44. 🔧 Broken Down

**JUSTICE**

Before she left, Keke promised we would talk throughout the day, every day. And we did, for the first three days. Then it trickled down to once a day for a few minutes, and now on the ninth day, I have yet to hear from her.
She has time for the guys, though. She texts them or calls without fail. I sit and smile when they talk to her, my body hurting with worry.
I don’t know why this is happening. I haven’t the first clue what I did or what I didn’t say.
I’m so damn lost as to what is going on.
When I talked to Keke on the first day, she said she was staying with her brother Trey in Stockton. She wanted to put off the confrontation…uh, meeting with her parents until Christmas.
With the time difference, it’s almost eleven in the morning. I can’t sweat it out any longer, I have to know what I did.
She answers on the first ring. It’s telling that she refuses to accept the video feature of FaceTime.
“Keke,” I say, getting right to the point. “What’s going on?”
“Justice, I’m not coming back to New York.”
My heart falls to the ground. Breathing becomes difficult and my eyes feel strained as if the light is suddenly too bright. “What do you mean, Keke? What are you saying?”
“I’m saying I’m letting you go.”
I scrub a hand down my face. “Tell me why,” I choke out.
“Does it matter?” Her voice is distant, her tone colder than anything I’ve ever produced.
“Yeah, it does to me.”
“You want kids, right? Well I can’t give them to you. So, go find someone who can.” She hangs up.
Like a paper cut, there to think about only when a movement causes it to hurt, I note her words, but they don’t sink in as I’m too busy trying to call her back. I’m thankful she’s on speed dial. My fingers are shaking so bad, I can barely punch the button.
The call goes straight to voicemail. As do the next one, over and over and over...until she blocks me.
It is the day before Christmas Eve, a time of joy, cheer, and good will towards men.
All I feel is empty, sad, and utterly abandoned.
But I’m not down for the count. I’m not even on the mat.
I steady my hands and call the one person who can help me.
Xaver Sayle.


As I pack, I explain to the kids why I have to go to California. Seth and D’Andre get it, but Cam doesn’t.
“Why do you have to go today?” he whines. “Why can’t you wait till after Christmas? Don’t you want to be with us?”
“Sure, I do, buddy. I hate to miss the action, I really do, but Aunt Keke needs me. I have to go. With any luck, I’ll be back... well, I’ll be back as soon as I can.” I don’t want to give a date and have to break it. I won’t start lying to the kids like I have been to Keke.
It’s in the back of my mind that’s the real reason she’s not talking to me. She somehow found out I was the cause of her getting shot. If it is, I’ll do whatever it takes to make things right, and if it isn’t... I’m going to tell her the truth as soon as I see her.
I want to start the new year—hell, a new us with a clean slate.
Cam opens his mouth to say something else when Seth bends down and whispers something in his ear. Cameron clams up, looking chagrined.
As we head out the door, I pull Seth aside to ask him what he told his brother. Seth pushes his glasses up on his nose and says, “I simply told him to grow up.”
Parents have nothing on siblings when it comes to peer pressure.


Xaver sends Alfonso to come and get us.
After dropping me off at the airport, he takes the kids to Manhattan to spend Christmas with Xaver and Pippa, the twins, and both sets of grandparents.
Pippa thinks her brother couldn’t get leave, but he’s flying in later tonight to surprise her. That’s the only reason the guilt around my heart hasn’t squeezed it to death. With Samuel there, the kids won’t even notice I’m gone.
At least I keep telling myself that.
Breezing through the TSA control with my TSA Pre-Check ticket, I make it to my flight with ten minutes to spare. I could’ve flown first class if I wanted to have a three-hour layover in Denver. I chose to fly economy as I’ll arrive in Oakland two hours’ sooner.
Xaver offered to let me use one of his planes, but that would mean his crew had to give up their holiday with their families and as tempting as it was, I couldn’t do that to them when there was another alternative.
My companion by the window, a heavyset woman, grimaces when I squeeze myself into the middle seat. We both try to make ourselves as small as possible.
At least the seat beside me is empty.
Just my luck, a woman comes down the aisle with a screaming baby on her hip. She falls into the seat on my right side, letting out an exhausted sigh. The woman on my left rolls her eyes as the baby, a boy judging by his blue outfit, continues to scream in his mother’s lap.
The young mother does her best to calm the child down by cooing and making soft voiced promises of treats once they are settled.
The baby isn’t having it.
And dealing with so many women, both professionally and personally, I can tell the mother is near the end of her rope by whiteness of her pinched lips, the high color in her pale cheeks.
I note the baby’s diaper bag sits mostly in the row instead of pushed under the seat. With the flight attendant (who looks like she eats nails for breakfast) coming our way I take action to avoid the mother getting reprimanded for her errant luggage.
“Do you need help? I can hold the baby while you get ready for takeoff.”
Her smile is grateful as I take the baby in my arms. While she takes off her jacket and stows the bag under the seat, I coo to the child until he quiets down. The woman at the window nods her approval.
“You’re a rare breed. Not many men would volunteer to do what you’re doing. Do you have kids of your own?”
“I have three boys. They’re teenagers, though.”
Her brow furrows in confusion. “Teenagers? But you look so young.”
I shrug. I’m their father whether I had a hand in their birth or not. I don’t feel like I have to slap a label on what I do.
The baby whimpers and I turn my attention back to him while Keke’s words jumble and whirl in my brain.
You want kids?
Find someone…
I can’t give them to you...
“I’m ready for him now,” the woman on the aisle says quietly.
I hand the baby back to his mother. He looks up at her with wide blue eyes, a chubby fist pressed to his mouth.
Sure, I’d like one of my own.
But not at the expense of losing the woman I love.