When the Smoke Clears (Interracial Firefighter Romance) (34 page)

“Let’s write a book about Cicely.” I nodded my head. Chapters spun around in my mind. “Let’s talk about it all. We could figure out who she was. Start right when she was born and follow her path to learn how she wound up at this hotel on that night.”

“What?”

“It could be something. . .I can’t think of the word. Maybe, tribute is what I’m thinking. I don’t know.” I let out a long breath. “What I’m trying to say is that we can tell the truth the entire time, but still honor her. And we can tell your story, too.”

“I don’t know, Kassie.”

“Trust me on this. What you did was a bit much, but some people would understand it. Others wouldn’t even know what to do, if faced with the same predicament.”

“A book?”

“Yeah. A book. We. . .” I turned to the box. “We look in here and see what we can find. We delve into her past. Do you know where she was born?”

“Yeah. Miami. I have some of her relatives’ addresses. Her father and mother are still both in jail. Apparently they both spent a lot of time in and out the system.”

“Sounds like a rough childhood.”

“It had to have been. Cicely could’ve been more than what she’d become.”

“But somebody or something stomped out her will to live.” I held his face. “And Lorenzo, baby you can’t beat yourself up about this. You have to just keep pushing on. We’ll write this book. It’ll give you time to heal and gather all the things you want to say to your girls. It’ll be Cicely’s legacy to them.”

“God.” He buried his face into the curve of my neck. “It’s so fucking crazy I think it could work. I can’t believe you would help me with this.”

“Trust me. We’re helping each other. I love romance and erotica, but I also want to use my writing to save people. This could be a book that could wake parents up and change a lost girl’s life.”

“And my daughters would have something of their mother.”

“Yes.”

“They’ll probably be angry and never trust anything I say again.”

“You’re their dad and they will be entering puberty soon, that was going to happen regardless. But trust me on this, when they read what you’ve done and all the crazy energy you put into keeping up the lie, they’ll know that you love them.” I kissed his forehead. “They’ll also know that you’re fucking crazy, but what parent isn’t a little insane at times?”

He moved his face up and kissed me, consuming my lips and sucking on my tongue in between nibbles.

He kissed me. Gentle and then hard, pulling my hair and almost sucking the life out of me. He kissed me. Consumed and devoured, ripping away at my dress and lapping at the tops of my breasts.

He took me. Right in the car. In that uncomfortable driver’s seat. My dress pushed up over my thighs. Panties slid to the sides. His dick barely out of his jeans. Horn honking between pumps. The SUV rocking. He fucked me hard and I rode him, groaning like I was in pain, instead of pleasure.

Surely the firemen in the station heard us. But no one came out to stop. He pumped and pounded and I met each thrust and every stroke.

He fucked me so hard that I came all over his big dick and opened jeans. He’d never get the smell or the scent out. Everything was so creamy and his own sperm spurting out as he bucked hard. My head hit the ceiling and I held on for dear life.

He fucked me and all I could think about was him and how we’d have to do this again and again, but definitely not in his SUV.

By the next morning, we lay in my bed, exhausted after several more sessions.

By lunch, we’d opened up the Cicely box. What I discovered gave me a mental orgasm. Dear Cicely had filled it with notebooks. She’d been writing poems and little journal entries. Some of them came out drug-induced and crazy. Others made me cry. But most were about her twins.

Unbeknownst to Lorenzo, Cicely had followed the girls to school, always keeping a good distance between them and her. She’d watched them from the window of some of their classes, knew the parks that they played in, the songs that they sang, and the games that they made up on their walks home.

She drew amazing sketches of them. Her drawings filled the notebooks. Each one more breathtaking than the other.

Cicely had written it all down and numbered sections like she was labeling chapters.

Lorenzo shoveled through it all in shock and disbelief. “I bet she knew someone was going to write a book about her.”

I looked up from one Cicely’s entries. “What? That’s crazy.”

“Life is crazy.” He showed me the first page in one of the notebooks and my body stiffened.

In the center of the page it read,

This book is dedicated to my girls, Hope and Faith. May my life be a lesson. May you avoid the mistakes that I made.

Make new mistakes!

Epilogue

Lorenzo

A year later

W
e
all sat at the banquet table—Kassie’s mom and mine, Rich and the twins, and of course, Brown Sugar and me. Another woman sat at our table. Kassie called her something odd. I thought the name might’ve been Mother Ganja, but I wasn’t sure. The old woman had a large bun with gray dreadlocks and had walked over with a huge wooden cane covered in tons of hearts where little rainbows shot out at the center.

