Read Love on the Run Online

Authors: Zuri Day

Love on the Run (8 page)

“I tell you what. You all gather dates to invite to our dinner next month, and I'll
think
about having a date of my own.”
After that, the dinner conversation turned to what was happening in their professional lives, a topic that continued when Gregory and Michael later walked to their cars.
“I'm a bit curious as to how Shayna is doing,” Gregory said to Michael. “Still no word?”
“Not directly. She texted me a message earlier that she was okay, but I haven't talked to her. I'll call her now.” Michael retrieved his phone from his pocket and dialed Shayna's number. He was surprised when a male voice answered, so much so that he checked the face of his phone to make sure he'd dialed correctly. He had. “Uh, yes. I'm trying to reach Shayna Washington.”
“Who's calling?” the gruff voice demanded.
“A business partner,” was Michael's somewhat noncommittal reply, delivered in a voice that was especially calm considering the way his mind raced.
Who is this guy? Why is he answering Shayna's phone?
And the most important question.
What business is it of mine as to either who or why?
“Shayna's, uh, a little busy with her man right now.” A pause and then, “Is there a message?”
Michael frowned.
Jarrell? Naw, couldn't be.
“No, no message.” He hung up the phone, his mind in a whirlwind. Surely Shayna wouldn't be with the very man who'd attacked her on Friday. Two days ago. But if not that knucklehead, who was answering her phone? And what was this distinctly uncomfortable feeling in the pit of his stomach? He called Shayna's phone again. When it went straight to voice mail, his concern increased.
“What's the matter?” Gregory asked.
“A man just answered Shayna's phone.”
Gregory raised a brow. “Is that a problem?”
Michael was already heading to his car. “I don't know, but I'm going to find out.”
“Michael!”
Too late. Michael had already reached his car and had started it up. As Michael accelerated out of the parking structure, Gregory hurried to his car, pulling out his phone and calling his headstrong older brother as he walked.
11
Shayna hurried from the bathroom to the living room, sure she'd heard her phone ring. She walked in to find it in Jarrell's hand. “Who was that?” she asked, rushing over to take her phone.
“Wrong number,” Jarrell easily lied, holding the phone just out of Shayna's reach.
“Give me the phone, Jay!”
A sound from the other side of the living room wall reminded both Jarrell and Shayna that they were not alone. Shayna guessed that that was the point. Talisha hadn't been at all happy with the idea of Jarrell coming over, but neither she nor Cameron would hear of Shayna going anywhere to meet him. It was enough that Shayna had given in to her mother's pleading and saw him at all. Let it be said that Beverly Powell was nothing if not persuasive. By the time she'd talked to Shayna, Jarrell had already given her and his brother, Larsen, his side of the story. He'd only wanted to talk to her. He loved her, and just wanted them to be the family they'd always talked about since being sixteen years old.
Please,
Shayna thought indignantly,
tell that to someone who doesn't have cracked ribs.
A point that she hadn't even bothered divulging to her mother. Given the history, Beverly would have undoubtedly found a way for even that to be Shayna's fault.
She snatched the phone from Jarrell. The last call displayed was her mother's, from a half hour ago, the call that had landed Shayna in the predicament that she was in now. What kind of mother did that? What kind of mother tried to talk her daughter back into seeing a man who cheated on her?
One who was married to the ex-boyfriend's brother maybe, who'd always tried to be less of a mother and more like a friend—even the competition on occasion.
She eyed Jarrell before crossing over to the bar counter separating the kitchen from the living/dining area. After leaning against it and crossing her arms, she spoke. “You put my mother in the middle of this, knowing she'd bug me even more than you. That is the only reason that you're over here, so I can try and keep peace in the family. So I'm asking for the last time. What. Do. You. Want?”
“I told you,” Jarrell said, as he began to cross the room. When he saw her tense up, he threw his hands up in an exasperated gesture and sat on the couch instead. “I came over to apologize. I can't believe I put my hands on you, Shayna. You know the last thing I would ever want to do is hurt you. I was just so frustrated the other night that I saw you and, I don't know . . . I just snapped.”
“You may not have meant to hurt me, Jay. But you have, more than once.”
“What? I've never before laid a hand on you.”
“There's more than one type of pain, Jay.”
“I know, because you've hurt me too. But I'm not trying to make excuses, Shayna. I'm so sorry for grabbing you the other night.”
