Page 39 of Power Play

A warm palm slips into mine, and I look down at Maya. The happy look on her face colors the space with an energy that’s so bright and vivid, I feel like I’m weightless, floating around the room full of happiness and joy. “Where should we sit?” I ask her.

“There,” she says. She wheels around and drags Layla and me to follow her.

I bite my bottom lip, trying to control my emotions. Maya holds our hands; her steps are light and bubbly as she walks between us. She says something to her mom, but I barely listen. My mind is full of happiness and love…of the fantasies I’ve had about Layla and me. About our future together. About the family we can make.

Lowering my gaze, I stare at Maya’s hand in mine. The emotions are strong, overpowering. The good and bad, it all collides and mixes together. And it grows and grows and grows—until all I see is us in this dessert shop. A different “us” because it’s not real.

It’s nothing but a fantasy because in it, she’s mine. My little daughter, who thinks I’m the best dad in the world.

And that’s the hardest truth. Maya could’ve been mine…if Layla had done as she promised.

Chapter 14

Better

LAYLA

Now, September

“What’son the paper in your pocket?” Clay asks Maya, holding his mug. His chocolate cupcake is gone, and only a few crumbs are left on the plate. He said it was one of the best desserts he’d ever had when Maya asked him if he liked it.

Maya’s eyes round; she stops chewing. Setting her cupcake on her plate, she sneaks a glance at me. As if she’s not sure she can answer. I smile encouragingly and press my mug of lukewarm tea to my lips.

“It’s Bon-Bon. I draw her.” Another glance at me, a hesitant look on her face. I reach over and tuck a strand of her hair behind her ear. I’ll need to redo her pigtails because one of the ribbons came loose. “I draw her for you.”

“Really?” He sets his mug down, puts his elbows on the table, and leans forward. His eyes level with Maya’s. “Can you please show me?”

Maya nods and slowly pulls the paper out of her pocket. Her cheeks are pinkish red as she holds it out to Clay. After I told her we were going to meet with him today, she spent twohours finishing this little drawing, her tongue peeking through her tightly pressed lips, a concentrated look on her face. I don’t think she even tried that hard when she drew Bon-Bon for me last week.

Clay takes the paper, unwraps it, and lowers his gaze to Maya’s drawing. The way the corners of his mouth instantly curl up does a thing to my heart. He traces the lines on the paper with his long fingers, and a playful glint shines brightly behind his irises. Even though it’s a very chaotic doodle, his reaction is genuine and sweet, and my eyes start filling up with tears. How is it possible that he’s so good with her?

Quickly setting my mug on the table, I stand up from my chair. “Sorry, I need to use the bathroom,” I mutter. I scoot away from the table, past all other customers, and then hide behind the bathroom door. I lean my back against the closed door and shut my eyes.

Everything’s going to be fine. We’re going to be fine. I’ll do anything to make Maya happy. I’m a good mom.

The words I tell myself every day do nothing to make me feel better now. I shouldn’t be surprised that Clay is so good with Maya. His image in college was fun and light, with his lively and boisterous personality. But he’s also always been kind and caring. He’d have done anything for his friends, his family, and for me. Without asking for anything in return, he’s always been there for others.

My mind obliges me with a memory. A precious and devastating one, the moment that started everything. The first brick in the wall of reasons why I had to break up with Clay.

“Hey, Layla.” He kisses my cheek and sits down beside me on the bench. I shiver, grimacing from the nagging pain in my lower abdomen. The first day of my period is always the worst. “Is everything okay? You look pale.” Clay puts his palm on my cheek and tilts my face to him.

“I’m on my period,” I grunt, folding my arms across my chest and creating distance between us. “These cramps are killing me.”

His eyes soften. “Your classes are over, right?”

I nod.

“Then let’s go. I’ll take you to your room and take care of you.”

“I don’t want to have sex,” I tell him in a serious tone. Clay blinks, his eyebrows furrowing. “I’m not in the mood.”

Clay snorts. “I wanted to date you not because it means I can fuck you all the time, but because I want to take care of you, to make you feel better when you have a bad day.” He leans forward and plants a kiss on my forehead. “You’re my girl, Layla Benson. Stop thinking that sex is the only thing that binds us together, okay?”

My lips tremble traitorously as a smile forms on my face. “Okay.”

He helps me gather my things, then takes my backpack in his hand. His other one wraps around my waist, and he walks us down the hallway. The smell of his shower gel is icy and citrusy, and I’m battling the urge to burrow my nose in the crook of his neck.

“How about some pizza and movies?” he asks me as we head to the exit. “And your heating pad, obviously.”

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