26. Vines of Passion

The hospital becomes a stage for redemption and reconciliation as Caleb confronts the aftermath of Jasmine's fury. Caleb is forced to test his capacity for forgiveness.

CALEB

A FEW DAYS LATER…

The hospital corridor felt cold and sterile, each step sounding of grim reminders of why I was here. The last time I'd been in this building, Xion and I had brawled in the parking lot like reckless teenagers. I thought everything with Jasmine was resolved when we all spoke after that, but she had eluded her father and Xion's watchful eyes, and showed up to my home, threatening to kill Naomi right in front of me.

The image of Naomi with a gun to her head was something I never imagined I would witness, and it was an image I wished I could erase. I felt utterly powerless as I tried to reason with Jasmine, but nothing I said seemed to reach her. It was Naomi’s resigned look, as if she had accepted her fate to leave this Earth without me and was silently saying goodbye, that jolted me into drastic action. Something primal clicked inside me, pushing me to act despite the risks to myself or Jasmine.

The weight of guilt hung heavy on my shoulders, a burden I couldn't shake no matter how many times Naomi or Dr. Lyn reassured me. They told me I wasn't to blame for Jasmine's actions, but try as I might, I couldn't silence the voice inside whispering otherwise. This chaos, this violence towards the woman I love—it was all a twisted manifestation of my past, a past I couldn't outrun no matter how hard I tried.

Xion getting shot had been completely unexpected. I hadn’t even heard him enter the house. Jasmine must have left the door open when she broke in. Apparently, he had woken up in their hotel room to find her gone and, knowing her tendencies all too well, guessed she might be headed my way.

No one deserved to suffer the way he had, to endure such pain. And despite everything, despite the hurt and the anger, I couldn't turn my back on him. Deep down, beneath the layers of resentment and betrayal, there was still a part of me that cared, that hoped he would pull through. Because no matter what had happened between us, some ties were too strong to sever, some bonds too deep to break.

Now, he was here in the hospital with a hole in his body. At least he was still alive.

I pushed open the door, half-expecting to find Xion laid out and unconscious, but there he was, propped up in his hospital bed, drowsy eyes glued to the small TV. His gaze snapped to me, narrowing slightly with that familiar of mischief.

“Motherfucker, you brought me flowers? What you think this is, prom night?” he rasped, the smirk on his face belying the weakness in his voice.

I laughed, shutting the door behind me. Cool, he was still his asshole self.

"Naomi said hospital visits came with flowers," I explained as I dropped them on the table.

“I ain’t no bitch, Thompson. Don’t you ever bring me flowers again, for anything, ever in life. You heard?” Xion’s tone was half-serious, half-joking.

Shaking my head, I couldn't help but chuckle at his indignation. As I approached, Xion extended his weak hand, and we gently fell into the old handshake we’d invented back in sixth grade, as if we were still on that schoolyard. It felt like no time had passed.

“You look like shit,” I observed, taking in the pallor of his skin and the tired lines etching his face.

“Oh, this?” He slowly glanced down at the bandages peeking out from his hospital gown, a sardonic smile twisting his lips. “It’s nothing.”

“I saw you hit the floor, man.”, I said thinking back to the way he seemed to fold and fall after being shot.

“Shit, I just fainted, that’s all,” he dismissed with a wave of his hand as he flipped through the channels. “Pull up a chair, sit your ass down.”

His casual dismissal of the gravity of his condition was so typical Xion, it was almost comforting. I pulled up a chair and got as comfortable as I could.

“Surprised you came to see me,” Xion said, dropping the humor for once.

Things had been twisted up between me and my so-called former best friend. His betrayal cut deep, deep enough that I told him he was dead to me—and I'd been treating him like a ghost ever since. But watching him nearly bleed out, something inside me shifted. We’d been throwing punches just days ago, but damn if I wanted to see him actually go down for good.

“You bled all over my damn carpet, man. Came here to personally hand you the cleaning bill,” I quipped, easing the tension with a joke.

Xion let out a strained chuckle, wincing a bit as he did. Laughing was a bitch with a bullet wound, I bet.

“I’m glad to see you, man,” he admitted, his voice thick with sincerity. “Feels good to know, even after all the shit I’ve done, you still got a spot for me somewhere in there.”

“Now who’s acting like a bitch?” I shot back, smirking.

The room fell into a brief lull as Xion gathered his strength, a fleeting pause amidst the banter and jest. Despite his facade of composure and acting nonchalant about his guts practically being blown out his body, I could discern the subtle signs of pain etched into his body language, a silent testament to the physical toll exacted by his wounds.

