Still Thicker Than Water

Book 2: Thicker Than Water

by Takerra Allen

Genres: African American; African American Urban; African American Women's Fiction

Synopsis

From Jersey's gritty hoods to Atlanta’s steamy streets, all the way to sultry Jamaica, the Brick City divas introduced in Thicker Than Water, along with some hot newcomers, bring the drama to new heights—wherever they go… As if she hasn’t been through enough, princess Sasha ’s got a new struggle on her hands. The love of her life might be locked down, but even that can’t keep her away. Can she choose between the hustler who broke her heart and the good guy who’s trying to mend it?... Tatum ’s man, Respect, has been on the run in Jamaica for over a year. She’s sure he wants her with him. But as strong as she is, does she have the courage to follow him—and face what she finds?...With her irresistible body and commanding presence, Jayde is all business, even when it comes to pleasure. And none of it is personal….L.A. girl gone bad, Neli has ruined lives and done more damage than she can make up for. Now she wants to change her ways—if she can stay alive long enough… As desire rules and the secrets keep spilling, it’s another crazy, sexy, dangerous summer for these ladies who are still thicker than water…

Release date: June 1, 2015

Publisher: Dafina

Print pages: 320

Sample

There was something about today that made Sasha sick to her stomach.

Boom! Boom! Boom! “Let’s go, Sasha!”

Sasha took a deep breath, straightened her back, and went to unlock the bathroom stall door.

I can do this. And then it happened again; a sudden rush of vomit raced from her stomach to her mouth as she turned abruptly, and it exploded into the toilet.

Boom! Boom! Boom! “Sasha, let me in! You know, you are getting married in exactly three minutes, bitch!” That was her annoying, country-ass cousin Cecile.

“Go away, Cecile,” Sasha mumbled, as she gripped the porcelain seat in the Buckhead Baptist Church.

“Move out of the way.” Terri rudely pushed past the group of family members, who surrounded Sasha’s hideaway stall. She began knocking firmly on the stall herself. “Sasha. Sasha, let me in.”

When she received no response, she continued in true Terri fashion.

“Sasha, let me in this instant. It’s your mother.”

Like I don’t know who she is.

“Sasha. Sasha,” Terri repeated in a hushed voice.

Sasha unrolled the two-ply toilet paper and wiped the chunks from her lips as she made a comfortable seat on the stall floor. She couldn’t care less about the $8,000 Vera Wang dress that adorned her gorgeous body. She cradled her head in her hands, not paying any mind to her flawless makeup that accentuated her flawless face. She couldn’t care less about her hair, this wedding, this day, this man, this life.

Why?

Ever since the surreal events that occurred two summers ago, Sasha often found herself asking that question. Why did her life take such an abrupt turn?

Why did Kim have to die? Why did Neli have to ruin everything? And most of all, why did he have to break her heart?

Tears lined her face as she thought of Chauncey, the love of her life, the only man that she was sure would ever hold her heart, and the man that had cheated with one of her, used to be, best friends. I guess Neli really did get the last laugh, huh? Chauncey and I are done, just like she wanted. My friends are gone, Kim is dead, Tatum is far away, my world is crumbled . . . Hope the bitch rots in the nuthouse.

Sasha could hear heels clicking toward her door and was sure it was someone else trying to convince her to emerge from the toilet: Be a woman, take the shit on the chin, and walk down the aisle. But the girl in her just couldn’t bring herself to stand up and face the reality.

“Sasha,” a sweet voice beckoned. Sasha looked down at the voice’s feet and studied the Zanotti sandals that she had recently herself purchased. Hmm.

“Sash, it’s me . . . Tatum.” Sasha’s ears perked at the delayed recognition of her best friend’s voice. Tatum made it. “Open the door, girl.”

Sasha didn’t want to face the others; she could still see her mother’s Prada heels and other less glamorous feet scattered around the door. She did however want to see Tatum, her girl, her best friend who had weathered the awful storm with her and still managed to remain by her side. She slowly unlatched the door, and before anyone could get a word out, she pulled Tatum inside and closed it again.

Tatum chuckled, mouth open, at Sasha’s dramatic behavior, but then embraced her fully in a long, warm hug.

“Ahh, mama, I missed youuuu!” she squealed.

Sasha squeezed back harder and laughed, thrilled to see her partner in crime.

“Black bitch, how you been?” Sasha joked, still embracing her, and using the nickname they had used as girls. Sasha was the brown bitch, Kim used to be the yellow bitch, and Neli, formerly known as the white bitch, was now just the crazy bitch.

