Let's Get It On (28 page)

“Swanky digs, Kenya. Who knew that you would turn out this way? Nice little article that you two have in the paper today.”

“If you don't tell me what you want, I'll have security escort you out,” Kenya said forcefully.

“Fifty thousand dollars. That will make me and my book disappear. Mo isn't going to do this unless you convince him to do so.” She twirled a lock of her hair around her finger. “If you don't help me, then it's going to be on your head when some defensive lineman tries to take Maurice's head off because he thinks Maurice was looking at his package.”

Kenya grabbed Lauryn's shoulder and yanked her off the desk. “You extortionist! You're not getting your grubby little hands on a dime from me or Maurice, and if you write that book, it will never see the light of day. Now get out of here.”

“You don't get it, do you? It doesn't matter if my book is the truth or a lie. Maurice's reputation will be ruined, and you're going to spend your entire marriage wondering and fighting rumors. Is he on the down low? Are those nights out with the boys sex parties? When is my HIV test going to be positive?”

“You're a fool,” Kenya said. “Are you sure you graduated from college? You're not going to profit from lies, and I will personally file a lawsuit to stop you and will spend every waking hour of my day trying to bury you.”

“And what's going to happen to Maurice as you fight to bring me down? He's going to be so busy proving his manhood by sleeping with every woman that looks his way, and once again, you'll be crying and running away.”

Kenya had had enough of Lauryn's mouth, and before she knew it, she punched her in the face, knocking her down. Then she was on top of her, like a cat pouncing on a mouse, and banging her head on the floor. Screaming profanities, Kenya unleashed a
Dynasty
-style beating on her. The women tussled on the floor, knocking over chairs and Kenya's bookshelf. The loud crashing noises prompted Talisha to make a frantic call to security.

Lauryn kicked Kenya off her. “You stupid b . . .”

Again, Kenya pounced and pushed Lauryn against the wall. “I've never hated anyone as much as I hate you. Ever since you set your sights on Maurice, all you have wanted is his money and the title of NFL wife. You never loved him, never cared about him, never knew him.”

Lauryn pushed Kenya out of her face. “So what? If you think Maurice or any other man will love you, then you're a bigger fool than I ever thought you were. He's going to hurt you again, and I hope that—”

“Is everything all right in here?” the security officer asked as he burst through the door.

“Get her out of here,” Kenya exclaimed, pointing at Lauryn.

The officer looked at Lauryn's bloody nose and split lip. “Do I need to call for a doctor?”

“Out! Get her out of here, and if she needs a doctor, let her get one herself,” said Kenya, who was nearly shrieking. Once she was alone in her office, Kenya walked into her bathroom and took a look at her reflection. Her hair stood on top of her head as if she were Don King, her jacket had a faint blood stain, and one of the sleeves was ripped. She snatched her jacket off and turned the water on to wash her face.

There was no way she'd get any work done. Walking out of the bathroom, she looked around her office and saw that it looked as if a bomb had exploded.

“Talisha, please cancel all of my appointments today,” Kenya said through the door.

“I've already done that Miss Taylor,” replied Talisha as she rose to her feet and walked to the doorway of Kenya's office. “Is everything all right? That woman made some threats as she walked out of here.”

“I'm not worried about her. She makes threats all the time,” Kenya said dismissively. “Can you call the maintenance staff and get them to clean up this mess? Once you're done with that, take the day off on me.”

“Thank you, Miss Taylor.” Talisha rushed back to her desk and picked up the phone.

Closing her door, Kenya gathered her things, flung her ripped jacket over her shoulder, and wished she'd had a minibar installed in the off ice, because she needed a drink, despite the fact that it wasn't even noon yet. Grabbing her keys, she took the service elevator to the parking lot and dashed to her car, hoping that none of her employees saw her leaving in such haste. She unlocked her car door, and as she was about to slide into the driver's seat, a shot rang out, shattering the back window of the SUV. Everything went black.

