused to let us go to sleep angry with each other? What happened to the guy who drove all night to come see me and make sure I was okay because I was a little homesick? What happened to the guy who said he was happiest when I was happy? Where has that guy gone? Where was he tonight?”
“Babe, I’m right here. I love you. You know me.” He lowered his voice and stepped toward me. It was his BCTB (Baby Come To Bed) voice. It usually worked on me. A few words in that voice, a kiss here, a touch there, and I generally melted like butter. Not this time. The stakes were too high. Enough was enough.
“Malachi. Don’t. You’re not hearing me! You’ve become someone I don’t know, don’t like very much, and can’t remember why I loved. You’ve taken me for granted and I allowed you to. We’ve been engaged for six years. Six years!? That’s ridiculous. I gave up my life, my career, and, well . . . me! I’ve been trying to be someone that I thought you wanted and it turns out that you don’t really care that much about who I am. I’m like your car or this house or one of your big shiny watches. If this is how you love me, I do not want. It’s enough. I’m done.”
Something in my rant finally registered with him and he understood how serious the situation was. He clicked on one of the floor lamps and took a second to really look at me. Astonished, he blurted out, “You’re seriously walking out now. Tonight. With everything I have going on?”
“Okay. You still don’t get it. For once, Mal, it’s not about you. It’s not about the playoffs. I’m done and I’m leaving. Oh, and I’m taking the new Benz. I’ve earned it.”
He assessed me silently as if to see whether I was sticking to my guns or backing down. “You’re going to regret this.”
I smiled humorlessly, stood up, and picked up my overnight bag. “No, I won’t. Or hell, maybe I will. Either way, it’s done. I’ve spent enough time regretting decisions. You, however? You’re going to miss the hell out of me, Malachi Knight. I’m sorry I won’t be around to see you figure out that football is not your whole life; it’s just the way you pay for the rest of it.”
“Football is everything. You never understood that for me.”
“I know you better than you know yourself. You never understood that football is for now. Marriage and family is forever. I want the forever. I wanted it with you. It’s what you promised me and I shouldn’t have to beg for pieces of it.”
He raised his hands in agitation. “No one is stopping you from having your perfect forever! You can have all of it. We’ll get married, have kids, you can teach, buy that old house in Belle Haven you’ve always wanted. We’ll do all of it. Just give me a little more time,” he argued.
His actions had spoken louder than these words I’d heard before. “You’ve had plenty of time and it hasn’t helped. You realize you didn’t answer my phone calls tonight? That’s what we’ve become. What I am to you. I’ve become so disposable to you that you can hit the IGNORE button three times in a row, knowing you left me standing in a dark parking lot waiting on you. And for what?”
He smacked his thigh in frustration. “What was the big damn deal? You were safe. I was hanging out with some of the guys; we were talking football.”
“Good for you. I hope that football keeps you warm at night,” I snarled.
“I don’t think my nights will be that chilly. I doubt I’ll have a problem with that,” he said in a silky voice that set my teeth on edge.
“Oh yeah? Thanks for making this easier.” I decided I needed to just walk away, before we got really nasty with each other and said things we could never take back. Without another word, I turned and walked away from the only man I’d ever loved. I remember walking out to the garage and willing him to come after me. I remember sitting in the car and taking my time putting my key in the ignition and starting the engine. I even backed out slowly thinking he would come after me and fix this. Sitting behind the house, I saw the upstairs lights go out. That was that. I drove away without another look back.
I was jolted out of my morose walk down memory lane by the sound of a car pulling into the driveway. I glanced at the clock on wall. It was past three p.m. Looking out the window, I saw Mal climb out of a blue SUV and stand staring at the bright red Benz that I still drove. The license plate no longer said “1Knight,” but everything else about that car was in the same pristine condition as the day I drove it home from Houston. Like I said, I’d earned it.
Before he could catch me looking, I checked him out. Dammit, he still had that sexy thing going on. He looked good—a little heavier but good. He was in a blue T-shirt with khaki cargo pants. He’d always reminded me of a jungle cat, all coiled energy and deceptive nonchalance. Dangerous and compelling, with the ability to pounce at any time. I was in no mood to be prey to his predator.
With a sigh, I pushed away from the table and looked down. I had changed out of that tragic outfit that was destined to appear on TV. I was in a flattering teal peasant shirt with a colorful broomstick skirt. My hair, though not fully recovered, was down in waves and held off my face with a decorative scarf. I had on bright dangly earrings and cute sandals. I was not sure when and where the cameras would be rolling, but I was determined not to be caught looking quite that raggedy again. It was one thing to be overweight, another to be a sloppy mess about it.
Glancing out the window again, I saw Mal walking around to the back of the property. What was he doing? With no small irritation, I walked through the shotgun-style house to the back patio. Pushing the door open, I leaned out. “Are you casing the joint?”
He was kneeling near the entrance to my gazebo where my roses grew. He looked up from the fragrant blooms. “Are these my mother’s roses?”
“Yes.” Val Knight was a renowned gardener. Just because her son had turned into an idiot was no reason I couldn’t stay friendly with her. Two summers ago when I’d bought the house, she came over with some bare root roses from her garden. They were the first things I planted in the yard. The rest of the backyard might have morphed into an overgrown jungle, but my rose garden around the newly painted gazebo was perfection. There was charm and fragrance and color in abundance.
He stood slowly, brushing off his pants. “So you still speak to my mother.”
I nodded. “Your father and Meshach as well.”
“Just me that you ignore?”
“Did you have something you wanted to say?”
“Maybe I did. Maybe I do.”
“I’ve been right here, if you were really looking.”
“Maybe I wasn’t ready to have this conversation. You’re grown up, you could’ve called me.”
“Phone works both ways, Mal.”
“Are you being evasive?”
I smiled evilly. “I learned from the best.”
He crossed his arms with a sigh. “Okay, let’s have it out.”
“Have it out?”
He dropped his arms and strolled toward the porch. “Clearly you have some issues to work through. Some beef with me. Let’s work it out before the cameras start rolling.”
I laughed. “I don’t have any issues. I said what needed to be said five years ago. If you’d like to discuss this show you’ve hoodwinked me into doing, then by all means. Please come in.”
“Hoodwinked? Really? So you’re still just the victim and I’m the evil puppet master, huh?”
“Mal, seriously. You don’t have that kind of power over me anymore. Clearly, you want to do this show for some reason and I’m your ticket to making it work. So if you want to make nice, now’s your time to do it.”
He brushed against me as he entered the house and looked down as he walked past. “Oh, I think we have quite a bit of unfinished business, Ris. And one thing I’ve always been good at? Making nice.”
Watching him walk into my home as if he owned it gave me a moment of unease. Was I really ready to take on Mal Knight?
“Scared?” he teased as he stood in my kitchen looking around.
“Cautious. There’s a difference.” I straightened my shoulders and slammed the door shut behind me before heading toward him.