A Cheating Man's Heart 2 Read online

  A Cheating Man's Heart 2

  By. Derrick Jaxn

  SMASHWORDS EDITION

  PUBLISHED BY: Derrick Jaxn on Smashwords

  Copyright © 2015 by Derrick Jaxn

  Smashwords Edition License Notes

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  "Love is kind, love is patient, but even the strongest loves get tired of waiting."

  "People that don't leave your mind are usually somewhere hiding in your heart."

  "What does it profit a man to gain every girl in the world, yet lose the one who really cared about him?"

  "Never hand your heart to someone who's still picking up the pieces to their own."

  -Derrick Jaxn

  A Cheating Man’s Heart 2

  Prologue

  "Ooh! That one," I said, jumping up and down.

  "Which one?" she asked.

  Sugary residue from my ring pop had dripped its way to my fingers, now smearing across the toy vending machine's glass as I pointed to the watch I'd been lusting over. It sat snugly on the far left corner, seemingly looking at me with the same soulmate connection I felt for it. "The blue Superman one!"

  "Okay. Stay right here, and watch me work."

  My big sister, Pooh, who was twelve years old at the time, pulled out a handful of balled up dollar bills she'd been saving up over the past few weeks.

  We'd taken her bike down to the skating rink so I could go birthday shopping at what we called the Vending Machine Mall located at the very front when you first walk in. But we didn't have a lot of time because Daddy's gift was coming later on and it was supposed to be a big one. He'd barely been able to keep the excitement to himself in the days leading up. My guess was it was either roller skates or some kind of spaceship. Either one would do.

  All I know is, I'd been waiting my entire four years of life for this day, so I strutted in like I was a Kardashian, pointed my gift out to Pooh, and let her do the rest. But my heart sank when her first stab at the watch missed.

  She put in another dollar and tried again, this time with her eyes narrowed and a better grip on the joystick , and she got it.

  My eyes lit up, and my adrenaline rushed. For every second the mechanical claw took to bring my watch to me, the anticipation for my next gift doubled.

  Pooh and I pulled back up to the house on her 10-speed bike just before Momma started up her hatchback and screeched out of the driveway. I figured she must've been trying to get some last-minute groceries for my birthday dinner, hopped off the handle bars and sprinted on towards the porch.

  Daddy met me at the door, his brow furrowed and his lips shaping to yell out after Momma before he looked down and saw me. His facial expression warmed in an instant, beaming all thirty-two of his Jamaican pearly whites.

  "Birthday boy! I'm sure glad to see you. Did you get it? Huh? Did ya get your watch, son?" he said, bending down on one knee to meet me at eye level.

  I took my hand from behind my back and then put it in his face. "Sho' did!"

  He laughed and pulled me in tight for one of his bear hugs, "Well, I got something for you. Your teacher says you're already counting by two's and you don't even use your hands like your classmates. I bet you can even count money, can't ya son?"

  I shook my head up and down confidently.

  "So tell me something. How many cents are in a dollar?"

  Without hesitation I yelled, "100!"

  He smiled then reached in his back pocket for his old worn-out leather bill fold then pulled out a freshly printed 100 dollar bill. "That's my boy. Instead of a gold sticker, I'll just give you this. Now what'cha think about that?"

  I'd never seen a 100 dollar bill before but I did recognize that it was money with the number 100 on it. And 100 was bigger than one through 99 so I put two and two together and the tingly sensation in my chest pushed my mouth and eyes into huge circles of excitement.

  "Now, you tell me what you want to get with your prize money, and we're gonna go get it."

  "Anything?"

  "Anything. Just name it."

  I knew exactly what I wanted. I took a deep breath and said, "Milk!"

  "Milk?" he asked, looking confused.

  "Yes, Daddy. Milk." I confirmed.

  At the time, the Got Milk? commercials advertised how milk made a body strong. Super heroes were the strongest people in the world, so it was a no-brainer. I wanted some damn milk.

  He shook his head then looked at me and smiled again. "Milk it is. We'll pick some up on the way to go get your real gift. Go on inside and change into a clean shirt. I'll be back in ten minutes to get you."

  Before I rushed off into my room, flinging the shirt off of my scrawny body and digging into the drawer for a clean one, I checked my new watch for the time. It was exactly 6:00 p.m. and forty-three seconds.

  I changed my shirt and with about eight minutes left, I did the only logical thing any kid with too much energy to sit and wait would do; I pretended I was a superhero.

  With a bath towel tied around my neck, and my tennis ball-inside-of-the-tube socks nunchucks, I was "withaaawing" all around the living room. Super heroes didn't use nunchucks, but a black one would once he got his milk.

  At exactly 6:10 p.m. and forty three seconds, I ran back outside on the porch, ready to leave with Daddy.

  But I didn't see him.

  I doubled checked my watch then went in the kitchen to cross reference it with the microwave. Both of them had the same time down to the very second.

  I ran back outside and decided to practice my counting until he came back. Figured he had to make a stop for gas, or maybe he was stopping to get the milk first so we could save time.