“I’m deadass, Cay. Lying here these last few days thinking at one point that I was about to check out this life...it puts things in perspective real quick. I miss you, bro,” he said, the raw honesty in his voice catching me off guard.

I ran a hand over my face, fighting back the flood of emotions that his words were prying loose. The room was thick with the weight of unspoken apologies and the possibility of a resurrected brotherhood.

Reflecting on our conversation that Tuesday morning at the park, I couldn't shake the realization that what I mourned most wasn't the loss of my marriage but the fracture of our friendship. Perhaps, enough time had past, and wounds could heal, bridges could mend, and the bond we once shared could be resurrected from the ashes of betrayal.

“I miss you too”, I admitted.

The silence between us stretched like an unspoken barrier, a chasm too wide to bridge with mere words. We sat there, two men with a lifetime of shared history, each lost in his own thoughts, each grappling with the weight of our tangled past.

It was a strange dance we performed, pretending as though this was just another ordinary conversation. As if we hadn't grown up side by side, as close as brothers. As if he hadn't betrayed me in the worst possible way, having an affair with Jasmine and making a life with her. As if the woman he loved hadn't just tried to kill the woman I now knew I couldn't live without.

“So, Mr. Jenkins cleaned up Jasmine’s mess, huh?” I finally broke the quiet, my curiosity getting the better of me about how this situation would be wrapped up.

“Thanks for calling him,” Xion said, his voice low.

I made the call to Mr. Jenkins as Naomi dialed 911. The man was a legend in our town, a former judge with more clout than anyone else around. Running the most powerful law firm in the area, he had connections that reached into every corner of law enforcement. Pulling strings was second nature to him, and he showed up fast, like he always did, ready to handle the situation with the finesse of a seasoned pro.

Watching him in action that night, it was clear that this wasn't his first rodeo. He moved through my home with a calm authority, coordinating everything and everyone with the precision of a maestro conducting an orchestra. There was a sense of reassurance in his presence, a confidence that came from knowing that whatever mess we found ourselves in, Mr. Jenkins would find a way to clean it up.

And as I watched him interact with Jasmine, holding her with a tenderness that surprised me, I knew that her actions, as reckless as they had been, wouldn't lead to the same consequences for her as they would for anyone else. Mr. Jenkins was a fixer, and for Jasmine, he would ensure that her situation was resolved with as little fallout as possible.

"Old Ass Jenkins got her set up at some fancy psychiatric facility," Xion remarked, his tone a mix of resignation and disbelief. "Says they'll take good care of her. Made all the other noise disappear."

I couldn't help but shake my head, a wry half-smirk playing at the corners of my lips. Jasmine, always shielded from real consequences by her connections—everyone except her family, that is. They'd distanced themselves after the divorce, leaving her to face the fallout alone for once. It was perhaps the first time in her life she’d experienced real accountability, and it seemed she couldn't handle it.

The psychiatric facility sounded like the best option; the woman I'd seen that night was a far cry from the Jasmine I once knew. For the sake of her children and her own well-being, I hoped she'd find her way back to herself. Yet, I trusted that her family would provide her with the best resources available. I knew that ultimately she would be fine.

“And you two?” I asked, lifting an eyebrow, unable to hide my skepticism about their seemingly toxic relationship that I was sure now reached a breaking point.

“Oh, me and Jas?” Xion replied, a flicker of casual dismissal in his tone. “Oh, we straight,” he said, as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

“Straight?” I echoed, my confusion blatant. “She just shot you, man.”

“That girl loves me,” he said, cracking a grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Talked to her already. She’s itching to get out and see me. We’re tying the knot as soon as she’s free. Something low-key at the house. A little backyard kickback once I pay up this ring I actually saw for her a while back. You should be there.”

Fuck no.

“This whole thing made her realize she can’t live without me. Hell, if I knew her shooting me was what it’d take to get her straight, I would’ve handed her the gun myself a long time ago,” Xion said, laughing like it was the punchline to some dark joke only he understood.

I burst out laughing despite the grim undertones of the conversation.

“You’re sick, you know that?” I said, half-joking but also genuinely concerned. “Both of you.”

“Yeah,” he chuckled, but the laughter died quickly and his face settled into a somber expression. “Real talk, I love that girl, Cay. Always have. I know she went off the deep end for a bit. Shit got real," he said, glancing down at his bandages.

Damn right it did.

