This Time for Real (10 page)

“All right,” Dante said, stepping away from the bag, “what's going on?”

Malik hung his head. “Nothing's wrong, Dante. Don't punk out. Just hold the bag.”

Dante threw off his gloves and walked away. Ever since they'd arrived Malik had been punishing him. First, he'd insisted on running for thirty minutes, forty-five minutes of weights and now boxing. Had he known that he was in a foul mood, Dante would have passed on the workout. His body was crying out for a hot shower. Although he kept himself fit and lean by eating right, he was nowhere near a fitness buff as Quentin and Malik, who constantly visited the gym.

“Dante, wait!” Malik jogged behind him. “I'm sorry, okay? I was having a bad day and I took it out on you.” Ever since that sleazy scuzzball had come into the center a couple of days ago, he had not had a good night's sleep. It was like he was reliving his childhood all over again, but this time in his dreams.

He'd even begged off staying over at Peyton's last night. She'd already tried to pry the truth out of him, but Malik didn't want to talk about it with anyone. He'd closed that chapter of his life, or so he thought, until Joe Johnson showed up.

“Ya think?” Dante asked, pivoting on his heel and turning to face him.

“Something happened a couple of days ago that rattled me,” Malik confided. “Actually, I should say
someone.
”

“Who?”

“Joe Johnson.”

The name was a blast from the past. “Your stepfather?”

“The one and only. Apparently his construction company is doing well, so he came to yank my chain by offering to renovate the center in exchange for me giving his company all future construction work at my centers.”

“I can't believe he had the gall to act like he'd be doing you a favor,” Dante replied.

“You're telling me.” Malik wiped the sweat off his face with a towel. “And then Andrew had the nerve to get on my case and tell me I should accept his offer, when he knows how much I hate the man.”

“What did you do?” Dante was almost afraid to ask.

“I nearly choked him half to death before Andrew stopped me. I warned Joe to never darken the center's doorstep. But I have a feeling I haven't seen the last of him.”

M
alik dropped in on Friday, just as Peyton's class was ending. He hated that they hadn't been able to reconnect the other night. It wasn't like he didn't want her, but bringing up Joe Johnson had touched a raw nerve. He was hoping to make it up to her by helping her student, Kendra.

As the students exited, Malik slipped in. He glanced at Peyton, who nodded towards Kendra who was heading towards the door. At least Peyton smiled at him, which meant she wasn't too upset about his rude behavior the other evening.

Peyton was relieved when Kendra had come to class. Kendra sat in the back of the hall and had remained silent throughout her lecture. She wasn't sure if Omar had retaliated against the poor girl because of her surprise visit.

“Kendra, could you please wait a moment,” Peyton called out. Slowly, the young mother turned around.

“Kendra, I don't know if you remember Malik Williams.” Peyton motioned Malik over. “He's the director of the community center.”

Kendra nodded. “I do.”

“Can you spare a few minutes?” Malik asked, coming towards her. “I'd really like to talk to you.”

Kendra glanced at her watch. “I have another class in thirty minutes.”

“I won't be long,” Malik replied.

“All right,” Kendra agreed and walked over to take a seat.

“Do you mind giving us some time alone?” Malik asked, glancing up at Peyton, who'd come over to join them. “I'd like to talk to Kendra in private.”

“Oh, of course,” Peyton replied. Although she wanted to be present, she respected Kendra's right to privacy. Seconds later, she was out of the room.

Malik sat down next to Kendra. “I'm sure you're wondering why I'm here.”

“I have some idea. Professor Sawyer asked you talk to me about my boyfriend, probably to encourage me to leave him because he struck me by accident. Am I right?”

“Yes, but that's not the only reason, I'm here, Kendra…” Malik responded. “I'm here because I've been in your shoes.”

“You have?” Kendra's forehead bunched into a frown.

It was rare for Malik to open up to anyone, including his friends, about the abuse he'd endured at Joe's hands, but if his story could help keep another woman or child from getting hurt like him and his mother, than he'd tell it—but only to her. “I have. You see, Kendra,
my stepfather used to hit me. No—let me correct that—he used to beat me.”

“No!” Kendra's hand flew to her mouth.

