“You don’t want the Boomer joint?” Bob asked, referring to the track Terrence listened to during the last studio session.
“Nah, I want the other one.”
Bob frowned. “Wait… You mean the slow one?”
“Yeah, that one.”
Bob shook his head. “A’ight.”
He ran the track and Terrence closed his eyes and absorbed the beat. This would definitely do.
Minutes later he was inside the booth, hand on the mic, recording what he considered to be one of his best songs. Title: Without You.
When he exited the booth, he listened to the replay with Bob. At the end of the song, the engineer nodded appreciatively. “That’s hot. And you nailed it on the first take. Maybe we should send this one to the record company, give them an early taste of what’s to come.”
Terrence stood. “I’m not sure I’ll put this on the album.”
“What? That shit is fire. The ladies are gonna love it. It could be even hotter than ‘Wearing My Ring.’”
“We’ll see.” No point in explaining that it was personal and not for public consumption. He didn’t know why, but he’d felt compelled to record the song anyway. “Send that to me after you clean it up.”
“Okay.”
“Tonight.”
“I got you.”
“Thanks, man.” He tapped Bob on the shoulder and left the building.
Not happier, but satisfied.
17
Who could be calling at this hour?
Charisse didn’t know the exact time, but she knew it was late because she went to bed at ten o’clock after talking to her mother for an hour. She must’ve been asleep for at least a couple of hours because her body carried the ache of being disrupted from deep sleep.
She squinted into the darkness and reached for the phone beside the bed. It stopped ringing.
She flopped onto her back and groaned. Whoever had called, they could leave a voicemail and she’d check it in the morning.
Except, the phone started ringing again. Annoyed, she slammed her hand on the offending electronic device and stared at the screen.
Bo?
She answered. “Hello?”
“Oh, thank goodness!”
“What’s going on?”
“I hate to ask you for this favor, but I tried to reach Kamisha and she’s not answering her phone. I don’t know who else to call. It’s about T.”
Wide awake now, Charisse sat up and gripped the phone as she waited for him to continue.
“A cop picked him up outside the gate at Waterfall Estates. He left his car on the side of the road and tried to enter on foot when the security guard called the police.”
“What was he doing there?” Waterfall Estates was the gated community where they’d lived before the divorce.
“I don’t know. The guard didn’t recognize him, thought he was some random drunk dude trying to force his way onto the property. T has a little bit of cash on him, but no wallet or I.D. They could have arrested him for public drunkenness, but the cop recognized him, took him down to the station, and gave him the chance to make a phone call.”
She pressed a hand to her forehead. “Why did you call me?”
“Because I’m in Europe, and if I call anybody else, we risk the incident leaking to the press. Aside from the fact that he don’t need any more negative press, he don’t need to be seen as getting preferential treatment.”
“Even though that’s exactly what happened?”
“Yes.” Bo sounded defeated, as if he fully expected her to say no.
Charisse sighed. “Which station is he at?”
He told her and gave her the name of the sergeant, adding, “Thanks a lot, Charisse. I know he’s not your responsibility, but I really appreciate you doing this. And I know Terrence will, too.”
She climbed out of bed. She needed to tell Ennis that she would be leaving him in charge when she left. “Are you sure about that?”
“I’m one hundred percent sure. I don’t know how he’ll react when he sees you, but trust me, it’s better that you go than anyone else. He knows that, too.”
She stopped outside her son’s door. “Okay, Bo. I’m on my way.”
They both hung up.
Why was she going? Because despite what happened between them, she didn’t want him to “give them reporters nothing to write about.”
She knocked lightly on the door and walked in to talk to her son.
Charisse hated police stations. Even when the officers were friendly, they intimidated her because of the amount of power they wielded. She approached the officer stapling papers at the front desk, a tall white male with bushy brows.
“Can I help you?” he asked without looking at her.
Charisse cleared her throat and clutched the strap of the purse over her shoulder. “Yes, I’m here to see Terrence Burrell. I was told to ask for Sgt. Desmond.”
He looked up at her and frowned slightly, as if he wanted to say something. “Down the hall, take a right, last office on the right.”
“Thank you.”
She followed the instructions and ended up in front of an open office filled with cubicles. A black woman sat at the front of the room at a large desk. Terrence sat in a chair against the wall to the right of the desk, facing Charisse. His head rested against the wall and his eyes were closed. He wore jeans, tennis shoes, and a white tee. She doubted he was asleep, but he remained as still as someone who was. He looked tired and worn, and her heart ached.
“May I help you?” The black officer looked directly at Charisse.
“Are you Sgt. Desmond?”
Terrence’s eyes flew open and he sat up straight.
“Yes.”
“I’m here for Terrence Burrell.”
The sergeant stood with a pen in one hand and rested the other hand on her hip. “Next time a few autographs won’t keep him out of jail,” she said, arching an eyebrow.
