Never Again, No More Read online

  Rodney wrapped his arm around her and kissed her. “’Sup, babe? Who are your friends?”

  She looked at us and smiled. “Have a seat, ladies,” she said, and two guys moved to allow us to sit down. “This is Charice Taylor. She’s going to be my co-captain on the squad this year. And this is LaMeka Roberts, our only freshman recruit.”

  “Hello, ladies,” Rodney and the fellas said in unison.

  “Hey,” we sang together.

  “We have a freshman recruit too,” Rodney said, pointing to Tony. “Mr. Light, but we should call him Muhammad Ali, ’cause he damn sure floats like a butterfly, and those feet sting like a bee!” Rodney joked as everyone laughed. “The boy is tight.”

  Tony nodded and touched knuckles with Rodney. “’Preciate the love, Rod.”

  “So, Ryan, are you ready for this year?” Rodney asked.

  That was when I noticed that he was staring at me.

  Rodney put his hand in Ryan’s face. “Earth to Ryan.” They all laughed. “Damn, bro. Get your eyes off Charice long enough to answer me, dude.”

  Ryan laughed. “My bad, bro. What’d you say?”

  “I hope this ain’t no indication of how you gonna be on the field. When I hand off, your ass better not be in Alice’s wonderland,” Rodney joked. Everyone laughed again.

  “When I’m on the field, the only thing on my mind is scrambling that defense,” Ryan joked in return, then high-fived some of the teammates.

  “So what is your mind on now?” I asked before thinking about it. My boldness even shocked the hell out of me.

  Miranda gave me a wink and a thumbs-up as LaMeka hit my thigh under the table, signaling that she was proud of me.

  Rodney smiled at me. “The lady asked you a question, Ryan,” he said before stuffing some fries in his mouth. He pulled Miranda farther down the table. “Let’s make some room.”

  Ryan grabbed his tray, got up, and came to sit beside me. “I think you already know,” he said, staring me in the eyes.

  By the end of the lunch period, I had achieved my goal of becoming one of the most popular girls in school and being the first to land Ryan Westmore and become his true girlfriend. All I remembered from the rest of that day was sitting in my geometry class and doodling “Ryan and Charice forever” on my notebook.

  But that was eight years, two pregnancies, three kids, and one abortion ago. Now my ex-boyfriend Ryan Westmore was the Dallas Cowboys’ Ryan Westmore. He was now the NFL’s number two–ranked running back and the league’s third highest-paid running back, and he was steadily trying to achieve number one. But he was already number one in two areas: he was the league’s number one playboy and the world’s number one deadbeat dad.

  Ryan took my virginity the summer of my tenth-grade year. Even though I was afraid of losing him, I had gone only as far as kissing and fingering, but nothing more. Ryan begged me for it, and at the end of the school year, he told me that he would’ve already cheated if I wasn’t one of the most popular girls in the school. Since I made him look good, he couldn’t risk me leaving him over dumb shit and ending up with another dude. That would have been a hit to his already large ego. Out of fear of losing him, I let him hit it, and surprisingly, he was patient and loving through the entire process. After the first time, we did it every chance we got.

  Eventually, that sneaky sex caught up with us. I’d never forget the day I told Ryan that I was pregnant. Nervous and upset, I didn’t know how I was going to tell him. He had recently signed with one of the top colleges, the University of Florida. Although he was excited, Ryan had been under a lot of pressure, and this was a pivotal point in his life. Unlike the average teenager, he wasn’t just preparing to go to college. He was preparing for his dream. NFL eligibility. He had come so far and could’ve gone to any one of the top universities. From the University of Tennessee to the University of Georgia, Vanderbilt, and the University of Alabama, they all wanted him. Ryan was well on his way, and now I had to tell him that he was going to be . . . a daddy.

  As I lay stretched across his bed, flipping through a magazine, I tried my best to keep my mind off the topic. He was set to leave in a couple of weeks and had already questioned why I had turned over the cheerleading captain slot to Tonya Miller.

  “Damn, baby. Your ass is getting phat. But I like that shit, though,” he said, gliding his hand over my rear end as he sat next to me. “Umm, juicy.” He slowly hovered over me as I felt his nature rise.