 

 

As Maurice sat in a meeting with James and Juan Peters, their attorney, the strangest feeling washed over him. It was as if someone had poured ice water down his spine. He stared out the window, nodding at the sounds of the voices, although he was unable to follow the words.

“Mo,” James said, nudging his brother. “Are you with us?”

Maurice focused his eyes on his brother. “Yes.”

“Did you hear Juan?” James asked.

“No. If you could repeat the question,” Maurice said.

“I asked when you and boss lady are getting married,” said Juan as he closed the file in front of him. “She's a good lady. A little tough, but fair.”

Maurice smiled tersely. “We don't have a date yet, but before training camp,” he said as he rose from his chair. He shivered again; the ice water was back. “Excuse me, guys, I need to go make a phone call.”

James and Juan looked at each other and shrugged their shoulders. Maurice had been acting strange all morning. James thought his brother was just bored.

As soon as Maurice got into the hallway, he whipped out his cell and called Kenya's office. The phone rang and rang, which he found to be odd. Talisha wasn't at her desk, and that girl normally stood guard over Kenya as if she was the CIA and the FBI all rolled up into one package. Again, he felt chills. Dashing out of the building, Maurice raced to his car and drove over to Kenya's office. Three blocks from his destination, Maurice was stopped by a roadblock. He rolled his window down and motioned to the police officers. “What happened here?” he asked one of the officers.

“There was a shooting, and the perimeter has been sealed off. Aren't you Mo Goings?” said the off icer.

Maurice nodded, not in the mood for small talk or answering questions about the upcoming season. “Do you know who was shot?”

The officer shrugged and pulled out his ticket book. “I'm just directing traffic, but can I have your autograph?”

Though part of Maurice wanted to tell the man hell no, he signed the book. “Listen,” Maurice said, “my fiancée works in this building, and I need to check on her.”

“I can't let you drive through here, but you can park over there,” the officer said, pointing to a parking meter a few feet away. “Then you can just walk over to the building.”

“Thanks,” Maurice said, glad that his signature had paid off. He parked the car and ran toward the building as if it was Sunday afternoon and Jake had thrown a bomb pass to him. Yellow tape greeted him, along with detectives, who were combing the area for clues. Most of the attorneys from Kenya's firm stood outside; their eyes were red and their cheeks tearstained. Maurice scanned the crowd, searching for Kenya. He didn't find her, but he saw Talisha in deep conversation with a police officer. He didn't like where his mind was taking him.
Kenya, where are you? Please be inside, talking to some policeman or something.
With long steps, Maurice rushed over to Talisha. She turned to him, with a pained look in her eyes.

“What's going on?” Maurice asked.

Talisha looked up at the officer, and then her gaze fell again on Maurice. “I'm sorry,” she said.

“Sorry for what? Tell me what's going on,” said Maurice.

Talisha stroked her hair and silently cried. “Miss Taylor was shot in the parking deck.”

Maurice's knees buckled, and his heart leapt to his throat. “No,” he groaned. “That can't be right. Who would want to shoot her? She's a contract attorney. She makes people money.” His throat burned with rage and anger. “Where is she?”

“They took her to Carolinas Medical Center and . . . ,” said Talisha, her voice trailing off.

“Was she?” Maurice stopped before the word
dead
could leave his mouth. He thought about the nine years he'd wasted and about how he and Kenya could've had a life together if he hadn't been such a fool. He had spent years with a woman who didn't love him and who wanted nothing more than his money. “Do the cops know anything?”

Talisha shook her head. “I told them about the woman who was here earlier, but they think it may have been a robbery or something.”

“What woman was here earlier?”

“Lauryn Michaels. She and Miss Taylor had a heated argument.”

Without saying another word, Maurice tore away from the building. If Lauryn had anything to do with Kenya's shooting, she was going to pay dearly.

“Grandma,” Kenya said as her father's mother appeared before her. She looked beautiful in her snow-white dress, and her wavy hair was just as white. Her smile was warm and tender.

