by Naomi Chase
When it was over he collapsed against her and dropped his head, panting heavily against her neck.
Caught somewhere between anguish and euphoria, Tamia began to laugh. Softly at first, then louder and longer as hysteria took hold.
Brandon lifted his head and stared at her like she’d gone crazy. “Baby?”
As her manic laughter dissolved into tears, Brandon drew his arms around her, gathering her close.
“I hate you,” she sobbed against his chest. “I fucking hate you!”
“Come on, baby. Don’t say that,” he pleaded raggedly.
“It’s true! Why’d you have to come here? What the hell do you want from me?”
He didn’t respond, tenderly rubbing his cheek back and forth against her damp hair.
She wanted to cling to him, wanted them to stay locked together with his thick shaft entombed deep inside her. But she knew that would only be prolonging the inevitable.
So she dug deep within herself to find the strength to say: “Put me down, Brandon.”
“Tamia—”
“PUT ME DOWN!”
He reluctantly eased out of her, then lowered her legs to the floor and stepped back. She wrapped her arms around her stomach, feeling instantly bereft without the heat of his body.
He zipped up his pants, then knelt down to pick up her robe. She watched as he brought it slowly to his nose, closed his eyes, and breathed deep.
The look on his face . . . it was almost too much for her.
After an agonizing moment, he got up and gently helped her into the robe, covering her nudity. She knotted the sash tightly and swiped the tears from her cheeks.
Brandon was silent, but his tortured expression spoke volumes.
Summoning the tattered remnants of her composure, Tamia walked to the door and opened it. “It’s time for you to leave.”
Brandon stared at her, nostrils flaring with emotion.
She held her ground.
He started forward slowly, as if he were trudging through wet cement.
Reaching the door, he looked deeply and sorrowfully into her eyes. “I love you, Tamia.”
“Then do something about it,” she spat coldly. “Until then, leave me the fuck alone.”
He held her gaze a moment longer, then turned and walked out.
She slammed the door and leaned against it, hearing his footsteps retreat down the hall . . . taking the broken pieces of her heart with him.
Chapter 13
Brandon
When Brandon arrived home, Cynthia was waiting for him by the front door, her arms folded across her heaving chest.
“Where the hell have you been?” she demanded accusingly. “This is the second day in a row you’ve come home late.”
Barely sparing her a glance, Brandon closed and locked the door. “Not tonight, Cynthia,” he mumbled.
“Excuse me? Are you out of your damn mind? You have the nerve to come waltzing in here at this late hour and all you have to say for—” She broke off abruptly, staring at his mouth. “What the hell happened to you?”
Brandon reached up, absently touching his split lower lip. “Nothing.”
“Nothing?” Cynthia echoed incredulously. “Sure as hell doesn’t look like nothing to me.”
“Well, it is.”
As Brandon moved to stalk past her, she grabbed his arm. “I want the tru—”
He rounded furiously on her. “Damn it, woman!” he shouted into her face. “Leave it the fuck alone!”
She recoiled, staring up at him as if she’d never seen him before. “Look at your eyes, Brandon. I don’t even know who or what you are anymore. You’re possessed, that’s what you are. You need a fucking exorcism, and I know just how to give you one!”
With that she spun on her heel and stomped into the sunken living room. As Brandon watched, she grabbed the remote control off the coffee table and clicked on the television.
The huge screen was filled with a high-def image of Tamia having sex with two men. She was kneeling on the floor, her mouth wrapped around one brotha’s dick while the other fucked her from behind.
Hot bile rushed up Brandon’s throat and filled his mouth. As the room spun, he slammed his eyes shut and whispered hoarsely, “Turn it off.”
“No!” Cynthia stubbornly refused. “You need to see the real Tamia Luke. Watching this should cure your obsession once and for all. God knows nothing else has worked.”
