by Naomi Chase
Tamia sighed, perching on the arm of the sofa. “I can’t talk about this right now, Dominic. And you should be in bed.”
He snorted bitterly. “I can smell him all over you. Did you fuck him? Or do I even have to ask?”
Instead of responding, she eased the blunt from between his fingers, took a long drag, and blew out the smoke.
Dominic watched her, one eye nearly swollen shut. “You seem sad,” he gruffly observed.
Her throat tightened. “I am.”
“Is it over?”
She stared at Dominic for several seconds, then nodded slowly and whispered, “It’s over.”
His eyes probed hers another moment. Then he took the blunt from her hand and mashed it out in the ashtray beside him. “Let’s go to bed.”
He draped his arm around her shoulder as she gingerly helped him to his feet. As they shuffled toward the bedroom, she muttered darkly, “It’d serve you right if your ribs are broken. You shouldn’t have provoked him like that. You know how much he hates you.”
“I know,” Dominic drawled, “and the feelin’ is definitely mutual.”
Inside the enormous bedroom, Tamia crawled beneath the covers with Dominic and held him in her arms, craving whatever masculine warmth she could get.
“You need to take a shower,” he grumbled drowsily.
“I will,” she promised.
“Good. Don’t wanna be smellin’ that nigga in my bed.”
She smiled sadly. “You won’t have to. Not ever again.”
As Dominic cuddled closer, she gently stroked his battered face until his breathing slowed and deepened.
Long after he fell asleep with a contented smile on his lips, she lay awake staring blindly into the darkness, hearing the final door slam on her relationship with Brandon.
Chapter 37
Tamia
“Merry Christmas, Tam-Tam.”
Tamia smiled softly into the phone. “Same to you, Fee. How you doing?”
Fiona sighed. “Been sick as a dog. I can’t keep nothing down.”
“Sorry to hear that,” Tamia murmured sympathetically.
“I don’t know why it’s called morning sickness when it lasts all damn day,” Fiona complained.
“I hear you. Remember Ma said she was really sick with both of us. But it only lasted for the first trimester, so just hang in there.”
“I’ll try.” Fiona’s voice softened. “Thank you for sending that old picture of us with Ma. I’ve been sleeping with it every night.”
“You’re welcome,” Tamia said quietly. “I know how much it meant to you.”
She could see her sister nodding. “If I have a girl, I hope she looks just like Ma.”
Tamia’s throat tightened.
The two sisters shared a mournful moment of silence.
“So what’re you doing for Christmas?” Fiona asked, mercifully changing the subject. “Got any special plans?”
“Not really,” Tamia answered vaguely. She didn’t know how Fiona would react to the news that she was shacking up with the husband of the woman Fiona had killed. It was all so strange, so hard to wrap her mind around.
“I bet I can guess what you’re watching right now,” Fiona said knowingly. “The Disney Christmas Parade.”
Tamia chuckled. “Yup.”
Dominic had gotten her up early that morning to open presents. After they exchanged gifts—designer clothes, jewelry, matching silk robes—Tamia had whipped up some pancakes, eggs, bacon, and grits. After breakfast they’d shared a steamy shower. Not wanting to aggravate his bruised ribs by picking her up, Dominic had taken Tamia from behind, plunging slow and deep inside her as the hot water rained down on them.
Afterward, feeling lazy and listless, Tamia had curled up on the sofa to catch the Disney Parks Christmas Day Parade. She and Fiona had watched it every year when they were growing up—along with the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade—wishing they could be there to partake of the festivities.
Tamia picked up the remote control and muted the television. “Fee, Dre told me that he responded to your email over a week ago, but he hasn’t heard back from you. What’s going on?”
Fiona sighed heavily. “He wants me to have an abortion.”
Tamia frowned. “Is that what he told you?”
“Not in so many words. But I know that’s what he was getting at. He said we need to talk, and he’s willing to come all the way out here to see me.”
“That’s good, Fee. At least he’s accepting responsibility for getting you pregnant.”
