Like Slow Sweet Molasses

  “He’s bad news,” she scolded herself. “Just like all the rest of them.” She sprang from her bed. “I need a soda.”

  The socks on her feet offered no protection against the freezing ceramic tiles of the kitchen floor. She was all set to yank the refrigerator handle. But, the little voice in her head, the one that warned of excessive behavior poked her conscience. More sweets were the last thing she needed tonight. Her sugar-induced tantrum substantiated that conclusion.

  Angela’s hand fell away. Her ears perked. Her heart thumped.

  The strangling sound assaulted the quiet night. A horrible deep-throated rattling noise elevated the daddy-of-all chill bumps on her arms. Angela was afraid until she remembered the reason she chased down a sugar fix. Chance. It had to be him caught in a nightmare.

  Cautiously, she tipped to the bedroom door to listen for confirmation. There was no doubt as the groans grew louder and his movements sounded more animated with the bed frame crying out loudly at odds with his tussling. She peeked into the blackness at his rangy frame reacting to whatever held him captive in his dream. Another push of the door had the hinges squeak softly.

  She never saw him move for his actions were lightning-fast. All she knew was her body hovered for a modest moment in the putrid blackness of night because his hand had a death grip, right above the wrist, on the forearm outstretched to awaken him. She piled spread-eagle into the mattress enduring his crushing weight on top of her. Angela knew her life was endangered and chose to remain calm—but most of all—still.

  “Chance?” Her voice held none of the terror coursing through her body at the rock hard fingers gouging her neck. The tactic was very familiar to her, the one he used on Jason. Chance’s other hand trapped her arm above her head stretching the shoulder muscles taut. “Chance, don’t hurt me.”

  The softness of Angela’s voice trickled into his awareness.

  Chance gasped and rolled from her, sickened by his deplorable actions. Instead of apologizing, though, he went on the defensive. “Crap, Angela! Don’t sneak up on me like that.” He punched at the light switch on the wall flooding brightness into every corner.

  Her head was turned away from him as she lay in a vulnerable and unflattering position. There was no missing her heaving chest and the way her hands flexed and balled the sheet bunched under her body. That was her only movement. Chance crouched prayer-like beside the bed waiting on her to acknowledge him. She neither looked at him nor said a word.

  “I suffer from night terrors, Angela. They often happen, lately, brought on by my fear of inadequacies at protecting those I care about.” He hoped for some response, but, received none. So, he continued. “My last big episode centered on Kelsy’s rebellious acts that nearly caused her her life.” He pressed his face into the mattress.

  “Your warning comes too late, Chance,” she moaned, staring at the ceiling, still a little daunted by the whole experience.

  Chance tracked the tearstains on her face into the hairline above her ears. He reached to erase the wet lines, snatching back as if burned when she shrank from his touch. His body fell the rest of the way as he sat on the floor at the side of the bed replaying, over and over, in his mind how he’d manhandled her. The expert skills honed to do his job well were the same ones exploited to disable her.

  Languishing in self-pity, he kicked himself for not having warned her of his demons. “Forgive me, please, Angela.”

  The degree of sorrow sounding in his voice made her look at him. Angela saw absolute contrition not only on his face, but, also in his posture. She tested her limbs by pulling the silky nightshirt down to cover the exposed parts of her body. Her knees drew up in a protective ball as she lay on her side facing him, feeling victimized and benevolent all at once.

  “Who’s Kelsy?”

  He thanked his lucky stars she said anything to him. It wasn’t an acceptance of his apology, but, she talked to him.

  “My daughter.”

  “She’s okay, now?”

  “She’s coping.”

  Angela sat up in the middle of the bed studying his reactions to what she said and did. “I guess you have very little control over how you deal with worrying about family.” He pushed from the floor like an old arthritic man to sit on the edge of the bed, body in a dejected slump. Even that posture failed to keep Angela from admiring the fit of his boxer’s, constructed of the identical breathable fabric as most briefs, that conformed to his buffed body.