“Do you miss my shortbread cookies that much?”

“Grandma, where am I?” asked Kenya.

“Almost home, but I don't think it's your time,” she said as she placed her arm around Kenya's shoulders. “You're too young, and you have a man who loves you so much that he'd never be the same if you left him now.”

“I'm tired, Grandma,” said Kenya.

“You're not old enough to be tired. You don't know what tired is. Have you thought about how my Henry will feel if you just give up? Have you ever given up on anything? Wake up, baby.”

Kenya opened her eyes and stared at the paramedic who was working to bring her around.

“We got a pulse,” the woman paramedic said. “Miss Taylor, can you hear me?”

In her mind, Kenya said yes. Obviously, it didn't translate.

“Patient is still unresponsive,” the paramedic said. “She's lost a lot of blood. Make sure they have a few bags ready in the ER. She's going to need surgery.”

“I'm fine,” Kenya said in her head. “My back is just a little sore. What happened, anyway?”

The paramedic monitored her vital signs and noted an improvement. “She coming around. Her heartbeat is stronger.”

“She must have been in shock,” another paramedic said.

The woman paramedic closest to Kenya looked up at him and said, “Getting shot in the back will do that to you.”

Shot? Somebody shot me? In her mind's eye, Kenya replayed the last few hours. First, there was the fight with Lauryn, her office was in a mess, and she and Talisha were going home. Then the blackness. She didn't remember seeing a shooter or even hearing the gunshot.

“Maurice,” Kenya moaned.

The woman paramedic looked down at Kenya. “Miss Taylor, can you hear me?”

“Shot. Maurice. Help,” cried Kenya.

“Yes, you were shot. Did this Maurice person shoot you?” asked the woman paramedic.

Kenya thought she said no and that she was shaking her head. “Help. Shot. Maurice.” She closed her eyes. The little bit of energy she'd had was gone.

When the ambulance arrived at the emergency room, a few camera crews were there. The news of Kenya's shooting was spreading like wildfire. The woman paramedic realized that Kenya Taylor was Maurice Goings's fiancée. Quickly, she ran over to a police officer.

“I think we have another Rae Carruth situation,” she whispered to him. “She said Maurice shot her.”

The news of Maurice's possible involvement in Kenya's shooting spread almost as quickly as the initial news of the shooting. Memories of former Carolina Panthers wide receiver Rae Carruth, who was serving a prison sentence for the murder of his pregnant girlfriend and the attempted murder of their son, were conjured as soon as detectives told the media that they were not ruling anyone out as a suspect.

But what the paramedics and police didn't understand was that Kenya was worried that the shooter would shoot Maurice, too. She hadn't seen Lauryn pull the trigger, but she knew that Lauryn was the person who'd tried to kill her. Kenya just couldn't tell anyone. She was doped up on pain medication as the doctors waited for the swelling in her spine to go down before attempting to remove the bullet. She didn't know that as soon as her parents were contacted by the Charlotte-Mecklenburg police, they had hopped in their car and had sped to Charlotte so fast that they had gotten speeding violations in three states.

Angela held Kenya's hand, stroking it gently. “Who did this to you, and why? I don't want to believe that Maurice had anything to do with it.”

“He couldn't have,” Henry said. “Not the way he loves Kenya.”

Angela rolled her eyes. “Maybe she came to her senses and told him that she wasn't going to marry him.”

“Stop it,” Henry said. “You told her that you supported this relationship. Do you want her to treat you the way you treated your mother?”

Angela dropped Kenya's hand. “But if he shot her, I will personally take care of him with my bare hands.”

“You can't listen to the news, and if you would've listened carefully, you would know that the only thing they said was the police aren't ruling anyone out as a suspect.”

“These professional athletes think they can get away with murder and anything else under the sun. Kenya is not . . .”

“Mom,” a weak voice said.

