“Baby, you’re too old for that. Remember, we talked about it.” On occasion she slipped into Charisse’s room in the middle of the night and must’ve gone in there looking for her and then heard their voices in the hall.
“Please, Mommy.”
Charisse sighed, giving in because she wanted the conversation to end and Terrence out of the house. “All right. Only for tonight.”
A bright grin covered Chelsea’s face now that she’d gotten her way. “Good night, Daddy.”
“Good night, princess.”
When she was gone, Charisse straightened, and they stared at each other in the silence. She didn’t know what else to say to him.
He walked slowly toward her and she stepped back into the wall. He kept coming and placed his hands on either side of her.
“I know I messed us up,” he said softly. “I know it’s my fault we’re not together. It’s all on me. But I still love you, and I want to fix it. That’s what I came here to tell you in the middle of the night. I left the studio and couldn’t wait. You’re right, I have no right to be jealous, but the thought of you with this other man is driving me insane. I don’t deserve a second chance, but I’m asking for one. I miss you so much. So damn much, sometimes I swear I can’t fucking breathe. Tell me what to do. I’ll do whatever you want.”
Charisse sank her teeth into the inside of her bottom lip. Those words were five years too late. There was no longer anything he could do to save their relationship. It was already dissolved. The one thing she asked him to do was stay away from other women, and he didn’t do that. She no longer wanted to risk her heart on him.
Did she miss him? Yes. And despite everything that happened, a piece of her heart did and would always belong to Terrence Burrell. Not because he was the father of her children, but because he was the beautiful man—too pretty for rap—who smiled at her from the stage fourteen years ago and won her heart that very night.
That man had been swallowed up by the industry and no longer existed. The woman she had been no longer existed, either.
“Tell me. What do you want me to do?”
Charisse stared at the beating pulse at the base of his neck because she couldn’t look at him. “I want you to go,” she said quietly.
He didn’t budge, but she heard the sound of his lungs deflate. Then his hands fell away from the wall. He stepped back and stared at her, but she didn’t look at him. She dropped her eyes to the floor.
There was nothing left for them to say.
Terrence quietly left without a word.
Charisse wrapped her arms around herself and slid down the wall. A little whimper escaped the back of her throat, and then tears eased from beneath her tightly squeezed lids.
Her body shook as she quietly sobbed and pressed her face to her thighs.
Being strong was so darn hard.
8
Tuesday morning Charisse chatted on the phone with her mother. The kids were in school and she was at home alone taking care of a few chores. She spent much of the morning walking the property and talking to her yard guy about ideas for sprucing up the lawn and planting flowers near the gazebo or working on a full-scale landscape design project.
Her home was a secluded estate on a multi-acre wooded lot without any neighbors nearby. She loved coming up with new ideas to improve the property, like when she hired contractors to redo the driveway with cobblestone or build a sunroom onto the back.
So far she’d been fortunate with Terrence’s generosity, but their relationship had chilled considerably, so she needed to be more judicious about how much she spent on sprucing up the yard. Under normal circumstances, he gave her carte blanche to do whatever she wanted, but this time she’d have to take the money out of her own limited budget and might not be able to spend as much.
Back when they divorced, he promised to always take care of her and said she didn’t have to work, but she never completely accepted that idea. He took care of her now, but one day he would remarry, and his new wife would not like that he was still taking care of his ex. With that in mind, she took a percentage of the spousal support he gave her every month and turned it over to a financial planner so she’d have retirement income in her old age. She couldn’t honestly expect Terrence to finance her lifestyle indefinitely, no matter what he said.
Excited about the work in the yard, she called her mother to run some of her ideas by her. During the course of their conversation, her mother mentioned that a new bachelor moved into the assisted living community where she resided, and he played bridge with them last week. Martha thought he’d been a bit flirtatious with her and considered inviting him to tea one afternoon but was hesitant.
“Mom, you need to go ahead and live your life. Isn’t that what you told me after my divorce? Dad’s been gone for a while.”
She set a bowl of cat food on the floor and Simba trotted over and started eating.
“I know, but he’s so classy and refined,” her mother said.
Charisse walked into the laundry room. “And what are you, chopped liver? You’re pretty, educated, funny, and make a mean tuna casserole. That man would be lucky to have you.”
Her mother giggled. “Well, we’ll see how everything goes. The group is playing bridge together again on Friday. If he’s there, I’ll see if I have the same impression that he’s interested, and I’ll know what to do then.”
“I say go for it. Flirt back.”
Her mother laughed again. She hoped her mother did take the leap. She lived a fulfilling life with the other seniors at the community, but Charisse suspected she wouldn’t mind finding another life partner.
The doorbell chimed.
“That’s the cleaning service. Gotta run. Call me Friday night and let me know how bridge went with Mr. Casanova. And you better tell me you asked him to tea, or I’m coming down there to invite him for you.”
“You’re silly, but I will. I’ll ask him.”
Charisse dropped the clothes she’d been sorting and went back into the kitchen to check the monitor. The cleaning service used a code to get onto the property, and the maids came once a week to deep clean the house, concentrating on bathrooms and high-traffic common areas like the family room.
