by Janice Ross
Jessica Watkins Presents
Fire in the Water
by
Janice Ross
Blurb
Chanel Bissett believed in one fundamental truth---the power of love. She's adored and loved Zachary Marlowe long before she knew what life meant. They've built a bond so strong, it was beyond untouchable.
Or so Chanel thought...
Rhys Colburn has always been privileged, wealthy and demanding. He was ready to spend the rest of his life with Maggie Cohn, so that together, they could conquer the world.
Rhys couldn't be more wrong...
Consistently appearing at the wrong place and wrong time, Chanel and Rhys' lives began to clash. Every breath, every word, every moment was as if the heavens had shifted the earth so that their paths would cross. Whether faith or destiny, they are pushed to emotional boundaries neither could sustain.
Yet still, hope remained...
Over time, they became stripped of their once known selves. All that was left were shattered pieces of a once upon a time. And after three years with shadows of memories behind, chance pulled them together again.
Finally, love just might emerge. And this time, destiny might be kinder.
Will either take a chance with a stranger or will the past resurface to shatter the possibility?
~
COPYRIGHT NOTE
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher, addressed "Attention: Permission Request."
Published by Jessica Watkins Presents
© Janice G Ross February 2017
PUBLISHER’S NOTE
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and events are strictly the product of the author or used fictitiously. Any similarities between actual persons, living or dead, events, setting or locations are entirely coincidental.
Dedication
To him...
Acknowledgements
During the quiet times, when all I can do is cry before Him. When every decision and every circumstance lines up against me, I look to Him. I am often reminded that I'm fearfully and wonderfully made. When I cry out, I'm comforted by the words of Jeremiah:
"For I know the plans I have for you," declares the Lord, "plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future." (KJV)
~
To my biological & "by way of" family, most notably the ones who remind me I am loved and that there's a purpose much greater than any of us can see just yet, thank you. I love you all, with every bit of me.
When I'm tired and worn out from the daily stress of life, I know I can pick up that phone and my sistas will be there to listen, offer feedback, tell me when I'm wrong and pray with me. Amarie Avant, you are blessed to be a blessing to others. Dormaine G, I don't think you know how to be anything other than real. Whether we're having one of our many conference calls or simply one on one conversations, I appreciate the ways you both have and continue to feed into my life.
To Jessica Watkins, I appreciate the opportunity to work with you. The ease of the process has been great. I look forward to producing more amazing stories under your guidance.
Fire in the Water
"You don't find love, it finds you. It's got a little bit to do with destiny, fate and what's written in the stars."
-Anais Nim
Foreshadowing
Certain moments will forever be frozen in time–the universe shifting to accommodate the earth, the sum of all fears, the pulsating heartbeats of star-crossed lovers, the moment you question the purpose of living and the instant you no longer deny the truth.
This is mine–painful, satisfying and messed up.
"Go to hell!" I shouted up into the pouring rain as it plopped down into my eyes and my nose, suffocating me as it rushed into my mouth.
I was wearing super short khakis and an aqua tank plastered to firm, palm-sized breasts and shapely thighs. My feet were bare, and my toes swarmed with sand from the bottom of the ocean. Each second found me sinking into the gooey glob. It was an odd type of comfort, overtaken by heaviness from up top to down below, squeezing off my air.
Precisely the point, right?
Everything, every minute figment, crowded my very existence. Drops of rain crushed me. The roar of waves ripped apart my eardrums. The on and off flash of lightning crept near enough to make me fear death. For a split second, I worried about dying, but then I realized this time, fear was meant to be my finale.
Why worry?
"Chanel...baby..." trailed over the waves, but I knew within my heart of hearts that even if I were to dip below the water, I would be able to recognize the depth of his distinct sound over mother nature's anger.
"Don't do this." Rhys' pleas blended with the roar of the waves and crashing of the showers from above. Though somewhat distant, he gripped my senses. He stood several feet away in sinking sand, surrounded by warm water. His words only scratched the surface of my world. Although I could avoid looking into his hypnotic gaze on this dark and tumultuous night, my mind was etched with how perfect he could be. With lips resembling the outline of Tom Hardy's sun-kissed perfection, and icy gray orbs reflecting like the brightness from an iceberg in the Alaskan sea, I was forever under this terrible spell of his.
I was performing this awesome balancing act between our past, present and future–a curse, a threat and destiny. The waters of the Atlantic swished around my shoulders. I caught a quick glimpse of his fight to reach me. A sloppy, yet fierce rhythm assaulted my chest. I dipped slowly, steadily. Water rushed between my lips and still my throat felt dry. My insides burned with fire though my mind was weary.
I was out in the ocean, the beginning and ending of everything in my world. I no longer felt sorry for myself, but was instead willing to accept what I'd endured. All that was left was for me to finally let go of the memories, of the pain, of the happiness, and of this life.
"Chanel!" He was directly above me now.
My forehead brushed against a pair of drenched slacks. I opened my eyes to see Rhys towering over me. With the exception of the midnight sky and vicious showers pouring down upon us, he appeared to be the light. He wanted to be my knight in shining armor, my white knight.
