Every Chance I Get

by Altonya Washington

  “Are we in trouble again?”

  Misha’s heart melted when she heard the uncertainty laced within his deep voice. Quickly, she shook her head and brought her hand to the side of his face. “It’s not that. No, we’re fine. We’re fine, I swear it.” She kissed his forehead and temple while rubbing her fingers through his hair.

  “This is about your father.”

  The worry had eased from Talib’s face, only to be replaced by a grim line across his mouth. Misha tensed as well, feeling his body grow rigid beneath the black knit turtleneck he wore. She expected him to bolt away as he often did when the conversation wasn’t to his liking.

  Instead, Talib reached for one of Serena’s cookies and tapped it to the saucer. “What about my father?”

  In spite of her earlier eagerness to tell him of the man’s demise, now Misha hardly knew how to broach the subject.

  “I was talking to your uncles over lunch and they told me…”

  Talib smirked, watching as the crumbs dropped from the cookie he bumped along the saucer’s edge. “They know, don’t they?”

  Misha paused. “Your father is dead.” She frowned. “You know. You already knew.”

  He took a bite of the cookie and shrugged. “I haven’t known as long as my uncles probably have. I found out a while ago, well after everything that happened between us.” He set aside the cookie and grimaced.

  “I was so angry. I wanted someone to vent it on and dammit if he wouldn’t have been the perfect recipient.” Propping an elbow to the desk chair, Talib braced his chin to a fist. “I was always curious about him, especially after he’d come snooping around when he discovered I was playing ball in school.” He laughed. “I should have known those two old goats knew.”

  “Don’t be angry with them, Talib.” Misha grabbed a handful of his sweater and gave a tiny jerk, hoping she hadn’t unwittingly driven a wedge between the men. “They didn’t want you to hurt anymore. You were doing so well then, moving on happily with your life.”

  Talib kissed her cheek and drew Misha more snugly into his lap. “It’s fine, love. I’m not angry. I know they did it out of love. I love them as much for keeping it as I love you for feeling the need to share it.”

  “I’m sorry anyway.” She watched him kiss her finger adorned by his ring. “I didn’t want to bring it up when we’re so happy finally. I just kept thinking of what Blaine said about Ducker, about seeing hate in his child’s eyes. When we were out there, I wondered what was going through your mind then.”

  “Blaine said that before. Many times. I don’t think he’s aware of how many times I’ve heard it.” He rested his head back against the chair. “When I was starting to make a name for myself, I often thought of ways I could go and twist the knife on my father. Make him regret walking away from us—away from me.” His dark eyes slid to Misha’s. “Then I heard Blaine say that and I knew my father had seen that very hate Blaine talked about. And then there wasn’t anything more I needed to say or do to the man.” He shrugged. “The hate he had to see lurking in my eyes was enough.”

  “Talib—” Misha brought her forehead to his “—I’m sorry.” She smiled when he gathered her close. “I love you so much. I honestly don’t know whether I could stand up under all the curves your life’s taken you around.”

  “You know I’d take every one of them again if they led me back to you.”

  Misha curved her hand about his when he hooked it around her neck. Their kiss was brief, yet desire filled every second of it.

  “I hope this is it,” she sighed, closing her eyes on the wish. “I hope we’re done with the heaviness, the sorrow…” She looked at him. “What you said once about things being left unfinished between us—are we finished now, Talib?”

  Again, he squeezed her hip. “Almost.” His expression was soft. “There’s one last thing I need to share with you before we leave.”

  Misha cringed. “Is there more sorrow and heaviness involved?”

  He grinned. “Somehow I think this time will be different.” He patted her thigh. “Get your coat.”

  The silence in the pickup truck Talib had driven seemed to intensify once he opened her door. There was no eeriness, but peace. It was a peace that echoed in Misha’s heart. She felt it in her soul as well and it became yet another emotion to add to that lengthy range of feelings she had been experiencing lately.

  She curved her hands tightly into the crook of Talib’s arm. That was as much to ward off the brisk chill in the air as to steady her feet along the walk through the cemetery.

  When they stood at Olivia Helena Mason’s grave, Talib released Misha’s hand. Slowly, he knelt before his mother’s headstone and carefully set the overturned vase upright.

  Misha clasped her hands and watched him remove the dead leaves and weeds that had gathered near the base of the stone. He brushed the back of his hand across the engraved marble slab as though he were caressing it. Misha knew he was seeing his mother then.

  “Mum, there’s someone I want you to meet.” His sniffle was followed by a laugh. “You’ve, um you’ve heard me speak of her often. I know it’s nothing short of a blessing now that I’m finally able to bring her to you as my fiancée. Next time we visit, she’ll be my wife.” He turned, holding his hand up and out to Misha.