“I endured a great deal, Kendra, because I was a child and I had nowhere to run and no one to turn to.”

“What about your mother?”

“She acted as if it weren't happening, because he was hitting her too.

“Kendra, you have to stop this cycle. What happens to your daughter when she gets older? Do you want her father to hit her too?”

“Omar would never do that!” Kendra argued. “He only hit me once, maybe twice, and he didn't mean to do it.”

Malik noticed how her story changed from one to two hits. “Are you sure? Are you honestly willing to gamble your daughter's future on a ‘what if'?” he inquired.

“No, but what would you suggest I do? I'm dependent on Omar.” Kendra's eyes welled up with tears.

“And he knows it.” Malik struggled to keep his voice calm. “But you don't have to stay, Kendra. You can get out. There are many options available to you that weren't there when my mother needed help. I'm begging you to please consider going to a friend or a shelter. There's also financial support available to you if you just apply. And if you're scared, you can take out a restraining order against him.”

Kendra shook her head vehemently. “That's not necessary.”

“All right, then take these applications.” Malik reached in his portfolio and handed her several forms. “They are applications for financial and childcare assistance, and there's a list of addresses of local women's shelters. Consider what I've said, Kendra. I'd hate for what happened to me to happen to your daughter.”

“Thank you,” Kendra said, squeezing Malik's hand, “for sharing your story with me.”

Telling his story to Kendra was a lot different than trying to tell it to Peyton. “You can call me any time you want to talk.” Malik reached in his wallet and pulled out his business card. “And in case of emergency, my cell number's on the back.”

“Thanks, again.” Kendra smiled tentatively and hurriedly left the room. She found Peyton outside the door. She nodded at her before leaving the building.

Peyton returned to the classroom and found Malik with a tortured expression on his face. Had Kendra said something to upset him? “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, everything's fine,” Malik lied, as images of his mother, bloodied and bruised on the kitchen floor, flashed through his mind. The sounds of her crying as Joe backhanded her echoed in Malik's head. A profound feeling of helplessness washed over Malik.

“And Kendra?”

“Uh…” Malik tried to clear his head of the negative pictures. “That girl's in harm's way. I just hope she makes the right decision before it's too late.”

“Thank you so much.” Peyton squeezed Malik as hard as she could. “I really appreciate your help.”

“You're welcome.” Malik returned the hug. She had no idea just how much he'd needed that hug. It had taken a lot for him to dredge up the memories, even if it was to do good.

 

On Saturday night, he and Peyton joined Quentin and Avery at a café on the Lower East Side to listen to poetry and have a few drinks. Peyton had encouraged Malik to meet with Quentin and show them there were no hard feelings, and he had agreed. Malik was doing
everything he could to ease some of the tension that had arisen between him and Peyton since Joe's reappearance. They hadn't been intimate again since the night after The River Room, but Malik was hoping to remedy that.

“Hey, guys!” Malik walked in hand-in-hand with Peyton. They found Quentin and Avery already seated at a table.

“Malik.” Quentin rose and shook his hand. “You're looking well.” More than that, Malik seemed happy and it looked good on him.

“Hi,” Peyton greeted them. “Good to see you again.”

“You too.” Avery smiled.

“What's new?” Malik asked, helping Peyton into her seat before seating himself.

“Well, I've just finished putting together an exhibit for Avery's gallery,” Quentin said, sitting down.

“What's the name again?” Peyton vaguely remembered Malik mentioning it.

“It's the Henri Lawrence Gallery, in Soho,” Avery answered. “The show is going to be attended by some major movers and shakers in New York.” She was so excited that they'd finally gotten the exhibit off the ground. Her boss, Hunter Garrett, had thought Quentin had forgotten the idea after he'd brought it up several months ago, but Avery hadn't—and now she was seeing her hard work come to fruition. “You should come, Malik. You never know, there might be some prospects there.”

The moment Avery brought up a corporate sponsor, conversation ceased. Malik glanced at Quentin as if he should keep his girlfriend in check.

Peyton knew Avery was only trying to help, so she spoke up. “Avery was only making a suggestion. And if you ask me, Richard King was the solution to your
problem. At least you'd know who you're dealing with.” Peyton exhaled. Beggars couldn't be choosers. Malik was just too stubborn to see it.