  I counted all sixty seconds of every minute out loud until I got to ten.

  But nine counts of ten later, I was still waiting on the porch. My ring pop gone, my words slurring from the exhaustion of counting for so long, all while the sun had begun setting.

  Momma had come home not long before and started dinner.

  "Baby, you all right out here?" she said, wiping her hands on her apron, looking at me through the screen door.

  "Yes, ma'am," I turned and answered.

  "I think it's time you come on in. It's getting late."

  "I can't right now, Momma."

  "How come, baby?"

  "I'm waitin' on Daddy. He said he'd be here in ten minutes."

  She put her hand on my shoulder, exhaling heavily and her eyes aiming down the road. "Come on inside now. You can wait for him there."

  Grudgingly, I went back inside--losing count of the minutes and beginning to count the years.

  So far, it's been 21.

  Chapter 1

  Hail Mary Pass

  Pete put his finger to his temple like he'd just gotten a great idea. "You come home from work, take out the trash, replace a few bulbs like you said you would, and some more manly stuff. Once that's over with, you get out of your work clothes and into your boxers and tube socks just to decompress because it's been a really long day.

  "A call comes in from your woman. She tells you she just got punched in the face. By a man. So you rush down to wherever she's at. One hundred miles an hour. Pissed. Already counting the bail money and subtracting it from your account balance because you know you're about to go to jail today, right?

  "When you get there, you see the douche-ba
g who did it. He didn't even leave the scene. Matter of fact, he has his hand raised for another swing and pauses when he sees you. You charge and before you get to him, she steps in front and tells you that she's been having an affair with him for the past six months. She just didn't know how to tell you until now...that she needs you to get him off of her.

  "What do you do?"

  I looked at Pete for a moment, baffled to the point I had to squint. "P., what in the hell are you talking about? None of that happened."

  "Right, I'm just sayin' though. It coulda."

  "But it didn't."

  "Doesn't matter. Not like you would've told me anyway. Apparently there's a lot of things we keep from each other," Pete said, sitting back into the diner booth, rubbing one hand backwards through his mullet-styled blond hair.

  He agreed to meet me for lunch to catch up on my session with Dr. Holley but had the attention span of a goldfish, especially when a nerve was touched, like the one I'd just plucked by admitting there was a lot more to me than I'd ever told him. That's where his random, subject-changing question came from to begin with.

  "How was I supposed to tell you?"

  "I don't know--smoke signal, carrier pigeons, Morse code, tin cups on a string, SOMETHING!"

  Pete dropped his head into his hands then pushed his hair off of his forehead behind his ears again. "All right, bro. So back to your story. You were in this room with a gorgeous woman, good credit, her edges fully intact, yet you made the irrational decision to leave without so much as touching her knee. And then what?"

  "Come on, P., you're missing the point. This wasn't some kind of date. She's my--"

  "Your shrink, I get it."

  "Not my shrink, my therapist." I shot back, to deaf reception.

  Pete shrugged his shoulders dismissively. "Okay, your therapeutic shrink. I can meet you in the middle."

  I took a sip of my lukewarm coffee, then looked out of the massive glass window beside us that opened into the busy streets of downtown Charlotte, trying to gather my thoughts again.

  "Okay, so back to what I was saying. Dr. Holley, she still feels like I gotta chance to find love, it seems."

  "You've gotta be kiddin' me. How about you pay me 500 dollars an hour and I'll teach you how to count backwards starting from 10."

  "You're not taking me seriously, P. and that's messed up with all the times I've helped you with 'Shonda."

  "But that's different. You already know my situation."

  By situation, he meant the cultural learning curve he's been trying to overcome.

  See, Pete is like a short version of Fabio...if Fabio had a bird chest and a pot belly. My pale brother from another is what I've always called him. And he has a mean sweet tooth for chocolate. King-sized chocolate. Rashonda, to be specific. She's an Amazon woman, standing at least six foot two in flats to Pete's five foot six in boots. With two tube socks.

  That, plus their background puts a lot of distance between them. So, since I was raised by and with black women, I qualified as what Pete called his "black-woman-whisperer", a term I didn't care for but charged to his head, not his heart.

  "Okay, yours is a bit different," I continued. "I don't know why I'm telling you all this anyway. I need to save my breath for the rest of this session."

  "Oh, you're going back?"

  I shook my head, looking down at my watch. "Yeah, and it's about time I head out. She's probably already there."

  "Okay, cool bro, but just one more question,"

  "No, you cannot borrow my car," I answered him in advance.

  “Dude, for the last time, I swear I'll bring it back safe. I swear."

  "No, P. I'll see you later," I said, putting the tip on the table for the waitress.

  I grabbed my coat and walked out, feeling his peripheral vision following me so he could break the twenty and keep some for himself. That's my boy, but he has to be the cheapest person I have ever come across, and reckless too.

  That's how we met. He had snuck into a night club when I first moved to North Carolina last year,

  pushed up on a Panther's girlfriend and purposely backed into me, pretending we knew each other so he wouldn't get his ass beat. And we've been best friends ever since.