  “No, you can’t know how your mind will react once you realize you’re not superhuman and far from omnipotent,” he conceded.

  “You’re a survivor of many altercations, I suppose, in your line of work that manifest in nightmares, Chance.” Angela’s respect grew for the man whose internal battles leaked out in the dead of night. His shamefaced look cinched her heart. “What has your daughter been up to?”

  “She’s not a little girl, anymore. Just because I say something intended to guide and instruct doesn’t make it so.” The mattress maintained its support when Chance shifted his body.

  “I didn’t recognize her on the last pic her mother emailed to me.” He sighed heavily. “Bottle black hair and nails, ruby red lips, black attire.” His distressed scan flitted towards Angela as he topped off his description. “Long holey, black stockings stuffed into storm trooper footwear.”

  “She’s Goth.” Angela sat cross-legged debating her decision to let him off the hook so easily. Her response surprised him. She could tell this by the twitch of his brow.

  “So she tells me,” he replied. “I’m just not sure to which depth she participates in this social practice.”

  “There are varying sub-cultures,” she agreed.

  “I’ll find out next week when she arrives to spend Thanksgiving week with me.”

  The Gods smiled on her.

  “What have you planned?” Angela pried.

  “I thought we’d do a little sightseeing. Maybe take in a movie or two. You know the usual absentee father ritual. The mall. Ugh.”

  “Mix it up a little,” she urged. “Make reservations at the Riverside Hilton. A suite. Make sure to have a suite with a view—a balcony perhaps—overlooking the Mississippi.” His look expressed what he thought of her suggestion. “It can’t hurt to spend a couple of days alone with your daughter. She may not say it aloud, but, I’d be shocked if the thought hasn’t crossed her mind. Use the time wisely. Get reacquainted without the distractions from the force.”

  Devising the plan consumed Angela. She continued, “There’s access to the RiverWalk and the Aquarium of the Americas. Take the riverboat tour. All kinds of interesting things are at your disposal, Chance. It will be money well-spent, I can assure you.”

  “Do “Goths” do those things?”

  She didn’t know but said, “Goths are people, too. This Goth is your only daughter. Be open-minded. If she prefers to hang around the loft the entire time, simply cancel the reservation.”

  “I’m hoping to have a family holiday that includes Aunt Belle—,” he hesitated, “and you.”

  “I’m flattered but I won’t be there for the holiday.”

  Disappointed, he admitted,” I suspected as much with Lee’s illness.”

  Angela kept mum that her father’s situation was the reason she’d not be in town, though, she wouldn’t be in Chicago, either. Her eyes shifted nervously as Chance propped one bent knee on the bed and studied her. She sat, barely breathing, as his long fingers massaged along her neck. The direction of his thoughts was too obvious.

  “I never meant to hurt you, Angel.”

  His use of her new nickname warmed her all over. Yet, the allegiance made after this incident did nothing to erase the suspicious seeds planted by Jason during his unsolicited phone call. Her hand snared his to lay it palm down on the bed between them. Here was the man who challenged her to unlock the chains around her heart and let him in. He stood at the entrance knocking without successful entry. Angela wanted to let go of her hesitancy to belie
ve he had feelings for her. But, Jason’s accusation only fueled the fire of deception lurking in her mistrust of him.

  “I know why you’re really here,” she blurted out causing his eyes to narrow just a smidgen. “How much did they offer you, Chance?”

  He stared in stunned silence.

  Was that look an admission of guilt? “Don’t look as if you have no idea what I’m talking about.”

  “Lee didn’t offer me a bribe to bring you home, Angela,” he defended.

  “I’m not talking about Daddy. I know about the deal between you and the Harperiskis,” she accused.

  Chance left the bed with a headshake.

  “You can’t deny it, can you?”

  “I can’t deny that your fath—”

  “He was a donor,” she dodged the use of the word “father” in reference to Philip Haperiski, “nothing more.”

  Chance started again. “Angela, I’m here for one reason and one reason only. You,” he articulated. “Yes, he alluded to a monetary reward if I used my influence on you in his behalf.”

