Sexual Healing (36 page)

Alexis rolled her eyes and Tamara just snorted. But it was Maya who reached for her hand and gave it a comforting squeeze. The gesture melted her heart.

Alexis twisted her lips. “Mmph. Well, maybe he isn't trash. But he's still a gun-toting thug. And he had
you
in some high-speed shootout, like you were starring in some damn drama series. Who does that?”

“My God, Arabia,” Tamara hissed. “You could have been
killed
. What were you thinking?”

“I—”

“She
wasn't
thinking,” Alexis interjected, before she could get the rest of her sentence out. “That's the problem. She never thinks. Just does. Tamara, you know how she's always been. Reckless.”

Tamara grunted.
“Mmph
. Girl, preach. Even with her fucking married men. If that isn't reckless, I don't know what is.”

Arabia frowned. “I beg your pardon? Um, hello! I am sitting right here. There's no need for you to be talking as if I'm not. And I
wasn't
being reckless. I'm never reckless, as you so eloquently put it. Everything I do I give thought to.”

Tamara snorted. “Well, apparently not enough thought. Otherwise, you wouldn't be in this mess.”

Arabia scowled. “My
mess
—as you call it, is mine. And mine alone. I didn't ask
you
here to clean up
my
mess. And I didn't call
you”
—then she pointed at Alexis—“or
you
for a shoulder to lean on. So why the fuck are you bitches coming down on me? Do you think I asked for this, huh? Do you?”

Maya reached over and touched her shoulder. “Arabia, none of us think you asked for what happened to you. It's horrible. And I can only imagine what it was like being in it. Ever since we heard the news, we've been worried sick about you.”

Arabia relaxed at her sister's touch. “I know,” she said softly. More tears streamed down her face. “I already feel bad enough. I don't need them two self-righteous bitches making me feel any worse than I already do.”

Tamara shifted in her seat. “I don't mean to come down on you, hon.” Her tone softened. “You know we love you and would do anything for you. Anything. But we haven't heard from you in
weeks
, Arabia. Then we have to find out from some stranger at your workplace that you were in some shootout. After not hearing from you all this time. How do you think that makes
us
feel?”

Arabia swallowed. “I'm sorry. I should have taken your calls. I was too embarrassed to say anything. I didn't want any of you to know what I'd gone through.” She covered her face in her hands. “God, I feel so fucking stupid.”

Maya rubbed her back. “It wasn't your fault,” she said gently. “None of it.”

“Well, maybe not,” Alexis stated. “But she can help what she does about it. And we're here to help her. Have you blocked his numbers?”

Arabia shook her head slowly, biting the inside of her cheek. She wished she hadn't. She wanted to hear his voice, one more time. All she needed was one phone call to him.

But for what?

It wasn't like he really cared about her.

“No. I didn't block him. I changed my number.”

“Good for you,” Alexis said. “Wait. So he's the reason you changed your number?”

Arabia nodded, embarrassment washing over her all over again.

Tamara grunted again.
“Mmph.
You let that hoodlum disrupt your whole damn life. And why isn't his black ass in jail? You reported it to the police, didn't you?”

The look on Arabia's face said it all.

“Arabia!” Tamara and Alexis shouted.

“What the hell, girl?” Tamara questioned. “Are you serious?”

Alexis shook her head, utterly baffled.

“I did report it. I just didn't mention his name.” Of course, there hadn't been any police called. How could she call them
without
implicating herself? She'd been the one driving—the shooter, no less—in
her
car. Oh God—her car. She wanted to scream. Her once beautiful luxury car destroyed, now a thing of the past, dragged off to some chop shop. Thanks to . . .
him
.

Tamara drained her tea. “Okay. Someone tell me why the hell we're sitting here drinking tea? I need me a bottle of wine. This bitch has officially lost her mind.”

Maya gave her an icy glare. “Tamara, shut the hell up. Before I spill the
tea
on your ass. Okay? Because you and I both know some of the crazy shit you've done.” She tilted her head. “Now don't we?”

Tamara shot her a scathing look of her own, a warning to keep her mouth shut.

“No. I'm not going to put your business out there like that,” Maya assured her. She was the sister they all confided in, trusting her with their deepest, dirtiest secrets. “But don't go throwing stones at Arabia, either. Your glass house isn't all that perfect.”

Arabia blinked. But before she could open her mouth to question, to probe further, Maya took her hand in hers, and said, “Look at me, Arabia.” Arabia looked at her sister, her eyes brimming with tears. “I'm going to ask you something, and I want you to answer truthfully. But before you do. I want you to ignore Tamara and Alexis. Fuck them. This is you and I talking.” Arabia nodded. And then Maya eyed Tamara and Alexis. “And you two don't say shit. Or I swear I will drag the both of you.”

Tamara flinched, her stare glacial.

Alexis threw her hands up. “I'm done.”