“Not if he’s coming here to try to talk me out of having the baby.” An edge of desperation entered Fiona’s voice. “I don’t want to get an abortion, Tamia. I want to keep my baby. Even though I’m locked up and I’ve been sick as hell, this baby has given me a reason to get up every morning. I don’t want Dre or anyone else to take that away from me.”
Tamia was silent, absorbing her sister’s heartfelt words.
“I was hoping to put him off for as long as possible,” Fiona confessed. “Maybe if I get far enough along in the pregnancy, he’ll start wanting our baby as much as I do.”
Tamia sighed. “I understand where you’re coming from, Fee, but I don’t think you’re being fair to Dre. If you have the baby, he’s the one who’ll have to raise the child alone. Of course I’ll be there for him, but ultimately he’s gonna be a single parent, and we both saw firsthand how difficult that can be.”
“So what’re you saying, Tamia? That I shouldn’t have the baby?”
“No, what I’m saying is that you and Dre need to sit down and discuss your decision together like mature adults. If he wants to come see you, you should let him. And the sooner, the better.”
Silence.
“Will you come with him?” Fiona asked hopefully.
Tamia frowned. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. This is a private matter between you and Dre.”
“I know but . . .” Fiona trailed off for a long moment. “Are you ever gonna come visit me? I know I was refusing visitors before, but today’s Christmas and . . . I guess I was hoping you might have surprised me.”
Guilt gnawed at Tamia’s insides as she pushed out a deep breath. “I won’t lie, Fiona. A lot has happened between us over the past year. The things you’ve done . . . I can’t say that I’m completely ready to forgive you.”
“I understand,” Fiona mumbled.
Laying her head against the back of the sofa, Tamia stared up at the ceiling. “That said, you’re still my sister and you’re having a baby, and I promised Mama Esther that I’d be there for you no matter what.”
“Mama Esther?” Fiona whispered.
“Yes.” Tamia sighed. “So if you really want me to come down there with Dre, I will.”
“Thank you, Tam-Tam,” Fiona said humbly. “It would mean a lot to me.”
“I know.”
Long silence.
“Do you think . . .” Fiona trailed off uncertainly.
“What?” Tamia prodded.
“Do you think Brandon would come too?”
Tamia’s mouth went dry. “Brandon?”
“Yeah. I really need his legal advice.”
“What about the public defender who was assigned to you?”
Fiona sucked her teeth. “I don’t like him. He’s barely out of law school, and he doesn’t know what the hell he’s talking about.”
Tamia frowned. “But didn’t he advise you not to waive your right to a jury trial, and you did it anyway?”
“Yes, but I didn’t know at the time that I was pregnant. Now that I’m having second thoughts, the public defender says it’s too late. But I’ve been doing some research on my own. If my judgment was impaired, or if I didn’t fully understand my rights at the time I waived them, they have to give me a jury trial.”
Tamia’s frown deepened. “When are you supposed to be sentenced?”
“Next month. If Brandon had been my lawyer, he never would have allowed me to waive any ri
ghts, no matter how much I insisted.”
“That’s true.” Tamia closed her eyes, rubbing her temple. “But I don’t know, Fee. I don’t see how Brandon can take your case after representing me.”
“I know, but maybe he can recommend someone good. Now that I’m having this baby, Tamia, I don’t wanna just throw in the towel anymore. I want to know what my legal options are, and Brandon’s the best person to explain them to me.”
Tamia swallowed tightly. “If you want Brandon’s help, you’re gonna have to go through Dre. Brandon and I aren’t . . . together anymore.”
“I know,” Fiona murmured sympathetically. “I’ve seen him with Cynthia on TV. If it makes you feel any better, everyone here hates that heffa.”
Tamia smiled ruefully. “Thanks.”
After she got off the phone, Dominic strolled into the living room and took her hand, gently pulling her from the sofa.
“What’re you doing?” she protested. “I’m watching the parade.”
He chuckled. “You’ve been watching it for over an hour. Once you’ve seen one float, you’ve seen ’em all.”
“That’s not true.”
“Yes, it is. Come on,” he said, steering her toward the front door. “Let’s go downstairs.”
“Why?”
