Page 59 of Before I Say I Don't
We sat again, like we hadn’t just changed something fundamental. I took a bite because the mashed potatoes looked offended, and he watched me like feeding me was a hobby.
“I don’t know what tomorrow looks like, but I know I’m not walking blind anymore.”
“You don’t have to,” he said.
I looked at the cake, the skyline, and the man who’d set a table and a boundary and asked nothing from me I wasn’t ready to give. The ring on my finger felt more like a question than an answer.
“Can we… kiss once more?” I asked, cheeks heating, surprising myself with my own voice.
Roman stood without a word or hesitation, came to me, and kissed me like he had nowhere else to be and nothing else to prove.
Chapter Fifteen
VIANGELO GRANT
Iwoke up to a headache and a room that revealed the aftermath of a wild night—empty bottles of liquor littered the dresser, while a single high-heeled shoe laid beneath a chair, as if it had given up the search for its partner. A sprinkling of someone’s glitter sparkled across the carpet, catching the early morning light. On the other side of the king bed, two women I didn’t know were knocked out—one facedown, her locks spilling over the edge of the pillow, while the other laid curled up, clutching the hotel robe tightly as if it were a lost lover. The TV was still on, a silent loop of last night’s highlights. The air was thick with an intoxicating mix of loud perfume, weed, stale tequila, and a haze of questionable decisions.
I slowly propped myself up, resting my elbows on my knees, and buried my face in my hands until the pounding eased.
The early morning light spilled through the curtains, but it did little to lift my mood. My phone rested on the nightstand, facing down as if it were hiding from me. With a deep breath, I flipped it over, my heart racing at the thought of not seeing the familiar name.
As I glanced at the screen, disappointment washed over me. There were no missed calls from Kamira—no "good morning"text that usually greeted me when we were separated. Even after any arguments we had, Kamira always made a point to send that small sign of affection—not that morning.
The silence hit different. It crept under my skin and sat there.
Despite that, I found myself scrolling through my notifications, half-hoping that some unreceived message would magically appear. After a few moments, I let out a frustrated sigh, locked the phone with a decisive click, and set it down gently.
I looked around the room again, and an overwhelming mix of regret and confusion washed over me. I had initially framed that as a “quick trip” with the boys. Yet beneath the surface, that was more than a 'spur of the moment' getaway; it was a visit to the very home of Taryn, my daughter’s mother.
I told myself that my primary reason for going out of town was to embrace my role as a father, to connect with the daughter I had never physically seen… not to end up in a room full of naked strangers.
I buried my hands in my hair, feeling the weight of my decisions pressing down heavily.
“What are you doing, man?” I asked myself, the words tasting bitter as they escaped my lips.
The reality was even more complicated than I had initially allowed myself to acknowledge. Having a baby wasn’t even the icing on the cake. There was so much more I had kept hidden from Kamira, the woman who deserved transparency and honesty. One of those secrets—I was still married to someone else. It wasn’t driven by love or a sense of duty; it was something deeper.
When I first entered the relationship with Kamira, I had other malicious intentions, but being with her spiraled into something more than I imagined. I fell in love with her. And ifI was keeping it real, she was probably the only woman I’d truly loved.
Roman’s voice had edged in, that calm way he said things, like he’d been sitting on my shoulder the whole time.
If you’ve been hiding something that major in your closet, it’s far wiser to swing the door open yourself than to let somebody else barge in and drag the skeleton out.
I had reached for my phone again, opened the notes app, and typed a sentence I hated the shape of:
Kam, I need to tell you something.
Nothing else; anything else would’ve turned into excuses. I pondered on whether I should send it.
Not yet, I told myself.Not like this—hungover, strange women in my bed, the truth diluted with last night’s liquor.
One of the girls stirred, muttered something, and flipped her hair. I slid out of bed, scooped my jeans off a damn lampshade—how the hell had they even gotten there—and slipped into the bathroom. Looking into the mirror, I noticed my collarbone wore a smudge of lipstick I didn’t remember earning. I turned the shower on full blast and stood under water hot enough to scrape skin until shame finally eased its grip.
After I dressed, I gathered the wreckage, including a business card with a heart over the name. I dropped the card in the trash, picked it back up, and dropped it again. My reflection was already judging me.
On the table by the window sat a small white bag from the boutique downstairs. Inside was the only thing I’d done right in the last twenty-four hours: a delicate gold bracelet, baby-sized, with a single initial charm. I’d bought it sober, in daylight, for my daughter. That version of me—the one who showed up with balloons, a gift, and a promise that stuck—that was the man I wanted to be.
I texted Taryn.
