Page 180 of The Comedown

I still hope he loses. I’ll legit cheer.

“And the award goes to…” one says before both presenters yell into the mic, “Bodee Keys!”

The devil works hard, but Bodee Keys works harder.

Bodee lumbers to his feet, acting all stunned and shit, then he pulls Holter up into a dramatic hug. After stretching that out for ten seconds too long, he hesitates in front of us, staring down at Collette. She tenses on my lap, or I tense under her, I don’t know, but if he reaches for her right now, I’ll kill him because while Bodee Keys might work harder than the devil, I love harder than anyone. That’s why it’s so goddamn lethal.

The cameraman that’d been kneeling in front of Bodee to get his reaction rotates his camera our way, so now he’s picking up the exchange between the infamous exes.

Collette manages to say, “Congratulations, Bodee,” without adding, “for buying another award for yourself, you dirty piece of shit,” because she’s a true professional.

Since I’m not though, I straight up meanmug the bastard on his way past.

The cameraman remains where he is, and at first, I assume it’s to get Holter’s expression during his dad’s fake-ass acceptance speech, but instead, Collette’s face appears on both the giant screens hanging above the stage.

What the fuck?

Her smile wobbles when she catches sight of herself onscreen until I nudge her out of view by pretending to rearrange my legs under hers.

They cut to Bodee at the podium, and he thanks the crowd, holding a hand to his heart like he’s touched.

“Thank you. Thank you.” He waits for the applause to die down. “I’m always honored to receive recognition for all of my accomplishments. Just as I’m honored to have helped so many others achieve their own.”

His eyes land on Collette, and again, her face comes up on the screens for everyone to see. This sick fuck.

Collette turns her gaze on Holter, trying to play it off like that’s what Bodee’s referring to, but it’s obvious as shit what he means. He helped Collette get here.

“When you’re as blessed as I am, it’s important to pay it forward. I’m happy to announce one of those kindnesses finally came to fruition tonight as Collette, who got her start as my opener after I hand selected her, prepares to perform here, onstage, for the first time ever.”

The crowd goes crazy, as they should. It is a fucking achievement, no matter how Collette got her start.

With the cameraman trained on Collette’s profile, I wait for the screens to switch from Bodee to her before quietly telling Holter, “Might wanna look away.” I grip Collette’s jaw and bring her lips to mine. My tongue massages hers as I wrap my other arm around her middle, holding her tight, and she responds beautifully, opening up for me just like she always does. I don’t have to look to know our kiss is being broadcast to the live audience as well as the viewers at home, so I close my eyes and enjoy it.

If Bodee wants to take anything from Collette—the son she alone birthed and raised or the credit for the career she built and maintained herself—he can come down here and try, because I already got a bullet with his name on it, and unlike everyone else in this room, I ain’t gun-shy.

Echoes of Bodee’s throat clearing into the microphone do nothing to cover the snickers, whistles, claps, or catcalls, and I’d bet my right nut he wasn’t banking on that happening.

I finish the kiss with Collette, only pulling back an inch to breathe her in while Bodee wraps up his self-centered speech.

“Don’t leave me before you even leave me,” she says, and I open my eyes, finding hers drowning in tears, the show on another commercial break.

“I’m already gone, Collette.” Because she’s the best, most important part of me, and she’s already made her plans…not one of them involving me.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see her hand lift, but I’m quick to catch it with mine, not letting her touch my throat.

“We were always on borrowed time, remember?” I tell her. “Isis couldn’t keep Osiris with her for long.”

The thirty-second warning sounds just as Bodee breezes by us, and Collette turns, her eyes tracking his every step.

She says, “I’ve already been to hell once. I’ll come find you.”

I’m a liar, I lie my ass off, and normally, I do it without a lot of consideration about what it does to the people I’m lying to, but after hearing Collette lie to me…I might have to stop that shit. Lying fucking hurts. It causes other feelings to crop up, like hope, and that’s just cruel. Even if she tried to come find me after this, I wouldn’t let her.

I watch Bodee shake hands with the people closest to his seat, and tell Collette, “Let’s just focus on the performance.”

With more bitterness than the first time she said it, she responds with, “Which one?”

We don’t talk again after that, not even when categories for pop and rap come and go without either of our albums mentioned—which we knew but it still doesn’t feel good to see—until eventually a producer finds us, letting us know it’s time to head backstage to change outfits and get ready for our performance. But as soon as we stand to say goodbye to Holter, Collette’s body tenses, her gaze locked on something over his head.