“But at the end of the day, I can’t just leave her hanging. This ain’t the time to walk away from my children’s mother. I knew something was up with her mental, and I let it slide too long without stepping in. Maybe if I’d gotten her help sooner…” His voice trailed off, lost in the what-ifs that maybe haunted him more than the bullet did.

Xion was right about one thing: his love for Jasmine was something fierce because there's no way she could shoot me and I'd think about anything other than getting as far away as possible. They were cut from the same cloth, perfectly matched in madness and mayhem. Better him than me.

"And your girl? How's she holding up?" Xion's tone shifted, shedding any remnants of humor for genuine concern.

I let out a heavy sigh, the weight of Naomi's recent struggles pressing down on me. She'd endured so much trauma already, and now this latest horror had only added to her burden. But I was grateful that Dr. Lyn had swiftly arranged for her to see another therapist in his office for support.

"She's still shaken up," I confessed, my voice tinged with worry. "She's been through a lot of traumatic shit, and now this piled on top. It's really unfair to her," I added, my gaze dropping to the floor as I considered the toll it was taking on her.

"I’m sorry, man. Jasmine should have never—"

"She wasn’t in her right mind," I interjected, not quite ready to vilify Jasmine further despite my anger. Yes, I was furious, but I couldn't ignore the reality of her mental struggles. Her actions weren't just born out of malice; they were desperate cries for help that had spiraled out of control.

Xion nodded, regret in his eyes and something else.

“She goes hard for you, man. She loves you,” he remarked. “How long y’all been together?”

I chuckled, a bit self-consciously. “Not long,” I confessed.

“She’s the one,” Xion declared with a nod.

“Yeah?” I raised an eyebrow, curious about his observation.

“When I saw you with Jasmine, I knew she wasn’t gonna be it for you, not for a whole lifetime at least.”

“Yeah, 'cause you were too busy planning to get with her behind my back,” I shot back, half-joking, half-bitter. I forced a laugh. Fuck it, the past was the past.

Xion's laughter filled the room, his surprise about the nature of my joke evident but his amusement genuine.

“Nah, man,” Xion laughed, shaking his head. “I wasn’t planning anything…well, at that time,” he added with a smirk.

We both laughed, the tension easing a bit.

“Real talk, though,” Xion continued, his tone shifting to something more serious. “There’s a way you look at Naomi, talk about her—it’s different. With Jas, yeah, you loved her, but you weren’t in love with her. Not like this. And the way she stepped to Jasmine for you? She doesn’t play about you. That’s your wife, man.”

"Think so?" I asked, a half-smile playing on my lips.

"I know so," Xion replied, nodding with conviction, his eyes locking onto mine with a seriousness that underscored his words.

Xion's conviction resonated in his words as he locked eyes with me, a gravity underscoring his declaration. “Lock it in,” he urged.

I couldn't stifle my laughter at his candidness, my response laced with playful banter. “I'm all ears for relationship advice from the guy who's been dodging marriage after fathering a child with my ex-wife while we were married,” I quipped, unable to resist the jab.

He fired back with equal wit, “You always bringing up old shit. Maybe I can offer you some pointers in the bedroom since you apparently missed out on that with Jas. Bet she would've stuck around if you had just tried some ass play.”

“Eatin’ ass ain’t for me,” I interjected firmly.

“If Naomi asked you to, you'd be down for it,” he persisted, his tone teasing but with an undercurrent of truth that made me squirm.

“Shut the fuck up.”

I bristled at his insinuation, but deep down, I knew he wasn't entirely off base. Whatever Naomi desired, I’d try it.

“If I wasn't laid up in here all shot up, I'd knock some sense into you for being so rude,” he countered, his bravado tinged with humor.

“Like you did in the parking lot? Talking like you're 50 Cent or a damn war hero with that one little bullet hole,” I retorted, unable to resist poking fun at his exaggerated swagger.

“Hey, I'm about to have street cred for days,” he joked, playing along with the jest.

“In the middle of suburbia, Nevada?” I teased, rolling my eyes at his theatrics.

“Ask your girl if she wants a man who survived getting a bullet wound or if she prefers your Braxton P. Hartnabrig dressing ass,” he fired back, his laughter echoing through the room.

My response was swift, snatching the flowers I had placed on the table and tossing them into the trash. “Fuck you, man,” I retorted.

Xion protested, “Hey! Those were mine! My homeboy got those for me!”

“Just reach in and grab 'em,” I gestured toward the bin.

He countered, “You know I've got a gunshot wound in my side.”

“And I mean that shit about invoicing you about my carpet.” I teased, unable to resist.

