Pieces of Dreams. Donna Hill
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I’d like to spend that time right now,” he said from deep in his throat, and I felt the urgency of his need press against me. “You feel good to me, Max.”
His fingers played along the sensitive cord of my spine, sending shock waves down the length of my body. I felt weak with need, and then laced with guilt as images of Quinn bloomed before me like an erupting volcano.
Ty stepped back. “What is it, Maxine? Why is it when I touch you lately, you freeze up on me?”
I turned away to hide the truth. “That’s not true, and you know it.”
“Do I?” He tossed the dishtowel onto the countertop and turned away. “I’m going up to take a shower,” he said more to the room than to me, then stormed out.
I shut my eyes and leaned against the counter. Oh, God, I didn’t want to hurt him. Not Ty. I’d heard the pain in his voice. I did that. What was I doing? What was wrong with me? Maybe it was best that I didn’t go. Leave well enough alone. Just the thought of the trip was putting a strain on our relationship.
But then the conversation I’d had with the man at the agency filtered through my thoughts, and I understood that if I didn’t go and put these feelings to rest they would always haunt me and float like ghosts between me and Ty. What if?
The scent of Taylor suddenly wrapped around me—conjured from my memory, I thought—until I opened my eyes. For an instant it felt as if my heart suddenly stopped beating.
Taylor was standing in front of me holding my airline tickets in his hand.
A rush of heat ignited in the pit of my stomach and jettisoned to my head, which began to pound. Dear Lord, not like this.
“Seems Jamel was looking for a treat in your bag and found these.”
He held them toward me, like a prosecutor displaying to the jury the final piece of evidence to convict the defendant.
“Planning to go to New York without saying anything, Max?”
His voice, the low rumble of thunder before the stroke of lightning, vibrated in my chest. His dark eyes narrowed. What I saw in them wasn’t anger, but betrayal. I stood accused. Guilty as charged.
I reached out to him and he took an almost imperceptible step back. My insides quivered.
“Ty…I was going to tell you—”
“When, Maxine?”
“Tonight.”
He tossed his head back and barked out a one-note laugh. “Tonight. How convenient.” He took a step closer. “What’s in New York, Max? Huh?”
His eyes cinched making his expression hard.
“What could possibly be in New York that you wouldn’t tell me about until you were ready to walk out the door?”
“Ty, if you’ll just listen, I’ll explain,” I tossed back with a touch of bravado, trying to stall for a few seconds to clear my head.
“I’m listening, Maxine. So, tell me, what’s in New York?”
He leaned against the refrigerator and crossed his arms, the damning tickets dangling from his fingertips.
I began to pace. “Val—my friend from New York—”
“I know who Val is.”
I cleared my throat. “She called and told me that…Quinn’s wife, Nikita, was killed in a car accident. The…funeral is day after tomorrow.”
For an instant there was a flash of shock in his eyes mixed with compassion. His stiff expression momentarily relaxed. His gaze met mine.
“I’m sorry to hear that, Max, but what does that have to do with you?”
“We were…he’s Jamel’s…” I blew out a breath. I was making a real mess out of this. “I should be there, Ty. He was someone important to me…once. He’s had so many tragedies in his life, Ty,” I said as the pain welled inside me—with the memories of how he’d taken care of his sister Lacy when their mother walked out on them, and then losing Lacy in that horrid shoot-out—hoping I could find the words to make him understand. “I need to be there…as a friend.”
“You sure that’s all, Max—a friend?”
I planted my hands on my hips. “What are you trying to say?” I asked, guilt toughening my voice, while my insides shook.
“I’m not trying to say anything. I said it. If it’s just about you being a friend, then why all the cloak and dagger? Why the cold shoulder toward me?”
The catch in his voice was unmistakable, even as he stood in front of me challenging, demanding. Beneath the ironclad exterior, he cradled his hurt and feelings about breach of trust.
My throat tightened. “Ty, I—”
“It makes me think you’re hiding something, you know. Like maybe you still have feelings for him. That you couldn’t tell me because you feel guilty. Is that the real deal, Maxine? Because if it is, I want to know. Now.”
A jumble of emotions and perfect-for-the-circumstances answers volleyed for position. I know he claimed to want the truth, but I couldn’t believe that he really did. And how could I explain to him the maelstrom of confusion that was waging war inside me?
“Hey. You don’t even have to say anything. Your silence is answer enough.”
He handed me the tickets, walked out of the kitchen and through the front door, its dull thud a perfect epitaph to the end of my day.
Jamel walked into the kitchen, his thumb stuck in his mouth, eyes downcast. “Where Daddy go?”
I bent down and scooped him up, anchoring him on my hip. “Daddy just went for a walk,” I said, hoping it was true. I kissed his forehead.
“I’m hungry,” he mumbled over his thumb, resting his head on my shoulder.
I looked around, dinner all but forgotten, the remnants of the half-made salad still in the sink. The casserole dish filled with grilled salmon on its bed of yellow rice and zucchini sat on the kitchen counter. Signs of Taylor’s caring touch were everywhere—the sunshine-yellow walls he’d recently painted, the new cabinets he’d put in on his free weekends, the stereo system he’d replaced when mine hit its last note. Even Jamel, who was always bathed and cared for when I arrived home from work.
I held Jamel a bit tighter. Taylor was a good man, better than good. There was nothing too big or too small around the house for him to deal with, no problem too trivial for him to listen to. I never had to worry about where he was at night because he was always home, with me and Jamel.
“I want to make a life for us, Maxine,” he’d said several months after we’d met, even as my belly grew fuller with Quinn’s child.
“But, Ty, what about the baby? I know it’s going to be hard to—”
“I can make you happy, Maxine. You and the baby. I love you, and I’m going to love the child you’re carrying just like my own. It doesn’t matter as long as we’re together,” he’d said running his hand along my cheek. “Give me a chance, Max. Give us a chance.”
When I’d looked into his eyes, the depth of love and sincerity radiated from them and entered my soul. In that moment I decided to give in to my emotions, let Taylor enter my heart and allow his love to fill me. Stop fighting what seemed our destiny. And every day that he’d been in my life was a blessing. No woman could ask for more from a man. Taylor exceeded all of his promises to me and to Jamel.
Yet, here I stood—alone—unable to tell this very same man that there was nothing and no one more important to me than him. Not even Quinten Parker. And the why not is what chilled me.
“Mommy, you cryin’?”
I blinked, then looked at my son. “No, sweetie,” I