“Yes, ma’am. I understand,” Charisse replied, as if she were somehow responsible for the position Terrence found himself in.
“You’re free to go,” she said to Terrence.
“Thank you.” He stood slowly, carefully. As he approached, Charisse noted his red eyes. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days.
She followed him out the door. He walked slowly and appeared a bit unsteady on his feet.
“I guess Bo called you?” he said when they were outside the precinct.
“Yes.”
“Thanks for coming, but he shouldn’t have done that.”
“He did what he always does. He had your back.”
In the car, Terrence closed his eyes and turned his head away from her toward the window. They didn’t speak the entire time they rode to his condo. She pulled into the underground parking garage and into his space.
“Where are the kids?” he asked.
“At home with Ennis. Where’s your car?”
“Towed. I’ll pick it up tomorrow.”
“Do you need anything?”
“No. Thanks for the lift.” He opened the door and stumbled out.
Charisse hopped out of the car and stood uncertainly for a bit, not sure whether to go or make sure he actually made his way up to his condo and into bed. She chose the latter. A few more minutes wouldn’t hurt. She followed him to the elevator.
Terrence pushed the button and didn’t look at her as she came up beside him. “I’ll be fine, Charisse.”
“I’m sure you will be, but I’m coming up anyway.”
They remained silent in the cabin, and when Terrence fumbled with the keycards at the door, she took them from him, found the correct one, and let them in.
“You can go now. I’ll be fine.”
He tripped over his own feet and she rushed to him. She caught his arm and supported him before he fell. “You’re not fine,” she said.
He glanced at her and a pained expression came over his face before he looked away again.
She put his arm aroun
d her neck and walked with him down the hall, supporting his big body as best she could, which wasn’t easy.
In the bedroom, he flopped onto the mattress, fully clothed, shoes and all.
He heaved a heavy sigh and closed his eyes.
“Are you sure you don’t need anything?” Charisse asked. She was worried about him. What if he threw up and drowned in his own vomit or something? She would never forgive herself.
Terrence mumbled something unintelligible into the pillow.
“What did you say?” Charisse leaned over the bed and angled her ear to his mouth.
He grasped her wrist and she gasped at the sudden movement.
They were eye to eye, faces only inches apart.
“Don’t go.”
She turned her fingers into a fist, ready to jerk away. “I can’t stay. I have to go back and see about the kids.”
“They’ll be fine. Ennis will make sure they’re okay. He’s old enough to watch out for his brother and sister. The house won’t burn down. Call and let him know where you are. Keep your phone on, and lay down with me. I promise I won’t try anything. I feel like shit right now, and I…” He swallowed. “You can leave when I fall asleep. I just want to hold you for a little bit.”
He released her, giving her the option to go or stay.
Charisse called herself every kind of fool, but she chose to stay.
She removed her shoes and sat on the edge of the bed. She called her son and told him where she was and that she’d see them in the morning. Then she and Terrence slid under the covers. He pulled her close, holding her tight from behind. He threw a leg over both of hers. He said she could leave when he fell asleep, but he was sure making it hard.
He pressed his nose to the back of her neck and breathed deeply, as if saving and filing away her scent for a later date.
“I have something to tell you,” he said softly.
“Okay,” she replied warily, tension entering her body.
“I don’t want you to interrupt or say anything, even after I finish. Just listen. I need to say this for me. Okay?”
Tears filled her eyes, and she blinked them away rapidly. Whatever he was about to say would change their relationship forever. “Okay.”
Terrence took a deep breath and let it out through his mouth, and warm air brushed the back of her neck.
“I understand why you didn’t believe that I loved you, but in all these years, I thought you knew that I did. If there was one thing that was true during our marriage, it’s that I loved you—even though my actions didn’t reflect it. I still love you, and I miss you. I miss you more than you know. And I’m sorry for all the shit I’ve done over the years. For tonight, too. You shouldn’t have to come pick me up at the police station.
“I’m sorry for the way I treated you and disrespected you. I’m sorry for destroying what we had as a couple. Sorry for destroying our family and for hurting you and embarrassing you. I’m sorry for everything. Your mother told me you were too good for me, and she was right.
“I want you back, but the truth is, you were right to turn me down. You’re a good woman, Charisse, and you put up with a whole lot of my bad behavior. I was listening to something—a song tonight, and it hit me hard. That’s what drove me to drink. I realized that I don’t deserve you. I want you to know that I get it, sweetheart. I understand why you said no—why you couldn’t try again. But you’ll always have my heart. Always, whether you want it or not.”
He kissed the back of her neck and spread his fingers over her belly. Within minutes, he was snoring, but she couldn’t sleep.
She stayed awake for hours, thinking about what he said.
18
Charisse finished splashing water on her face and walked out of the bathroom. She’d stayed with Terrence until morning broke and left him sleeping in the bed a few minutes ago. She finger-combed her hair, which didn’t look too bad considering how she slept last night.