  “Influence me to listen to another word you have to say.” She scooted to the edge, popped to her feet, prancing by him in outrage.

  “I told him it would be a cold day in hell before I said one word to you for him.” Chance squared his shoulders to take her wrath as he stood right at her back. “I can protect you, somewhat, from them, Angel. I’m of no use when it comes to the numerous ways I could lose you to peanut allergies. That was also a part of my night terror.”

  “You turned him down?” Her trust-o-meter rose.

  “Like he was a bad song on the radio.” He placed his hands on her shoulders. “You accused me of dishonesty, Angela. The honest truth—I’m afraid of losing you.”

  “I know that feeling, too.”

  He steered her to stand in front of the full-length mirror in the corner. “What do you see?” It was a rhetorical question he answered before she got the chance. “Our outer coverings in no way preclude us from sharing an emotional connection, Angela.”

  She, again, noted the contrast of his hands to her skin. Sparks surged where he touched her.

  Chance asked, “Can we call a truce and pick up where we agreed to date exclusively?”

  “I still demand to know if you’re injured or hurt in any way, Chance. Don’t blind-side me, again by slipping out of town.”

  “I promise to keep you posted whenever I must leave on business and not just disappear into the blue. Okay?”

  “If I’m to be a cop’s girlfriend I suppose I’ve got to develop a thick skin.”

  “No, Angel, don’t do that. I want you just the way you are.”

  “You know what I mean,” she contested his interpretation. “I won’t promise not to worry, Chance. I’d be lying if I agreed to that.”

  “All we can do is live for today and hope for tomorrow.” His breath singed the skin of her neck and she swiveled towards him appreciating the sensation. “I have high hopes for our tomorrows, Angela.”

  “Chance, do you forgive me for what I said to Dom?”

  “I shouldn’t,” he dropped the bombshell on her. “But, in your defense,” he chuckled now, “I wish you could’ve seen his face as he broke out of that stairwell.”

  “It worked?” she asked giddily.

  “Like a charm,” he agreed.

  “At your expense.” She kissed him into forgiving her, blurting out impulsively as she lingered on his mouth, “I love you, Chance.”

  Both held their breaths. Her hand blotted her mouth as she tried to lasso the words from the air.

  “Are you sure?” he asked, joyously slipping her hand down from her face. “Because…I swear on my life, I love you, too, Angela.” He stole another kiss.

  Second thoughts crept up and out of her mouth. “I must be losing my mind.”

  “I know. I’m crazy about you, too.”

  Chance’s cuddling gave her reason to dream. Reality’s ugly head reared to swallow hope alive. “You’re—”

  “White,” he filled in the word evident by her demeanor. “Yes, tell me something I don’t know, Angela. Like where is it written that people of different races are forbidden, in this day and age, to fall in love?”

  “You’re out there in the real world every day, Chance, dealing with society’s slanted views. Sometimes the price for what we want is too exorbitant.”

  “I get the feeling that’s only part of the roadblock you’re throwing up. Go on. Let me have it, Angela.”

  “Alright.” She disengaged from him but remained within reach. “Not only are you white—you’re a white cop.”

  “And?”

  “And you know the history behind black people and white authority.”

  “My God,” he strangled in amazement. “Don’t tell me you buy into that today.”

  “Granted, every encounter doesn’t end tragically. Nevertheless, if you watch the news these days you’ll see those instances are more prevalent than probably reported. It’s already reported that hate crimes are on the rise since the ’08 elections.”

  “So, you can’t love me because I’m white and a cop whom you’ve found guilty by assumed association.”

  Her cheeks flushed. “I don’t usually care what others think. Somehow, this is not…usual to me.”

  “You’re afraid. I get that.” Chance brushed her arm lightly. “Don’t douse our love based on others’ opinions. Give our love wings to soar, Angel.” He leaned ever so slightly towards her. “For that’s what I see in our future nothing but the wild blue yonder.” His lips tasted the flavor of hers.

