Page 82 of A Don & His Doll

“You’ll get the full story when you get here. She’s at the safe house receiving concierge medical care,” Mitch gave him a little peace, then disconnected the call.

Something snapped inside of Monroe as he stood with his phone clasped in his grasp. Macie had fucked around and took it too far. He had been sleeping on his mother when she’d pulled this same move, but this time he was wide awake, and saw her for who she really was. Monroe scrolled to G’s contact and hit send.

“What’s good, Roe?” G answered, switching lanes.

“I’m on my way back in town, but I need you to find my mother, and bring her to me,” Monroe cut straight through the small talk. “She ain’t gon’ come willingly, but make sure she's alive,” he instructed.

“I got’chu,” G said, no questions asked.

“Bet,” Monroe stated, disconnecting the call.

The weight sitting on Monroe’s chest as he stepped out of the shower was strong enough to bring a man to his knees, but he was cut from a different cloth. When he looked in the mirror, his reflection looked the same, but something inside him had shifted. He studied the man staring back at him through the mirror, and for the first time in weeks he wasn't conflicted. The burden he'd been carrying since leaving New York hadn't disappeared, but it no longer felt impossible to bear. Somewhere between the silence, the prayers, and the sleepless nights, God had given him the answer he'd been searching for.

It was Promise.

He knew in his heart of heart-of-hearts that the decision had been made, and she'd always be his answer. He was going home. Monroe scrolled to his personal pilot's text thread.

Need to head to New York in the next hour.

Dru: Already.

I’m on my way, Doll, he thought, spraying himself with his signature scent. He regretted the time he spent away from her, and though it had been necessary for mental and spiritual clarity, it still felt like torture. Nevertheless, he intended to make it all right once he made it to her side. Thirty minutes later, Monroe had draped himself in black designer slacks, a white-collar dress shirt, and black loafers. Around his neck rested a diamond-encrusted Cuban link chain with a cross pendant that caught the light every time he moved. A matching Patek hugged his wrist, completing a look that whispered wealth instead of announcing it.

This wasn’t at all the way that he’d envisioned his reunion with Promise, but it was past due. Monroe was overly sure that where he was going was undoubtedly where he wanted to be. Before reaching for the door and making his exit, Monroe dropped to his knees, and prayed for Promise.

Jehovah Rapha,

I know I don’t talk to you as much as I should, but I’m humble enough to acknowledge Your power. Please let my wife be alright. Whatever damage that has taken place, I trust you to heal her, and make her whole. In Jesus Name, Amen.

Four Hours Later…

The soothing sounds of soft waves crashing into a water brook was the soundtrack that wafted through the old-school boombox tucked away on the antique dresser. Monroe stood quietly in the doorway, his eyes settling on Promise as she slept peacefully beneath cream-colored Egyptian cotton sheets, and a cashmere throw that was draped across the foot of the bed. The room looked more like a luxury suite than a place where someone was recovering from a gunshot wound. Rich mahogany furniture, soft ambient lighting, and carefully selected décor disguised the medical equipment that quietly occupied the corners of the room. The Black Family didn't believe in hospitals if they could help it. They brought the hospital to them.

Moonlight spilled through the partially opened blinds, stretching across the hardwood floors before kissing the oversized bed. The slow and steady beat coming from the monitors was the only reminder of how close he'd come to losing her. Mitch had walked him through every second of the ambush that had taken place in front of Pasquale Jones', and every detail had tested the little bit of resolve he had left. Every instinct in him wanted blood, but reacting off emotion had never served a man in his position. Had the bullet been three inches to the left, it would have hit a main artery and killed her.

Monroe pinched the bridge of his nose as he stepped deeper into the room, closing the door quietly. His eyes found Promise immediately. For a short while, nothing else in the room existed. Just her. His eyes scanned the room, immediately spotting a chair that sat in the far-left corner. Quickly crossing the room, Monroe got the chair and brought it to her bedside. He simply took in her features. She was alive and that alone made him breathe easier, but he hadn’t missed the IV that was stationed on the other side of the bed, or the slight exhaustion that rested beneath her eyes. None of it looked right on her. Releasing a deep sigh, he sat down and gently took her hand. His thumb stroked slow circles across the back of her hand as his eyes grazed over her face.

“Monroe,” Promise murmured, blinking her eyes open.

“I’m right here, Doll,” Monroe answered lowly, never letting go of her hand.

“Everything happened so fast. I–”

“Shh,” Monroe interrupted. “I got you,” he assured her.

“Where have you been? You never returned any of my calls or texts? Why?” She questioned, needing to know why he’d made himself unavailable.

Monroe licked his lips as his gaze drifted to their joined hands for a brief moment. “Soul searching, Doll,” he answered honestly, lifting his eyes back to hers. “A nigga had to get away from everything and everybody long enough to process, analyze, and make the decision that sat best with my soul.”

“You could have at least let me know you were alright,” Promise said, giving him a side eye.

Monroe chuckled before his expression became solemn again. “You right,” he admitted. “But I needed to be away from you for a minute too. I needed to feel the impact of not having you around me. Had to entertain the possibility of a different life without you. All of that took time, and a nigga had to face myself. My truth,” Monroe explained.

Promise nodded slowly, understanding why he’d taken time away despite the way it made her feel. But, there was a part of her that still wanted to be mad at him. She couldn't pretend those months hadn't hurt, but hearing the honesty in his voice softened something inside of her. If nothing else, he wasn't hiding behind excuses.

“So, what did you decide?” She quizzed.

“Truth is, Doll. A nigga regret every second I spent away from you only to confirm some shit I already knew. I don’t need another second away from you to confirm that with you is where I wanna be, forever. You the only one for me, but,” he paused. “But, it ain’t just me no more. I have a daughter. I understand if you can’t accept this because–”