“I’m good, but what’s up with you, girl, locked in the stall like a little-ass kid. . . . Getting cold feet?”

Tatum had a feeling what was wrong with Sasha, but was confused as to how she had come this far, but was just now debating not following through.

“I don’t know, Tay . . . I don’t know,” Sasha answered truthfully, really not knowing.

Tatum studied her friend with a look of uncertainty and brushed away the hair from Sasha’s face with her left hand. She realized how beautiful she looked.

Her hair had grown out and was down in pretty curls, with a diamond tiara atop of her head. Her skin was perfection, and she had put on a little weight in her butt and thigh area, Atlanta was doing her physically well. But how was it mentally affecting her?

“Sasha, you know I know you better than anyone, and if you’re not feeling it—” Tatum was cut off by Terri from outside the stall.

“If you don’t want to do it, sweetie, we can call the whole thing off . . . just let me know now so I can cancel the band for the reception.”

“Ma!” Sasha screamed, irritated that her mother had been eavesdropping on their conversation the whole time. Although her mother was ridiculously annoying in her prying, she did have a point, and was never shy about voicing it. Terri was no fan of Mike, and although Chauncey had brought more pain than pleasure, Terri was still on his team, cheering on the sidelines, and hoping that one day he and Sasha would be reunited.

Sasha leaned her head back and stared up at the ceiling, wondering what was holding her back. Mike was a good guy; he worked his way through medical school, was now a doctor, catered to Sasha head to foot, and took her and Chauncey’s daughter, Aubrey, in as his own. Who wouldn’t want to marry him? Me.

Tatum was still looking at Sasha with that look. That look that said Just let me know what you wanna do. Sasha knew Tatum was with her no matter what.

What am I thinking? Pass up on Mike, for what? For Chauncey? The man that’s in jail, the man that I don’t even know if I can trust? The man who clearly has no plans on leaving the street life alone anytime soon? No, no way. I have to be smarter than that. I have a little girl to think about. Hell no!

“No, no, I’m fine. I’m doing it . . . Ma, you hear me, I’m doing it. So hang up the phone,” she barked.

“I . . . I am not on the phone,” Terri defensively answered, but then whispered into her cell, “Cancel that. Wedding’s back on.”

Sasha rolled her eyes at her mother’s assumption, and then took a deep breath and looked at Tatum with a smile.

“See, I’m fine. I just needed a moment . . . and I needed you,” Sasha admitted, glad that her best friend was now there to hold her hand. Tatum looked at her with doubt.

“You sure?”

Sasha nodded vigorously.

“Yeah, yeah. Absolutely.” She fingered her curls and adjusted her gown, and then she opened the bathroom door with true Sasha confidence. “Okay, let’s go! Cecile, go tell the organist we’re starting.... Ma, go get Daddy . . . Tatum”—she looked at Tatum—“hold my hand.”

She rushed to the mirror and rinsed out her mouth, and then made sure her makeup was on point as a couple of people adjusted her gown. Then she turned around and faced the girls.

“Okay, now let’s go get me married.”

The melody of sweet violins began to play, as Sasha’s one-year-old daughter, Aubrey, walked down the aisle assisted by an older cousin. They were the flower girls. Following them was the ring bearer, a little boy from Mike’s family, and then the first bridesmaid, who was Sasha’s old friend, Jayde.

Next was Sasha’s cousin, Cecile, another bridesmaid, by her mother’s choice. And last was Mike’s best man, with Sasha’s maid of honor, Tatum. Sasha heard the music change to the traditional bridal march, and her heart fluttered. Her father remained completely silent, but held a firm grip on her arm. Thank God, because I don’t think I can stand on my own.

Sasha thought of the irony of her reflection. This was the very reason why she was getting married; she didn’t think that she could stand on her own.

“You ready, baby?” her father asked her, but Sasha couldn’t answer. She just looked at him with a smile as the doors opened wide.

The crowd stood at attention and focused on Sasha and her father as they began to slowly make their way down the aisle. Sasha held a plastered smile and studied the happy faces, grinning and snapping pictures. She felt as if she were walking to her execution and she hoped that her emotions weren’t showing on her face. Halfway down the aisle, she felt as if she should finally look at Mike. Maybe something that wasn’t there would suddenly exist in her when she saw his face. Maybe she could will herself to want him, need him, love him. The sad realization came about when she looked into his eyes and felt the need to run in the opposite direction.

He was looking at her with so much love, so much pride, so much adoration. The thought of her marrying him and depriving him of true requited love caused tears to form in her eyes, which people mistook for an overwhelming rush of emotion.