“You've already said that, Jay, on Friday night; left a few messages, remember?”
“I didn't know if you'd gotten them.”
“I got them.”
Jarrell smiled, revealing a dimple that used to melt her heart. “Do you forgive me, baby?”
Instead of answering, Shayna stood straight and crossed her arms, glaring at Jarrell through narrowed eyes. Her roommate was right. No matter how much her own mother had encouraged it, Shayna had been crazy to agree to see Jarrell, to “hear him out” as her mother had suggested. She wasn't afraid of him, just done with him. As it was, Talisha had refused to leave the condo as long as Jarrell was there. She and Cameron were holed up in her bedroom—ears to the door, fists at the ready, Shayna presumed—prepared to roll gangsta into the living room at the first sign of trouble. Talisha had even threatened to call Shayna's mother and give her a piece of her mind. Even though that was probably the right thing to do, Shayna had talked her best friend out of it. Nobody understood why Shayna protected the woman who seemed not to protect her, why she did whatever Beverly Powell asked in order to get what always seemed lacking: acceptance.
“What you really want to know, and why you enlisted my mother's help in listening to you, is if I called the cops. The answer is no—not yet.”
“Why would you call the cops?”
“Look at me!” Shayna hadn't told Jarrell about her cracked ribs, but her face was enough to show that she'd been assaulted.
“I called your mother because I couldn't reach you, because I'd combed the streets after you ran away and when I couldn't find you, had stayed near your car for another hour. I was going crazy with worry, Shayna.”
“You were going crazy all right. I've got the bruises to prove it.”
“You hurt yourself trying to get away from me, Shayna. I just wanted to talk.”
“I've told you a hundred times already, Jay. There's nothing left for us to talk about. I told Mom that as well. Neither one of you are listening.”
“Beverly knows how I feel about you. How much I love you, that's all. She wants all of us to stay a family. Her and my brother and—me and you.”
Shayna knew that both Jarrell's and her mother's motives had nothing to do with her well-being, and everything to do with their own selfish agendas. Being known as an abuser might sully Jarrell's long-term aspirations, the ones he'd shared with her from the time they were children, while her mother . . . Shayna shook her head to break the thought. She didn't want to think about Beverly Powell's twisted motives right about now.
“Jay, I don't know any better way to say it. I need a break.”
And not in my ribs.
“Please tell me that you forgive me, Shayna. And that we can just, you know, put this behind us.”
“Whether or not I forgive you isn't important, Jarrell. What I need you to do is to understand that right now what I want is space.”
“How long have we known each other, Shayna? Can't we at least be friends?”
“You've said what you came to say, Jay. Now you need to leave. I have things to do.”
“Okay, I'll leave. But you're sure you're all right?”
“I'm okay.”
No thanks to you.
Shayna walked to the door and opened it. “Good-bye, Jarrell.”
Jarrell took his time in rising from the couch. He walked over to the door, stopping directly in front of Shayna. “I'll always love you. Remember that.”
Shayna stood back so she could open the door wider. Jarrell got the message. He left.
12
No sooner had she closed the door than Talisha came out of her bedroom. “Geez, I thought he'd never leave. Are you okay?” Shayna nodded, even though her insides were shaking. “That asshole has a lot of nerve,” Talisha continued, walking into the kitchen. “If you want me and Cameron to stay here this evening, you know, in case he comes back, we'll do it.” A flash of light from the bar counter caught her eye. “Your phone, Shay,” she said, picking up the cell and walking into the living room.
“What?” Shayna reached for her phone. “Shoot, that was Michael.” Checking, she found that the sound had been turned down. “I didn't turn the ringer off. I caught Jay with my phone. He must have turned it off.” She cleared the missed call and realized there had been two others.
Michael.
She hit redial.
Michael answered on the first ring. “Shayna.”
Shayna sensed a seriousness beneath Michael's one-word greeting. “Sorry I missed your call, Michael. My ringer was off.”
“I heard you were busy.”