She walked into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. The shelves were stocked with a variety of food and drinks, including a couple of covered dishes that looked like leftovers from chef-prepared meals.
She could cook a quick breakfast for them, but she needed tomato juice and hot sauce for her hangover drink. She took Terrence’s keycards off the side table where she tossed them last night and exited the condo. The market in the building was already open, and she purchased the ingredients she needed.
When she returned upstairs, she checked in on Terrence, who remained sprawled on his stomach in the bed. She watched him for a moment. After what he said last night, maybe they could go back to the friendship they shared before everything fell apart. How the new baby would influence their relationship going forward, she wasn’t sure. She was sure, however, that she missed him.
She set up the ingredients on the counter in the kitchen and took the blender from the cabinet. She chopped celery and dropped the pieces into the jar. She poured in tomato juice, hot sauce, and added the other ingredients. Terrence always complained about her hangover recipe, but back in the day when they partied together, the drink always made them feel better the morning after.
She blended the ingredients, did a quick taste test, and satisfied, set the blender aside. Time for breakfast. She was in the mood for an omelette, and Terrence had a couple of mangoes she could slice and add to the side. Before she started, she wanted to play some music. She went over to the sofa and picked up the remote, which looked like a giant keyboard that could be used to control a space ship.
Terrence and his gadgets. This thing was so complicated. Which one controlled the music again?
She walked back to the kitchen, pressing buttons as she went. The TV came on and off. Then the blinds opened and closed.
“Maybe you won’t hear any music today,” she murmured to herself.
She stood next to one of the bar stools and pushed another button. A song came on with a slow, easy beat. Then Terrence’s voice rapped over the beat. She’d never heard this song before. It must be something new he was working on. He sometimes asked the engineer to send him the music to listen to when he was working on an album. Was the whole album on here? she wondered.
She walked around the counter and went back to chopping onions when one line in the song stopped her cold.
What’s my life without you, sweetheart?
Sweetheart? That was Terrence’s word for her. She stared at the controller, as if to make it answer for the music coming through the speakers. She dropped the knife to the cutting board and listened to his deep voice make love to the track with his words.
I ain’t got nothing without you
Enough ain’t enough without you
There is no me without you
My arms are so empty without you
The sun don’t shine without you
It’s always night without you
My heart don’t beat without you
Just can’t breathe without you
By the time the song ended, her cheeks were wet and she sat on one of the barstools because she couldn’t stand anymore.
This song…what did it mean? Terrence wrote this song for her. Right? Was this the song he was listening to last night? The one that made him finally accept they would never be a couple again?
Charisse dried her cheeks with a paper towel and then figured out how to turn off the system. She went back to cooking breakfast, mind racing, wondering if there was a chance for them after all.
Terrence walked barefoot into the wide open space of the living room. He squinted against the sun and the way it exacerbated his headache. Was the sun always this bright in the morning?
“Good morning. How do you feel?” Charisse asked. She looked bright-eyed and had probably been awake for hours.
“Like crap. How’d you sleep?”
“Good.” She held out a glass of brown-looking liquid and he groaned.
“You know I hate this.” He took the drink anyway.
“It’s good for you, and
it works.” She handed him two aspirin. “I made breakfast.”
“You didn’t have to do that.”
They were having a very civil conversation, which he appreciated. If for no other reason, they needed to get along for the sake of their kids.
“Sorry about last night.” He dry-swallowed the aspirin and sniffed the hangover drink. It smelled like a spicy vegetable smoothie, and he wanted none of it, but she was right, it worked. Holding his breath, he swallowed a large amount of the thick beverage.
He set the half full glass on the counter. Charisse was staring at him.
“What?” he asked.
“Why were you at Waterfall Estates last night?”
“I don’t know. Drunk and living in the past. I’m sorry you had to pick me up.”
In the light of morning, he was more than embarrassed by his actions. He’d been reckless and could have hurt himself or someone else. But listening to “Without You” in a constant loop destroyed him. Broke him down into an empty vessel. His own words drove home the hopelessness of his situation, and so he’d felt compelled to go there, back to the house where they had lived together as a family under one roof.
Charisse’s lower lip trembled, and he clenched his fists, wanting to grab and hold her, but knowing he didn’t have the right. “I’m sorry. I know I messed up again, sweetheart—”
She covered her face and sobbed louder now.
Dammit. He’d really screwed up now.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” He wrapped her in his arms. He rubbed her back and whispered in her ear, “It’s okay.”
He closed his eyes and took a moment to appreciate her soft, feminine form and the sweetness of her scent. If he could keep her here forever, he would.
Charisse eased back and he released her. She wiped away the tears.
“You called me sweetheart,” she said. More tears spilled from her eyes, and she wiped them away with the back of her hand.
“Yeah…?” He didn’t understand what she was getting at.
“I’m the only one you call sweetheart…right?”
Without You (Quicksand Book 2) Page 10