An assortment of pink and white flowers decorated the center or our table and all the others in the elaborate room. Journalists and photographers crowded into the room, as well as other celebrated authors like Kassie.

When Kassie told us about the Mana Linc’s literary award ceremony, I’d figured it would be a little event. Something cute that we’d go to. But then she told me it was in D.C. and that the president would be there, and I realized that what we’d put together had exceeded both of our expectations.

Our book,
Cicely’s Letters,
had gained even more exposure than what I’d thought. When we gathered all of her notes together, researched her past, and put it into one book, we’d only planned to print a few books. For fun, Kassie’s agent, Sam helped us self-publish it as an eBook

So far, the awards ceremony had been a spectacular even. Major R&B artists sang. A famous poet performed and a full orchestra was located in front of the stage.

We hadn’t even followed its success. On the e-book’s release day, we’d spent it on the beach with the kids, running and playing with them. That evening, her agent called Kassie on the phone, screaming on the other side, “We’re rich!”

Five thousand copies sold that day. Who knew that others would care to hear this woman’s story, this person that had been lost and hidden from so many. The next day, sales rose to ten thousand. By the end of the month, it hit the NY Times Bestseller’s list. The next month, Kassie’s agent had orchestrated a major book deal and a huge check.

It gave us money to save for a possible future wedding. Something that I hinted about, more and more.

She’s mine. I might as well put a ring on it to let everyone else know.

Under the banquet table, Kassie’s hand shook in mine.

I leaned her way and whispered, “Relax, baby.”

“I’m fine.” She forced a smile.

“You’re shaking.”

“No, I’m not.” She squeezed my fingers and shook some more. “Fine, maybe just a little.”

“You’re going to win.”

“Oh, it doesn’t even matter.” She giggled with giddiness. “The president is over there and he knows my name. I’ve already won.”

“Good point.”

Cicely’s Letters
gained the attention of many politicians. Most had used the book as a platform to discuss prostitution and human trafficking in the country. And each month, the sales soared higher and higher.

But none of that mattered as much as what the book had meant to my girls. Once we completed the book, I sat down with my daughters and read it to them, skipping over some of the rougher parts. Many sections made them cry. Others laugh. Cicely always had a good sense of humor, even during the darkest times.

Surprisingly, Hope and Faith never got mad at me. Hope even admitted that she figured their mom had never been doing mission work. Apparently, they remembered the times they had spent with their mother. They hadn’t forgotten it like I hoped. It was funny how kids could remember the craziest things. They’d gone along willingly with my lies, more for me than them. They’d already counted their blessings and accepted the fate of their mother.

It was I who hadn’t come to grips with the reality.

The room darkened as the orchestra finished their song and the president walked onto the stage to announce the winner of the year’s Most Inspirational Contemporary.

“If they call me, you’re coming up?” Kassie asked for the hundredth time that day.

“Yes, Brown Sugar.”

“I don’t want to slip in these heels.”

I let go of her hand, stared at her tummy that had now become a soft little bump, and smiled with pride. “I don’t want you to slip either. The twins might get hurt.”

Kassie widened her eyes. “It’s not twins. Stop saying that.”

“It’s twins.”

“Stop that.”

“Boy twins.”

“I’m ignoring you.”

The president began his speech, but all I could do was reach in my pocket and pull out the thing that I’d been wanting to show Kassie all week. That damn ring had been burning in my pocket and I couldn’t keep it there any longer.

Kassie stared at the stage, totally captivated.

With the box in my hand, I opened her fingers and placed it inside. “I love you, Kassie.”

“What?” She turned away from the president and looked at her hand. “Lorenzo?”

“Marry me.”

And then the whole room stood and clapped, everyone gazing at us. Our mothers, kids, and that dreadlocked women rose and cheered for us.

“Fuck.” Kassie twisted back and forth like a wild woman. “Did they call our book?”

Hope yelled, “Oh, my God!
Cicely’s Letters
won!”

Kassie tried to get up, but I wouldn’t let her.

“Marry me?” I pushed the box further into her hand and whispered with a sly smile.

“Yes.”

“You’re mine.”

“Forever.” She tugged me forward. “Come on. Let’s go accept our award.”

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