When Valentines Collide

by Adrianne Byrd

  “Unfortunately, I think I do.” Chanté sighed. “All right, Shawanda and the rest of you ladies out there who think that hanging on to a man, any man, by any means necessary is the road to eternal bliss. Snap out of it!”

  Chanté drew a deep breath and shook her finger at her desk microphone like it was an errant child. “This sort of behavior is unacceptable, despicable and downright counterproductive. It’s bad enough that you destroyed one family, but you’re calling me to help you stop someone from paying you back for what you put out in the universe. The way I see it, Shawanda, you have two choices, get out or suck it up.

  “If you have any sense left you’ll do the right thing and crawl to your sister on your hands and knees and beg for forgiveness. Got it?”

  A loud click followed by a dial tone filled the airwaves.

  “Humph. Another woman who can’t take the truth.” She shook her head. “Look, ladies. One of the hardest things you’ll ever have to learn is to know when to let go. It’s not always healthy to only listen to your heart. Your heart can convince you to give up things you have no business giving up. Trust me, I know.”

  Chanté stayed her tongue, realizing that she’d nearly said too much. To her surprise, Thad had already removed his headphones and was stretched out in his chair, shaking his head.

  “We cut to Dr. Laura Schlessinger’s repeat show about a minute ago.”

  “Oh, thank God.” Chanté sighed and dropped her head on her desk. “I was about to experience a serious case of verbal diarrhea.”

  Thad stood from his chair and strode out of the control room and into the studio booth. “Hey, what do you say we grab some coffee at our favorite diner? We could talk and…talk.”

  Chanté rolled her head to the side and peeked up at him. “Talk?”

  Somehow, she managed to lift her head and smile. “Thanks, Thad…but I think I’m going to have to take a rain check.” She removed her headset.

  He nodded with obvious disappointment. “All right. But I got to tell you—the rain checks are stacking pretty high. I’m going to start cashing them in soon—real soon.”

  “Tomorrow?”

  “Tomorrow night it is.” Thad slid the bill of his Yankees cap to the front and winked. “Get some rest. You look like you need it.”

  Chanté watched the young producer as he shuffled out of the studio and then felt herself tumble back into a void so complete, she barely had any energy to pack up her belongings. “Sleep,” she mumbled under her breath. “What a novel idea.”

  Like a zombie, she headed out to the employee parking lot. Despite exhaustion, Chanté knew when she climbed into bed, sleep would be rationed out in fitful doses. Such had been the case for the past five months. Ever since she’d kicked Matthew out of their bedroom.

  She was angry. He was angry. She threw things. He shouted hurtful things at the top of his lungs. Neither apologized. To do so would mean that one of them was wrong. After eleven years of marriage, Chanté was tired of always being wrong.

  Chanté’s heels clicked louder against the asphalt, renewed anger brewed in her blood. Over the past five months, she’d lamented over every argument they had ever had and not once had Matthew apologized.

  Not once.

  As she approached her parking space, the sight of the rented Mercedes only fed her anger. Matthew deserved more than just some itching powder sprinkled in his clothes—maybe being thrown into a cage with a wild animal would elicit some sense of satisfaction.

  “Okay, maybe that’s a little too harsh,” she admitted, but a smile curved her lips all the same.

  As Chanté merged into traffic, she wished that she’d taken Thad up on his offer for coffee and a talk. She wanted to talk to someone, but hated feeling pressured to do so. The irony of that didn’t escape her.

  She drove for hours, most of the time going back and forth over the same stretch of highway—never really ready to make the right exit for her house. No matter the hour, she knew Matt would be waiting up for her in the living room, although he would never admit it. He’d always claimed to be working whether his laptop was on or not. That still meant something, didn’t it? What about the other night when he’d nearly made love to her on the floor of the foyer?

  Wasn’t that a sign that he still wanted her?

  At least her body…or what her body should be capable of giving him.

  A child.