As she reached the altar, a sweat broke out on her brow and she took a deep breath, hoping that she didn’t have a repeat of the bathroom stall incident.

“Who gives this woman away?”

Don’t, Daddy, don’t say it.

“I do.”

Her father and Mike exchanged Sasha with ease, as if she were money, and Sasha wondered why this was so easy for everyone else.

“Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today . . .”

Okay, okay, I can do this. Look at him, he’s good-looking . . . I mean, he is a little corny, and why the hell is his tie so tight? No, no . . . he’s not corny, he’s safe. Safe, reliable, gives me no trouble . . . Wait, what am I marrying, a man or a car? Oh God, Sasha, stop it! Take his hands. Are they telling us to hold hands . . . ? I think so. He’s reaching for my hands. There, everyone is smiling, I must be doing the right thing. Why are his hands so clammy? Look at him, he loves me. Look how happy he is. Concentrate, Sasha, concentrate . . .

“Marriage is the union of husband and wife in heart, body, and mind. It is intended for their mutual joy . . .” The pastor’s voice subsided to a whisper, and then ceased.

What happened? Sasha wondered. Is it over? Am I supposed to say something now?

She looked to Mike for some reassurance but was confused as to why he was not looking at her. Instead he, like everyone else, was focused on the aisle. Sasha turned, as if in slow motion, and swore that the breath left her body.

“Oh my God,” she whispered.

Her heart raced, her head was light, and she had to reach out and hold on to the pastor’s shoulder for support. It was him, and just like always, he commanded everyone’s attention.

He was dressed in true street fashion—crisp jeans, fresh Balenciaga sneakers, blinding jewelry, head full of waves, chocolate skin glowing, confident smile. He stood in the center of the aisle as if he belonged there, and as everyone stared at him, he focused on Sasha.

“I tried to wait until the ‘if anyone objects’ shit, but I figured I wouldn’t waste any more of your time. Let’s go, kid.”

Sasha held his gaze with tears in her eyes and was stunned into silence. She hesitantly looked away at Mike and could see the rage radiating off of him. She looked back to Chauncey, who now held out his hand for her, as everyone studied Sasha, wondering how she would handle the situation.

“Daddy!” Aubrey exclaimed, rushing up to him.

He picked her up and kissed her face lovingly and then looked back to Sasha.

“Come on, princess, come on home. I got you . . . I’ll never hurt you again.”

“You sure?” The question escaped Sasha’s lips before she even realized that she was talking.

“My word . . . I love you,” he affectionately admitted.

“I love you, too.”

Sasha’s feet felt as if they were firmly planted into the ground, but as she admitted her love for Chauncey, they began to take flight and she made her way to him. She lifted her gown and didn’t even offer Mike an apology; she just rushed to her man, her love.

Chauncey pulled her close as she finally reached him, and looked deeply into her eyes. He held Aubrey with his right hand, as his left hand caressed Sasha’s face. He leaned in to kiss her lips and Sasha braced herself for what she had been missing. She could feel his breath on her face as he went from inches away, to almost nose to nose with her. She could smell him, almost taste him. She closed her eyes and her heart melted, and then . . . and then . . . and then . . .

Sasha gasped as she abruptly sat upright in her bed. “No, no, no!” She bawled quietly, when she noticed that Mike was still peacefully asleep next to her. Chauncey was gone. That was her reality. But in her dreams, she could still have him, or at least, she thought. Lately, it seemed that she couldn’t even have that.

She looked down at her wedding ring on her finger, that barely sparkled in the dark, but she still knew that it was there. It was all a lie. She could hear the crickets chirping outside as she gently lifted herself out of bed and tread softly out of the room.

She crept into Aubrey’s room and could see her sleeping serenely, clutching her worn-out pink teddy bear. We’ve got to get that thing out of here.

Her baby. She was so beautiful, looking more and more like Chauncey every day. She blew her a silent kiss as she turned around and headed for the stairs.

She quietly made her way down the dark staircase and could see the moonlight illuminating the dimness of their home. As Sasha entered the living room, she took a seat on the couch, looking around at her colorless living room in the night and thinking of how it reflected her present situation. Her life was now so colorless. Chauncey would never allow this. He would have made me throw some color, or at least some black, up in here. Mmm, Chauncey.

Her thoughts of him re-entered her head as she imagined him the way he appeared in her dream. Those thoughts then turned to ones of their old steamy nights, as Sasha thought of Chauncey’s lips and tongue caressing her body. Mike didn’t know how to do it like him; Mike didn’t know how to do it at all.