“Good. Now tell me, Arabia. Do you love him?”

Arabia choked back another sob. The question hit her hard. It hit her in the chest and nearly snatched her breath away.

She needed to see him, one last time. She didn't want to keep fantasizing about, yearning for, what could have been. But it was over. She knew it. But she couldn't go on lying to herself, even if he didn't love her back. She needed to be free to live in her own truth. And the truth was, she didn't want to breathe—without him.

“Yes,” she whispered.

Maya stared at her, hard. Then a smile hovered on her lips. “Then go to him.”

Arabia blinked, surprised, her tears falling heavy now.

“You heard me. Go get your man.”

Thirty-Nine

T
he team lost.

By one fuckin' point!

It felt like a dark shadow was hovering over Cruze, fucking up everything good in his life. It was the first time the team had played white kids out in the suburbs, and the boys had expected an easy win. They were so shocked and upset about losing, they showed their natural asses when the buzzer went off. It was pandemonium on the floor, and Cruze couldn't wrangle the boys in as they threatened and cursed out the referee in the vilest language anyone had ever heard come out of the mouths of eight- and nine-year-olds.

And the moms on the team didn't help. In fact, many of them instigated and encouraged the chaos. Of course, numerous people recorded the meltdown, and for reasons that Cruze couldn't fathom, one of the ignorant-ass moms from his team posted the incriminating footage online, captioning it,
When you had enough of a racist ref!

The video of Cruze's boys cursing and fighting and acting like heathens had gone viral, making it on WorldstarHipHop.com and other sites that promoted ratchetness. With a glass of Hennessy in hand, Cruze groaned as he sank into a chair in his living room.

The ref hadn't shown any partiality. The boys lost fair and square to the white kids, who probably had personal trainers and went to expensive basketball camps two or three times a year. So, in that sense, the other team did have some advantages. But Cruze's
team had natural abilities in addition to having a good coach and two former NBA players giving them pointers.

His best player, Barack, had shocked him the most. The boy behaved like a feral little animal, snarling, throwing punches, and head-butting one of the players from the opposing team. That kid ended up with a busted lip that required stitches.

Now Cruze's team was suspended for two weeks. In a matter of minutes, he and the boys had lost their stellar reputation and had become pariahs in the youth league basketball circuit.

Bret was beyond livid and ordered Cruze to take the boys to a five-hour conflict resolution seminar on Saturday.

And that's why Cruze was drinking. He didn't feel like sitting up in a boring seminar with those wild, unhinged, ADHD little knuckleheads.

Cruze was so infuriated at his team, he was tempted to listen to the advice Marquan had given him. Marquan's alcoholic-ass had called with an idea that he said was much better than Bret's method of whipping the team back into shape. Marquan suggested that he and Cruze take the boys out into the wilderness somewhere, upstate and make them fend for themselves after he and Cruze had beaten the shit out of them with bats covered with barbed wire.

Cruze shook his head. The drunken muhfucka had been dead serious.

Practicing with the boys every day had helped keep his mind off of Arabia. But now that they were suspended, he was forced to confront his pain.

His hand tightened around the glass of Henny. He brought it to his lips and took a big gulp. He grimaced as the bitter taste burned his tongue.

Arabia. Damn. I fucked up, big time, bae!

He'd waited a week, giving her a chance to calm down a little
before trying to plead his case again, and when he'd finally gotten the courage to call her, he discovered she'd changed her number. That was a kick in the gut like no other, and she couldn't have made it any clearer that she wanted nothing to do with him.

A lowlife thug!
That's what she'd called him before kicking him out of her apartment and her life, and he supposed she was right.

Everyone he loved had always left him: first, his mom, then Ramona, Chance, and now Arabia. He'd been foolish to think he could ever have even a small slice of happiness. That shit only happened in the movies. Cats like him, if they had any sense, fucked every pussy in his path, and stuck his dick in every open mouth, and never caught feelings. He'd known better, yet he'd stupidly allowed Arabia to draw him in.

It wasn't only her extraordinary good looks that had captivated him, nor was it merely her sense of style, or her erotic sensuality. His feelings for her went beyond all the surface stuff. Arabia was like a twin soul. Loving her had made him able to finally love himself, something he'd struggled with since the age of thirteen.

The short time they were together had been heaven. Arabia was something special. Truly one of a kind. Waking up in the morning to the sensation of her soft body curled next to his had been the closest thing to nirvana he'd ever known. Inhaling the intoxicating scent she left in his sheets long after she'd gone used to give him so much pleasure, and now her fading fragrance was a taunting reminder that he'd allowed a living goddess to slip through his fingers, and he was devastated.

Yes, he was back in his old stomping grounds—hell on Earth. And no amount of luxury items, or being successful in real estate, and having money to burn could make purgatory a comfortable place to dwell. Engulfed by regret, he simply burned in his own misery.

