Vérité (28 page)

Funny, how the year before I hid from my own self-hatred, and now I was on the lam from people who actually cared for me.

I dragged my ass to every class, winding around back ways to the buildings. Desperate, I found coffee places farther and farther away from campus to drown myself in caffeine and my own misery. In class, I caught myself doodling, tracing emblems like Tiberius’s tattoo rather than taking notes, or Googling basketball scores.

But I was also avoiding Nadine. She’d caught up to me after class the first week back. “Oh, em, gee, Tingly, I heard you ended it with that buff hunk of a guy, Tiberius. Are you okay?”

She meant well . . . or not . . . I didn’t really know. She was such a typical college coed, all fun and frivolous with perky tits, and always squealing. Why couldn’t she be quiet and reserved like she was when she was running? That was the Nadine I could appreciate.

“I’m doing okay.” I put on a brave smile. “Just need to concentrate on school and getting out of here,” I lied.

“Well, Logan said he knew it would happen, said the guy’s bad news.” Making her point, she whipped her head around, flipping her hair so fast it almost took me out.

I let out a little snort. “Not sure Logan is the authority on anything, but thanks for checking on me,” I said with a polite smile as I edged away from her and our conversation.

“Maybe we’ll all go to a party soon?” Nadine called after me brightly.

My situation was made even worse by the fact that Pierre was back. I wasn’t sure how he weaseled his way back on campus or why. I’d cut off all contact with my parents after they offered Tiberius a hundred thousand dollars per year for the next five years to end things with me—in an e-mail. How they got his e-mail address, I had no clue.

This had happened sometime in the weeks between Thanksgiving and Christmas . . . wouldn’t they be happy to know I did it myself? For free just because Coach Smith asked?

I’d seen Pierre a few times on campus in the Languages building. He was never really doing anything official when I saw him, mostly talking or laughing with a faculty person or an old colleague. He had something up his sleeve, and I wanted nothing to do with him or his plans. All I wanted was for him to disappear.

That wish was especially fervent today. I was sitting in a small bistro on the outskirts of campus after finishing up a tutoring lesson with Robbie, my new student. Lindsay had hooked him up with me after meeting him in her Italian class. He was a nice guy from her high school in Long Island, dark-haired and with a good build, and unfortunately was interested in way more than tutoring from me.

Nursing a latte, I closed my eyes as I tried to shrug off the day, which included Robbie’s relentless advances. In Italian, of course.

The chair across from me screeched on the tile floor as it slid out. “
Ma chérie
, how are you, love?” was addressed to me in a thick French accent.

A shiver slid down my spine as I opened one eye. “Pierre, just go. Don’t do this.”

He sat down uninvited across from me and cupped his hand over mine, which was already holding my mug. I hated the fact that we were sitting in a café, our hands jointly wrapped around a coffee mug—something I’d only dreamed about when we were together, and now he gave it to me so easily. Back then, all he gave me was his dick and false promises. Who knew what he wanted this go-round?

“Ah, good to see you still enjoy your
café
,” he mumbled, his accent more pronounced than usual. He was laying it on thicker—for my libido, I supposed.

“What do you want?” I said through gritted teeth, trying not to make a scene.

“I’m back in the area. Consulting, I think is what you Americans call it? Since your parents overlooked our relationship, and I left for the year until you were twenty-one, and I’m not American. I don’t really know, but I escaped with only a slap on the wrist. That’s how good I am,
bébé
. I’m sure it helped that your dad made a sizable donation to the school’s agriculture department. Serves him good in his type of work.”

Disgusted, I watched the way his words rolled from his lips. I used to love the way he spoke, but now I deplored his lingering Vs and the way he touched his tongue to his lips between words. He was such a pompous prick.

“You still didn’t tell me what you want from me.” I was getting testy, my voice raised slightly.

“You, Tigger. I want you. I left Patricia,” he announced proudly, as if he’d done me a monumental favor.