“They’re having a little Christmas social in the lobby. Thought we could pop in for a while and be neighborly.”
“Aw, man, do we have to?” Tamia groaned. “I’m not feeling very sociable.”
“Come on, love. Where’s your Christmas spirit?”
She grumbled, “Back on the sofa, still watching the parade.”
Dominic laughed. His face was battered, the skin black and blue. And somehow he still managed to be handsome.
As they boarded the elevator, he captured Tamia’s hand and smiled down at her. “Don’t look so depressed. It’ll be fun.”
She smiled weakly. “I’m sure it will.”
But when they reached the lobby, it was empty.
Tamia frowned, glancing around curiously. “We must have missed it.”
“That’s odd.” Still holding her hand, Dominic led her across the luxurious lobby, passing the concierge and heading toward the main entrance. The doorman grinned and tipped his hat to them. “Merry Christmas, folks.”
They responded warmly in kind.
Tamia was puzzled when Dominic ushered her outside. “Where are—”
Suddenly a red Porsche adorned with a huge silver bow rolled up to the curb.
Dominic exclaimed, “Surprise!”
Tamia’s jaw dropped. “What . . . Are you saying this is . . . ?”
“Your new car? Yup.” Dominic grinned broadly. “Merry Christmas, darlin’.”
Tamia stared in shock as the smiling valet nimbly hopped out of the car and tossed the keys to Dominic.
“Oh my God,” Tamia breathed, walking slowly to the Porsche and running her hand over the sleek lines and contours. “This is too much, Dominic. I can’t accept this.”
“Yes, you can. I want you to have the best, Tamia, and no offense, but that hooptie you been pushin’ belongs in the junkyard.”
“Hey!” she protested, laughing. “There’s nothing wrong with my Accord. It’s just a little old and worn.”
“Well, ‘old and worn’ ain’t good enough for no woman of mine.”
A thrill of pleasure ran through Tamia as he pulled her into his arms. She smiled up at him, her back against the car. “So I’m your woman, huh?”
“Damn right you are.”
Her smile softened. She shouldn’t have liked the sound of that. But she did.
“Seriously though, Dominic. The Porsche is amazing, but it’s too much. Especially since you’ve already given me all that money to start my business.”
His eyes glinted. “So you saying you don’t want it?”
Tamia bit her lip, sliding a covetous eye over the hot little convertible. It was definitely a serious upgrade from anything she’d ever driven.
Dominic held up the keys to the Porsche, jangling them enticingly. “Wanna go for a ride?”
Tamia groaned. “You know I do.”
“Then give me a kiss.”
She grinned, pretending to glance up and around.
“What’re you looking for?” Dominic asked her.
“I don’t see any mistletoe.”
Dominic smiled. “Then just close your eyes and use your imagination.”
He slanted his mouth over hers, and they shared a long, deep kiss.
“Hmm,” Dominic murmured. “About that ride—”
“Oh, no, you don’t.” Tamia snatched the keys out of his hand and raced around to the driver’s side, laughing as she slid into the low-slung car.
“Oooh.” She gazed around at the two-tone leather interior, inhaled the fresh new car smell, and squealed excitedly.
Settling into the passenger seat, Dominic grinned at her. “Damn. I knew you’d look hella good behind that wheel.”
“I feel hella good.” Tamia started the car, whooping delightedly as the turbo engine purred to life. “Let’s take this sweet baby for a ride!”
“Yeah, let’s do that. Then when we get back,” Dominic drawled, winking at her, “you can take me for a ride.”
Chapter 38
Brandon
Brandon sat alone at the mahogany conference table staring down at a yellow legal pad in front of him. The pages were blank, waiting to be filled. A cup of black coffee sat cooling beside a stack of case files.
He had no taste for the coffee, and he couldn’t concentrate on reading reports or taking notes.
He couldn’t concentrate on anything other than thoughts of Tamia.
