Love After War (21 page)

He locked eyes with Solomon, part of him wondering when in the hell he'd agreed to this, then nodded.

“Let's go,” he said, and followed the technician out of the room. As they walked down the hall, Adrian wondered if he'd get to have that last conversation with his father. Would Elliot apologize for missing out on his entire life?

“Are you all right?” the technician asked.

“What?”

“I've been asking you a question for the last five minutes and you're zoned out.”

“What's the question?”

“How are you related to the patient?”

Adrian cleared his throat and said, “I'm his son.”

The woman brought her hand to her mouth, then muttered, “Oh. Well, the lab is right through here.”

Adrian followed her into the tiny room and took a seat in a small chair. The technician handed him a red rubber ball. “Make a fist,” she said.

He closed his hand around the ball and shut his eyes. Adrian forced himself not to ask questions like: What if he was a match for his father? Would he go through with the procedure? What was exactly wrong with Elliot? Here he was sitting in a chair to get his blood drawn and he hadn't even asked why.

“We're all done,” the woman said.

Adrian had been so deep in his thoughts that he hadn't felt the prick of the needle. As the technician placed a gauze bandage on his arm, she smiled at him.

“You look a lot better in person than on TV,” she said. “I hope things work out.”

Adrian rose to his feet. “Thanks.” Leaving the room, he sought Dana out. He needed to leave. Before he found his woman, Solomon stopped him.

“Thank you for doing this. I know it can't be easy.”

“It isn't. What's wrong with him?”

“Acute lymphoblastic leukemia. He's been on a drug treatment, but it's not working.”

“And he kept this from you?” Adrian shook his head.

“Keeping secrets seems to be his specialty.”

“Do you think him coming to LA was because he knew the end was near?” Adrian asked as he and Solomon headed back to their father's suite.

Solomon shrugged. “I don't know what he was thinking. Maybe he was trying to connect with you. Maybe he was trying to give my mother a post-mortem middle finger.”

“Or that finger could've been aimed at my mother.”

“No doubt about it, he was—is—a son of a bitch.”

Adrian looked in the room and saw a motionless Elliot Crawford in his bed. He felt like a child and fought the urge to ask Solomon what growing up with their father was like. Solomon followed his brother's gaze. “Listen,” Solomon began, “what he did, we can't change. But we're family and we should probably get to know each other.”

“Before you say that, I have a confession to make,” Adrian said.

Solomon faced him. “What?”

Adrian cleared his throat and folded his arms across his chest. “I wanted to destroy you all. Him, you, Richmond. My mother suffered a lot and kept a record of it in her diary. When she died and I read it, all I could think about was this silver-spoon life you and Richmond had while my mother and I lived in exile.”

“What did you do?”

“I set Richmond up with the hooker, fed the protesters the story about the call girl's arrest and Richmond's skate on the charges. I set up your fight with Heather Williams in my club—”

Solomon hauled off and punched Adrian in the face just as Dana and Kandace approached the men with cups of coffee.

“What in the hell is going on?” Dana asked, rushing to Adrian's side.

Dana looked from Solomon to Adrian as Kandace struggled to hold her husband back.

“I deserved that,” Adrian replied while holding his bloody nose.

“You deserve more than that, you punk mother—your beef is with him!” Solomon nodded toward Elliot's suite. “But you chose to put my marriage in jeopardy. Now my brother is facing jail because of your bitch ass.”

“What are you talking about?” Kandace asked, dropping her hand from Solomon's arm.

“Everything that's happened in LA.” Solomon flung his finger at Adrian. “He's been behind it.”

Dana felt proud of Adrian, happy that he'd told the truth, but brother or not, if Solomon touched him again, she was going to jump in.

“Leave him alone,” Dana said. “Do you know how hard it is for him to be here right now and to get tested to see if he can save a man who never gave a damn about him?” Dana looked at Kandace. “And if he tried to ruin your marriage, it looks like it didn't work.”

“You should stay out of this,” Solomon admonished.

Adrian shrugged Dana's touch off and stood face-to-face with his brother. “Don't you dare talk to her like that.”

“Oh, you can disrespect my marriage and I'm supposed to give a—”

“Solomon!” Kandace exclaimed. A nurse and security guard rushed toward the group.

“Excuse me, but you all are going to have to take this outside or be quiet,” the nurse said. “This isn't some street corner in the Bronx.” She looked at the blood on Adrian's face and shirt. “Sir, do you need medical attention?”

“No,” Adrian said as he glanced at the security guard, who had his hand on top of his weapon.

“Babe, let's go,” Dana whispered. He nodded and they started down the hall, ignoring Solomon's ranting. Dana looked over her shoulder and saw his wife offering him calming words as they walked into Elliot's suite. Turning her attention to Adrian, she wrapped her arm around his waist.

“Despite that fight back there, I'm glad you told him the truth.”