Henry and Angela turned to the bed and saw that Kenya had opened her eyes. “Baby girl,” Henry said before kissing Kenya on the forehead. “Thank you, Jesus.”

“Kenya, don't try to talk too much,” Angela said. “Thank God you woke up. We were so worried.”

“Maurice,” whispered Kenya.

“What about him? He hasn't even been here,” Angela said, not hiding her disgust.

“Is he safe?” Kenya asked.

“Why wouldn't he be?” Angela asked, biting her tongue, because she wanted to say so much more.

“She's crazy,” Kenya said, then began to cough.

“Who are you talking about?” Angela asked.

“Lauryn did this to me,” Kenya said.

Henry rushed out of the room, in search of a nurse.

 

 

Maurice sat in the nondescript sedan, staring at Lauryn as she packed her sports car, the car that he'd bought for her. Did she really think that she was going to get away with this? She had tried to kill the woman he loved, and now she was going to try and slink out of town like the bottom-feeder that she was. He wanted to shoot her or grab her and choke the life out of her. But he knew the right thing for him to do was to get her to turn herself in to the police. Slowly, he emerged from the sedan and stealthily crossed the parking lot.

Lauryn closed her trunk, then turned around, coming face-to-face with Maurice. She jumped back, slamming herself against the car's bumper. “What are you doing here?”

“Going somewhere?” Maurice said. His voice was menacing and low. “I know what you did, and you're not going to get away with it.”

“What did I do?” Lauryn said.

Maurice grabbed her shoulders. “Don't play with me. You shot Kenya, and you're going to turn yourself in to the police.”

“Let me go!” Lauryn screamed.

“As soon as we get to the police station,” Maurice snapped as he pushed her toward his car.

Lauryn jerked away from Maurice and reached into her waistband, pulling out a gun. “I could kill you right now! It's a shame that Kenya didn't die. Look at my face,” she said, pointing to her black eye and bruised nose. “Look what she did to me. That doesn't matter to you. The only thing you care about is your precious little Kenya. It's always been like that. I knew you always thought about her, and all those years when you claimed to love me, you were pining for Kenya. That's why I was with Mya. She loved me without conditions.”

“And you used her,” growled Maurice.

“Shut up!” Lauryn pointed the gun at Maurice's chest and rested her finger on the trigger. “I knew I came in second to her, and that's why it was so easy to put you second. I'm going to get in this car and drive away, and you're going to join Kenya in a hospital bed.”

With catlike reflexes and the force of an inside lineman, Maurice tackled Lauryn at the knees, forcing her backward. The gun went off, sending a bullet soaring into the air. Maurice wrested the gun from Lauryn's hand and then kicked it away. Lauryn tried to claw his face as she rolled on top of him while they wrestled.

“You never put me first. It was always something other than me,” Lauryn hissed. “Kenya, football, your family. No one has ever put me first.” Tears dropped from her eyes, but Maurice wasn't moved.

“You've always been selfish, and if no one else put you first, you did,” Maurice snapped. He held her wrists with one hand and called 911 from his cell with the other. “Why did you do it?” he asked after hanging up with the 911 operator. “Why didn't you just leave me alone? When you left me at the altar, I let you keep everything. I let you keep the car. I even finished paying the lease on your place, which, I know, was Mya's apartment. But you kept being greedy, kept trying to bleed me for more money, and now you have tried to kill the
only
woman that I've ever loved.”

Lauryn spat in his face. “I hope the bitch dies.”

Maurice felt every nerve of his body burn like it had been set afire. He wanted to stuff those words down her throat. But he didn't. Instead, he waited for the police.

 

 

Angela paced back and forth outside of Kenya's room. Maybe her daughter was confused about who'd shot her. Maybe Kenya just didn't want to believe that Maurice had done this to her. Something didn't set well with Angela. Why hadn't Maurice been to the hospital to check on his fiancée? If he loved Kenya as much as he claimed, then why hadn't she heard from him?