Sasha’s sex life was lacking and she was in desperate need. Sasha thought of how Chauncey used to throw her on the dining room table and eat her like dinner. She imagined Chauncey parting her legs and kissing her thighs as her fingers made her way down her white silk nightie and to her thighs, tracing her fingertips softly up and down, trying her best to emulate a tongue.

Then she thought of him parting her second lips with his tongue and discovering her tender clit, gently sucking on it and flicking it, the way she loved. Her fingers tried to do these visions justice as she lay her head back on the couch and kicked her legs up on the table. Oh, she softly moaned.

You like that?

Yes . . .

Show me.

She moaned sultrily the way Chauncey liked it, and even said the dirty words lightly that he loved to hear.

Yes, right there, daddy. Eat your pussy . . . this is your pussy.

That’s my girl.

She could hear him. She could feel him. And she wondered if whatever he was doing in his cell right now, could he taste her?

She could feel herself building up to an orgasm as she moved her fingers faster and faster.

“Oh, Chauncey, oh yes . . . oh my God, yes,” she cried in passion. Her face grew hot and her left leg began to shake as her hair lay against her forehead that was now sweating.

“Yes . . . yes . . .”

“Sasha!” Mike yelled, interrupting her one-on-one party, and cutting her orgasm short.

“Uh-huh?” she stammered, hoping that he hadn’t heard her.

“You all right down there . . . You coming to bed?”

She took a deep breath to regain her composure, and pulled her nightie back down to her thighs. She was cumming, but now she figured that she was just coming . . . back to bed.

“Yes . . . yes, I’m fine,” she stuttered. “I’ll be right up.”

She could hear his heavy footsteps retreat from the stairs slowly back to the bedroom, and she wondered how she had missed hearing them in the first place. She also wondered how Mike had managed to keep her dissatisfied, even when he wasn’t involved in the encounter.

Damn, she thought, standing up and making her way back to her bedroom. Back to reality.

The past couple of years have been so crazy. I never knew we would end up like this.

For starters, my best friend, Sasha, and her baby’s father, Chauncey, are apart now. And they were like the hood’s Bonnie and Clyde, Newark’s own Beyoncé and Jay-Z. She’s married now, to some square dude, Mike, living down in Atlanta, and Chauncey’s locked down doing a bid. And it’s such a shame.

Chauncey was like a big brother to me. He grew up with my own brother Chris, and they even worked for the same man . . . for my man, Respect. Or Ree, as I like to call him.

See, Ree—he’s like the alpha man. He’s got it all: swagger, boss status, intellect . . . and my heart. But my brother got caught up and snitched on him and Ree had to go on the run. Now my brother’s dead. And Kim’s dead . . . Kim, our sister, our girl, damn.

See, she was the life of the party, and I miss her so much. Sometimes I even miss Neli . . . Nah, maybe I just miss the way the four of us used to be.

Neli, she was our other friend, and she’s in the damn crazy house now, but really, she deserves more. I don’t care if she don’t have it all, the way she set it all up, fucking Chauncey behind Sasha’s back, trying to get Sasha killed, and even having Kim murdered, I could never forgive her! I’m kinda glad Chauncey beat her the way that he did, even though that’s what got him locked up.

Damn, see what I mean? It’s been crazy for everyone. And me, now here I am . . . But where am I?

“Where am I?” Tatum questioned aloud. She stared at the cursor on the computer screen for a couple of seconds before she became frustrated and slammed the laptop closed. This was the third time this week that she had attempted to put her thoughts on paper, hoping that it would help get her book started. After all of the drama that occurred two summers ago, writing her dream book went from being a fantasy to a checkpoint on her must-do list. In addition to forgetting him.

Tatum had way too much shit on her mind.

She got up from her computer desk and walked over to her bed, picking up a throw blanket and wrapping it around her shoulders. As she made her way to the thermostat to turn the heat up, she wondered what the weather was like in Jamaica.

“It damn sure ain’t forty-eight degrees,” she whispered, turning her heat up to the max.

She never did have the courage to pick up and follow Ree to Jamaica, even though she had contemplated heavy on it. She hadn’t heard from him, or even had a sign of him, since he had sent the mysterious postcard that summer.

Now, here it was, a year and a half later, and he was still in her thoughts.

It gets better every day though. I get over him a little more every day.

Tatum felt like she had made the best decision, not wanting to live her life on the run, and bank her whole future on a postcard. I don’t care what Sasha says; sending a postcard does not equal, “I love you, come to Jamaica, and spend the rest of your life with me.”