A sudden black rage swept over Brandon, obliterating all thought, reason, and restraint. Charging toward Cynthia, he roared at the top of his lungs, “TURN THAT FUCKING THING OFF RIGHT NOW!”
Cynthia’s eyes widened with terror.
Frantically she fumbled with the remote control, but Brandon was already upon her. He snatched the remote out of her hand and viciously threw it at the television, destroying the plasma screen.
But it wasn’t enough for him.
Heart pounding violently, he stormed across the room, ripped the mounted TV off the wall, and hurled it to the floor. The loud crash drowned out Cynthia’s startled cry.
Blood roaring in his ears, Brandon turned and swept an arm across the coffee table, sending the stack of porn videos flying through the air.
As he savagely upended the table, Cynthia screamed, “Stop it! Are you crazy?”
As Brandon whirled on her, she whimpered fearfully and stumbled backward, retreating from him as he stalked her step for step.
“Are you satisfied?” he snarled ferociously. “Is this the reaction you were hoping for?”
She jerked her head from side to side.
Brandon shoved his face into hers. “Don’t you ever pull a stunt like that again, or so help me God—”
With a strangled sob, Cynthia turned and fled the room, her bare feet slapping against the wood floor. Moments later, the bedroom door slammed shut.
Having spent his fury, Brandon sank down on the sofa, dropped his pounding head into his hands, and closed his eyes.
He could still taste Tamia, could smell her on his clothes and skin. He’d been going out of his fucking mind ever since he saw her at the restaurant with Dominic. The sight of them together—the mere thought of them reuniting—had pushed him over the edge. When he’d left the office that night, he’d had only one destination in mind, and he couldn’t get there fast enough.
If he’d had his way, he would have spent the entire night making love to Tamia, burying himself inside her . . . over and over and over again.
But he’d had to go home and face the music.
Lifting his head from his hands, Brandon grimly surveyed his trashed living room. When his gaze landed on one of the DVDs strewn across the floor, his gut tightened with fresh anger.
He got up and headed to his bedroom, where he found Cynthia curled up on her side beneath the covers. Though her eyes were closed, he knew she wasn’t asleep.
He walked across the room and sat down on the edge of the bed. Leaning forward, he clasped his hands between his legs and began in a low voice, “I’m sorry you were frightened by my behavior. I didn’t mean to upset you, but you were dead wrong for coming at me like that.”
She whispered, “I did it because I love you.”
“That wasn’t love, Cynthia. Love isn’t petty or vindictive. You deliberately tried to hurt me by playing that video. You wanted me to watch it and become so disgusted with Tamia that I’d never want to see her again. But it doesn’t work that way. My feelings for Tamia can’t be cured with shock therapy, or whatever the hell it is you thought you were doing.”
Cynthia was silent.
“I’m trying like hell to make this relationship work, sweetheart, but you have to help me out. Harassing Tamia, digging up her Mystique videos, snooping through my phone—all that’s gonna do is push me away. And once you push me too far, there’s no bringing me back.”
A single tear rolled down Cynthia’s face.
Brandon rose to his feet, then leaned down and gently kissed her forehead. “Have a good
night.”
She eyed him anxiously. “Where are you going?”
“To sleep in the guest room.”
Where he could be alone with his thoughts and fears . . . and his secret hopes for tomorrow . . .
Chapter 14
Tamia
For the first time since the harrowing night of Fiona’s arrest, Tamia returned to her childhood home in the Third Ward.
Her footsteps were heavy as she climbed up the porch and approached the small house with the peeling white paint. She took a deep breath, turned the key in the lock, and stepped inside.
Closing the front door behind her, she glanced around the empty living room. She’d moved out last month, taking all of the furniture with her to punish Fiona for her unspeakable betrayal. Fiona hadn’t bothered to refurnish the place, as if she’d known that her days of freedom were numbered.
Tamia frowned at the thought.
As she wandered slowly through the old shotgun house, the bare walls echoed with voices . . . ghosts from the past.