Just as Angela was about to walk into Kenya's room, she heard footsteps behind her. “Mrs. Taylor,” a detective said. “We've apprehended a suspect in the shooting of your daughter.”

Angela held on to the doorknob. “Was it . . . ,” she asked, her voice trailing off.

“Lauryn Michaels has been charged with the attempted murder of your daughter,” said the detective.

Angela looked over the detective's shoulder and saw Maurice nearly running down the hall. When Maurice reached her, Angela opened her arms to him, hugging him tightly. “She's been worried about you,” she whispered.

“How-how is she?” asked Maurice.

Letting him go, Angela said, “Step inside and see for yourself.”

One of the hardest things that Maurice had ever had to do was walk into Kenya's hospital room. Just the thought of losing her when they had been given another chance was more than he could stomach. The shooting was his fault, because he had been the one who'd brought Lauryn into their lives. Taking a deep breath, he walked through the door and found Kenya awake and alert.

“Mo,” Kenya said, her voice a little hoarse.

Crossing over to her bed, he kissed her lips sweetly. “I've been so worried about you, and I know it's taken me—”

“Lauryn. You have to call the police about her, because she's . . .”

“In jail. I'm sorry that I brought all of this madness into our lives. If I had lost you . . .”

Kenya brought her finger to his lips. “But you didn't. I'm going to be fine.”

Maurice noticed that her legs weren't moving. He placed his hand on her thigh, and she didn't flinch. He moved his hand away quickly so that she wouldn't see that he knew that she was paralyzed. “I know you will,” he forced himself to say.

 

 

Later, when Kenya had drifted off to sleep, Maurice and Angela stood outside her room to talk about her condition.

“I guess this is the part where the real Maurice shines through,” Angela said after telling him of Kenya's spinal-cord injury. “As long as she is walking and fits your NFL image, you want to marry her, but—”

“You have such a low opinion of me. Do you really think that I would walk out on her now?” said Maurice, struggling to keep his voice down and his anger in check. “I put my life on the line to find the woman who tried to kill her. I don't care how hard it's going to be or what I have to do. Kenya's going to walk down the aisle and into my arms.”

Angela folded her arms across her chest and leaned against the wall. “I hope that you prove me wrong. But I just don't see that happening.”

Maurice stomped away from Angela for fear that he'd say the wrong thing out of anger and make a tense situation even worse.

Henry, who'd seen the exchange between Maurice and his wife, stopped Maurice at the end of the hall. “Son, let me talk to you, and if you tell anyone we had this conversation, I'm going to say you're a liar,” Henry said as he closed his big hand on his future son-in-law's shoulder. “Step outside with me.”

“Mr. Taylor, I really don't want to argue with you or your wife any more today. I just had a gun pointed at my chest, got my face scratched up, and was accused of attempted murder.”

“Boy, I know that, and I said, ‘Let's talk.' I've got to school you on something. If you're going to marry Kenya, then you need to know this about Angela. She thinks she's the boss. But she's not. You need to be in there with my daughter, and Angela needs to go sit down somewhere else. I've lived this already. My in-laws, neither of them liked me, and I only had the best of intentions toward my wife. I thought I was doing her a favor by just being passive and backing away from her family. But I wasn't. All I needed to do was to stand up for myself and let them know that my family was my business. You're going to have to do that with Angela. There's no other way around it. This attitude must have been passed to her through her DNA.”

Maurice's eyebrows knotted in confusion. “What?”

“I'm not giving you the green light to disrespect my wife, because I'll hurt you,” Henry said. “But Kenya is going to be your wife. You need to establish that fact with her mother. And you do that right now, before you look up and twenty years have passed.”

Maurice nodded and turned back down the hall. Angela was sitting beside Kenya's bed as the doctor stood at the foot of the bed. Slowly, Maurice opened the door.

“Doctor, what's going on?” Maurice asked.

“Maurice Goings?” the doctor said excitedly.