“Fuck you and your bougie ass carpet,” Xion fired back.

And there we were, settling in for the long haul, just kicking it in his hospital room for hours. Time seemed to blur as we delved into our shared history, catching up on the past five years. Xion's face lit up as he spoke about his kids, his joy palpable in every word. Parenthood had reshaped him, and witnessing that transformation brought a genuine warmth to my heart.

But as our conversation shifted towards his work frustrations, a twinge of guilt crept over me. Dorien's interference had undoubtedly played a role in exacerbating Xion's professional struggles. For the sake of his pride and the financial security of his children, I knew I had to intervene. Reflecting on Xion's hardships, I realized it was imperative to tell Dorien to ease off as we were now clearing the air.

As I watched Xion in pain, uncertain of the future of our friendship, a familiar ache settled in my chest. Despite everything, I couldn't deny the bond we shared. Like Jasmine, the thought of him dying stirred a longing for his presence in my life, albeit in a different form.

Stepping into the kitchen, the warmth of home enveloped me. My parents and Naomi were chatting and cooking together, a comforting sight amidst the turmoil. Despite my efforts to shield Naomi from harm, my paranoia lingered, a constant reminder of the dangers lurking. Yet, seeing her surrounded by my family, safe and cherished, brought a fleeting sense of relief.

Apart from her therapy session and my visit to Xion, I hadn't allowed her out of my sight.

I embraced my mother, then Naomi, holding onto her as if she would slip away if I let her go. Jasmine's antics had shattered my trust in my ability to keep Naomi safe. All I wanted was to keep Naomi close, to shield her from the world's cruelty. But could I?

My paranoia seemed to be growing by the minute. Almost losing her changed me and I wasn’t sure it was for the better. Now I was even more determined to make sure that nothing like what happened here the other night would ever happen again.

“Oh shit, Dad’s home,” my father joked, his humor filing the kitchen as he chopped vegetables.

“Yeah, had to make sure my girl is safe,” I said, planting a kiss on the top of Naomi’s head as her hands remained wrapped around my waist.

“I’m good. We’ve been having a good time all afternoon,” Naomi chimed in, her voice carrying a hint of relief from her therapy session this morning.

“Good,” I replied, forcing a smile, hoping Naomi didn’t catch the guilt swirling in my eyes.

“How’s Xion?” my mother inquired, concern evident in her tone.

I released Naomi and turned to my mother, contemplating my response.

“I wasn’t sure what to expect, but he seemed to be holding up better than I anticipated. Our friendship might even be on the mend,” I shared, reflecting on our recent conversation.

My mom and Naomi exchanged glances, their silent communication raising a flicker of curiosity in me. Had they developed a secret language of their own, right under my nose?

“Jasmine should have shot him in the dick!”, Senior blurted out.

“Caleb, Sr!” my mother bellowed, her tone a mix of admonishment and exasperation, cutting through the kitchen like a knife.

But my father, never one to back down from controversy, doubled down on his stance with a grin.

“It’s true! You can’t just go around fucking people's wives and making babies!” he declared, the humor in his voice unmistakable.

Naomi erupted into laughter, her infectious giggles filling the room. It was a sound I hadn’t heard in days, and it warmed my heart despite my father’s foolishness.

“I mean, we have Naomi now, and things turned out fine, but on principle, hell yeah! Right in the dick! Blow his balls clean off too!” my father persisted, undeterred by my mom's disapproving gaze.

“Jesus Christ — Senior — if Caleb says he’s going to start fresh with Xion, that’s his decision. You can’t be wishing for the boy to have gotten shot in his privates,” my mom interjected, her tone tinged with frustration.

But my father remained steadfast in his opinion, refusing to yield.

“Caleb can do what he wants, but as for me, I say Jasmine’s gun-toting ass gave him the karma he deserved, though she didn’t aim low enough,” he continued, his words laced with a hint of bitterness.

My mom shot him a reproachful look, but he pressed on, unapologetic.

“I don’t give a damn. I loved Xion like a son, and if Caleb becomes his friend again, so be it. But law is law. Every action has a reaction. You fuck a man’s wife, your dick should have to pay. Missed opportunity on Jasmine’s part. Maybe Naomi can do it next time,” he concluded, a mischievous glint in his eye.

Naomi was practically doubled over with laughter.

I cut in, feeling a sudden urgency to steer the conversation away from uncomfortable territory.

“Can we not talk about Xion’s dick anymore?” I interjected, my tone tinged with frustration.