Damn deceptive thoughts; he couldn’t ever be the good in any circumstance.
No, Rhys couldn’t be the light, nor could I let him rescue me.
Could I?
He was no good for me. In fact, he was the devil; a creature set on mounting the white horse to conquer my world…if only I let him.
"Let me go–" I mumbled, only to take in a mouthful of water. I dipped beneath the applauding waves without holding my breath. A gush of moisture flooded my nostrils. It burned, stinging like hell. I let it. This needed to be my punishment for falling for an asshole. Who the hell gave their heart and soul to a deceiver, a gutless bastard…a killer?
He grasped hold of my waist. Every inch of my abdomen, like when he'd taken my body for his own, screamed to be touched. I warned my nipples to relax, between my legs to remain calm. They didn’t listen. I yearned his hard touch, the sweaty feel of our bodies colliding and the succulent taste of his tongue penetrating my mouth. I was overflowing with thoughts of ecstasy riding my mind like he'd ridden my body earlier.
The veins in his rippled arms captured me. My heart raced so much, I was bound to die of a heart attack instead of this damn water. And Rhys didn’t release. In fact, he pulled on
me like I belonged to him.
Dear God, I can't take this emotional turmoil. Make it stop, please!
Little by little, the ocean released control over me. All that remained was the never ending sting of rain and Rhys' command over my body. The fight was gone from me. He drew me closer into his arms, and my feet dangled over one set as the other braced beneath my back. Muffled cries escaped my lips.
"Go away," I begged into his drenched T-shirt, connecting with the warmth radiating from his abdomen. As a last second attempt, I hammered at his chest with tight fists, though he didn't budge. He rocked me from one side to the next while nature's lullaby eased my soul.
When we reached the shore, Rhys dropped to his knees. He maneuvered my body to match his in a quick, sloppy motion. My insides burned with hatred...love...uncertainty...lust.
"Chanel, I can't walk away. I won't let you leave me. I-I think I lo–"
"Nooo!" I cried out. The words, though my own, weren’t registering with my actions. I wanted to be free of what was, what is and what is to be.
"You're mine, in this life and the next." His hands palmed the sides of my face. "You can't escape me." He forced my lips to his. We fed on the rain as well as every morsel the other had to offer. I tipped my waist up to meet a throbbing bulge that was set to bring me to my knees.
"No Rhys, no." As much as I wanted to mean the words, his touch collapsed all opposition. This love was so powerful that it burned, so bitter that it filled my every inadequacy.
Why can't he just let me go?
If I was to stay in this god-forsaken life, I wouldn’t ever be able to permanently break his hold. And that would satisfy his sick need to have me. Nothing else would make him happier. But he didn’t deserve me. Doesn't deserve to be happy. And for my time of weakness, neither did I.
Knowing all that was and all that is, how could we expect to live or love? No amount of sacrifice was capable of washing away the damage. No level of sorry could reverse that which was irreversible. No act of forgiveness could erase the knowledge of what had occurred. And no passage of time could overshadow this fire burning in my soul.
Three years earlier...
Autumn
I.
Chanel
(Long Island, NY)
~
Love was everything. Forget what any of the haters had to say. I might've been young, maybe a little dumb, but I knew where my heart belonged.
Early in the morning, I would leap out of bed and tiptoe along the cold, slim wooden floor panels. My palms would trail the smooth surface of the walls as I'd prepare to gaze intently out of the window. With the exception of this specific spot, I easily fell into the warming embrace of what many referred to as an Afrocentric room. I found my Chi at the center, the heart of a place I'd grown up in and determined to be the lifeline to personal growth. Mine was a type of development which impacted the most crucial regions of my world and circle of life. The early hours of the day had the tendency to capture any darkness that might've trickled into my mind overnight, and replace it with a sort of newness.
During these times, the sun played peekaboo, but I had a connection with daylight. I could always sense the dawn. I enjoyed glaring into the horizon, anticipating the day ahead and planning for the perfect future. Not every girl could relate. Many prayed for a fairy tale, to be swept away by Prince Charming and fade into the ultimate happily ever after. Not me. I already lived a unique type of fairy tale. My Prince Charming went by the name of Zachary Marlowe.
I met him at the age of five. Yes, five!
Back then, we both had chubby cheeks and lightly freckled faces. His skin had been pale white, ghostlike, but I remember the excited way this new kid grinned when I tiptoed through the rainbow entrance of our preschool. The Marlowes had just moved out of Manhattan in hopes of embracing a family-oriented setting. Although he'd been an outsider, the other little girls vied for his affection.
While my mom busied herself with removing the knitted yellow sweater I adored, all the other girls and their moms stuck together. When my mom left, I stood next to my cubby observing how excited the other kids were. From the corner of my eyes, I noticed him drawing closer. When he said hi, I looked around, not used to being hawked at. But then someone tripped me. I landed face first on the ground, about an inch away from the edge of a wooden block.