  The white lines of the road blurred at the sudden sting of tears. Why couldn’t Matt just let it go? Not every couple had children. Not everyone was meant to be parents.

  But in the last six years her husband had grown obsessed. From endless tests to new and innovative positions, Matthew was determined to have a child. Making love had become sex and sex had become a dull, emotionless act that had left her feeling more empty and dissatisfied than when they started.

  Matt never noticed. After all, to a man, an orgasm was an orgasm.

  Chanté reached the point that she didn’t even bother faking it anymore. And if she wasn’t enjoying it, then why do it?

  Still, the other night, an old familiar spark had flared between them. Or had she imagined it? She mulled the question over a moment, but in the end was no closer to an answer than she was that night.

  But I wanted to make love to him.

  That was an inescapable fact.

  After a marathon of hot and sweaty sex, Edie and Seth curled into a nice spoon while they waited to catch their next wind.

  “God, you’re beautiful,” Seth panted, peppering his wife’s back with butterfly kisses.

  “You just make sure you don’t forget it,” Edie purred and wiggled her rump against his growing erection.

  Seth laughed but reached over and snatched a white Kleenex, a surrender flag, from the nightstand and waved it in front of his wife. “I give up. I can’t go on without the aid of a medic.”

  Edie groaned and then inched out of their beloved spoon to roll over and face him. “You know if you keep conking out on me, I just might have to get myself a younger man.”

  “Then I’ll just have to get myself an older woman. Someone who knows how to roll over and go to sleep after four rounds.”

  “Better not.” Edie giggled before she laid another long, hot kiss on him. When she pulled away, she gazed deep into his eyes. “Promise me that we’ll always be like this.”

  “I promise that we’ll always be like this.”

  “Even when I grow old and my skin gets all wrinkly?”

  “Even then.”

  “Even when my hair turns all gray and I’ll have to put my teeth in a glass next to the bed?”

  “Ooh, no teeth, huh? That could come in handy.”

  Edie popped him on the arm. “Promise.”

  Seth chuckled and drew her soft body close. “I promise to love you until my dying breath.” He kissed her upturned nose.

  Edie released a long sigh and tried to relax against him.

  “Something else is on your mind. Out with it.”

  “Oh,” she said disconsolately. “It’s nothing.”

  “It sure doesn’t sound like nothing.”

  She hesitated a moment, kissed his firm chest, and then tilted her head back so that she met his gaze in the dimly lit room. “Did you talk to Matthew today?”

  It was Seth’s turn to sigh wearily. “Yeah, I guess you can say that.”

  “I take it you ran into the same brick wall I did with Chanté?”

  “Unfortunately.” He rolled onto his back, but kept Edie locked in his arm. “I think they’re worse off than I originally thought.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Seth relayed his suspicions about Matt’s potentially straying eye and waited for the eruptions he knew that would follow. Edie and Chanté were best friends, after all. Jumping to her girl’s defense was only natural.

  But she said nothing.

  In a way, the quiet was more unsettling than any explosion.

  “Baby?”

  “Do you think he’l
l have an affair?”

  Seth drew in a deep breath while he replayed what he’d seen in Matt’s dressing room and what he knew of his friend’s character. He wanted to say “no, absolutely not,” but something kept the words from falling from his lips.

  Edie sat up. When their eyes met again, Seth read the sadness she felt for her friend. It had nothing to do with book sales or public image.

  “We have to try harder,” she whispered. “Everyone knows they’re soul mates.”

  “That doesn’t mean anything, if they don’t know they’re soul mates,” he reasoned, caressing her arm. “We can lead deer to water, but we can’t make them drink.”

  With a slow nod, she turned toward the window. As she gazed out at the full moon, Seth watched as a smile crept across her face.

  “We’re going to have to do more than just lead them to the water,” she said.

  Seth frowned, lost on her meaning.

  Edie faced him again. “We’re going to have to throw them in.”