Adrian ran his finger across his nose. “I guess it's a fact, the truth hurts.”

Dana dug a tissue out of her purse and wiped the remaining bit of blood from his face. “Are you sure you don't want to get your nose looked at?”

“Nah, I've had a bloody nose before. I'm sure it won't be the last.”

“I hope it is. Don't you think you're a little old to be a brawler?”

Adrian shrugged. “I'm sure Richmond is going to want his shot when he returns to New York.”

Dana felt warm on the inside. Adrian was actually making long-term plans to stay in the city. They walked out of the main entrance, forgetting to look for the media. Immediately it was a decision they regretted. A group of photographers bum-rushed them, snapping pictures and yelling out questions.

“Is Elliot Crawford dead?”

“Are you the reason he's in the hospital?”

“Were you here to take a DNA test to prove Elliot Crawford is your father?”

“What happened to your face?”

“Is it true that you and Solomon Crawford were fighting over the Crawford family fortune?”

Dana held her purse up as they pushed through the crush of cameras and bodies. A few of the paparazzi gave chase, and Adrian, who was used to controlling what pictures were released and not being on the other side of this stampede, stopped.

“What are you doing?” Dana asked.

“Maybe if I give them a statement, they'll go away.”

“Yeah, if this was LA,” she whispered as Adrian faced the photographers.

“Are you really Elliot Crawford's son?” one of the photographers called out.

“Listen,” Adrian said. “I'm here on a family matter and I'd appreciate privacy and time to deal with it.”

“Then why did you put your business out there for CNN?” another photographer snapped.

“Yeah,” another said. “You can't ask for privacy now. What happened to your nose?”

“I don't have anything else to say.”

“Did Elliot Crawford die tonight?” a photographer called to Adrian's retreating figure.

Dana grabbed his arm when she saw that he was about to charge at the photographer. “Don't. Let's just go home and relax.”

“Yeah,” he replied. “Besides, I need to make some calls.”

She raised her eyebrow; then she remembered—it wasn't that late in Los Angeles. “While you do that, I'll order takeout. And let's take the subway so your new friends won't follow us. The last thing I need is a pack of media hounds parking their asses on my stoop.”

“I'm sorry about this,” Adrian said.

“For once, you don't owe me an apology. You're actually doing the right thing and I'm proud of you.”

Adrian kissed Dana's cheek. “I wouldn't offer that endorsement yet.”

Dana cast her eyes upward at him. “You didn't take the blood test?” she asked.

“I did,” he replied as they walked into the subway station. “But what if I'm a match? How ironic is it that I couldn't do anything to save the parent who loved me unconditionally, but now I have the chance to save the one who never gave a damn about me?”

“So, he has leukemia?”

Adrian nodded. “Neither Solomon nor Richmond are matches for a bone marrow transplant.”

“And your results aren't back?”

“Nope.”

Dana sighed as she swiped her Metro card, then passed it back to Adrian. He slid the card through the machine and joined Dana through the turnstile. They held hands and headed for the subway platform, falling in line with other riders who didn't give a damn who they were. Adrian couldn't have been happier.

“Does what happened in the hospital change what you're going to do in regards to your father?”

Adrian groaned. “I wish I could be pissed off at Solomon, but I stand by the fact that I deserved that. You know, when I started all of this stuff, I had no intentions to be around watching the aftermath.”

“I'm sure you didn't.”

Adrian grinned. “I blame you for this.”

“Excuse me?”

“You showed me the error of my ways and I have a bloody nose to show for it.” He smiled and gave her a slight nudge. “Maybe I'll get that on a T-shirt.”

Before Dana could offer him a smart-aleck reply, the train arrived. “I guess that means I need to clean your nose and feed you so that you'll have a different message for your T-shirt.”

He pulled her onto his lap as they took a seat. “Isn't it a little late for hot dogs?”

“I'm starving,” she said. “And I put you on the train to take us directly to Gray's.”

“Looking like this?” He pointed to the bloodstain on his shirt.

Dana fanned her hand. “This time of night, if you aren't drunk or don't have a little blood on you, people are going to wonder why you're there.”

“Sounds classy.”

Dana leaned her head against his chest. “Well, I'll make sure I purchase some eggs so that you can make some omelets tomorrow.”

“Oh no, Miss Singleton. I want you to cook that one dish you're famous for.”

She raised her eyebrow, then broke out laughing. “Bow-tie pasta and shrimp.”

He nodded with a smile on his lips. “Yeah, between my omelets and your pasta, we're going to need new clothes.”

“Whatever. This is our stop,” she said.

She and Adrian exited the train and headed up Broadway, finally making it to the hot dog shop. Dana realized how hungry she was when she smelled the chili and the grilled dogs.

“Oh my goodness, I've missed this place.”

They stood in line waiting to order and Dana recounted the many nights she and Imani had come here to eat hot dogs and stalk Broadway producers.

“Your girl was on a mission, huh?”

