Second chance christmas, p.1
Second Chance Christmas, page 1
JAHQUEL J.
Second Chance Christmas
WWW.BLACKODYSSEY.NET
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Prologue
Chapter One - PRESENT
Chapter Two
Chapter Three - PAST
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
Published by
BLACK ODYSSEY MEDIA
www.blackodyssey.net
Email: info@blackodyssey.net
This book is a work of fiction. Any references to events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
SECOND CHANCE CHRISTMAS. Copyright © 2024 by Jahquel J.
Library of Congress Control Number: 2023919225
ISBN: 978-1-9579-5049-5
ISBN: 978-1-957950-50-1 (e-book)
Cover Design by Ashlee Nassar of Designs With Sass
To the extent that the image or images on the cover of this book depict a person or persons, such person or persons are merely models and are not intended to portray any character in the book.
All rights reserved. Black Odyssey Media, LLC | Dallas, TX.
This book or parts thereof may not be reproduced in any form, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any means–electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or otherwise–without prior written permission of the publisher, excepting brief quotes or tags used in reviews, interviews, or complimentary promotion, and as permissible by United States of America copyright law.
Manufactured in the United States of America
Distributed by Kensington Publishing Corp.
Dear Reader,
I want to thank you immensely for supporting Black Odyssey Media authors, and our ongoing efforts to spotlight more minority storytellers. The scariest and most challenging task for many writers is getting the story, or characters, out of our heads and onto the page. Having admitted that, with every manuscript that Kreceda and I acquire, we believe that it took talent, discipline, and remarkable courage to construct that story, flesh out those characters, and prepare it for the world. Debut or seasoned, our authors are the real heroes and heroines in OUR story. And for them, we are eternally grateful.
Whether you are new to Jahquel J. or Black Odyssey Media, we hope that you are here to stay. We also welcome your feedback and kindly ask that you leave a review. For upcoming releases, announcements, submission guidelines, etc., please be sure to visit our website at www.blackodyssey.net or scan the QR code below. We can also be found on social media using @iamblackodyssey. Until next time, take care and enjoy the journey!
Joyfully,
Shawanda “N’Tyse” Williams
Founder/Publisher
Prologue
FAITH
I KNEW THE DAY would come.
A day when I would be pulled out of bed because of my mother’s recklessness. The day that I would have to toss on my clothes and run down to the police station and promise them that I would get her home safely. It was usually my father who was doing the promising and apologizing. Instead of practicing how to kiss a boy in the mirror, I would practice how apologetic I would look when it was finally my turn to pick her up. I had watched my father do this same charade at least half a dozen times. The other half, I was too young to comprehend why Daddy picked Mama up from the police station. These days, the police were so tired of Mama’s bullshit that they didn’t want an explanation or promise. They just wanted her out of their building as quickly as possible. Daddy would grab my mama by the arm and pull her to the idling car where I was waiting. He’d reach across her, strap her in, and then take one long look before slamming the door to walk around the car.
That man was tired.
Tonight, I wasn’t pulled out of bed. It was the night of my senior prom, and I was supposed to be heading to the hotel room that Rome booked for us. It was going to be our night. We had done plenty of other things, and as much as I enjoyed doing those things in the backseat of his mama’s Lexus, I was excited to be sharing a bed with him tonight.
Or so I thought I would be.
“She probably just passed out at the bar in town or something.” Rome tried to cheer me up about the situation. He knew Mama’s and my relationship wasn’t the best.
I already felt low because I was supposed to be having a special night with my boyfriend, and here he was, driving me to the hospital because my mama had drunk too much.
“This isn’t the bar, Rome. We’re heading to the hospital. What if she’s hurt or something?”
When Principal Miller called me into the hotel hallway where the prom was taking place, I didn’t know what he wanted. I was the top student at Sageport High, so I knew I couldn’t have been in any trouble. He told me that my mother was in the hospital.
New location unlocked.
As angry as I was with my mother, I was scared too. Wringing my hands, I tried to busy myself by counting the trees that passed by the window.
One. Two. Three. Four.
God, what if something happened to her? My relationship with my mother was very strained. I was a reminder of the life she never had. The living, breathing regret that she had to be reminded of every single day. I knew I was the reason behind Mama never making it out of Sageport.
It didn’t help that she constantly reminded me.
“Fay, she probably just needed to be escorted home. Remember when you fell down the steps near the General Store?” Rome reminded me.
I smiled. I loved it whenever he called me Fay. That nickname was reserved just for me. He grabbed hold of my hand and continued to drive.
“It’s hard not to think the worst. She promised me she would stay in the house tonight. She knew how important tonight was.”
“We can still make it to the hotel after she’s settled in the house.” Rome was always so optimistic.