I stood up, leaving my half-finished latte. “Never. Not in this lifetime, Dr. Dubois.”

“But, Tigger, we could be so good together.” He jumped to his feet, apparently prepared to chase after me. “With all that money, we could do anything.”

“Oh, are you finally admitting that this is what this is all about?” I narrowed my eyes, finally seeing him for the absolute con artist he was as we faced off.

Pierre gave me that Gallic shrug that I used to love. “Well, in the beginning, I thought you’d get bored with me after sleeping with me a few times, then make me a quick dollar to leave you alone. But you didn’t. I kept thinking you’d take an interest in one of those fraternity boys, but then you went and ruined my career.”

His gaze sharpened on me. “When Patricia left . . . with all her money . . . she mentioned that I should contact your parents, maybe they would take me in or something. That gave me the idea, and imagine my surprise when they bit. They needed something from you, and I needed them. Together we figured we could get you back on track. I just didn’t think I’d find a black guy in my place,
chérie
.”

His candor surprised me. The man didn’t miss a trick; he let it all hang out.

Edging closer, he placed his hands on my neck, leaning in to either whisper something to me or to kiss me, I wasn’t sure which, but it didn’t matter.

Furious, I put my hand up in the air and yelled, “Stop!” and breathed a sigh of relief as he backed away. There was no way he could touch me now after all the witnesses in the coffee shop saw me warn him off.

That was before I looked toward the door and saw Trey and Lamar crowding Pierre as he walked out, steering him forcefully toward his silver SUV parked at the curb. Had they been watching him or me? What were they going to do to him? I’d witnessed what happened to Logan when he crossed a line, so their seeing Pierre with me would probably not bode well for him. Especially if they heard his accusations about a black man taking his place.

My entire body shook from the chill that ran up my spine and out my fingers and toes. I dropped back into my seat and gathered my coffee mug closer, willing its warmth to seep through my veins. Closing my eyes, I prayed Tiberius wouldn’t take it on himself to “talk” with Pierre. I didn’t want Ty to get hurt—which was unlikely—or get into trouble.

Crap, that man had infiltrated every one of my free thoughts, especially when I hurried home to take a run. It was the only way I knew to shed the anxiety and stress racking my body. As I pounded the concrete, “Paid in Full” by Eric B. and Rakim boomed through my iPod, courtesy of Jamel and Trey. I’d left my iPod at Ty’s one day and came back to several new playlists.

This was one of the songs Tiberius and I danced to, and I didn’t know why I tortured myself listening to it, but I did. My skin burned underneath the fleece-lined leggings and Polartec jacket I wore, and it wasn’t because of their insulation or warmth. My cheeks stung in the wind, probably bright pink or red. Not because they were chapped, but because of Ty and what he did to my heart.

Not my body—my heart. Tiberius saw through all the bullshit and made me feel worthy, and that alone set my soul ablaze.

It didn’t help that he wouldn’t let it be. He texted every day. Usually it was just
hey
or
hello
or
thinking about you
. Sometimes he mentioned that the team won.

I never texted back or admitted to watching the games, but I couldn’t help myself. A few times, I sneaked into the field house and stood up by the rafters to watch the action. It was a good plan, no one saw me or knew I was there, until one night when Coach Smith cornered me again after a game. I was rushing out of the field house, running toward the exit before anyone saw me, and was shocked when the coach grabbed me and pulled me into a dark corner.

Who did this asshole think he was? Ty’s boss and protector, that’s who.

“It’s going good, girl. Let him be,” he said tersely as he gripped my forearm. “Glad you listened to me. But don’t keep hanging around here. His head’s clear, and he needs that.”

This time, I couldn’t avoid the tears falling. They poured down my face as I jerked away from him and headed back to my room, my head swimming with
T
words the entire walk back.

Touch
é
. Tunnel of love . . . sucks. Tuna Niçoise. Tramp. Trollop.