For the last three weeks, he'd tried to ignore the pain in his heart, but now it was too much to bear. Cruze stood up, ready to appeal to the Lord for help. But he couldn't stand tall. His shoulders slumped and his stance became shaky in the knowledge that he'd done so much wrong in his life that it wasn't likely that God would be merciful toward him.

“Ma!” he cried out in anguish. She'd always been there for him, while she was alive . . . and he suspected she assisted him in the afterlife. There was no other way to explain him escaping numerous brushes with death other than divine intervention. But she'd really come through this last time.

Looking back, it seemed impossible that both he and Arabia had come out of the highway shootout without as much as a flesh wound. Cruze was convinced that his mother's undying love had surrounded him and the woman he loved, acting as a protective shield against a hail of bullets that no mortal man should have survived.

Eyes misty, he looked heavenward.

Ma, I've done so much dirt in my life that I'm ashamed to even talk to you. I apologize for not sticking to the promise that I made on your deathbed. Please forgive me. Ever since you left me, I've been so lost. I keep getting into dangerous situations and I keep making stupid decisions and bad choices. I don't want to continue down this road. I need redemption, and I was wondering if you'd put in a good word for me . . . with the Man. I don't have the heart to appeal to Him, myself.

Although I love Arabia with every breath in my body, I realize it's over
for me and her. But if there's any way the Lord sees fit to influence her moves and help guide her back to me, I promise to be a better man. If that's too much to ask, then it's all good; I understand. After the way I endangered her life, it makes sense that she hates me and wants nothing
to do with me. So, on second thought, all I'm asking of God is that he gives
me some peace of mind. No one should have to live a life of constant
misery. If He is a forgiving God, then maybe I'll get a little relief from this terrible suffering.

That's it; that's all I want. Thanks for listening, Ma.

Cruze ambled to the kitchen with the glass of Hennessy and poured the remaining liquor down the drain. There was no point in getting drunk. Accompanying the boys to the seminar tomorrow with a hangover wouldn't be a good look.

From this point on, all he could do was put one foot in front of the other and try to get through each day and focus on being a better human being than he'd been thus far. The first thing on his list was to turn things around with the team, and show the boys that it wasn't always about winning. It was about being your best self. He had to teach them that if they went through life reacting violently every time things didn't go their way, they were headed for self-destruction. And Cruze loved those kids too much to stand by and allow them to make the kinds of life-altering mistakes that he'd made.

He'd been robbed of the opportunity to raise Chancellor, but in the memory of his son, he would guide his young charges to manhood to the best of his ability. Although he'd only be coaching his current team for a few more years before they moved on to the teen league, Cruze had plans for them that included college tuition, summer basketball camps that promoted diversity, and intense counseling for their emotional well-being. Living in the 'hood exposed those kids to so much crime and violence, it wasn't any wonder that they behaved like heathens, unable to control their impulses when they got embarrassed on the court by a team of little white boys whom they felt they had an edge on.

Cruze cringed thinking about the video of his team that was circulating on the Internet. But even he had to admit that seeing those little rascals cursing out the ref and threatening to fuck him
up was funny as shit. It wasn't right, but he started chuckling when he recalled how swiftly Barack had head-butted that little curly blond-headed boy who'd shot the winning point for their team from the free-throw line.

It dawned on Cruze that he was actually laughing out loud, and he lifted a thick brow in wonderment. They said that laughter was good for the soul.

His doorbell suddenly rang and his good mood instantly turned to aggravation. No one came to his apartment uninvited and unannounced except that uppity, entitled Valentina.

Okay, I've had it. Enough is enough! I'ma grab that broad by the collar and drag her back to her apartment. Then, I'ma demand that her husband either put his bitch-in-heat on a leash or start doling out enough dick to keep her horny-ass satisfied enough to stop sniffing around my fuckin' door.

With a deep scowl on his face and his dark eyes filled with fire, Cruze stomped to the living room and yanked open the door. He took a hostile step forward, and then came to an abrupt halt.

He gasped. His legs felt unstable as he stared in shock at the angelic vision standing before him dressed in powder-pink lounge pants and matching top.

Arabia!

With her hair pulled back in a French twist, her face was unobstructed, allowing Cruze a clear view of her stunning bone structure. The twinkling diamonds in her ears radiated an ethereal glow, giving her an almost unearthly beauty. Cruze could have stood in the doorway staring at her for the rest of eternity. His prayer had been answered, that quick.

He looked up, and silently thanked his mom, then brought his gaze back to the woman who stole his breath and made his heart race.

Arabia's lips quivered as they both stood staring at the other, their eyes soaking in everything they'd missed. “I-I'm so s-sorry,” she stammered. “I-I can't take this pain of being without you any longer.”

Cruze's heart flooded with emotion. He opened his arms, and she fell into his embrace, burying her face in the space between his neck and shoulder. And wept.

Cruze closed his eyes.

Then exhaled.