  I drove back to the therapist's office, taking in the fresh air I'd only been getting when I was out at seminars and media appearances, which was cool...in the beginning. But at this point, I'm ready to experience family picnics, teaching my son how to hold a baseball bat, then cheering too loud at his games until they put me out.

  Doing my daughter's hair for the first time, screwing it up while my wife tells me she's proud of the effort. Then seeing my baby girl fake a smile to make her daddy feel better about it, too, before she goes to school and gets ragged on by her snobby ass kindergarten friends she'll grow up to be cuter than anyway.

  I want weekly unwind and wine sessions with my wife. Where we hire a sitter, sneak away from the kids, and spend the night enjoying the love we've built. Making love, both mentally and physically, until we've purged every stress and worry that caused us to take each other for granted. But it seems I can't even get past the first date without feeling like I'm wasting my time.

  That chemistry, the spark of something potentially special--I haven't felt that in years. And seeking professional help is my last resort. It's the Hail Mary pass at the end of the season as I try to earn a spot in the playoffs. If it doesn't work, then the whole idea of family and happiness was going to have to retire. For good.

  I beat Dr. Holley back to her office with ten minutes to spare until the second part of our session. I could've waited in the car until she'd gotten there, but saw no need to waste gas so I got out and checked her office door to see if it was open, and it was.

  I let myself in, walking hand in hand with curiosity as I perused the room.

  The femininity was refreshing. The automatic mist fragrance on the wall reminded me of the sample smell-goods that fall out of women's magazines. Her master's degree from Howard hung proudly on the wall amidst lit candles, and then there was a picture of her and a man on her desk.

  A selfie with him holding the camera and her face smushed up against his cheeks, both of them smiling from ear to ear, love for each other permeating their pores. She looked at least six or seven years younger in the picture, which was odd because I hadn't seen a ring on her finger. A ring that I felt deserved to be there.

  "What are you doing?!"

  I jumped when I heard her voice and turned to see Dr. Holley glowering malevolently at me then behind me at her picture.

  "Oh, I was just--I mean I was about to--"

  "Were you going through my things?"

  "No, of course not. But...this guy," I said, pointing to the picture. "Is that your man?"

  "First off, it's none of your business, and secondly, no, he is not!" she snapped, snatching the picture and putting it in her drawer.

  I didn't know who he was, but something about it touched a nerve when I asked.

  "Mr. Fletcher, I think we'd better go ahead and get started."

  "All right, cool."

  She walked behind me to her chair and flipped open her laptop. With an outward veneer of calm, she remained silent and waited for me to resume the saga of my past relationships in college.

  I charged it to the game, then found a sweet spot on the couch.

  The memories came rushing in, mentally taking me back to the lake again; Jazmin and Danielle running full sprint towards my car, and the gun placed firmly on my tongue.

  Chapter 2

  Words Unsaid. Cries Unheard.

  "SHAWN! OPEN THE DOOR!" Danielle's voice was frantic, a tone I wasn't familiar with.

  I eased the gun back onto my lips. A wave of embarrassment wafted over me. Where in the hell did she come from? I thought, as I squeezed my eyes with the illogical hope that this could all just start over.

  Jazmin stopped short a few yards back as Danielle came straight to the car, yanking at the door handle. She
had tears streaming down her face and her hair was sticking to her forehead from the sweat.

  "Let me in, please," she pleaded, her voice hoarse from the screaming.

  The bloodshot-redness in her eyes penetrated every nerve I had to finish what I had started. I took the gun completely away from my mouth and unlocked the door. She swung it open and clasped her arms around my neck, almost as if I still meant something to her.

  "I'm so sorry. This is my fault, I know it is," she cried. "I shouldn't have said those things to you and I'm sorry."

  "Danielle, please don't apologize. None of this is your fault."

  She hugged me harder, tears beginning to soak the neck of my shirt.

  I looked outside the car and saw Jazmin standing in the same place she'd stopped before.

  She was bothered by the sight of Danielle and me. It was written on her face, signed by her eyes, eyes that also wanted to cry but stitched tightly with the strength that'd held her together through every other painful situation in her life till that point in which she'd had enough.

  She was grateful to see me alive, but she couldn't ignore the reality that no matter how bad she wanted to console me, too, there'd be no reciprocity. Something she was no stranger to; but she was committed to ending that cycle no matter who it meant losing so long as it wasn't herself.

  I looked back down at Danielle, her sobs now beginning to mollify. "How did you know I was here?"

  She wiped her face on my shirt, then looked out at Jazmin. "Well, first she called me. Said she drove by and the door was wide open and when she went to check, she saw your suicide note. She found my number on one of the bills at the house and I knew this was the first place you'd come, so we got here as fast as we could."

  The moment I looked back over at Jazmin, she cut her eyes from me. I wanted to talk to her or at least let her speak, but in front of Danielle, I couldn't find the audacity.

  "I'm just glad you're okay, Superman. You scared me," Danielle said.