Who is she, Sonny? Who’s the whore who keeps calling and hanging up on me?
Woman, who the hell you think you talking to?
Take your fucking hands off me!
It’s just a bruise, Tamia. It’ll heal.
Stop all that damn crying, Fiona! Your worthless daddy ain’t coming back!
College? Who the hell has money for college, Tamia?
Someone killed Mama Esther! Why, God? Why?
Tamia swallowed tightly, shaking her head at the haunting memories.
These walls had borne witness to so much pain, suffering, and misery. But there’d also been rare moments of laughter and joy.
She remembered racing through the front door with Fiona, squealing excitedly because the ice cream truck was coming down the street. She remembered them giggling hysterically as their mother boogied around the living room after receiving a bonus at work. She remembered curling up on the sofa with Mama Esther every summer afternoon to watch All My Children, One Life to Live, and General Hospital followed by Oprah, because after watching soaps all day, Mama Esther had deemed it important for them to fill their minds with substance.
Reaching Fiona’s bedroom, Tamia stood in the doorway and looked around. It was smaller than the room she’d occupied when she’d lived there. The space was dominated by a king-size bed and a matching dresser. On the floor was the suitcase Fiona had packed on the night of her arrest. She’d planned to skip town to avoid going back to prison, but her father had stopped her.
Tamia hesitated, then slowly entered the silent room.
Even as a child, Fiona had been compulsively neat, always putting away her toys and making her bed. For years, she’d believed that if she kept her room clean, ate her vegetables, and did her homework every night, her father would never leave her.
But Sonny did leave . . . and he never came back.
Until that fateful night.
Crossing to the dresser, Tamia picked up a framed five-by-five photograph of her and Fiona with their mother. She and Fiona were little girls. Their hair had been freshly pressed and braided, and they wore matching pink dresses with shiny black Mary Janes. Fiona sat on their mother’s lap while Tamia stood close beside them, her small hand resting on Lorraine’s shoulder. All three of them wore big smiles as they beamed into the camera.
Look at Lorraine and her pretty girls, the neighbors used to whisper and point from their porches. Damn shame she can’t keep their daddies around.
Tamia stared at the photo, gently tracing her fingertips over her mother’s face. She’d been a beautiful woman whose weakness for good-looking scoundrels had been her ultimate downfall.
Tamia wondered what Lorraine would think if she could see her daughters now—one pining over a man who’d never loved her enough to make her his wife, while the other had gotten herself knocked up by a man who wanted nothing to do with her.
A wave of anger and shame washed over Tamia, bringing hot tears to her eyes.
“I’m breaking the cycle, Ma,” she whispered determinedly. “I’m done waiting for a man to love and accept me for who I am. From now on, I’m living for me and me only.”
She stared down at the photo another moment, then carefully tucked it inside her handbag and strode from the room.
With Fiona behind bars—perhaps for the rest of her life—Tamia needed to decide what to do about their childhood home. Since she had no intention of ever living there again, the only other option was for her to put the house up for sale. Now that the neighborhood had been designated a historic landmark and would be undergoing gentrification, Tamia felt optimistic that she could find a buyer.
Making a mental note to ask her best friend, Shanell, for the name of her Realtor, Tamia started across the living room, suddenly eager to escape the oppressive silence of the house.
She opened the front door—and let out a startled shriek.
There was a man standing on the doorstep.
A man with short black hair, dark sunglasses, and a tattooed serpent crawling up the side of his neck.
Tamia stared in shock. “Lou?”
“Hey, Tamia.” He slowly removed the sunglasses, his piercing hazel eyes settling on her face.
Tamia expelled a relieved breath. “You scared the hell out of me!”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.”
She shook her head at him. “I didn’t even recognize you. You cut off your hair.”
“I did.” Lou smiled. “What do you think?”
Tamia reached up to touch the soft, thick hair that skimmed the collar of his shirt. “I like it. But it makes you look different.”