  Chapter 6

  Somewhere around two a.m., Matthew began to worry. Would this be the night Chanté decided not to come home? He held his breath as his eyes scanned the dimly lit property. For the last five months he tried to prepare himself for such an occasion, but at this moment he realized he could never truly be prepared for that.

  Day after day, he taught and counseled couples on how to rebuild a broken marriage, but he was absolutely clueless on how to fix his own. The sudden beam of a car’s headlights piercing the night made Matthew’s shoulders deflate with relief.

  His marriage would see another day. Break out the champagne.

  Matthew moved away from the window and returned to the sofa. He opened his laptop and spread out a folder of paperwork around him. When the door opened, his heartbeat sped up while he questioned if his wife would buy his “working late” act.

  The door closed and he heard the locks engage. Soon their nightly script of light bantering would ensue.

  Juvenile—yes. Necessary—absolutely.

  However, at the sound of Chanté’s heels clicking up the stairs, Matthew realized there was an unexpected change in the script. He removed the computer from his lap and rushed to the living room’s archway.

  “I’m glad to see that you remembered our address,” he quipped, crossing his arms. He mentally berated himself for saying the words with blatant concern. He was supposed to sound aloof and nonchalant.

  Chanté stopped halfway up the stairs and turned to face him. “Can we not do this tonight? I’m really tired.”

  Matthew moved from the archway, instantly concerned about the overwhelming sadness in her eyes and her slumped posture.

  “Is there…?” He stopped himself at her sudden flash of anger.

  “I think you’ve done enough, don’t you?”

  He had no response for the soft reprimand. All he could do was watch her turn and climb the rest of her stairs. Exactly one minute later, her high scream filled the entire house.

  Matt’s heart leaped into the center of his chest as he flew up the stairs. When he rounded the corner to Chanté’s room, he quickly skidded to a stop while his eyes grew wide as silver dollars.

  The entire room looked as if a tornado had hit. Curtains were pulled from their rods, paper, cotton and goose feathers were spawned across the floor—along with most of the bedding.

  “What the hell happened in here?” Matthew asked, though the moment the question was out of his mouth, he suspected the answer.

  Chanté rounded on him with fire in her eyes. “You know damn well what happened. You did this!” She stalked toward him.

  Raising his hands in surrender, he took a retreating step. “Wait, it’s not what you think.”

  A low growl caught their attention and Chanté slowly turned toward her walk-in closet.

  Buddy trotted out, growling and shaking his head with a leather pump clenched between his teeth.

  “What in the hell?” Chanté screeched.

  “Buddy, no.” Matthew raced into the room and knelt to rescue the prized possession. “Give me that. How did you get out of my room?”

  “Buddy?” his wife snapped. “This mongrel belongs to you?”

  Matthew pried the shoe out of the dog’s mouth, but then groaned at the numerous teeth marks around the heel.

  Chanté approached with her fist jabbed into her hips.

  He glanced up. “Uh, looks like we were a little too late.”

  “Uh, you think?” She snatched the shoe from his hand. “These are Weitzman pumps. Do you know what I had to do to track these down?”

  He quickly scooped the dog into his arms before his wife did something rash. As a matter of fact, he realized that he better stand up if he wanted to keep his own teeth. “Chanté, calm down. This was an accident.”

  “An accident? You expect me to believe that? What the hell is a dog doing in this house in the first place? You know I don’t like dogs.”

  “Well, I do. And I think it’s high time I had one. I need something around here to be happy when I come home.”

  She sucked in an indignant breath. “And who is going to take care of him?”

  “I’ll take care of him!”

  Chanté swept out an arm to indicate her bedroom. “Does this look like you’re taking care of him?”

  “He must have gotten out of his crate.”

  “Did you come to that conclusion all by yourself, Dr. Valentine?”

  “It was an accident. It won’t happen again.”

  Rage trembled through Chanté’s body like a bolt of lightning. “Get out!” she seethed through her clenched teeth.

