Theirs was a communicable silence based on the need to share physical contact. Content to mellow out after such a harrowing experience was all that was required of their time together. Chance’s arms tightened around Angela extracting a satisfied sigh that also served to reduce the tension riddling her body.
She readjusted his tee and boxers on her body to loosen them after his love-reinforcing clutch. The TV played just for the noise and distraction because neither paid the least bit of attention to the broadcast. Her eyes, he knew, strayed to her darkly soiled clothes thrown carelessly across the chair in the bedroom.
“I’m going to the kitchen. Want anything?” His muscular calf cleared the top of her head as he swung his leg into position to rise. He wasn’t surprised to receive a negative headshake, opting to tell her with a kiss—everything would be okay. “Be right back.”
The main purpose he broke their connection was to remove the reminders of her narrow escape from the immediate area. Chance strolled across the room, sleep pants tied low on his hips, to confiscate her smelly wardrobe and disappear on the other side of the dividing wall. His stomach, roiling with pent-up frustration at almost losing her in a plane crash, bubbled all the way downstairs where he hurled her things in the washroom. The discomfort was severe enough to force him to seek out the antacid on his return to the upper floor. A pepperminty dose clogged his throat and put him in the mind for a cup of coffee to erase the taste.
The quiet was fog shrouding the living area urging him to pad back for a peek into the bedroom. Angela was exactly as he left her, sitting straight up awaiting his return. Hustling to the kitchen, he fixed the coffeepot, enjoyed the smells of the fresh brewing elixir and while doing so made her a cup of hot cocoa. The final drops of coffee splattering from the coffeemaker’s nozzle complemented his cell’s ringtone coming from the bedroom. It rang the set number of rings before going to voicemail. Oddly enough, the ringing shattered the hush in the house again ending with similar results. When the house line rang, that caused him to rustle over to get it. But, it, too, went to the answer machine before he got there.
“Bro. Pick up if you’re home.”
Chance was none too pleased at the phone call fracturing their peace in concerted harmony with the rising sun so early in the morning. He ranted. “Do you know what time it is?”
“How is she?” Trell asked in agitation.
“How is who, Trell?”
“Don’t pretend like you don’t know what I’m talking about, Bro. Gram has called all of our kin folks with your story of heroism.”
“Stop yapping in riddles and tell me what you think you know.” Chance withheld any information on the pretext their involvement would remain anonymous.
“You were on the news and Gram saw your stone-face on television.”
“What?”
“Oh, now, I’ve got you interested, huh?” Trell bristled. “You know how old people are—up before the crack of dawn. Or like Gram likes to say ‘before the milk leaves the cow’s udders.”
“Angela was on that plane from Chicago—the one narrowly averting disaster with an emergency landing.”
“Was she hurt?”
“Bumps and bruises. Smoke inhalation. But, otherwise, unharmed.”
“Glad to hear that,” Trell said relieved. “I got to see your cop stare myself on CNN.”
“What?” he yelled, quickly lowering his voice remembering Angela was in the other room. “CNN?”
“National news, man.”
“Crap! Crap!” His arms waved punctuating each outburst as he shadowboxed rowdily. “I thought I did a pretty good job of protecting her from discovery.”
“Actually, her face was well hidden. You were right on the money in concealing her identity. For sure, the media hounds would track her down for a titillating human interest story.”
Chance grumbled, “That’s the last thing she needs.”
“I know that’s right. Hold up, Bro.” Chance listened at Sasha in the background asking what she could do to help. “The busybody wants to know—”
He didn’t have to think hard for an answer. “Hair products.”
“Hair products,” Trell repeated losing his grip on the phone as his wife stole it from under his nose.
“Bro, she’s alright, then, if she’s worried about how her hair looks,” Sasha comforted.
“She’s a fighter,” Chance commended.
“I’ll drop off what she needs later today.”
“Look, Sasha.” He worried about hurting her feelings when she spoke up.
“I know she probably doesn’t want company, Bro. I won’t stay long.”