Lou’s smile deepened. “That was the point. I’m in a new line of work now, dealing with elite clientele. I figured it was time to retire the ponytail.”
Tamia nodded distractedly. “How did you know I’d be here?”
“I was on my way to your apartment when I saw your car. I followed you and waited in the truck.” He gestured to the white Escalade parked at the curb. “I thought you were just picking up something you’d forgotten to take when you moved out. But after a while, I decided to see if you were okay.” His eyes searched her face. “Are you?”
“I’m fine.” Tamia mustered a wan smile. “I’m just feeling nostalgic. I have to sell the house now that it’s . . . empty.”
Lou’s expression softened. “I heard about what happened when I got back from Puerto Rico. I’m sorry, mamacita. I know how much your grandmother meant to you. To find out that . . .” He trailed off, shaking his head. “I’m sorry.”
Tamia swallowed tightly, raking trembling fingers through her hair.
Lou shifted from one booted foot to the other. For the first time since Tamia had known him, he seemed nervous. “Can we talk for a minute?”
“Sure.” Tamia pulled the door closed behind her and followed Lou to the porch swing. After he brushed dirt from the bench, they sat down, making the rickety wood creak beneath their weight.
“I owe you an apology for the way I acted that night at your apartment,” Lou began.
“It’s okay—”
“No, it’s not. I shouldn’t have put you on the spot like that. I should have realized you weren’t ready to hear how I feel about you.” Lou paused, staring down at his hands on his lap. “I’m in love with you, Tamia. I have been for years.”
Tamia shook her head slowly. “I had no idea.”
“Of course you didn’t,” Lou said ruefully. “I never told you because I knew you didn’t feel the same.”
Guilt swept over Tamia. “Lou—”
“From the moment we met, mamacita, I knew you were different. You were nothing like the other starry-eyed wannabes who came to audition for me, looking for instant fame or a sugar daddy. Even though you were only nineteen, you knew exactly what you wanted out of life—and that didn’t include getting involved with a porn director.”
Tamia didn’t bother to deny it. “You know I’ve always thought the world
of you, papi,” she said softly.
“I know.” He held her gaze, his eyes full of regret. “I just wish you could see me as more than just a friend.”
“Friends are wonderful,” Tamia said, reaching over and gently taking his hand. “I need as many as I can get.”
Lou sighed, lacing his fingers through hers as he set the swing in motion. “You know I’m not going anywhere, mamacita.”
“As if I’d ever let you.” Tamia smiled at him. “So how was your Thanksgiving? I bet it felt good to be back home.”
“It did. There’s no place like home.”
Tamia sighed. “Especially when home is as beautiful as Puerto Rico.”
“True.” Lou smiled. “You should visit sometime.”
“I’d love to. But first I need to get my business up and running.”
“What business?”
Tamia smiled. “I’m starting my own ad agency.”
“Really?”
“Yup.”
“Hey, that’s great, Tamia,” Lou enthused. “I know how much you loved working in advertising.”
“I did, so this is the perfect opportunity for me.” Since she knew how Lou felt about Dominic, Tamia saw no reason to mention that Dominic had given her the startup capital. It would only piss Lou off.
He smiled warmly at her. “Looks like things are working out well for both of us, mamacita.”
“Looks that way,” Tamia agreed, trying not to think about last night’s painful encounter with Brandon. How could better days be ahead when she couldn’t spend them with the love of her life?
Observing her troubled expression, Lou gently squeezed her hand. When she met his gaze, he smiled reassuringly. “Whatever it is, you’re gonna be okay.”
Tamia smiled wanly. “How do you know?”
“Because you’re a survivor. Remember?”
Tamia silently mulled over his words as she surveyed the familiar street lined with old shotgun houses and shabby lawns.
Lou was right about her. She’d survived an impoverished childhood, the deaths of her mother and grandmother, her sister’s devastating betrayal, and serving time in prison.