  “Ryan, not now,” I said softly.

  “Stop playing hard to get. I leave in a couple of weeks. Give your man some loving before he goes. My parents are gone and won’t be back until tonight. We could make this an all-day thing,” he whispered in my ear as he kissed me. “You know I love you, right?”

  A wave of relief came over me, and those three little words were the words that did it. Ryan had told me that he loved me his senior year, and I never grew tired of hearing it. However, this time, it meant I could tell him our news and share all my burdens with him. Tears fell from my eyes, and he stopped kissing on me.

  “Babe, what’s wrong?” he asked with concern.

  I bit my lip and gazed at him nervously. “I have to tell you something.”

  He held my face, with the sincerest look in his eyes. “You can tell me anything. I’m your man, and I love you. What’s wrong?”

  I sighed, grabbed his hands, and held them tightly. “I love you too, Ryan. I’ve been in love with you since the day you handed me my purse in the ninth grade,” I confessed.

  He smiled. “I remember that.”

  After mustering a slight smile, I took a deep breath. “Ryan, I’m pregnant.”

  His face went blank, and his body turned rigid. For a moment, I thought he had blacked out.

  “Ryan, baby, did you hear me?”

  He snatched his hands away from me, stood up, and then rubbed his head from confusion. “Charice, this shit ain’t funny now! Don’t fucking play like this!”

  Appalled, I jumped up. “I’m not playing! I’m telling the truth. I’m pregnant, Ryan,” I told him. “That’s why Tonya is the captain. I can’t be.”

  “How? We used protection, Charice,” he said harshly.

  Now I knew he had bumped his head. We used protection, but there were times when we hadn’t. We thought that the “pull out” method would suffice, but obviously, it didn’t work.

  “Ryan, you know damn well we didn’t use protection all the time.”

  He rubbed his head again. “So what are you going to do? You ain’t ready to have no kids, and I damn sure ain’t. I have a life to live. I’m going to Florida and then to the NFL. I’m not staying in Georgia to be a daddy and play house with you. Hell no!”

  Talk about floored. I had not asked him to stay, nor would I ever. All I wanted was for him to comfort me and tell me he loved me. I hoped that he’d be therefor me and our child and that we’d always be together.

  “How do you think I feel? I love cheering and dancing. I can’t do either now. I’m not asking you to give up football. I’m asking you to say, ‘Charice, I still love you. We’ll be great parents, and when I get drafted into the NFL, I’m going to marry you so we can be a family.’”

  “So you think having this kid is going to trap me? Is that what you thought? So you purposely got pregnant so you could have some claim on me once I got into the NFL? You are so low, Charice,” he said, fuming.

  I shook my head. “Wait a minute! Hold up! I am not trying to trap you, with the hopes that you make it into the NFL, but we’ve talked about this before. You’re the one who told me that you wanted to stay together, since I was the only female that you could trust and that you knew truly loved you. You knew I would be with you even without the NFL money. Now that you got me pregnant, I’ve turned into a gold digger? Are you crazy?”

  “No, but you are if you think you can pin this kid on me.”

  “I thought you loved me, Ryan. I love you so much,” I cried.

  “Then prove it,”
he said, throwing his hands up. “Kill it!”

  “What?”

  “You heard me. Kill it. Then you can live your life and I can live mine,” he said sternly, with his arms crossed.

  “How can you say that about our baby?”

  His lip twitched, and his expression was cold. “Well, let me put it to you like this. If you have this kid, I’ll never forgive you, and we are done. So you’ve got a choice. Me or your baby.”

  Rage like I’d never felt before swelled inside of me. The reality of Ryan’s feelings fell on my heart, and I felt betrayed and foolish. “Go to hell, Ryan!” I yelled. Then I ran out of his house, with my heart in a million pieces.

  The next couple of weeks were pure hell. My parents were hurt and disappointed, and my dad kicked Ryan’s ass. His parents told my parents that Ryan’s choice was not to have the baby and that if I didn’t comply, none of them would have anything to do with it. My mom told his mother that we’d see their sorry asses in court.

