The question I’d already known the answer to having been her lover. Her first. She’d been fucked. My precious, pure and feisty Ni?a had been defiled by another man. My worst nightmare had materialized. My greatest fear had manifested. Another man sampled my treasure. My Ni?a.
Deliberately and cynically, an implied smile drew on her dejected face and quickly disappeared.
“He was a gentleman, Stenton,” her shaky vocals produced.
Then Zoey backed out of the frame and released the handle, allowing the door to slam in my face. I lost the battle with my wobbling legs, collapsing to the floor on my haunches. I didn’t lose consciousness, just the control of my limbs.
I’d never been a man of displayed emotions. Never was I the type to let shit get to me, never wanting to be controlled by anyone or thing. That was the moment I learned how sovereign love really was. It was then that I realized that phenomenon yielded more power than money, fame, or a botched heart could ever.
That was the event that kicked off my black out period. I don’t know how I made it off the floor, neither do I recall my trip back to my suite. I barely registered playing the following day. I just performed. I didn’t need to mentally check in to execute what my body was naturally inclined to do. It would be about a month before I’d be able to process the professional activities of that weekend.
Erika and I were supposed to head to Houston for two days after All-Star weekend to a gathering. There was no way I could be around her or any other pretentious fucks. So, I sent her alone while I headed back east. I needed solace before continuing on in the season. My chest was heavy the whole trip back, my world bleak.
It was close to seven in the evening when my limo arrived in front of my doorstep. When I closed the door to my home in Alpine, I collapsed my back on it and pulled my phone out to tap a few keys. Then I raised it to my ear and waited on bated breath.
“Praise the Lord. Barrett residence,” her faux high-pitched tone now mollified me.
“Sarah…” I breathed.
That cry was similar to the one I made for Zoey in front of her suite door, only this one loosened something in my chest. I didn’t know how the urge came about any more than I understood my draw to her. I’d always said I didn’t need a mother figure. That if I did, the big Man upstairs would have seen fit to give me a healthy, attending one. After all, I’d acquired a lifestyle most could only dream of. Life could be just that unbalanced. I was wrong. In no time at all, this woman had become a refuge for me. Sarah was my touchstone. Her peaceful, nurturing and docile demeanor served as a blanket of comfort to me.
We’d developed a peculiar pattern that made it easy for me to open up without crying to her like a bitch. Although to Sarah I wasn’t the sentimental momma’s boy that I felt I was. She had always welcomed my defective state since my split with Zoey while she was carrying Jordan.
“Stenton?” There was a pause because I didn’t know what to say. Within moments, she reminded me I didn’t need many words to communicate my mood to her. “It’s all in your voice, honey. Hang on.”
Then I heard her speak, presumably to Michael in the background. “I’ll be back…going to the prayer room to talk to Stenton.”
My fucking heart cracked. The room she referred to was her oldest daughter’s former bedroom. The bedroom I’d extracted her from when I knocked her up out of selfish need. The bedroom she was now retreating to for purposes relating to a backfire in my senseless plan to keep said daughter near me for life. This was all fucked up. I didn’t deserve her hospitality.