She set the phone in the cradle on the counter, but when she looked at the monitor, she didn’t see the three women who normally came. Terrence stood on the stoop outside, hands braced on the doorframe, head bowed so she only saw the top of his head.
Should she pretend not to be at home?
After their confrontation, she didn’t want to talk to him and did a good job of avoiding him so far. Actually, he avoided her, too.
When he called to speak to the children, she and he didn’t talk to each other. The other night, he took them to dinner and a movie. Instead of picking them up like he usually did and coming in to chat for a bit, he sent a car.
If the children noticed the way their parents were behaving, they didn’t say a word. She and Terrence would eventually have to sort through this impasse in their own way, but today was not that day.
She hit the intercom button. “Terrence, what do you want? I’m busy right now.”
“Charisse, open the door. I need to talk to you. Please.”
She didn’t want to hear any more of his jealous ranting. “Not today. I have a million things to do, and I’m not in the mood to argue.”
He lifted his head and stared straight into the camera’s lens. The hollowed-out expression in his eyes startled her.
“Please open the door. I’m trying real hard not to use my key.”
Worried by what she saw on the screen, Charisse rushed to the front door and swung it open. She stared at her ex. His eyes were red and damp around the edges. He’d obviously been crying.
“What’s wrong?” Fear throbbed in her chest. She’d never seen Terrence look like this. He appeared beaten down, defeated.
“Grandma Esther had another stroke and passed away last night. Her caretaker called me this morning.” S
aying the words brought fresh tears to his eyes.
“Oh no.” Charisse brought her hands to her mouth.
As her eyes blurred with tears, Terrence stumbled into the house, clamped his arms around her waist, and buried his face in her neck. She fell against the wall and cupped the back of his head to offer comfort.
She shut her eyes, but the tears squeezed through—for the woman she came to love, and for the man holding onto her so tight. Grandma Esther had been mother and father to him and was his last closest relative.
She stroked his soft hair. “Oh, baby. I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry,” she whispered.
Hundreds attended the funeral for Esther Hyacinth Jones, beloved by the people in her community, the church, and even those in the hip-hop community for her staunch support of her famous grandson.
The two-hour service included songs from the church choir and a word from her pastor about her years of service to the Lord by serving on committees to help the less fortunate. Only in recent years did she slow down, but continued to volunteer for hours every week by joining the outreach committee, where she made phone calls to follow up with members who were sick or hadn’t been to service in a while.
Charisse sat in the front row, her children to the right, Terrence to her left. Chelsea clung to her and leaned on her arm. Terrence held fast to her hand.
During the eulogy, her heart broke when his voice thickened as he shared memories about the woman who took him in when he was twelve years old. Several times during the short speech, he glanced at Charisse and she smiled slightly, encouragingly, which seemed to give him strength. He would take a deep breath and follow through, his voice a little bit stronger.
The five of them stayed at the gravesite long after everyone else left. Chelsea sat in her father’s lap with tear-streaked cheeks. The older boys lost their stoic expressions when their grandmother was lowered into the ground, so tears stained their cheeks, too.
They eventually left to join the attendees who were eating and drinking at the reception venue. But for the moment, the little family sat quietly and remembered Grandma Esther and her tart tongue, her wit, and her unconditional love for them all.
9
Terrence looked up when Charisse stepped out onto the back patio. He sat in the dark on one of the old wicker chairs Grandma Esther kept in the backyard, smoking a blunt to calm himself after spending the past four days in the company of concerned visitors he secretly wished would leave him alone so he could grieve in peace.
Charisse stayed behind to help him pack up his grandmother’s belongings and mementos. Some of those items would be shipped back to his place in Atlanta, while others would be dumped or donated. Eventually, he’d have the place painted and cleaned in preparation for sale. There were minor repairs that needed to be done, too. The doorbell didn’t work and there was a leak under the kitchen sink, but he was in no rush to get rid of the old brick house. There were too many memories and too much of his grandparents’ history here.
Charisse walked behind him and sat down in the other wicker chair.
“How are the kids?” he asked. She’d called Atlanta to check on them.
“They’re okay. Still sad about losing her, of course. Having a couple of days off from school was good for them, but they’ll be going back tomorrow. Mom will make sure of that. Chelsea said to tell you that she loves you.”
The corner of his mouth lifted up. “That’s my princess,” he said softly.
“What are we going to tackle next?” Charisse asked.
She was dressed down in a pair of thin, thigh-hugging sweats and a black T-shirt and wore her hair in two simple, large cornrows. Yet he’d never wanted her more.
He appreciated her remaining behind to help, but her presence also inflicted torture. They hadn’t stayed under the same roof in years. Even when they vacationed together, he rented separate lodging. So being in close proximity to her in the small house wore on his nerves. His gaze slid over her full breasts and he bit back a groan.
