Playing for Keeps (21 page)

Chance remained seated and kept his voice low. "Look at me little brother. Do you really think I hate violence because I'm scared? Do you think you frighten me in any way?" He stood and moved in close, facing him. He looked down at his fist. "You think I don't know my own strength?" He lifted his gaze. "If he hadn't died I would have killed him to protect you and Maris."

Leon stared back at his brother with anger, then a fissure of fear when he didn't see his brother’s usual calm gaze but a seething rage. An expression he'd never seen on Chance's face before. But he'd seen that look in a man whose anger
had
terrified him. "You abandoned us instead."

"What?"

"After that bastard died, you left me behind to be everything Mom wanted
you
to be. I had to become the straight A student and doctor, while you were free."

"You didn't have to."

Leon pounded the desk. "I had no choice! You knew she didn't want us and I had to be the one to make up for it. I had to hear about how much she wanted to be a singer and that she'd had to give it all up. I had to hear how much you'd disappointed her, throwing all her struggles in her face. So I had to be the one she could brag about. So she could tell people that she raised a doctor. But I still ended up in your shadow."

"My shadow? Mom's never let me forget how much she sacrificed for us. But for the first time I realized how much her seething anger has poisoned us. My God, when you're hurting those women you're hurting her aren't you?"

"Don't tell me you've never thought of hurting her," Leon said in a dark, probing tone. "The way she talks to you. She's not our real mother."

"She's the only mother we've ever known."

"And she's hated every day of it. I'll never trust a woman."

Chance tapped the desk. "It stops now. The anger, the resentment. You're letting it destroy you, like it has her. It's time to let go of the past and heal."

***

Magic. That's what the theatre made her think of. It was home. Stacy stared at the now empty stage, the day’s rehearsal was over. Her stockings had been a great conversation starter. She had decided to wear the floral stockings with a short black skirt and flat ballerina slippers. She'd turned heads and felt beautiful. It had been over a year since she'd been an angry divorcee. Now, she looked forward to the future.

Stacy picked up her bag and headed to the exit, but stopped when she saw a man sitting in the back row with his feet up on the chair in front of him, his hat low on his head. She paused surprised. She hadn't expected anyone else to be there. When he pushed his hat back and she saw his eyes her throat went dry. She felt as if the past and the present collided into one moment. She stared at him and suddenly remembered. Chance--but he wasn't the Chance from now and his name hadn't been Chance then. She saw another face--a younger version of him. A little heavier, wearing dark rimmed glasses and a shy grin. He didn't stand out like many of the other actors--especially Marshall--but he had a determination. "He'll end up being a character actor," she remembered one instructor saying.

Stacy stumbled forward a few steps then fell to her knees, remembering his words "The moment you remember me, you'll remember the woman you used to be." A raw and primitive sadness gripped her as she remembered an intensive Improv class one Indian summer more than ten years ago, and a quiet guy who froze on stage in front of a full crowd. She remembered Marshall snickering at him, but she'd felt mortified on his behalf. She remembered being his Improv partner the rest of the week, and coming up with different stage names he could use as a professional actor. She remembered letting him read and critique a script she'd been working on. Sharing her dreams with him and listening to his own. She remembered the passion, the enthusiasm with which she'd thrown herself into life. The drive with which she'd faced the future.

And as hot tears of loss gave way to regret she even remembered him saying on their last day of class, "Please don't forget me. I'm going to be a big success. Just you wait and see. One day I'll act in one of your plays." But she'd lost touch and she had forgotten him, only briefly allowing herself to remember him as initials T.P. in her imaginary diary. A life raft for her sinking dreams until she'd buried them completely. But he had come back into her life and given her hope again.

Chance ran towards her, knelt down and gathered her in his arms. "Stacy, what's wrong?"

Stacy squeezed her eyes shut and rested her head against his shoulder. This time the tears that escaped were of joy. She'd already fallen in love with him before, but now she felt as if she were falling in love all over again. Her heart feeling as if it would burst. "I remember you."

He stiffen. "What?"

Stacy drew back and stared at him, wiping away tears. "I remember you, Terrell Paige," she said, pronouncing his name with more feeling than she ever had knowing what it meant to her. She seized the front of his shirt, as if he were an aberration she was afraid would disappear. "I remember you!" she said again then hugged him. For one tense moment she felt him stiffen and wondered if she'd done something wrong, but before she could pull away, his arms circled around her and he held her tight. "I can't believe it's you," she said. Her fake diary had been the one place she hadn't looked when trying to remember him. She laughed.