Zach's eyes spread. His mouth formed a wide O. If I could've thrown every last one of them aside, I would've. My best friend, Mal wasn't there that day so without the backing to go against those prissy girls, I fell back. The tears tumbled as fast as my spirit. I crumbled into a tight ball. Every last one of those girls surrounded me–exactly five of them.
But little Zachary Marlowe chose to side with me. He pushed through them, knelt before me and whispered, "Don't cry."
I unraveled to gaze into the innocent eyes of the only person willing to protect me. And when I did, his delicate, pale pink lips touched my cheeks. A shock of electricity passed between us. He yanked back just enough, but remained close as a sly grin overtook his chubby cheeks.
I'm certain I fell in love right then, right there.
From that day on, Zach made it a point to stick by my side. Even when Mal returned, the three of us formed a bond I can't imagine would ever be severed.
Not a soul could convince me of a different fate. We were meant to be, destined, etc. He was made for me and I was made for him. I had no desire to search for a soul mate. In fact, I was living the ultimate romance and existing in a very real world at the same time. Zach didn't need to carry me into the woods, build a white house with a picket fence and give me two-point-five kids. We were already a unit, existing as one.
So, when I say that I would rush to the window to glare into the early morning sky, I want to make it clear: I. Was. Happy. To. Be. Alive.
Zach was my destiny, my everything. I would never and could never love another man, no matter how incredible he appeared to be. My Zach won me over a very long time ago.
~
Through my window nook, darkness held off the light. On this mid-October morning, as Zach got ready to return to Vasser College where he was completing his final year of undergrad, I fell asleep against large, decorative pillows on the inside of a polished window nook while waiting for him to swing by before he made the two-and-a-half-hour drive to Poughkeepsie. Since going back up in late August, he'd driven home on several weekends because I'd begged him to. Now he swore things would get more difficult. His classes had to be priority.
"Sweetheart?" my mother's deceptively soft words reached through the dimly lit room. One might've assumed she cared. Don't be mistaken; she was anything but gentle or caring.
"Is he here yet?" I lay there frozen in place but allowed my voice to travel. My mother hadn't come because she was pulling for Zach and me. Her purpose in life was to ruin every shred of my happiness.
"Sweetie, can we talk?"
I shifted my eyes to the doorway where she teetered, perhaps considering how she would disrupt my great mood.
"Mom, of course we can talk, but not if you're gonna upset me." I already knew she was, so I yanked at my out-of-place velvety, glimmering pink throw. The conversation ended when the soft barrier draped over the top of my head. My insides burned with disdain for a woman who should've been willing to root for me. Yet, since it was anything but the case, I needed to maintain a healthy distance.
Honestly, I respected and loved the fact that she was my mother, but my relationships outside of her were my business alone. I'd expressed my frustrations over and over and darn near a gazillion times over again.
My mother and I had kind of a stoic relationship. As a kid, it was chaotic. She would give me these burning stares, and they’d burst through me like a beacon of dismay, stretching beyond the borders I’d keep attempting to build, corrupting the innocence I was trying to protect. As overly dramatic as my rantings tend to be, my subconscious was precisely accurate. Besides, the light still traveled from the hallway into the room
to penetrate my cover. Furthermore, her shadow overpowered half of the room as well.
My heart pounded heavily. What mother wouldn't be happy to know that their daughter had found true love at an early age?
Sheesh.
Moreover, she'd met my dad in elementary school, so why the damn stress over my love life? Over the years, they'd had a helluva lot of issues with my dad being white and her black, but they'd fought even harder to hold ground.
"Your sole purpose in my life is to break down every ounce of strength, isn't it?" I threw out the accusation in a sarcastic pitch that strung against my vocal cords.
"Baby–"
"Stop with all the sweet words. I'm Chanel!" I yanked off the throw even though I'd just placed the fluffy cloth over top of my shoulder-length, sloppy yet coiled ponytail. "How can you be so phony? Baby and sweetie one minute, then you reach in to slash up my insides the next." The syllables singed my lips, but I couldn't be expected to play her game. I was old enough to write the rules on my own; a fresh set of rules.
"Enough, Chanel, you're so melodramatic." With that, she turned on the light in my room, stinging my pupils.
"You screwed up my morning. Thanks, Mom." I stood, not bothered by the chilly, hardwood floor. Our eyes burned deep into one another in an unofficial standoff. I was determined not to be the first to look away, but then I saw a speck of moisture welling up at the corner of her eyes. She nibbled at the sides of pursed, red lips, inadvertently flexing her nostrils. Bony fingers pulled back through limp, shoulder-length coils. Her eye sockets were sunken with worry, dark circles beginning to form beneath.
"Just hear me out, please?" Bare arms extended outward, and we both noted the way in which her slender, chocolate brown fingers trembled. After gasping aloud, she quickly withdrew them, flexing them into a small fist.
My heart sunk to the pit of my stomach. I couldn't allow myself to get emotional now. My insides felt as if numerous sets of tiny fingers trailed along the flesh beneath layers of skin. I was more than sad; however, the situation was doomed with each word she spat, causing the blows to intensify.