“Thanks for understanding, Sasha. Let me holler at Trell, again.”
“Yeah.”
“My car’s still on the airport’s long term parking lot.”
“Long term lot?”
“Man, I was on my way to Chicago to claim my woman when she called me with her surprise flight plans.” He let go a heaving blow.
“Is that fate or what? Me and Pops’ll get it for you today.”
“Thanks, Trell. I might need it if her parents spot the story.”
“Not a problem. Later.”
“Later.” Chance’s call ended sending him into fast motion to reheat her cocoa, pour and sugar his coffee and beat it back to the bedroom.
“Work?” she asked as he walked into the room.
He could honestly say no without expounding on the reason Trell called as she absently landed on CNN during her channel surfing. “I brought you something to help get you to sleep. Turn the set off. Let’s rest.” Chance gladly accepted the proffered remote, his finger poised to send the screen to black.
He wasn’t quick enough.
She jerked it back, manipulated the volume and listened to the news anchor embellish the story for dramatic effect—going so far as to imply a story within a story divined by the rescuer’s mannerisms.
The broadcast had her in a hypnotic trance as she watched the incident play out on the plasma TV in remarkable hi-def resolution. Angela had a view from another angle.
“Angel?” Flames from the engine came to life fanning a glittery red in the air against the pitch-black sky. “Angel?” He set their drinks down, forced the remote from her hand and clicked the TV off.
“I lost Daddy’s cell,” she grieved.
Chance, reclaiming his place at her back, settled her into the gap she carved out earlier, retrieved the hot beverages being extra careful not to spill them and handed one off to her. “We’ll get him another. Don’t worry.”
“Thank you,” she whispered, choking the mug on the way to her mouth with shaky hands. “I guess I should call them.”
He reached her his cell.
“What do I say, Chance? ‘Hi, Mama and Daddy. I really didn’t lie. I am staying a couple of nights with a friend—who happens to live in—New Orleans. Oh, by the way, Mama. I now know firsthand what you meant about living or losing life.”
Chance set his mug on the upright two drawer chest that served as a nightstand to swaddle her body close. “What did she mean?”
Angela’s neck owled for her to see him. “She told me to either love you or leave you so you could get on with your life. That it boiled down to—I could let life end by worrying myself into an early grave. That a freak happening in life’s daily routine could…could end it all and where would I be having let life pass me by.”
The chance she took on him warmed him all over. “You love me.”
“I love you, Brock Alexander.”
He didn’t say anything for a fraction of a second merely replied with a tightening squeeze as his look explored her soul. “That’s twice in less than six hours you’ve used my first name.”
“And you got quiet both times.” She clipped the side of his mouth with a kiss. “Here goes.” Chance secured her cup while she dialed. “It’s going to the answering machine.” Her message was lighthearted and quick. “I guess the party was a whopping success. I’ll
call you later.”
“Try Connie’s cell,” he suggested at her crinkling expression.
She did. “That’s funny. It’s turned off.”
“Not to worry. They’re probably doing what we’re about to do.” Chance confiscated her cup to set it next to his. “It’s nap time.”
They scooted under the covers with Chance fitted to the fetal position of her body’s repose. He wanted to mesh their bodies together in a show of solidarity for her trials as she sought to influence and reaffirm her loyalty to their growing romance in returning to New Orleans. Angela’s arm lapped over his as she strangled his hand in a silent appeal for comfort to which he responded with a sympathetic kiss to her ear.
“Chance?”
“Hmmm?” he responded nuzzling her ear.
“There’s nothing more convincing for one to take chances in life than a near-death experience. It sounds corny, I know, but, tell me you love me whenever we part in case we don’t…” Her voice trailed off.
“Shhh.” His eyes closed to shut out the rerun of the aircraft’s wavering descent. “It’s a joy to have you here in my arms, Angel. Telling you how much I love you a hundred times a day barely scratches the surface of what I feel for you.” His fingers posed her for a fault-grating kiss. “Now, go to sleep.”
