“I’d like to go visit him sometime,” she said. “I have a lot to thank him for.”
“Me too,” I said. “Actually, once I’ve graduated and can get a job and shit, I’d really like to start sending him money. Just little bits. Nothing that would break me or anything. I’m never gonna be able to repay him for everything he’s done, but anything helps with commissary and stuff.”
Cherri nodded. “I think that’s a great idea. He did a lot for you, so the least we can do is pay back the favor.”
“We?” I said. “Is this it, then? We’re in this together? No looking back?”
Cherri looked up at me. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, we’re done with back and forth and uncertainties and friends with benefits and dating brothers,” I said with a forced laugh. “It’s me and you, right?”
Cherri craned up a little so she could drag me into a kiss. “Deon Keane, are you asking me to be your girlfriend?”
“Cherri Goodson, are you accepting?” I asked.
She nodded. “Yes.”
My arms already held her close, but I coiled around her even tighter. She didn’t seem to mind as I pulled us back into another kiss. I was floating so high that I was becoming increasingly more afraid that I was dreaming. If I was, hopefully, someone killed me in my sleep. For three years of falling in love with Cherri and through four years torn apart, I’d wanted her for so long. Now I finally had her. She was mine forever, and I was never going to let her go again.
“I love you,” I said. “I love you so much.”
Cherri’s already brilliant smile and sparkling eyes doubled in beauty. “I love you too.”
“I think,” I said, “that we should have more sex in this car.”
Cherri giggled. “I think that’s a marvelous idea.”
She shifted until she was straddling me again, giving me that picturesque view of her bare torso, the night sky forming a perfect blackened blanket behind her. I smoothed my hands up over her stomach and cupped her breasts, and she rolled her hips forward.
“You’re a breast man, I think,” she joked.
“So I’m learning,” I said. “When such a beautiful pair are presented to you, what else can you do?”
“Are you saying my ass isn’t beautiful?” she asked, raising an eyebrow and grinding herself down on my already hardening shaft.
“Cherri, every fucking thing about you is beautiful.”
She winked at me, and I almost came on the spot. “Good answer.”
She reached behind herself and started to grab at me when, all of a sudden, my phone rang. My fist flew out and bashed against the door. “I don’t know who is on the other end of that call, but I hate them.”
Cherri chuckled, fished my phone out from my jeans pocket, and peeked at the screen. “Oh. It’s your mom.”
“Ugh. I don’t hate my mom.” I reached out, and Cherri handed me the phone. Even though she’d stopped moving, that didn’t make her any less of a distraction as I answered the phone. “Hello?”
“Deon!” My mom’s voice was frantic, and she was clearly crying. “Where are you?”
“Mom! What’s wrong? Are you okay?” Cherri’s expression turned to concern in an instant as I spoke. “What’s going on?”
“Baby, tell me it’s not true what they’re saying about you,” she whined. “Tell me you didn’t do it.”
“Do what? Mom!”
“It’s all over the news, Deon!” She sniffled. “They’re saying you killed a teacher by pushing her from the fourth floor of your school.”
My heart dropped into my stomach. “Oh, fuck!”
31
Cherri
Deon and I stared in horror at the news stories and articles that filled both of our timelines. Every social media site, every major news outlet, and anything that could carry a headline had Deon’s mugshot plastered above a statement that he’d pushed Miss Abrams from her fourth-floor classroom. There were quotes from students and staff confirming the story, including people that I knew for a fact were not in the building when Deon and Miss Abrams had their little issue. Deon had explained what happened to me in great detail when he called me the day that it happened, and it was just occurring to me that we didn’t have a chance to talk about what Nathan had told me about her and why I’d asked Sicily to bug the classroom. No matter which way I looked at it, it was my fault that Deon was in there, and now he was being blamed for her murder.
“What do you mean you got fired? They haven’t even charged me yet!” Deon yelled, still on the phone with his mom. “Okay. Just… Mom. I swear to fucking god, I didn’t kill anyone. You know I didn’t. I’m not a killer.” Deon’s head dropped, and it was as if I could hear her bringing up his record. “Yeah, but I didn’t do that either, Mom. You know that.”
I quickly put my phone away and started up the car. It was a bit of a struggle, getting dressed in a rush, given the circumstance we were in, but we managed, all while Deon stayed on the phone, trying to calm his mom. I was frustrated that our date had been cut short, but I was even more frustrated that this issue was cropping up after Deon