“Who told you that?” She flinched as the reflexive question was asked. There was only one answer—Jarrell—and only one way Michael would know that—if Jarrell had answered her phone. Shayna thought of possible answers and they were all terrifying: that Jarrell had identified himself as a friend (the least terrifying of choices), that he had identified himself as a boyfriend (which would be okay if not for the unacknowledged feelings she had for Michael), that he not only identified himself as Jarrell but also as her boyfriend (which would make her look like what she was not—a fool), or that he identified himself as the abusive
ex
-boyfriend who'd still been invited into her home (which would make her look not only like a fool, but a crazy one at that!). She opened her mouth. Words refused to come out. But knowing that being as quiet as the proverbial church mouse made her sound guilty at worst and stupid at best, she dug into her bag of tricks and pulled out some confidence. Clearing her throat, she spoke into the silence. “Why are you calling, Michael?”
“I saw my brother earlier. He asked about you.”
“Oh?”
“Yes, he wanted to know how you're feeling. I told him that other than the message you sent last night and the quick text today, I hadn't heard.”
Shayna carefully sat on one of three swivel-styled, bar-high chairs encased in soft, cream-colored leather. Her hand went to the bandage tightly wound around her torso as she looked out the patio glass of their second-story condo and peered at the barely discernible stars beyond a hazy sky. She'd always felt their place cozy, with its neutral-colored furniture, tan carpeting, and splashes of color through vases and art. But now, hearing Michael's voice, she was reminded of his place and the understated yet obvious luxury of his paradise—the feel of the bamboo flooring beneath her bare feet, the way his high-count sheets had caressed her bare thighs. The memories were still so fresh it was as if she could smell his cologne. She subconsciously breathed in to try and catch the scent.
“Shayna.”
“I'm sorry, Michael. I was distracted by something outside.”
And something within.
“I still feel sore and honestly the binding is a bit uncomfortable. But I was afraid to unwrap it because I don't want to do further damage. I have to get back in shape as soon as possible, hopefully in time for our next meet.”
“Didn't you say that was in three weeks?”
“Yes.”
“I don't know about that, Shayna. Tell you what. Gregory is on his way over to my house. Why don't you meet us there so that he can take a look at your bandages and make adjustments if necessary.”
“Sure, I can come over—oh, wait a minute.” Shayna looked down at what she was wearing, the baggy sweats that her roommates had provided, and wondered if she could dress herself in something a little more presentable—translated: sexier—for her visit with the doctor. Unfortunately, there was nothing sexy about the sound that tore from her lips when she reached up to try and remove her loose-fitting top.
“Something the matter?”
“No,” Shayna lied, trying to put her mask of bravery back into place. She bit down on her lip, taking a deep breath and standing still until the pain subsided. “I can be over there in about half an hour. Is that okay?”
“Let's make it an hour to be sure Gregory is here.”
Michael ended his call with Shayna and immediately called his brother. “Please say you've got a free hour or two.”
“Please tell me you haven't done anything stupid.”
“Like what?”
“Like confronting the man who answered Shayna's phone. You tore out of the parking lot like a bat out of hell.”
“No, man. After calling her twice more and getting voice mail, I calmed down. Figured that if she was in trouble, she'd call me. Then I heard from Jessica and then Felicia and . . .” Michael had heard from them; what he hadn't told Gregory is that he'd turned down the chance to be with both of them. He'd even put Paia on hold, told her she might have to fly back to Milan without their being able to meet. What he also hadn't told his brother was that he was suddenly in jeopardy of losing his player card. What he hadn't even yet admitted to himself was the reason.
“Never mind. I might be free for the next few hours. What's up?”
“I told Shayna you were on your way over to my house.”
“Why did you do that?”
“Because I want to see her.”
“A little old to require a chaperone, don't you think?”
“I don't need a chaperone. I need a reason.” Now that he'd said the words out loud, they sounded lame to his own ears. But in for a penny, in for a pound. “Can you come over here or what?”
“Wow.” Gregory drew out the word with a chuckle. “Sounds like somebody might be trying to stretch the professional boundaries, and copping a little attitude while doing it. But having taken the Hippocratic oath, I have a duty to the well-being of my patients.”
Michael let out a breath of relief. “Thanks, man. I owe you one.”
“No worries, bro. I knew you were digging her from the jump.”
“I'm not ‘digging' her, as you put it, just being protective of my business interests, that's all. You know I don't play where I eat. Been there, done that, got the restraining order to prove it.”
“If that's the case, then why don't you have Shayna meet me at my office instead of your house? As you know, I'm totally capable of handling your clients without your being there.”