“Yes, she was.” Dana laughed. “I'm surprised she hasn't snagged an endorsement deal.”

“Ha. That would go over well with the bean-curd crowd in Hollywood.”

“Well, that carnivore will never join that set.”

Adrian shrugged as they reached the counter. “I've seen stranger things happen.”

Dana ordered her signature hot dog with extra mustard and sauerkraut. “If that happens to Imani, then the Mayans were right.”

Once Adrian ordered his dog, they headed outside and started for the subway station. As soon as Dana lifted her hot dog to her mouth, she felt a wave of nausea wash over her. She shrugged it off as being hungry and having jet lag. Still, she tried to take a bite of the food. Big mistake. Moments later, she was dropping her hot dog and vomiting on the street. Adrian tossed his hot dog in the trash can and placed his hand on Dana's shoulder. “If that's what a good hot dog does to you, I don't want to know what a bad one does. Are you sure everything is all right?”

Dana wiped her mouth with a paper napkin and shook her head. “I don't know what's going on,” she said.

“Should we go to the ER?” he asked, then scooped Dana up into his arms.

“Just take me home,” she said. Instead of waiting for the subway or taking her underground, Adrian hailed a cab like a native. A yellow cab stopped on the corner and Adrian hopped in as Dana rattled off her address to the driver.

“Brooklyn? I don't go to Brooklyn this late,” the driver said.

Adrian handed him a fifty-dollar bill. “Listen, she's sick and we need to get home fast.”

The driver took the cash and nodded. He pulled into traffic and Dana's stomach lurched. She struggled not to throw up again. Adrian rubbed her head and wondered what was going on with Dana. Part of him feared that he'd lose her—to death. He felt as if the universe would spare Elliot but take Dana because he was supposed to learn some kind of lesson. Looking down at her as she rested in his lap, a lightbulb went off in his head. Was she pregnant? He thought about the times they'd been careless with protection. Was he ready to be a father? Was Dana ready for motherhood? More importantly, would she give up that motorcycle for a sensible car with room for a car seat and a trunk to hold a stroller? Where would she want to raise their child? Los Angeles? New York?

“Excuse me,” Dana said. “Can you drop us off at the Duane Reade on Flatbush Avenue?”

“Okay,” the driver replied.

Dana looked up at Adrian and said, “It's a drugstore.”

“I kind of figured that.”

She grinned and shook her head. “I guess we both figured out what might be wrong.”

“Or what could be right.”

Dana didn't respond, but she wanted to ask him how in the world the two of them would raise a child when she lived in New York and had no plans to move to Los Angeles. And as selfish as it seemed, Dana wasn't sure she wanted to make such a big change in her life and career. With a baby, she couldn't fly to Paris, LA, and Tokyo for shoots and no more late night trips for hot dogs.

“What are you thinking?” he asked.

“I'm scared.”

He stroked her forehead until she sat up. “Are we ready for this?”

“We don't know anything yet, but know this—nothing will keep me from my child.”

“If there is a child.”

“Do you want this baby?” he asked. As the words left his mouth, he felt ill, wondering if this was the kind of conversation his mother and Elliot had had. Dana sighed and stroked the back of her neck.

“I don't know,” she whispered. Adrian nearly stopped breathing.

“So, if you are pregnant . . .”

“I don't know that either.”

“All right,” the driver said, “here's your stop.”

Adrian paid the driver as Dana climbed out of the cab. He looked at her standing on the curb and couldn't help imagining her with her belly full of his son or daughter. But did she want that? Would he be doing the opposite of what his father did all those years ago and have to talk Dana into being a family with him?

“Who would want to be a part of this circus?” Adrian mumbled as he crossed over to Dana.

“Let's get this test and go. Some chips too,” she said as they walked into the store.

“Maybe you should get some crackers. That's what they eat on TV.”

Dana laughed. “We're so clueless.” They headed to the aisle with the pregnancy tests and condoms. Adrian remarked on how ironic it was that drugstores grouped those items together.

“If someone had used one, they wouldn't need the other,” he said as Dana picked up a test.

“I guess we'll find out soon if we're the poster child for this section.” She pointed to a box of Trojans. “We should stock up.”

Adrian reached for a twelve-pack of Trojan Magnums. “You know those other ones are too small.”

“Ha! You're right, though,” she said with a wink.

“What if we don't need them anymore?” he asked, growing serious. “If you're having my baby, I want you to know that I'm behind you one hundred percent.”

Dana turned away from him, sucking on her bottom lip. “That's the least of my worries,” she said. “I know you will be a great father. But . . .”

“You don't want a baby?”

“I don't know. I've always dreamed of the traditional family. I never wanted to be someone's baby's mother. And then there's my career.”

“Is this a New York thing?” he snapped. “Money before children?”

“Don't do that to me!”

“What about what you want to do to me? If you are pregnant, you didn't make that baby alone.”