  If that wasn’t enough, later I had to tell his parents that I was pregnant with triplets and had dropped out of high school after being put on strict bed rest for the last trimester of my pregnancy. That information made his mom soften up and want to be around, but Ryan had turned into a guy I’d never known. After refusing to talk to me, he began denying the babies. His coach told me to stay away from him and not to bring him bad press. Despite his denial, he did come to the hospital the day the babies were born. Ryan signed the birth certificates and took pictures with the triplets. Ryan Jr. looked just like him, Charity looked more like me, and Raymond had some of both of us. Once he left, it was like normal—no calls, no visits, and no money. Every once in a while, he’d pop up to visit and bring toys and get some ass from me, and then he was off again.

  My parents wanted me to sue him for child support, but I never did. He was in college, so he wasn’t making money at the time, and I’d always held on to the thought that once he made it to the NFL, he’d realize his mistake and we’d be a family. So I struggled, with my parents’ help, and did as best I could. His mom would sneak over and give us Pampers, outfits, and money every now and then. When I was nineteen, I received my GED and enrolled in college. I wanted to major in dance, but I realized I still had to do more professional training and hope a company would hire me. So I settled on science and became a nutritionist.

  During my sophomore year in college, Ryan showed up with his new Cadillac Escalade. He was wearing a sharp Armani outfit. I knew he had made the number one draft pick, but I let him showboat. After taking me out to dinner, he threw down some loving on me. I knew we were going to be a family. I just knew it.

  “I’m so glad you’ve come to your senses,” I said, stroking his chest. “The kids adore you, and I can’t wait until we’re a family.”

  My outpouring was met with a chuckle. “Charice, I told you that if you chose those kids over me, we were done.”

  A scowl mixed with confusion etched my face. “So what is all this about? I thought you were coming home so that we could be a family. I didn’t interfere with your college education or when you made it into professional football.”

  He looked at me sheepishly, and I knew the excuses were coming. “I guess I still care about you and that’s why I continue to come around when I’m home, but I can’t marry you. These are my rookie years, and I need to focus on my game. I have to be known as a force in the NFL. I can’t do that and adjust to being married, with kids.”

  No, this can’t be happening, I thought. He could not be stomping on my heart like this again. Once was bad enough, but this was cruel and unusual punishment. Desperation found its way into my heart, and a downpour of tears found its way to my cheeks. “Ryan, please, I love you. We need you. I need you. Please, baby, don’t leave us like this,” I begged.

  Ryan sat up, shaking his head. He didn’t even take a moment to consider what I had said. He simply blurted out, “This was a mistake. Get dressed. I’m taking you home.”

  “But, Ryan—”

  “No,” he said sternly.

  Dropping to my knees, I begged for his acceptance and his love. Yes, I loved him that much. “I’ll do whatever you want me to do. I promise. I swear to God, we won’t interfere. But we need you, baby. Please, Ryan, please,” I cried. “I love you so much . . . so damn much,” I pleaded as I sat on the floor, at his feet.

  The heartless bastard stood up and said, “I shudder to think how low you can really go to keep me. I don’t want this shit, Charice. You wanted these fucking kids, so you deal with it. Now I’m taking my ass to the Cowboys, and you’re taking your ass home to take care of your kids.”

  With that, he walked into the hotel bathroom and ran the shower as I sat there crying. After putting on my clothes, I waited for him to finish his shower. When he exited the bathroom, he didn’t say two words to me, and the ride home was the same way, completely silent. When we arrived at my house, he stopped me, and I thought for a moment that he’d changed his mind. Wrong again. He peeled off a hundred-dollar bill, handed it to me, said it was for the kids, then told me that it’d be the last time he’d see me, since I was confused about how our situation worked.

  Too overcome with hurt to respond, I jumped out of his truck with the hundred dollars he’d given me for the kids and ran into my house, past my mother, engulfed in tears. I cried as I told her what had happened.