  “This is Misha Bales.” He made the introduction once Misha was stooped down next to him.

  Misha couldn’t restrain her tears which rushed forward the moment Talib had silenced. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”

  “It’s all right. It’s all right, love.” He drew her close and kissed the top of her head.

  Misha composed herself, brushing at the tears streaking her face. Inching closer, she smoothed her hand across the stone as Talib had done earlier. “You’ve raised an incredible son,” she spoke in a quiet yet undeniably strong voice. “He’s a phenomenal man and I’ve always loved him. With everything inside me, I promise to take care of him this time—to treasure him always.” Sniffling, Misha pressed the back of Talib’s hand to her cheek before she kissed it.

  Together, the couple sat embraced and speaking softly to the woman who rested below the ground.

  Chapter 20

  Francheska Bales had been floored by Talib Mason from the moment her daughter had introduced her to him years earlier. When things turned unfortunate for the couple, Francheska always believed the love was still there. While urging her daughter to move on with her life, Frankie told her that if it was meant to be between her and Talib it would be so in the end.

  Francheska had had faith in the words but knew it was the desperation to pull her daughter out of a sorrowful well that fueled them. Realizing now that they had been true filled the woman with a hope she’d never dared to rely on.

  “I really wish you’d let us take you out, Ms. Francheska.” Talib leaned down to kiss the woman once Misha had finished hugging her. “Have you waited on the way you deserve to be.”

  “Oh, you.” Francheska slapped at the sleeve of Talib’s shirt even though she appreciated the offer. “Tonight I prefer us to dine in a real setting. That way I can observe without distraction.”

  “Are you trying to see if we’re for real, Ma?” Misha teased, smoothing the pleats of her black skirt beneath her while curling next to Talib on the sofa.

  “Oh, no, baby, I can see that easily enough.” Francheska placed three glasses of lemonade on the doilies on the coffee table. “I’m happier than either of you can know. Talib, baby, Misha told me about your parents. I am sorry, hon.”

  “Thanks, Ms. Francheska.” Talib squeezed Misha’s hand and smiled. “I don’t think I’ll ever stop missing my mother.”

  “A mother can never be replaced. Neither can a father.” Francheska nodded toward her daughter then. “I don’t think I’ll ever stop regretting the fact that I let Mi Mi come up without a father.”

  Misha shook her head. “We were fine, Mama. I never felt that I missed out on anything.”

  “But it was rough and
I feared it may have jaded you when it came to love.”

  “Ms. Francheska, it wasn’t Misha’s upbringing that jaded her, it was me.”

  “No, hon, I won’t let you do that,” Frankie argued.

  Misha chuckled. “Don’t waste your time, Ma. The man’s got a thing for taking the blame.”

  “Well, it ends now.” Francheska smoothed back the tendrils of hair left dangling from her French roll. “There will be no more apologies. You two have been through enough. The last thing you need is constant apologies hanging around to remind you of the things that drew you apart.”

  “Thanks, Ms. Frankie.” Talib accepted the forehead kiss from his soon-to-be mother-in-law.

  “And now that we’ve got that settled—” Francheska clapped her hands before resuming her seat and propping her slipper-shod feet to the edge of the coffee table “—talk to me about where you two are gonna live.”

  “Your daughter plans to pick up and come where I am.” Talib shrugged as though he still couldn’t quite believe it.

  “As it should be.” Frankie eased a wink toward Misha before moving to kiss her cheek. “It’s a good decision. And when may I expect my grandbabies?” She laughed awhile when Misha sputtered into the lemonade she’d just taken a sip of and Talib’s face went beet-red.

  “Mama…” Misha chastised while pressing a napkin to her chin.

  “What?” Francheska’s light brown eyes widened in outraged innocence. “You’re not gonna tell me this vibrant lookin’ thing next to you doesn’t have some thoughts on the subject?”

  “There’ll be as many grandbabies as she’ll help me make, Ms. Frankie.” Talib chuckled as Misha blushed profusely and her mother clapped loudly.

  “Well,” Frankie said on a sigh, settling hands to her lap in a show of contentment, “I can tell this will be a blessed union full of love, full of cherishing.”

  Talib took Misha’s hand then. “You’ve raised an incredible daughter, Ms. Francheska. She’s a phenomenal woman and I’ve always loved her.”

  Misha bit down hard on her lip, recognizing the words that mirrored the ones she’d spoken at his mother’s graveside. Her gaze blurred as he continued.

  “With everything inside me, I promise to take care of her this time, to treasure her always.”

  Francheska Bales sat beaming with happiness and pride as the couple embraced before her.

  No one could dispute the fact that Cache Media knew how to throw a party. The fact was thoroughly emphasized the night Cache celebrated the collaborative effort put together by The New Chronicle Sports Department and The Stamper Court on the biggest feature of the year.