He always saw the bright side of things. I guess you would when it wasn’t your mama that you had to pick up on prom night.
“When does your father come back? You have to call him and tell him about this, Fay.”
I refused.
“No. He will try to rush and book a flight to get back home. I can handle this on my own . . . I can handle my mom,” I confidently told him.
It had been months since my uncle called and told us that my grandmother was sick. Living in a different state made it hard for my father to drop everything and be at her side. When you owned one of the most popular restaurants in town, you couldn’t just pick up and leave whenever someone needed you. My father also felt torn between maintaining a relationship with his family and choosing his wife. As I became older, I wanted to prove to my father that I could carry some of the burden he had been carrying alone all these years.
When Rome pulled into the parking space and killed the engine, I felt a somber feeling in the pit of my stomach. The lights from the emergency sign illuminated both of our faces. We sat in the car for a few seconds before breaking our silence.
It was embarrassing.
Having everyone pity you because your mom is an alcoholic always made me feel low as if I wasn’t good enough to exist in the same places as these people. Even being with someone like Rome felt wrong, as if I wasn’t worthy of his love.
Rome never made me feel like that, though.
I hated having to hear stories about how she was tossed out of a business because she was belligerent drunk. This town was far too shallow not to patronize one of the most popular restaurants in town because Kimba Stone was the town’s alcoholic.
Rome turned in his seat and grabbed my hands. “Tonight, will still be everything that we have ever wanted. This is just a small bump in the road.”
“There’s always going to be a bump in the road when it comes to my mom,” I whined.
Rome had been accepted into Georgia State University. He knew what life would look like after high school. Our lives after school were going to look different. While he was chasing his dreams in Georgia, I would attend a community college here.
It would be selfish to leave my father here alone with her. He couldn’t possibly run the restaurant and manage my mother at the same time. How would he be able to continue to follow his own dreams while having to micromanage Mom? He needed me here, and despite him encouraging me to leave Sageport, I would stay.
“You should reconsider the scholarship, Faith. Columbia is a big deal, and not many get scholarships there. This could be big for you.”
The day I received the acceptance letter and scholarship from Columbia University, I sobbed. Not because this was something I had always wanted and had accomplished it. I sobbed because, in my heart, I knew there was no way that I could leave my parents behind. My father would never verbally admit it, but I knew he needed me here.
Instead of jumping for joy like other students did when they received their letters, I folded mine and put it in the back of my diary. At best, it would make for a great conversation starter when I was older. People who were accepted into Columbia could have bragging rights . . . right?
“I have considered it a million times. My family isn’t like yours, Rome. I don’t have a mom who attends all my games, bakes cookies because she loves me, or is fully present to hear me vent. These are the cards I was dealt, and I need to deal with them.”
Mrs. Atkins was the definition of a supermom. She was on every committee there was for the school, and she still managed to be a great wife and mother to her boys. Mr. and Mrs. Atkins were prom king and queen and were considered a success story around Sageport. Mr. Atkins owned most of the car dealerships in town, so their family influence ran deep. Everyone loved them, and a few people wanted to be them. Both their boys—a year apart—played football for the local high school, and talks were circulating that there was a spot waiting for Rome’s brother when he was ready to start touring colleges.
Rome didn’t understand my life because he had never had to live it. My parents were happy once upon a time. It was probably before I was born because I had never seen them happy. Mama was discreet with her drinking for a while. Then she stopped caring.
She stopped caring about everything.
“What the—?” Rome dropped my hands and stared out the window.
We watched a panicked Mrs. Atkins run past the car and into the hospital. She hadn’t even noticed that we were in the car when she rushed past. Rome was out of the vehicle and behind his mom before I could close the door. I trotted behind him, holding my dress up to step onto the curb. We saw Mrs. Atkins talking to the front receptionist when we entered the waiting room.
“Mama, what’s going on?”
“It’s Allen . . .” She was trying hard to catch her breath. “They called and said he was in a bad wreck . . . I came as soon as I got the call.”
When she finally turned around, I saw her face was wet with tears. She had probably been crying since she received the call.
“Do they know anything?”
“She’s getting the doctor no—Romeo, why are you here? This is your prom. Did they call you too?” You could tell she was just processing that her other son was standing in front of her instead of at his senior prom or, at best, having sex with me.
“Faith got a call about her mom too.”
I knew Mrs. Atkins wasn’t a fan of mine. She hated my mother, so it was natural that those feelings trickled down to her only daughter too. “Hi, Mrs. Atkins,” I greeted her.
She looked me up and down, then pulled Rome to the side. I was used to her doing this by now and never cared. Rome loved me and would never listen to his mother’s lies.
“Faith?”