Chance lay awake to cheer in the brightness of a new day that came complete with glittering sunrays falling on them from the skylight on the roof. His happiness was triple-fold: her survival of a cataclysmic event, her acknowledgement and proof of the love she had for him and her acceptance of the cost of loving him. He always did all within his powers when on assignment regardless of how lax the atmosphere to enable himself to walk away from a mission. Another somebody counting on his survival besides Kelsy felt good.
His body arched towards hers as she realigned herself in the notch of his drawn-up knees unconscious of the havoc created with that move, even sensuously tempting in sleep. He was a red bloodied male whose desires kicked into high gear, sort of the way a woman goes hormonal at certain smells, colors or at specific times of the month. His libido raged in need of critical and long-lasting fulfillment. The proper time for that hung in the balance as now was not appropriate to take things in that direction. She needed him to be supportive of her desire for closeness, genuine in his understanding of that need, loving enough to be able to suppress his wants of the moment and caring in his efforts to provide the essentials for her mental healing.
Angela never sensed his struggles for he aptly applied mind over matter to cage the lustful qualities hijacking his body. Pure pleasure was the rapture coursing through his veins as he continued his vigil over her. Chance addressed whatever came up in her slumber from keeping the covers pulled over her arms to nudging her to breathe when times between breaths seemed to him too long a hiatus. Her gasps for air had him holding his breath until her lungs replenished its much needed supply of oxygen to full capacity. Without question, he knew her mind trapped her in that awful place onboard that plane.
He yawned and batted at the sleep overtaking him while in the race to champion her cause. His stamina, worn out from the long drive to the coast and back, flagged as he fought hard to stay awake just in case her dreams came to life. Add to that, the ordeal of his plans gone awry—for a good reason—and that mashed him deeper into the Posturepedic. Fundamentally, he was just plain old fatigued and that was nothing of which to be ashamed or—that a good night’s sleep couldn’t cure. Sleep so good he never knew he lapsed into dreamland or when it enfolded him in its various layers restoring his energies enough to subdue the demons terrorizing his rest.
Angela, however, did.
She burst into consciousness, her eyes trained on the muted blue ceiling above, wrangled there by the guttural moans beside her. Chance thrashed for his freedom prompting her to soothe his distress with affectionate caresses to his jaw. “I’m fine, Chance,” she uttered into his ear guessing at the cause for his turmoil, her voice uncommonly husky.
His first response was to kiss the palm stroking his cheek, relishing the softness next to his lips. “How you can say you’re fine after such an awful experience is beyond me.” The scene played out like a reverent moment all because of the hush in his voice. Secondly, he snuggled Angela against the full length of his body.
“I made it to this day for a reason, Chance. From this moment on my sights are on the future not stranded in the past.” He looked so tired to her. Angela gave in to the urge and brushed her fingers down his face, closing his eyes. “You’re worn out. Go back to sleep.”
“That should be my line,” he laughed quietly, rewarding her with a titillating kiss. “You won’t disappear, will you?”
Angela knew his question was no joke by the emerald sparks defining his look. “I promise.”
She lay still surrounded by his abounding love to hear regular breaths pouring from his body. A sense he slept in earnest was the profound sigh hauling him to the depths of oblivion. Her test of that fact was the placement of her lips next to his ear. His response was the belly flop flattening him to the mattress where his consciousness abandoned reality. Angela’s exact movements freed her of the bedcovers as she slid from the sheets feeling December’s icy chill welcoming her.
Her sense of belonging enticed her to rifle through his drawers for the socks she now crushed down on her calves. Love for Chance swelled as she took in the haven of safety he offered. He took an awful experience and made it something beautiful, changing her outlook on life. Angela strolled into the living room walking directly over to the windows for a look at a day she was grateful to behold.