But no matter how much she tried to convince herself, she knew that he had wanted her to come.

Had? But would he still? Tatum wondered, leaning her head back against the wall, getting lost in her thoughts.

Just then, her phone began vibrating on her computer desk so she walked over and answered it, not recognizing the number.

“Hello,” Tatum greeted, sounding more like a question.

“Heyyy, bitch, what it do?”

Tatum smirked.

“What it do? Okay, Atlanta overload . . . whose number is this?”

Sasha paused briefly before answering. “Oh . . . it’s mine. We got a new house number.”

Tatum laughed.

“Oh, I see. You mean Chauncey been blowing y’all shit up so much that Mike finally decided to stop playing ‘yes, ma’am’ to you, put his foot down, and change that bitch up.”

“Yeah, well, something like that.” Sasha chuckled, watching Mike drink orange juice straight from the carton as it spilled onto his shirt. It was the little things that disgusted Sasha.

“Oh . . . he’s around,” Tatum guessed, noticing Sasha’s short replies.

“Yeah . . . but about the other thing, I don’t get it.” Sasha spoke in code.

“What you mean?” Tatum asked, slipping on some cozy socks. Her apartment still wasn’t heating up.

Sasha watched as Mike made his way out of the kitchen, wiping his shirt with his hand, and out onto the deck, heading toward the shed where his photo studio was located. Photography was a hobby that he had recently taken up and Sasha was not allowed in the studio, not that she cared anyway. Once he closed the sliding door, Sasha continued.

“Okay, he’s gone now. But yeah, I don’t get it,” she whispered. “How can he get mad about Chauncey calling here? Aubrey is Chauncey’s daughter, too. He has a right to talk to her . . . I don’t get how he can be mad at that.”

Tatum rolled her eyes at Sasha’s naivete.

“I can. Shit, Chauncey be buggin’, calling all day, all night. And all times of the night at that. Aubrey doesn’t even be up . . . how does he do that anyway?” Tatum pondered, wondering how Chauncey managed all of these special privileges in jail.

“You know what it is,” Sasha drawled in her country accent, thinking of how many connections Chauncey had. “But I guess you’re right. That’s why I let Mike change it. We were arguing so much about it. He kept bitching so I told him to just do it. Chaunc gon’ have to just hit the cell when he wanna talk to Aubrey.”

“They can do that?” Tatum questioned.

“Chauncey can” was Sasha’s simple answer.

There was a brief silence as Tatum thought of how evident Sasha’s love for Chauncey was. If Mike couldn’t see it, it meant he just didn’t want to.

Tatum had to change the subject though; talking about Chauncey made Tatum think of Ree, being that they were so close. Chauncey was Ree’s number one, the next in line when Ree was still heavy in Jersey’s drug game. Tatum changed the topic.

“Wait, why didn’t you call the house?”

“Oh, it was off,” Sasha responded, sounding distant.

Shit, Tatum thought. I gotta pay that bill. She wanted to change the subject again before Sasha offered her any money. She wasn’t doing badly to where she needed any handouts. Yeah, money was tight without her brother helping with the rent, but her hair clients kept her able to pay her bills and still manage to be fly. Things still were just not as easy as they used to be and she found it now more difficult to stay on top of everything.

Damn, when Ree was around. That’s all she could think. She didn’t want for anything with him. But his wealth wasn’t even what attracted her. She was in love with him. Oh well.

Tatum now knew she had to get off of the phone matter.

“Well, I know Chauncey’s gonna be pissed when he tries to call.”

It seemed that Sasha perked at the mention of Chauncey.

“Yeah, I know . . .” Sasha paused and then continued. “You know, Tatum, I think I wanna visit you.”

Tatum smirked, and twisted her mouth to the side.

“You wanna come see me, huh? When?”

“Tomorrow!” Sasha exclaimed. “I’m gonna come see you tomorrow, if I can get a flight.”

Tatum shook her head from side to side and laughed to herself. She knew that Sasha wanted to visit Chauncey ASAP because he would be hot when he tried to call the house and it was disconnected.

“Yeah, well, you know you’re welcome, but don’t expect a party, bitch. This visit’s short notice as hell and I got shit to do,” Tatum joked.

“Oh please, Tay, I’m taking you for a spa treatment. We’re gonna get facials and massages, and you get to see your goddaughter, and . . . we can bring you your extraspecial, crazy huge Christmas gift. You know you need a facial too. You probably look like shit.. . .