Page 29 of My Only (My First, My Last)

He didn’t move for a long moment.

Then…

His shoulders lifted.

A sharp exhale.

“So.”

He finally looked away.

Studied the table.

A few solid balls left.

A whole lot of striped ones.

Evidence that I was having my ass handed to me.

In this game.

And in life.

“Ayla ain’t just your wife, Hassani.”

He bent over the table again.

Angled his cue stick.

Lined up his final shot.

“And while I may not have known her father Aden long before he started working under me in that North Tower…”

A brief pause.

A deep inhale.

“I made a promise to myself after that September 11 th night.”

He lowered his voice.

“The night I saw Aden’s wife cry until she passed out from exhaustion on her living room couch.”

His grip on his cue stick tightened.

“I swore that night I’d always protect his daughter…”

A beat.

“The way I know he would have.”

Then, before he took the final shot…

He froze.

Glanced up at me one last time.

“Ayla is my one and only daughter, Hassani.”

His voice was low.

“And I will never, ever accept a new one.”

Then…

The last ball dropped.

And I closed my eyes.

Tightly.

Because if his goal was to make me feel like shit, to feel the full weight of his disappointment?

He had achieved it.

With flying colors.

“You lost this game.” My father stood to his full height, locking eyes with me. “Don’t fuck everything up and lose your wife, too.”

He pointed at me.

“You lost the game?—”

His voice dropped.

“Do not lose your wife.”

I stared at him, throat tight.

Then my gaze dropped to the table.

Empty.

Just like my stomach.

And in that moment, I realized my dad was right.

I wasn’t blind.

Harper was beautiful. She was into me. Clearly.

I saw it.

But I never let her attention cloud my judgment.

I was in control. Always .

Women had always been drawn to me—but I knew how to handle that.

Didn’t I?

Agreeing to go to Vernon’s, though? A bad call.

But it was innocent… right?

Right?

Or had I been wrong all along?

* * *

The drive home was torture.

Even after my father pulled me into a hug, told me he loved me till his dying breath, his final words wouldn’t stop playing.

“You lost the game… Don’t fuck everything up and lose your wife, too.”

The idea of losing Ayla?

Never crossed my mind.

Not once.

Not even on the worst days.

I still remember that night. Standing outside her hotel room in D.C. in the early hours of my wedding day, the one I had with my ex-fiancée, Sienna.

I begged Ayla to admit it.

To say what I’d known for years.

That she loved me.

That she had always loved me.

I waited. And waited.

And when she finally said it, I knew.

Forever.

Me and Ayla.

That was the plan.

That was the whole damn point of getting married in the first place.

So why did I feel like everything was falling apart?

The Greene Gardens Project was supposed to be the final piece.

The thing that would set us up for life.

Money was handled.

Our love was unshakable.

I thought that was all we needed.

But now?

Shit.

Now, I wasn’t sure anything was enough.

The constant delays at work.

The flaws I should’ve seen before creating them.

The pressure of Bryant’s expectations weighing me down.

I was starting to feel like I wasn’t the guy who should be leading this project.

And I hated it.

I pulled into our driveway.

Dragged my tired ass up the paved walkway.

Stopped a few feet from the door.

Looked up.

And for the first time, my house, the one I designed, the one I built, didn’t feel like home.

I slid my key into the lock.

Stepped inside.

Darkness.

Expected.

I was home late as hell,

And I hadn’t even called.

Again.

I made a mental note… fix this, Hassani.

Make it up to Ayla.

Somehow.

But for now, I just needed our bed.

I was done.

I moved down the corridor.

Turned toward the kitchen for some water.

Flicked on the light and nearly jumped out of my skin.

“Oh, shit!”

Ayla was sitting at the table.

Silent.

Still.

Eyes locked on me.

My hand flew to my chest.

“Baby.” I chuckled, trying to shake it off. “Damn. I ain't even know you were in here.”

Nothing.

No reaction.

No smile back.

Nothing.

And slowly, the nervous laughter left my lips.