  * * *

  One month later, I relived the hell again as I sat on my bathroom floor, puking my guts out, after my mom read the pregnancy test that confirmed that I was again pregnant by Ryan Westmore. I told Ryan, but of course, he denied getting me pregnant and said that I wasn’t going to pin another one on him. I wasn’t foolish that time. I couldn’t risk another multiple-birth pregnancy, so I went to the clinic with LaMeka and my mom and had an abortion. It was the hardest decision of my life, but probably the wisest.

  You’d think I would hate him after all this, but I was the ultimate ignorant chick. My crazy ass still loved him. After all this time, all the pain, and two pregnancies, I loved Ryan Westmore. Nothing, not even Ryan, could change that. The sound of my mother sighing brought me out of my reverie.

  I turned to her and said, “Mom, I can’t deny anything you’ve said. I can’t. But the kids still love him, and I want him to explain to them why he was never around. I’m not going to bad talk their dad in front of them.”

  “I guess you have a point about that, but I hate the fact that you support him. You’re pining away over a boy who couldn’t care less about you. Every other day he’s dating this celebrity or partying with that celebrity, spending money on cars, trips, and houses, while you’re busting your ass to support and raise three children on a forty-five-thousand-dollar-a-year income.”

  “We’re not hurting, Mama.”

  “But you damn sure ain’t living in the lap of luxury like Mr. Westmore,” she argued. “Then his mama has the nerve to come and drop off a grand here and there of Ryan’s money, like she’s doing us a damn favor. Oh, she just kills me, rolling up over here in her SUV and Donna Karan suits, spending all of fifteen minutes with her grandkids.”

  Rubbing my temples, I exhaled. “I have an SUV, Mama.”

  “Yes, you have a Tahoe. She has a Mercedes. There is a difference. And do you know what that difference is? Ryan Westmore.”

  “Every Sunday I come over here, and it’s the same thing. Can we change the subject for once?” I asked as I stood up from the armchair.

  “If you would change the subject to child support, there wouldn’t be anything left to discuss.” She threw up her hands. “I’m sorry if I want my grandkids’ father to actually be a father. I mean, he is Ryan Westmore, professional football player, God’s gift,” she said.

  I knew she was right, but she could be so animated at times. “Okay, Mom.” I bent down and kissed her on the cheek. “I love you,” I said as I headed to the door.

  “I love you too!” she shouted as I walked out the door.

  I walked
to my Tahoe, climbed inside, and reached for my cell phone to call LaMeka and tell her about my mom’s latest rant, but I immediately noticed the message light flashing. I dialed my voice mail, and Ryan’s voice came through.

  “Charice, something has come up, and I’m not going to be home next weekend to visit you and the kids like I said. I transferred two grand into my mom’s account for them. Get them set up for Christmas and buy yourself something too. I have a game this afternoon, so I won’t be able to talk. Let the boys watch me play. My mom said they like that. Anyway, I have to go. I’ll talk to you sometime. Peace,” Ryan’s recorded voice said.

  Despite the disappointment of not being able to see him next weekend, I was overcome by giddiness. I couldn’t help but get excited over the fact that he had thought of doing something special for the kids for Christmas. I was glad he was polite enough to call and explain ahead of time why he would miss seeing them. Maybe he was changing, I thought. I shook my head and called LaMeka.

  “’Sup, honey?” LaMeka asked when she answered the phone.

  “Nothing. Sitting at my mom’s house, listening to her gripe about Ryan.”

  “As she should be,” LaMeka observed.

  “Don’t start,” I warned. “Where the hell is your baby daddy?”

  “Out of town with your baby daddy,” she answered sarcastically.

  I furrowed my brow. “For what?”

  “Tony will be gone for nine days. This weekend in LA is some kind of big-time celebrity fashion show, and Ryan invited Tony and some of his teammates. Apparently, Ryan is one of the male models for Ralph Lauren’s new collection or some shit,” LaMeka informed me.

  “Son of a bitch,” I said abruptly.

  “What?” LaMeka asked.

  “Nothing. Let me call you back,” I said and quickly hung up.

  As I sat in my SUV, I cried over the fact that Ryan had ditched his kids for a fashion show. Why was I constantly falling for this nigga’s lies? When would I ever learn that no matter how much I loved him, he couldn’t care less about me and, worse yet, our children?