“We've already been through this, bro. I'm just keeping this story under wraps. Troy is checking out Jarrell and the characters he hangs around. Things might get ugly. So for right now, the fewer people who know about this incident, the better.”
“Let me get this straight. You have an Olympic gold medalist who was attacked by her boyfriend.”
“Ex-boyfriend.”
“You don't press charges.”
“Right.”
“There's no police report.”
“I've already told you this.”
“And no hospital or doctor report to document her injuries.”
“Her roommates took pictures.”
Michael heard Gregory's frustrated snort through the phone. “This doesn't make any sense, Michael.”
“She doesn't want it out there either. Something about her mother's husband and how negative publicity might affect his business.”
“You would think a mother whose daughter had been attacked would care more about getting justice for her daughter, never mind what it would mean for anyone else.”
“Tell me about it.”
A pause and then, “What is she going to tell the coach?”
“Freak accident—ran into by someone riding a bicycle.”
“Is withholding information like that wise?”
“It is for now.” Michael ended the call, pondering his brother's remarks. There was no denying the feelings he had toward Shayna: to promote and protect. These he was able to excuse as being logical—he stood to make not only a bigger name for himself but a whole lot of money. But there were other feelings, deeper ones, that he didn't want to acknowledge, refused to acknowledge. When he needed sexual healing, there were several ladies on his speed dial who knew their liaison was pure hot fun. His self-assurance had bloomed large along with his physique, and after being rejected for much of his early years, when the great looks and greater confidence kicked in, he made up for lost time by keeping an address book of lovelies at the ready—a different type for each season, sport, and industry event. That's all he wanted, no strings attached. For some reason he dared not ponder, he didn't want any of them. Right now, he didn't have time for. . .anyone else.
As Michael turned onto the street where he lived, his cell phone rang. He glanced at the face of it, brows slightly knitting at the “unknown” announcement. “Morgan.” Silence. “Hello?”
“Michael Morgan, right?” a male voice inquired.
He tensed at once, almost sure that he'd heard this voice before. “Yes, this is Michael. Who is this?”
A short pause and then, “This is Shayna's boyfriend.”
Michael didn't even realize he was gripping the wheel. Surely this couldn't be the man who'd attacked his . . . investment. Either the man was very brave or very stupid. Given how he'd pretty much ambushed Shayna, Michael betted on the latter. “Does Shayna's boyfriend have a name?”
“Jarrell.”
Michael steered into his driveway. He turned the car off, but didn't get out. “What can I do for you, Gerald?” he asked while thinking,
This is going to be good.
The pause that occurred let Michael know that his pseudo-friendly demeanor had caught Shayna's assailant off guard. He'd probably expected a surlier greeting, a nastier encounter. Michael had something in store for him, no doubt. When the time was right.
“I, uh, I just wanted to let you know that me and her are, you know, together, and anything that involves her involves me.”
“Is that so?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, I tell you what
Gerald
—”
“Jarrell, man! J-a-r-r-e-l-l.”
“Right. Tell you what, Gerald. You handle your business with Shayna, and I'll handle mine. And as long as your business doesn't affect my affairs, we'll be fine. If that ends up not being the case, such as if you ever touch her again, it'll be a problem.”
“Don't try and threaten me, man.”
“I don't make threats, just promises. And since only a bitch would put his hand on a woman, I'd suggest you take me at my word.”
Michael disconnected the call and promptly blocked Jarrell's number. The plot had just thickened, and Michael had more questions than answers. What was up with the phone call he'd just received? Why had Jarrell been at Shayna's house, answering her phone and in the process getting his number? And perhaps the most important question, why was this fact affecting him the way it did? When it came to dealing with his clients, especially the multimillion-dollar celebrity athletes, he'd seen a little of everything. He'd dealt with drug users, baby mama drama, sexual harassment and assault lawsuits, blackmail, and more. When it came to Jarrell Powell, Michael wasn't exactly sure what he was dealing with. But he knew one thing. When the smoke cleared, he knew which man would be left standing and which one would find his face eating dirt.

Other books

Jam and Jeopardy by Doris Davidson
Naked Edge by Pamela Clare
His Enemy's Daughter by Terri Brisbin
Surviving Paradise by Peter Rudiak-Gould
Ceremony by Glen Cook
As You Wish by Jennifer Malin
The Perfect Blend by Allie Pleiter
The Greater Trumps by Charles Williams
Red Winter by Montgomery, Drew