Chance drew back and looked down at her. "What's so funny?"

"I've been thinking about you longer than I thought. Dreaming of you."

His brows shot up, his eyes bright with delight. "Of me?"

"Yes." She cupped his face. "I wrote about all the wonderful things we'd do together in a diary I made up. I never imagined they'd come true."

Chance gazed at her brown eyes, shining with both sadness and pleasure, before he turned away. "I'm sorry about my brother. He'll never touch you again."

She touched his chin, forcing him to face her. "And I'm sorry I gave you back my ring." She bit her lip. "Is there any way I can get it back?"

Chance pulled out the ring from his jeans pocket and slid it on her finger. He kept his gaze lowered and said, "I met Heisman."

"And did it go well?"

His eyes met and clung to hers. "I acted like a babbling idiot, but other than that it was perfect." He caressed the side of her face and his voice deepened into huskiness. "Just like this moment. One I've dreamt about for years." He bent down and kissed her, then whispered against her lips. "How would you write the ending of our story?"

Stacy threw her arms around his neck and gazed up at him with a happiness that made her heart dance. "What ending? Our story is just beginning..."

Two years later

The traditional Paige Sunday dinner gave way to movie night at the Jamison home. Tiffany, Gran and Althea sat in the large theatre room of Chance and Stacy's Long Island home. Tiffany now lived with them, as did Gran and her caretaker, who lived in the separate guest house, giving Althea the freedom to travel and live the life she'd always wanted. Maris now lived in a private rehabilitation facility where she was able to work on her addictions and mental health issues. Leon decided to quit being a physician and moved to a remote village in Zambia to help build wells. Laurice no longer worked for Stacy, but they remained close. After acting in a few movies and writing a book about her colorful life and a book of short stories which won two local literary prizes, Laurice decided to go back inside the detention center and teach creative writing to the women locked up like she used to be.

Chance won a host of awards for his work in
Courting Danger
and a number of other projects came his way allowing him to finally leave behind his role as Dr. Michael Staton. His schedule was booked for the next six years. Stacy wrote another mystery series, under a different name, that her ex-husband couldn't claim and sold the movie rights. She also joined Chance's production company and worked with Tyson to produce two award-winning documentaries.

The lights dimmed and the movie started, Houdini resting his head near her feet, and a monitor by her side, showing their sleeping eight month old son, Travis. Stacy sat in awe of how different her life had turned out. Then she paused when she saw a familiar face come on the screen. A young woman of Nordic beauty: Nila. "I know her!"

"You do?" Chance said.

"Yes, I met her."

"It's rare to see her in films. Most of her work was on the stage. Her career hit its peak in the '60s and '70s, before she retired to train dogs. She usually shies away from the press."

"An actress? I didn't know." Stacy watched Nila play a minor character, remembering how she had coaxed her into taking Houdini, forcing her to open her heart again. But as Stacy watched the movie she felt as if Nila had been with her all along, as if they were part of a private sisterhood and that's when she saw them. In one scene, Nila crossed her legs and revealed a pair of purple fishnet stockings.

The End

***

If you enjoyed
Playing for Keeps
don't miss Dara's other works...

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Illusive Flame

Honest Betrayal

The Sapphire Pendant
(Book 1 in the Clifton Sisters Series)

Table for Two
(Book 1 in the Henson Series)

Gaining Interest
(Book 2 in the Henson Series)

Careless Rapture
(Book 3 in the Henson Series)

Familiar Stranger
(an extra Henson Series book)

The Daughters of Winston Barnett

The Henson Brothers
(Includes the novels
Table for Two
and
Gaining Interest
)

Out of the Past
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and
Familiar Stranger
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Or Collections...

Five Holiday Tales

The Lady Next Door and Other Stories

Or Stories...

A Gift for Philomena

A Home for Adam

Miss Lana Wilson

A Thousand Words

Lola's Decision

Berry Picking

Discover these books and more at
www.iloripressbooks.com

Dara Girard is an award-winning, national bestselling author of more than twenty novels. Dara loves to travel, eat French pastries and hear from readers.

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daragirard.com
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Playing for Keeps

Copyright 2014 Sade Odubiyi

Published by ILORI PRESS BOOKS LLC

Cover and Layout Copyright ILORI PRESS BOOKS LLC

Cover Photo by sissen/123rf

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, business establishments, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

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