“Fine,” my father conceded, redirecting his attention to Naomi with a mischievous glint in his eyes. “But speaking of dicks, Naomi, did Caleb tell you about the bet me and his mama have going on?”

I shot my father a pleading look, silently begging him to drop the subject before it went any further.

“Dad, can I see you outside?” I interjected hastily, hoping to defuse the situation.

“You can, but before we go out there, remember you can’t whoop me. I’m still lifting these weights like it’s nothing,” he boasted, flexing his arm for emphasis and planting a kiss on his muscles.

Suppressing a sigh, I nodded in resignation.

“Yes, please, take him outside,” my mother chimed in, throwing her hands up in exasperation.

"You see how they tag team me, Naomi?" My dad chuckled as he grabbed two beers from the fridge, gesturing towards my mom and I. She joined in with a laugh as we made our way outside.

Sinking into the patio chairs, we cracked open our beers, the sound of the opening cans breaking the solemn atmosphere.

"I almost lost her, Dad," I confessed after a long silence, the events of that fateful night flashing vividly in my mind.

"I could have lost you," he replied, his tone serious as he locked eyes with me. "I admire you taking things into your own hands for Naomi, saving her. But I gotta admit, it’s also been messing with me, the thought of what it would have meant for me and your Mom if you had gotten hurt."

His words hit me like a ton of bricks. In my efforts to protect Naomi, I hadn't stopped to consider the risks I was taking, the possibility of losing myself in the process, my parents only child.

"Better Xion than you though," my dad chuckled.

I couldn’t help but join in, appreciating his frankness. It was always refreshing, even if it wasn’t politically correct. My dad and I sat in silence, the quiet broken only by the soft rustle of leaves in the gentle breeze.

"I felt so damn helpless, Dad," I finally admitted, the words tumbling out like a confession. "Seeing Naomi in danger, knowing I couldn't protect her, that Jasmine set her sights on her cause of me...it’s tearing me apart. I feel like I failed her."

My dad's weathered face softened, his eyes reflecting a deep well of understanding. He reached out, his hand resting on my shoulder keeping me grounded in the moment.

"I know, son," he said, his voice heavy with empathy. "But sometimes, in life, we're faced with situations beyond our control. You’re not gonna be able to keep the girl in a bubble away from all harm."

“My ex-wife threatening to kill her in front of me though? Holding a gun to her head?”

“Yeah, that’s extreme,” my dad scoffed before he took another gulp of his beer, “I guess we can look at it this way, the worst has already happened. And Caleb, no matter what your mind is telling you, the fact is, you saved her life. That’s the ultimate act of love, huh?”

His words hit me like a sledgehammer, the weight of their truth crashing over me like a tidal wave. Despite my doubts and fears, I had done something right. I had kept Naomi safe when she needed me most.

"Yeah," I whispered, my voice thick with emotion. "I guess it is."

I nodded, swallowing back the knot of emotion that threatened to choke me. His words offered a sliver of solace in the midst of my turmoil. My dad's gaze bore into mine, steady and unwavering. In that moment, I saw the wisdom of a lifetime etched in the lines of his face.

"You're doing everything you can, Caleb," he said, his voice a soothing balm to my frayed nerves. "But you can't let fear dictate your actions. You have to trust in yourself, in your love for Naomi."

I nodded, absorbing his words, hanging on to them like I always did. Senior joked, but he never told a lie, and his wisdom always pointed me in the right direction.

"Love is a powerful thing, son," he continued, his voice gentle but firm. "It gives us strength, courage, the ability to face even the darkest of days. And as long as you have love in your heart, Caleb, you'll always know what to do when it comes to Naomi. But stay present instead of trying to fight all her future battles that maybe not even happen."

He was right. Worry had consumed me since Jasmine broke into my home, stealing my peace and leaving me in a constant state of paranoia. The mere thought of something else happening to Naomi, especially as I couldn’t say the image of her whispering that she loved me while a gun was to her head, tore at my soul. The emotions it stirred within me were real, raw, and in need of resolution with Dr. Lyn's help.

Yet, while my father was correct in cautioning me against fighting Naomi's future battles that hadn’t even materialized and may never, he remained unaware of the war I was quietly preparing to wage against her past. Sending Jasmine away had removed one obstacle from Naomi's path, but my sights were set on two others. Like a pit bull with lockjaw, I was ready to sink my teeth into them, to set their worlds ablaze for what they had done to her.

And as I sat with my father, his wisdom anchoring me, I knew that the storm I was about to unleash would be relentless, fueled by a love that knew no bounds and a determination to protect Naomi at all costs.