Unfortunately these weren’t the more positive words associated with the letter
T
. My little coping technique had gone over to the dark side.

Slamming my door behind me in my rush for my bed, I looked up when I didn’t hear it bang shut. There was Stacy, her foot keeping the door from closing.

“You ready to come clean?” She cocked her head to one side, narrowing her eyes on me as she hooked her hand on her hip.

I shook my head and forced out a
no
, but my voice wavered from the quivering of my bottom lip.

Stacy’s expression gentled as she slid onto the end of my bed. “Come on, girl. You’re a mess. You broke up with a good dude. Why?”

She looked tired again, with dark circles under her eyes, but she was taking the time for me. Her concern for me broke through my defenses, but I wasn’t the only one with problems. It was time for a little
quid pro quo
.

“I’ll tell you if you tell me what’s going on with you,” I said, putting the deal on the table, and she nodded.

“Some man—no, not just a man . . . a coach—told me to back off. Said I wasn’t good for Tiberius or the team. He told me I was an unnecessary distraction, and he’s right.”

Her eyes bulged at my revelation. “You’re shitting me?” When I shook my head, she blurted, “That’s not the truth, Tingly. He misses you every second. I know it; he told me. He tells the guys all the time. And look at you, you’re fading away to nothing, all bony. I know you’re not eating, and you been running like a Kenyan. And why? Because of this stupid coach butting in where he don’t belong?”

Drawing in a deep, shuddering breath, I admitted, “Tonight I sneaked into the game, and the same coach found me. Told me Tiberius is doing well without me.”

She shook her head this time. “Huh-uh, he’s not. I don’t know who this guy thinks he is, but he’s wrong, and he can’t do what he’s doing.”

“You have to let it be,” I begged her.

Stacy nodded, but looked away from me as she did. She was lying.
Shit.

Turning the tables on her, I demanded, “Now, what’s going on with you?”

She shifted on the bed, her gaze anywhere but on me as she said, “I was pregnant. I ended it, and I can’t sleep now.”

“What?” Tears gathered in my eyes all over again. This girl’s problems were so much bigger than mine. “What happened? Who? Why didn’t you lean on us?”

She closed her eyes, forcing out a solo tear that escaped to tumble down her cheek. “It happened right when we got back to school. Chey doesn’t know. It was a stupid night, after a party. Things got carried away with a friend of mine, and we fell into bed. We didn’t use protection. He’d be so mad to know I did this . . . to his baby. It wouldn’t sit well, so I got no one. Chey’d freak out about it and tell him.”

“Do I know him?”

Stacy lifted her glistening dark gaze to meet mine and nodded. Her nose was running, her eyes swollen and red. “Jamel.” It was a whisper, almost inaudible.

My hand flew over my mouth as I gasped. “He would never let you do this alone, Stacy. He’s a good guy deep down.”

“I know,” she said in a small, sad voice before she crawled closer, then lay down on the pillow next to me. “But he woulda made me keep the baby, and I’m here on a scholarship for ball.”

She sighed as I reached out to caress her hair. “We’re a messed-up bunch, Tingly. Those basketball boys have us tied in knots.” Trying to smile, she added, “Except yours can be fixed, and my baby is gone,” her last words said on a whimper.

I drew her into my arms and hugged her tight, sobbing along with her. Before long, we fell into an exhausted sleep, spooning like sisters in my little bed.

We were an unlikely pair, my roommate Stacy and me. I never would have dreamed that we could become good friends, drawn together by our deep, but separate, regrets.

S
tacy had gone to sleep snuggled in my arms for the last week, ever since she’d come clean about her painful loss. Now she looked better, her eyes brighter and her spirit and body stronger.

This morning when she woke up, I took her hand in mine and insisted, “Today’s the day.”

Her dark eyes searched mine, looking for an out, anything that would prolong her telling Chey. Poor Chey; she knew something was up, between Stacy hiding out in my room and my being so quiet about it. It was time for her to be clued in.