A tanker, the multi-colored flag atop its highest point stiffening in the wind, split the Mississippi River sending rippling waves to the shores. Her vantage point laid New Orleans’ port, in addition to the warehouse district within her scope of vision. As she watched, a car drew closer slowing as it approached and stopped under her nose. The woman exiting shook her head a time or two while pulling something from the trunk and all at once looked up revealing her identity.
It was Sasha.
Angela scampered for a quick peek in on Chance prior to racing her to the door to avert the use of the bell. She narrowly made it as Sasha’s dumbfounded features attested.
“You’re up,” Sasha marveled.
There was no use pretending, Angela decided with thoughts of the dark half-moon under her eye, and answered honestly. “Yes, I’m up and am no worse for wear.” Stepping aside extended the invitation for Sasha to enter with her bundle.
“I told Bro I wouldn’t linger,” she relayed with a shaky laugh. “Anyway, I’m on my way to work and only wanted to deliver these things as promised.”
“A hair dryer?” Angela asked looking down on the hood at her feet.
“And what I hope will take out the tangles Bro’s shampoo left.”
A gush of laughter signified Angela’s humor still intact and forced her to blot the noise out of concern for waking Chance as well as admit to the aggravation it caused to her throat. “I guess I scared him with that “witchy-woman look” this morning.”
“You scared him alright,” Sasha agreed, “but not for that reason. Trell said he’d never heard fear in Bro’s voice even when faced with uncertainty in the line of duty.”
Angela confided nervously, “I thought I’d seen him for the last time, Sasha.” She permitted Sasha’s tentative hug refusing to wallow in her own fear. “I take what happened as a sign Chance and I need to cultivate this relationship of ours.”
“You’re right, Angela. Everyone’s not afforded a second chance.” Sasha moved backwards. “I took the liberty of bringing you a change of clothing. Hope that’s okay.”
“Thank you. I’ll get these things back as soon as possible.”
“No hurry. Take your time.” Calling over her shoulder as she opened the car door, Sasha said, “I’ll check on you later. Tell Bro I didn’t overstay my welcome.”
“I’ll do that,” she returned, smili
ng as she watched her drive out of sight.
Angela stepped inside with her hands full, managing to shut the door minus a sound only to break that silence with a choking shriek. Her senses reacted to the smoky scent of her clothes stored in the washer-dryer cabinet on the other side of the garage.
Most of the day was long gone when Chance’s eyes reopened and Angela was absent from his side. The covers took flight when he bounded out of bed—on the run—only to pull up short when zooming passed the window where he found her below him engaged in conversation with Sasha. The lengthy exchange filled him with hope for Angela. Its culmination, in his opinion, ended on a bonding personal note. He left the window after witnessing their interaction, regenerated by the sight, rested by a pretty good sleep and buoyed by high spirits.
Angela’s scream burst his bubble.
His bare feet slapped the iron steps as he stumbled his way down to her. Strong arms banded her waist, hindering her madcap clamor at the door.
“I-I…c-can’t…breathe,” she wheezed.
Chance’s strength had the door bash the wall as he provided her body what it required. “Take a deep breath, Angel.” Her troubles were his as he melded his body to hers while supporting her attempts at reducing the anxiety. “You’re safe. I won’t let anything happen to you.”
Her distress gradually got smaller compelling her to explain. “It’s the clothes. I can smell them. It’s the clothes, Chance.”
“What do you want me to do with them?” he inquired, obeying her insistent tug on his hands for release.
“Get rid of everything. Please.”
A car straggled by with its occupants openly staring from Chance’s half-dressed state to her leggy barely-dressed state, leaving wolf whistles behind.
Chance saw her shiver in the frosty air. “I’ll take your clothes to the cleaners.”
“I’m not wearing them again,” she threatened.
“They can be cleaned, Angel. Somebody—”
“They’re no good to anyone. Trash them.”
There was no use in arguing with her. The set of her mouth told him so. Chance stole by on his way inside. His voice traveled out to her. “I’ve got the dress and intimate apparel—”
Like Slow Sweet Molasses Page 28