“The Salvation Army is coming to pick up the furniture tomorrow, but I need to pick up more boxes for the personal items. I guess I’ll run and do that first thing in the morning, and then we can box up the rest of the stuff in the bedroom before starting on the attic. There’s not much up there, so it shouldn’t take long.”
“Sounds good.”
Terrence extended the blunt to her.
“I don’t do this anymore,” Charisse said, taking it.
“Give it back, then.”
She eyed him. “Wait a minute. Let me get a few puffs.”
“That’s what I thought.” He chuckled. “If my grandmother saw us right now, she’d be so pissed.”
Charisse let smoke ease between her luscious lips. Damn, she was sexy. Spending the past four days with her in this house tested his control in unimaginable ways. She only had to stand in the same room with him, and every cell in his body went on high alert. Some days he wondered if he’d ever be able to feel, even remotely, for another woman the intense love and obsessive need he did for her. Maybe not—a just penance for all the dirt he’d done.
“I’ll never forget that one time she caught us doing ‘the reefer,’” she said.
Terrence laughed. “I forgot about that. Not in my house,” he said, wagging a finger and mimicking Grandma Esther’s voice.
“Then you had to go and say, ‘But Grandma, we’re outside.’” Charisse giggled and took another puff. “She almost knocked your head off with that pot.”
“Who you telling? Hell, I can still hear her threatening me, talking ’bout, ‘You ain’t too grown for me to whoop your ass.’”
They both laughed then, and when they stopped, Terrence blinked back the tears that sprang to his eyes. Charisse handed him back the blunt and they sat in silence for a while.
“Thanks for staying with me,” he said.
“Where else would I be, Terrence?”
“You could have left when the kids went back.”
She shook her head. “I couldn’t do that. I loved her too much. I want to make sure her house is packed up neatly.”
“You saying I can’t do that?” he asked teasingly.
“I’m saying you need my help.”
She smiled at him, the way she used to, with affection in her eyes—before he blew up about her new man.
He rubbed away the pain in his chest. “Yeah, I do need you. Thanks, sweetheart.”
Charisse slipped the nightshirt over her head and then stepped over to the bathroom mirror. A refreshing shower had been what she needed after a long day packing and lugging boxes. Plus, she’d wanted to eliminate the pungent scent of weed smoke out of her skin.
There was only one bathroom in the little house, so while Terrence took a shower earlier, she put away the leftovers from dinner. He hadn’t eaten much the past couple of days—at least not the way she knew he could eat. Hopefully, he’d regain his appetite soon.
She smoothed moisturizer into her face and tightened a silk scarf over her braided hair. She picked up her discarded clothes and opened the door, and almost bumped into Terrence.
“Hey.” He grabbed her arms.
She inhaled sharply and tensed but resisted the urge to withdraw from his touch. She became very conscious of her skimpy clothes. The thin nightshirt came to mid-thigh, and she wasn’t wearing a bra. “Hey.”
He was shirtless, and she clearly saw the tattoos on his chest and arms that were normally hidden under his clothes. Her gaze focused on the one on his left pec. Charisse.
After she confronted him about one of his women, he’d gotten it to prove her importance to him. She couldn’t remember why she confronted him that time. Could have been because of a photo she saw online or rumors whispered throughout the music community.
Right over my heart, he’d said. A tribute to her. It was strange seeing the tattoo still there. She wondered why he never removed it or redesigned it into something else.
He dropped his hands. “Thought you wer
e already in bed. I’m about to go to the kitchen and tear into that chicken you put away earlier.”
“Got the munchies?” she teased.
“A little bit.” He hesitated, as if he wanted to say something else. Then he shook his head. “Good night.”
“Good night.” She watched him walk away before going to the end of the hall. He’d given her his grandmother’s bedroom, the largest in the house. She tossed the dirty clothes on top of the suitcase and climbed into bed. She didn’t know how much sleep she’d get tonight. A restlessness filled her.
She must have dozed off at some point because she suddenly sensed she wasn’t alone. Her eyes fluttered open in the dark, and she rolled onto her back. Terrence’s dark figure hovered in the doorway.
“Terrence, what’s wrong?”
“Mind if I come in and lay down with you for a minute? My mind won’t let me rest.”
She wanted to say no. The bed was small, only a full-size. But how could she refuse him in his time of need? “Of course not.”
She turned on the bedside lamp and scooted over. He climbed onto the bed and lay on his back on the light comforter instead of sliding under the covers with her. He stared up at the ceiling, and she kept her gaze on him, noting his strong profile and the powerful display of his bare, muscled arms.
The restlessness came back, joined by the uncontrollable need to touch him. To caress his skin. He needed a friend right now, but lying in bed with him was doing strange things to her insides, despite the separation of the sheets between them.
“Doc said there was nothing they could do, but sometimes I wonder…” He frowned.
“Terrence,” Charisse said, using the same voice she did when scolding their kids, “I hope you’re not doing something foolish like blaming yourself. You did everything you could. You gave Grandma Esther the best care money could buy.” She was never the same after the first stroke, and Charisse couldn’t imagine there was anything else that could be done after the second.
Without You (Quicksand Book 2) Page 5