Since Friday night he’d been consumed with reliving every moment of their devastating showdown. He’d proposed to her, and she’d thrown it right back in his face. True, it hadn’t been one of his finer moments. There’d been no suave gallantry, no dropping to one knee and presenting her with a dazzling million-dollar diamond ring. He hadn’t spouted romantic poetry or quoted lyrics from their favorite love song. He’d yelled out the words to her with all the finesse of some knuckle-dragging Neanderthal wielding a big club.
I’m asking you to be my damn wife!
It definitely wasn’t the best of proposals. But his intentions couldn’t have been more sincere. Though he was engaged, Tamia was the first woman he’d ever actually asked to marry him. He’d reluctantly agreed to marry Cynthia out of a sense of duty. But Tamia was the one he wanted to spend the rest of his life with, the one he wanted to keep fat with babies.
But he’d fucked around for too long . . . and now it was too late.
Since Tamia had rejected him, Brandon no longer felt like he was drowning. He’d succumbed to the raging current, sinking slowly to the bottom of the abyss. And now he felt dead inside . . . cocooned in a state of emotional anesthesia that nothing or no one could penetrate.
Though there was no partners’ meeting today, he’d come to the conference room that morning for a change of scenery, and to avoid one of Cynthia’s unannounced visits to his office.
They’d spent Christmas together with their families, and Brandon had never been more grateful for the buffer provided by their relatives. After attending Sunday service, everyone had converged upon his parents’ house for an extravagant holiday feast. To compensate for Brandon’s subdued demeanor, Cynthia had laughed louder and chattered animatedly, impervious to Brooke’s rolling eyes and catty barbs.
Every time Cynthia looked at Brandon, he could see the unspoken questions in her eyes, the fear and uncertainty. She sensed something had changed. She just didn’t know what.
He knew he owed her an explanation.
Sooner rather than later . . .
“Poor Mr. Chambers,” intoned an amused voice. “Sitting all alone at that big table, looking like the loneliest man on the planet.”
Brandon looked up to see Russ Sutcliffe standing in the doorway of the conference room, watching him w
ith a look of mock pity.
Suppressing a weary sigh, Brandon murmured, “What can I do for you, Russ?”
“Nothing at all,” Russ drawled, casually tucking his hands into his pockets as he wandered into the room. “I just came by to see how you’re holding up. Not so well, by the looks of it. But I guess that’s to be expected after everything you’ve recently been through.”
Brandon calmly set down the pen he hadn’t been using and steepled his fingers in front of him. He knew Russ had been salivating at the opportunity to taunt him about his highly publicized altercation with Dominic. He’d been forced to wait until Brandon returned to work today since he’d taken off the two days following Christmas.
“Ah, Mr. Chambers,” Russ lamented. “Isn’t it amazing how quickly the tide can turn? One day you’re setting the world on fire with an electrifying speech. The next day you’re the star of the most watched fight on YouTube.” He tsk-tsked, shaking his head at Brandon. “Your father must have been so disappointed to see his heir apparent brawling like a common street thug. And your poor mother must have been just beside herself with shock and horror.” Russ smiled, all but crowing over Brandon’s plummet from grace. “So much for your Senate run.”
“Really?” Brandon inquired mildly. “Why do you say that?”
“Oh, come on, Chambers,” Russ guffawed. “I know you’ve fooled everyone around here into thinking you walk on water, but surely even you realize you can’t run for office after the stunt you pulled last weekend. I mean, let’s get real here. Do you honestly believe your esteemed mentor would have been elected president if he’d been caught brawling on camera? Obama has gone out of his way to be perceived as anything but an angry black man. But you won’t have that luxury, dear boy. When voters see you throwing knockout punches on that YouTube video, an angry black man is exactly what they’re gonna see, and you know it.”
Brandon laughed, wagging his head. “Come on now, Russ,” he said, affecting an exaggerated Southern drawl. “You know Texans love nothing more than a good barroom brawl. And fightin’ over a woman? Well, hell, that’s the stuff of country songs and classic westerns. Shoot, this whole dustup might even make me more likeable and relatable to the rednecks and cowboys who love a good display of testosterone. And the ladies . . . well, surely they won’t begrudge a poor heartbroken man who let his temper get the best of him.” Brandon winked, flashing his most devastatingly charming smile.