My chest tightened.

I could feel it.

Something was wrong.

“Baby…” I said softly. “Why you just sitting there all quiet?”

Still no words.

Just those sad, tired eyes staring straight through me.

And in that moment, I realized… she was done.

I swallowed.

Hard.

Tried to read her expression.

Tried to understand how we got here.

“Ayla… why are you still up?—”

“Where were you?”

Her voice was low.

Weighted.

Angry .

My jaw tightened.

My throat closed.

I opened my mouth to say something, but nothing came out.

Nothing came out, because if I told her I was in Long Island with my dad getting my ass handed to me, I’d have to tell her why.

She knew all the stories about The Green Room.

She knew my dad only brought me there whenever he needed to humble me, bring me down to size, as he put it.

And if I told her he brought me there because he found me at Vernon’s with Harper…

I just knew I wouldn’t know peace that night.

A sharp, bitter scoff left her lips. “Were you out with Harper, Hassani?”

Fuck .

I shut my eyes.

Hard.

So much for leaving that part out.

“You lost the game… don’t lose your wife.”

My father’s voice slammed right into me.

Like a brick to the chest.

“Ayla—”

“Yes or no.”

She cut me off.

Voice sharp.

Clipped.

Unforgiving.

Her eyes?

Dark.

Cold.

There was no running from this.

No deflecting.

No fixing it with sex this time.

I had to answer.

Yes or no.

I wasn’t going to lie.

I’d lied to other women.

But Ayla wasn’t other women.

So… I told her.

“I was , but then my?—”

“God.” She exhaled sharply. “Hassani, I can’t do this shit anymore.”

I held my breath.

Didn’t let it go.

“I can’t do this, and I don’t want to.”

“Ayla—”

“Every fucking night…” she cut me off. Her voice was shaking. Her hands were shaking. “… since you started this project, Hassani… has been hell for me.”

I shut my eyes.

Dropped my tense shoulders.

Because shit…

Since I started this project, it’s been hell for me too .

“This woman you’re working with… hmph .” Ayla laughed bitterly then inhaled a breath. No humor. Just pain .

She damn near growled.

“She is up to something. And I’m tired of telling you about her.”

Her voice cracked.

“Tired of you making excuses. Tired of you making me feel crazy. And yet, here you are, walking into this house, at this hour, telling me you were out with her.”

I shook my head. Held up a hand.

“Nah, man, you didn’t let me finish?—”

“Were you or were you not out with her, Hassani?”

Her voice was sharp as glass.

I nodded. “I was, but not for?—”

“I want…”

Her voice hitched.

Like she couldn’t breathe.

Like the words were stuck in her throat.

“A,” I stepped forward. Reached for her. “Baby, I?—”

“I want a divorce.”

The words hung in the air.

Thick. Heavy. Final.

And I swear, I felt my heart crack inside my chest. Cracked so hard I had to step back to keep my balance. Grabbed at the space over my heart a second later.

“You lost this game… don’t lose your wife.”

Fuck.

My knees buckled.

I had to force myself to stay on my feet.

“Ayla.” I took a step forward but stopped when she held up a hand.

She stood next.

Turned away.

“A. Boogie,” I whispered.

Whispered because I couldn’t find my voice.

Was this shit happening?

Because it felt like a really bad fucking nightmare.

She kept walking.

Even as I reached for her hand.

She slapped it away.

My pulse hammered.

My breath came shallow.

The air was too thin to inhale.

“Fuck, Ayla, come on, don’t do this right now.”

She stopped.

Just for a second.

Then turned.

And her eyes gutted me.

“I’ve been losing you for months, Hassani.” She blinked fast. Her bottom lip quivered. “But tonight?” She shook her head. “You lost me .”

“Ayla, please.”

But she was gone.

Into the guest bedroom.

Door slamming shut behind her.

I stood there.

Hand on my head.

Jaw damn near on the floor.

This was so fucking bad.

And what’s worse…

I felt like there was nothing I could do about it.