  This kiss brought about hot, lusty changes in their bodies. Changes seen in the mirror’s reflection of them. Changes he brought to her attention as he wrapped her up from behind, probing for her permission to take their relationship to the next level. Changes she saw as the material of her nightshirt peaked before her very eyes.

  The thrill of new love shone on their faces as they plowed ahead, uninhibited, making a daring fall to the mattress on the way to new lofty heights. The air suddenly deflated Chance’s balloon as he remarked gloomily, “I’m not prepared.”

  Angela’s high, not so easily punctured for she hovered above reality, a joyous testament to his expertise as he continued his exploration of her body, gradually shrank under the pressure of his voice as he sorrowfully repeated his discovery. “No, Chance,” she moaned. “Tell me it isn’t so.” The crackle of electricity and spires of color behind her closed lids refused to dissipate.

  Chance declined to let up on his assault resolute in his desire to satisfy her burgeoning need. One of them would go hungry tonight. And it would not be Angela. “Just lie back and relax, Angel.” She took his words to heart as was evident in her aching sigh of pleasure. “I’ll take care of everything,” he promised.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Sleep was never so welcomed as after the subsequent rounds of tumultuous honey searches experienced last night or more embraced than after satisfying a long ignored natural thirst. Most of Angela and Chance’s early morning had them exploring new territory in their act of discovery. Now, all talked out and mildly satiated, they spooned in their groove spot in the middle of the bed, her head on his outstretched arm that held her hand. Both lay in deep contentment, eyes shut, even breaths and absolutely immobile to keep from awakening the other. Secret smiles indicated sleepy time was about to give way to more innovative techniques as they strived to get better acquainted. The quest to learn what was pleasurable goaded them to seek out the other’s tiniest idiosyncrasies, exploit them, which consequently, sent them in the vicinity of another heavenly realm until such time of actual intimacy.

  Dreary light from outside slashed a line on the wall as it peeked through the partially opened curtain. This time they slept in a cocoon as if awaiting metamorphosis until disturbed by Chance’s persistently ringing cell. He had no idea why the call hadn’t gone to voicemail after the third ring. Really, he didn’t care because Angela’s soft body
felt too good to release. So, he didn’t move.

  “That might be important,” she sighed sleepily. And just as suddenly wailed, “Daddy!” Angela kicked the covers away, indifferent to the freezing temperature that coated her naked body.

  “Easy, Angel,” he comforted. “If Connie couldn’t get your cell I’m sure she would’ve called the house number.” That seemed to make sense to her for she sank back into his arms, surprising him with the act.

  Chance’s communicator thudded across the nightstand drumming in the fact he was being summoned. This was after the second and third calls went unheeded. He scooted closer to Angela who then flipped to face him all gooey-eyed and supple.

  “It must be important.”

  “Nothing is more important than what I’m presently doing.”

  “The force will always be with you, Skywalker,” she cracked at his profession. “Answer your call.”

  “I’ll check messages.” He struck a bargain, sealing it with a toe-curling kiss.

  “I like the taste of that.” Angela lay in the crook of his arm as he possessively refused her action to free him and confiscated the device with an over-her-body stretch. Using a one-fisted grip, he attacked the touch screen like a pro.

  Chance hugged her all the while listening with every fiber of his being. Her astute observation that his world turned topsy-turvy was reinforced in the lurch made to collect his boxers…the sinewy muscles rippling along his back…and the subsequent way he stalked from the room t-shirt in hand, all without a word of explanation to her.

  As strange as she deemed the action, considering the intimacy previously shared, he apparently had no qualms about how she perceived the move. Angela lay listening to him tapping the device. Her ears intercepted bits and pieces of his hushed conversation. Tidbits too personal sounding to her.

  “Bad timing, Tina.” Chance let her rant up to telling him the purpose for her call. Running out of patience, he barked, “Get to the point. I’m in the middle of something.” More silence to allow her to get his bashing out of the way and Chance tried to cajole her into revealing the reason she called. “You know I’ll do whatever it takes.”