Free Heaven Right Here by Lutishia Lovely Page A

and a diaper bag in the other. “We were shopping; time got away from me.”
    Stacy reached for her son. “He’s wet.”
    “Um, I don’t think so. I just changed him.” Darius took a deep, quiet breath. Don’t let her get under that gorgeous skin of yours, baby. That’s what she wants. Darius remembered Bo’s parting words before Darius had dropped him off at the Starbucks down the street on their way over, an action done to avoid yet another ugly scene. He followed Stacy inside the house.
    “They had a sale at Baby Gap,” he continued pleasantly. “And then we stopped at another shop where they were rocking baby Sean Jean. Little D is set for the ladies now!”
    Stacy had checked Darius’s diaper, and indeed he was dry. She talked to her son and ignored his father.
    Maybe this is best, Darius thought. He’d take the silent treatment over screaming any day. “Well, I guess I’ll see you Sunday then. Will you be at the eleven o’clock or early morning service?”
    “What difference does it make? Won’t you be at both of them?”
    “Stacy, why does this have to be hard? Why do we have to continue to bicker and fight, have all this drama? We were friends once, remember?”
    “Oh, I’ve got a ton of memories, Darius. How you played me for a fool to further your career and your heterosexual persona, how you married me knowing that for you it was just a front, how you chose your lover over me. And you expect me to invite you in like we’re friends? Ask you to sit and share a glass of wine?”
    “Merlot, if you have it,” Darius said, attempting humor.
    Stacy glared.
    “I’m not asking us to be best friends, Stacy. I just want us to be civil. Darius picks up on all this—”
    “How do you know what my son picks up on?” Stacy screamed.
    Little Darius started to cry and reached for his father.
    “That’s how I know,” Darius said in a quiet voice. “Come here, little man.” He stepped toward the couch.
    “I can handle Darius,” Stacy said, moving the child out of reach. “Just get out of my house.”
    She cooed and rocked Darius Jr. and then walked into the kitchen and got him a bottle. When she walked back into the living room, Darius’s back was to her as he eyed a grouping of family pictures hanging on the wall. Most were of his son.
    Stacy tried to maintain her anger and view him dispassionately. But somewhere between the perfectly shaped head; strong, broad shoulders; narrow waist; and butt she’d used to squeeze in the throes of passion, her ire faded. By the time she’d admired the strong, thick legs that stood firmly apart and the brand-new Nikes that covered Darius’s size-twelve feet, she’d admitted to herself what she’d refused to acknowledge to Hope. She still loved this man.
    “I’m coming to early morning service,” she said, placing little Darius on the floor. He immediately half waddled, half crawled over to his father.
    Darius picked him up, kissed and hugged him, and put him back down. “Okay, then, I’ll make sure Bridgette is there to take care of him while I’m working.”
    Stacy nodded.
    Bridgette was the Belizean nanny Darius had hired to help care for Darius Jr. Stacy had demanded the right to interview her and had begrudgingly given her approval and eventually her admiration to the woman who treated Darius Jr. as if he were her own child.
    There was an awkward moment as Darius fought the urge to bring up the custody hearings. Better to continue letting his attorney handle it, as Bo had suggested. He knelt down and kissed his son again. Rising, he looked at Stacy. He noticed the vulnerability in her eyes, the flicker of desire before she tucked it away. He wanted to comfort her somehow, hug her, kiss her, make the hurt go away. He knew he couldn’t. It would send the wrong message. But she looked so lonely standing there. And so cute in her pink ribbed tank top and low-rider jeans that exposed the outward navel he’d used to flick with his tongue. They