My anger and desire for answers cause me to grab my tote and hop out of his running truck and damn near run back inside the building. I don’t give a damn about his truck. Somebody can steal it for all I care. The only thing on my mind is the phone,my mother’s phone.
Only Trista and the new front desk girl are in the lobby area. I storm right past them, down the small hall into his office. He’s standing in front of his desk, looking out of the window.
“That was—” he begins, but stops when he sees my face which I’m sure is filled with a cocktail of emotions, fury at the forefront. “What’s wrong, love?” he asks.
My arm moves before my mouth and I slam the phone into his chest. The motion and force of my hand catches him off guard. When he tries to catch the phone, he fumbles and it crashes to the floor.
“Why the fuck do you have this?” I yell and I hear the hurt in my voice.
“Adora,” he says and steps forward.
I step back and shake my head. I can’t have him near me. I can’t. Bile rises in my stomach at just the thought.
“Stop, Xai, and just answer my fucking question. Why do you have my mother’s phone?” I yell even louder.
“It’s, love… I’m… it’s not what you think,” he stutters.
“How the hell do you know what I think? Huh? Is it because you’ve been listening to my voice messages to my mother? Huh! Because you’ve been listening to my private thoughts? Is that it?Is that how you know? Because that’s what I’m trying to find out! How the man I thought loves me has my mother’s fucking phone! How about you tell me so I can tell you what I think,” I spew. My words are all over the place, but my sentiment is loud and clear. I’m fucking furious and need answers from him right now. Instead of answering me though, he steps forward again and I step back. “I swear to God if you come any closer to me, I’m gonna slap the shit out of you. Just answer me, gotdamn it!”
At my words, he stops, sighs loud as hell, then runs his hand down his face. “Kadean was there the night of the accident,” he begins and my foundation crumbles as I lose all balance in my body. I actually stumble and he reaches for me. Disgusted, I draw back and brace myself on the stand by the door. “Adora, please.” He begs to hold me but I can’t.
“Finish,” I manage to say.
“He was there and she ran him off the road.”
“Beverly Mitchell. Her name was Beverly Mitchell!”
“I know,” he murmurs.
“Then call her that because you didn’t know her.”
“It was late and he called me to come,” he says and the little bit of balance I regained totally disappears and my legs wobble. My hand holds onto the stand, fighting to keep me upright.
“You were there?” I question out of pure disbelief and disappointment.
“After the accident,” he confirms. “I got h…Miss Beverly Mitchell out of the car and took her to the hospital.”
That was him! The police had no leads on how she got to the hospital. I’ve always wondered that. Now, I know. It was him.
At his revelation, I lose it, emotionally and physically. Everything I’ve eaten in the past twenty-four hours bubbles in my stomach and erupts out of my mouth uncontrollably. When it stops, I collapse to the floor.
He was there.
Before I can even process what he’s doing or even attempt to stop him, he rushes toward me and lifts me from the floor. I’m upright and my back is at the door when I finally realize he’s still touching me. I feel disgusted, betrayed, and foolish. I need to get away from him before I lose my shit again.
“Get your hands off of me,” I grit and barely recognize my own broken voice. He doesn’t move though. He remains planted in front of me, holding me up. My eyes meet his pleading ones and I refuse to look into them, so I close mine. “Is that why you came to my job?”
“Nah, love. No. I didn’t know where you worked. Hell, I didn’t even know what you looked like. I only knew your voice. And I tried to tell you a few times, but I just never could. It was never the right time.”
“You should’ve kept trying,” I cry, my tears uncontrollable.
“I should have a thousand fucking times. I’m sorry I didn’t,” he says softly.
“You were with her that night. You took her to the hospital, kept her phone, and listened to my messages.”
“I stopped listening after I met you,” he has the nerve to say.
“And that makes it okay?”