  “Chanté…”

  Pivoting on her heel, she marched toward the door and held it open. “I said, get out.”

  Realizing that she wasn’t going to listen to reason, Matthew waltzed out. He’d barely crossed the threshold when the door slammed behind him.

  Matthew stood still for a long moment, reviewing what had just happened.

  Just apologize. Seth’s advice rang in Matt’s ear and reverberated through every cell of his body.

  But apologize for what? Okay, maybe he could start with the car and the damage the dog did to her room—or even his callous remarks on national television. But all of that transpired in the last week. It would hardly cover the past five months.

  It’s a start.

  Matthew turned around and knocked on the door.

  Chanté didn’t answer.

  He drew a deep breath and tried again—this time a little louder. When she didn’t answer the second time, he knew he was officially being given the silent treatment.

  “I just wanted to say I’m sorry,” he murmured to the door.

  Buddy lifted his head and delivered a sloppy lick against Matthew’s cheek.

  “At least you still like me.” Turning, Matthew followed the gray duct tape back to his room.

  Thinking she heard something, Chanté shut off the shower and waited to see if she’d hear it again. After a minute, she shivered from the cool chill of the bathroom and turned the hot water back on. The steady, warm pulse of the water did a considerable job of easing the tension from her body.

  However, she fully intended to make herself a hard drink once she climbed out of the shower—maybe even two.

  As she lathered and rinsed, lathered and rinsed, she churned an inventory of Matthew’s prized possessions over in her mind. Which item would pack the most wallop and which one would hit below the belt?

  How long are you going to keep this up?

  The question threw her, mainly because she didn’t have an answer. This tit-for-tat game they played was taking on a life of its own, and in a weird way, it fed something in her—in Matthew, too, if she wasn’t mistaken.

  She shut off the water again and stepped out of the shower. Wrapping the towel around her body, she traipsed back into the adjoining bedroom. She stripped everything off the bed, and then put on fresh linens before she crawled on top.

  S
ighing, she stared up at the ceiling and laughed. She laughed so hard and so long, the voice inside her head questioned her sanity.

  Sitting up, she took a long look around her gilded cage—albeit a trashed cage—and felt an incredible loneliness. It hadn’t always felt this way—not when Matthew used to lie beside her. Chanté groaned. Why did her heart constantly flip-flop where Matthew was concerned?

  She loved him. She hated him. She loved him. She loved him.

  “Aw, hell. Maybe Edie was right. Maybe we do need help.” After all, it had been easy to fall in love with Matthew, though many of her friends thought they were oil and water from the start.

  Growing up, she hadn’t known any affluent black families—not in a small Texan town like Karankawa. She was charmed by everything from the way he talked to the way he walked. She was in awe of his intelligence, captivated by his sophistication and seduced by his good looks.

  While wallowing in a moment of honesty, she realized he still had those qualities. Maybe she was the one who’d changed. Maybe if her body had given them a child, she wouldn’t be so bitter.

  She stretched out across the bed, hoping to fill the empty spaces—but it didn’t work. Chanté closed her eyes and struggled to remember all of their firsts. The first time he took her into his arms. Their first kiss. The first time they made love. After a while, the memories flooded her senses.

  The first time they were together they’d lain on a bed of rose petals. Roses were her favorite flowers. That night, she thought she’d die from the sheer joy of their consummation. The tenderness of his probing and inquisitive hands. He was masterful in figuring out all her hot spots.

  She remembered his mouth tasting like a fusion of heaven and sin. One minute, she was his precious angel and in the next, his little devil. Back then, Matthew kept a beautifully groomed goatee and her sensitive skin always quivered beneath its light tickle.

  Lost in the memories, Chanté unwrapped the towel from her baby-oiled body and fanned her fingers across her chest. Oh, what she wouldn’t give to travel back in time and experience that night again. Love seemed so effortless and happiness was always just a kiss away.