  The headline read Hud-Mason—New School Game, Old School Success. The exposé was a true surprise for Talib. After all, he had only conceived the story idea to aid in providing him more time with Misha. Asher, on the other hand, thought his partner’s idea, no matter the motive behind it, had great merit. He’d also agreed with Talib that more exposure wouldn’t be a bad thing.

  Between the sports department, Riley and her team of writers, not to mention Misha, who had been instrumental in pulling it all together, the four-part series had printed under a great deal of anticipation. Despite strong circulation numbers, The Chronicle celebrated its best profits in well over a year.

  “I fear we won’t see this party to its end,” Talib warned his fiancée.

  The celebration was held at a popular Brooklyn dance hall which specialized in jazz and reggae. Misha knew he was as affected as she was by the pulsing music and lyrics.

  “Maybe we should sit out the rest of the set?” she proposed.

  “Not a chance,” he growled into her neck as he massaged her back and bottom with sweeping strokes across the cherry red of the snug jersey dress she wore. “Exactly how did you have time to take part in this, anyway, with all the running around we’ve been doing?”

  “I needed a mental escape,” Misha confessed as their dancing slowed. “Especially while we were in Phoenix. It helped when I couldn’t stand mulling over all our drama anymore. Besides, I wanted to be a part of this, no matter how small the part.” She linked her arms around his neck and scanned their dark, sultry surroundings. “When Asher told us what he wanted, I had to find a way to make it happen. Pooling assistance between the two departments gave it all a broader appeal, greater hype. Not to mention the bottom line for Cache—greater profits.”

  “And here you thought my idea was a load of bunk.”

  Misha raised a brow in response to his taking credit, and then she waved it off. “I had to be part of it if it was for you. If it hadn’t been for your idea, who knows how all of this would have turned out?”

  “I don’t want to think of it,” he said, wincing as the words met his ears.

  Misha toyed with the collar of the denim shirt hanging outside his slacks. “That makes two of us,” she whispered, and stood on her toes to meet his mouth as it descended upon hers.

  Soon after, they began to sway to the music’s affecting rhythm.

  “I agree with you, love,” Misha murmured into Talib’s neck. “I don’t think we’ll see the party to its end.”

  Epilogue

  Somewhere over the atlantic

  Laughter rumbled low and content in the compact yet elegant rest area at the rear of the Hud-Mason jet. Basking in the aftermath of a beautiful sexual interlude, Talib and Misha cuddled amidst tangled coverings.

  “I want to marry you tomorrow,” Talib confessed, entwining his fingers between Misha’s.

  “Tomorrow?” She pushed up to watch him in surprise.

  “Calm yourself,” he soothed, maintaining his focus on their fingers. “That’s not where I’m taking you. Besides, the uncles would have my ass if I were to bustle you through some quick arrangement when they’ve made all those plans.”

  Misha braced up on her elbow. “What…what plans?”

  Talib angled an arm behind his head and casually filled in his fiancée. Baron and Cafrey Mason had planned a lavish fairytale wedding for the couple.

  “They can’t…” Misha swallowed, refusing to let a bout of speechlessness claim her. “I can’t let them go to all that trouble. Your uncles are very busy men—way too busy to be planning a wedding.” She could have laughed.

  “Sorry, love, but from what I understand, it’s all set. They’ve even delivered the plane tickets to Ms. Francheska.” Talib referred to her mother.

  “What?”

  “Two days ago, I think.”

  Misha had no choice then but to laugh.

  Talib shrugged, still maintaining his casually playful demeanor. “It’s all part of the pampering process I’m sure my uncles have patented.” His bottomless dark eyes traveled every inch of her oval, honey-toned face. “According to them, every bride should feel like a princess on her wedding day.” He gave a one-shoulder shrug. “Who am I to argue such logic?”

  Misha was still giggling, but quieted when he fixed her with a serious look.

  “Are you okay with it?” He reached up to stroke her cheek with his thumb. “I only want you to be happy.”

  “You’ve already accomplished that.”

  Talib moved up to kiss her slowly. “I love you,” he said as his mouth descended upon hers.

  “I love you,” she voiced as she reciprocated the kiss.

  Then, suddenly, Misha paused.

  “We’re going to England now, aren’t we?”

  “You’ve got that right,” Talib said with a smirk. “But don’t worry, I’ve packed enough clothes for you to make it through the entire winter without ever repeating an outfit.”

  Misha smiled and leaned in to plant a tiny kiss on Talib’s nose.

  “Whatever you say, Talib. Whatever you say.”

  ISBN: 978-1-4268-8489-4

  EVERY CHANCE I GET

  Copyright © 2011 by AlTonya Washington

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