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have fun, baby, okay?”
    “I plan to. How is everything? What are the doctors saying?”
    Madea had cancer. Four years ago, it showed up in her lungs. Pissed me off because she’d never smoked a day in her life. She’d fought it ever since, but she was in her late seventies. The chemo treatments left her weak and tired. At most times, she was too weak and out of breath to walk. Just recently, another tumor was found in her stomach.
    “You don’t want to talk about that right now. You’re about to go on vacation.”
    “Madea, I need to know. I don’t know what kind of connection I’ll h–”
    “Hush, chil’. I’m fine. I’m still alive. That’s all you need to know.”
    I closed my eyes and bit my tongue. She was lying. The last time that I saw her, she could barely sit up straight.
    “Now,” she started, in an effort to change the subject. “What fabulous place is that man taking you now?”
    I fought the urge to argue with her. “Punta Cana,” I answered, solemnly.
    “Oooo,” she squealed. “That sounds so nice.”
    “I’ll take you when you get all better,” I told her.
    “I can’t wait. Roc is always so good to you. When are y’all getting married?”
    I looked at him. He didn’t know what Madea and I were talking about, but he still smiled, gently grabbed that back of my neck and kissed my lips quickly.
    I sighed slightly. “Eventually,” I told Madea.
     
    ****
     
    Once on the private jet, Roc tucked us away in one of the private cabins. Since the shooting, he’d been so consumed with finding out what was going on, that we hadn’t made love. I was okay with that. I knew that his mind was somewhere else. But after a few shots of whiskey, his eyes began to smile lustfully at me as I lay across the bed.
    “What are you staring at, Daddy?” I flirted.
    He bit his lip. “You with all those curves and me with no brakes.”
    Instantly, I got excited. It had only been one night since he touched me, but we still had about a week to make up for.
    He left the recliner and came to me. We had been together for five years, but every time I laid eyes on him was like doing it for the first time. His body was poetic. He was so stalky that I looked forward to disappearing into his arms every time he was near me. He lifted his shirt as he knelt in the bed and revealed the many scripts that were inked on his olive skin. There were so many that his back, arms and chest looked like one big tattoo. There was even one of a curvy, dark woman on his right forearm with the one simple word that he used to describe me, “Baby.” There was also my name on his chest. It was scripted under the “Love Is” comic characters. It read: Love Is… Yanna E. Hill. Those were the only loving tattoos on his body. The rest of them were treacherous markings of skulls, guns, and scripts in different languages of street slang.
    I kissed that Love Is tattoo as he climbed between my legs and took me. I swear, no matter what was going on around us, having this man on top of me felt like happily ever after. There was nothing better than having him near me, but my world felt complete with him on top of me.
    “I love you, Daddy,” I whispered as he kissed my neck, and, I swear, I felt his chest heave. Every time I said it, every time I called him Daddy, it did something to him and I felt it. His length hardened between my thighs as he kissed me aggressively and pushed my sundress up around my waist.
    Though we were kissing, he smiled as he felt my bare wetness with his fingertips.
    “No panties,” he literally purred. “Good girl.”
    And every time he said that , it did something to me and I was sure he felt it. My body began to overflow all over his hand as I rubbed my pussy against it.
    “I love you too, by the way.”
    I smiled as my breathing began to get heavy. “Oh, by the way, huh?”
    And his smile was so damn sexy as he told me, “Yea, by the way.
    God, this man was everything. “Fuck me,” I begged.
    “Take