I turned around and saw Dr. Thompson standing there with a somber expression on her face. My stomach knew something was wrong before I did. “Is Mom all right?”
Dr. Thompson and my mom grew up together and were even best friends at some point. I heard the story of how they would get out of this town and follow their dreams in a bigger city. Dr. Thompson was the only one to leave and follow her dreams. She ended up falling in love and moving back to Sageport to be closer to her family.
“Come with me, Faith.” She tried to quickly rush me toward the back, away from the emergency room, but my feet refused to move. “Faith, come quickly,” she ushered me toward the back.
“Nooo! God, no! Not my baby!” I heard Mrs. Atkins start wailing, and Rome caught her as she collapsed into his arms.
Rome struggled, trying to hold his mother, who was tossing her body and arms every which way. The tears sliding down his cheeks indicated how bad the news they had just received was.
“I need to be with them.” I quickly got out of Dr. Thompson’s grasp and rushed toward Rome. “Rome, what’s going on?” I asked, reaching out to touch his back.
Mrs. Atkins was still sobbing in his chest while I rubbed his back. “A . . . Allen didn’t make it.” Rome’s voice cracked while trying to get the sentence out.
I watched as Mrs. Atkins’s head rose slowly from Rome’s chest. “You!” she pointed at me. “My baby is gone because of you!” she screamed and lunged at me.
Dr. Thompson quickly grabbed me and pulled me toward the back. Everything was happening so fast that I couldn’t comprehend it. One minute, I was at prom enjoying what was supposed to be the best night of my life, and now, I had just been saved from Mrs. Atkins attacking me.
“What was that about? Dr. Thompson, what’s going on?”
“Come with me in the exam room . . . You may want to take a seat.”
I pulled away from her. “No. I don’t want to take a seat. I want to know why Mrs. Atkins just tried to attack me, and what happened to Allen? What’s going on?”
She heaved a sigh. “Kimba didn’t make it either, Faith. She passed twenty minutes ago . . . I called her time of death.” I could tell that she was trying to remain professional. However, her personal feelings were slowly creeping in.
My heart pounded against my chest like Travis Barker playing the drums. Did I hear her correctly?
I couldn’t have.
No, I wouldn’t process what she had just told me. My mom couldn’t have been dead. The chilled bottle of bourbon was still fresh in the garage freezer. She needed to finish that.
It was her Sunday ritual.
Not tonight.
She had her spades game tomorrow down at the community center. It was the only thing she looked forward to these days, and the older crowd wasn’t so harsh with their judgment.
“No, she’s not.” I shook my head.
I don’t know why I couldn’t stop shaking my head. It was like my body was being controlled by someone else. I wasn’t in control of my body, which worried me. I was always in control of everything. After growing up with a mom who often lost control, you learned to master having control. It became an obsession since I was in fourth grade, and Rodney Chase told the whole class that my mom pissed in the parking lot of the bowling alley.
“Baby, I spoke to your father, and he will get the first flight out. We both agreed that you should come and stay with me tonight... You shouldn’t be alone,” she wrapped her arms around me.
Dr. Thompson had this maternal presence about her, and this wasn’t the first time she had embraced me with it.
“My mom isn’t dead.”
I was in denial. Tears didn’t fall from my eyes like they did Rome’s, and I didn’t overreact like people in movies.
What was wrong with me?
I felt numb. This couldn’t be my life. How could this be happening right now? My mom had always been selfish, but I never thought she would have been this selfish.
“She was drinking and driving, Faith. Caused a three-car accident down on Mural Road. Allen Atkins was one of the drivers. He was ejected from the car upon impact.”
Jesus.
Why couldn’t she just sit in the house? This day was supposed to be about me, and now look at where I had ended. Now, I was standing in a hospital hallway listening to how my mother not only killed herself but how she killed my boyfriend’s younger brother.
“You end things with her now! She’s the child of a fucking monster! Kimba Stone murdered my baby. Oh God, nooo!” We could hear Mrs. Atkins scream from the waiting room.
Dr. Thompson pulled me in the opposite direction. “You can wait in the on-call room while I wrap up everything. Your dad thinks you should come home with me tonight,” she repeated.
It was like I was watching myself from above with how she pulled me into a room with a few beds, then left, closing the door behind her. My hands were red from the way I had been violently wringing them to help calm my anxiety. It was something I had been doing since I was seven. It started when my mother left me alone at the grocery store.
Standing up, I left the room. I know I was told to do one thing, and here I was, doing the opposite. But I needed to see Rome and let him know that I wasn’t a monster, either. I would never get behind the wheel drunk or pick up a drink ever. I wasn’t my mother’s child, and he had to know that. He had to know that our plans to be together could still happen.