“I couldn't agree with you more.” Quentin supported Peyton, much to Malik's dismay. “Despite your less than enthusiastic response, Richard is still willing to donate a significant contribution to the Harlem center.”

“And how would you know that?” Malik queried, glancing sideways at Quentin.

“Don't get all defensive.” Quentin patted Malik's shoulder. “We had dinner the other night and he asked if HCC was still in need and I said yes.”

Peyton touched Malik's arm. “Won't you at least consider it? We all,” Peyton nodded to Quentin and Avery, “would be there to support you in this venture. You are not in this alone.”

Malik's head was spinning. No woman had ever said that to him before. In the back of his mind, he always knew he wasn't alone and that Quentin, Sage and Dante were there for him. But it was nice to hear the words aloud.

“And if you want the media involved in every step of this,” Avery continued, sensing that Peyton had gotten through to Malik, “then we can have a camera crew on board the moment Richard signs the check.”

“Just think of what it would mean to the community,” Quentin said. “Think of what it would have meant to us growing up.” When Malik lowered his head, Quentin nodded to Peyton and Avery. They had sealed it.

Malik remembered all too well what it was like not to have the latest equipment and games in the center. Yet, somehow Andrew had made do. Couldn't he do the same?
But you don't have to,
an inner voice spoke back. He had the unique opportunity to take Andrew's dream
a step farther, if he only had the guts.
Am I really that much of a coward?
Perhaps Joe Johnson had been right.

“All right,” Malik conceded and threw his hands in the air. “Okay. You guys have won me over.”

“Whew!” Quentin wiped fake sweat of his brow. “You are a hard man to convince.”

“True, but you have to admit that my apprehension had merit.”

“Which you and Richard will address in a sit-down meeting,” Quentin responded. “Pull all your requests together, my brother, because there's a center to renovate.”

“To working together!” Peyton lifted her beer bottle.

“To working together.” Malik smiled at her and clinked his bottle with the group.

 

“You're joking,” Theresa said when Malik told her the news bright and early on Monday. “You're going to accept a contribution from the King Corporation?”

“Yes.”

“Well, knock me over with a feather!” Theresa exclaimed. If anyone had ever told her that Malik Williams would accept a penny from Richard King she would have told them “when pigs fly!”

“What changed your mind?”

“You mean
‘who?'
” Malik asked. “Peyton, Quentin and Avery all ganged up on me and I succumbed to the pressure.”

“This is really great news. Just think of all the ways we can spend King's money.” Theresa rubbed her hands together.

“Call a brainstorming session with all the department heads for tomorrow,” Malik advised. “And get Blake Harris on the line.” Malik was eager to show the president of CAN he'd procured the money on his own
for the center. This would be quite a feather in his cap and would show CAN that they had not made a mistake when they appointed him.

“Sure thing, boss.”

 

“Hey, stranger.” Peyton kissed her brother on the cheek when she met him for a hot pastrami on rye at a local deli. With her brother's finances, they had to find cheap eats. “Where have you been hiding?”

“Me?” Jude exclaimed. “You're the one who's been too busy—first with your students and classes and then with some new man—whom I'd like to meet, by the way.”

Peyton laughed. “Amber has a big mouth.” Just that afternoon, Malik had texted her to say he was thinking about her and to make sure they were still on for this weekend—which she absolutely was.

“Well, someone had to tell me what's going on. Especially since my own sister can't be bothered.”

Peyton felt instantly terrible. Jude was right. She had been neglecting her baby brother. “I'm sorry, Jude. What can I do to make it up to you?”

“Well, for starters you can come to my new Broadway show!” he announced.

“Get out!”

“That's right. It's just a small part, but it's Broadway.”

“I am so proud of you,” Peyton said, beaming. “And so will Mom and Dad.” She'd watched Jude struggle to become an actor, and it wasn't an easy life, wondering when your next paycheck was coming; but Peyton admired the fact that Jude pursued his dreams. Her mother would have to begrudgingly admit it as well.

“I hope so.”

“When does it open?”

“Friday. We've been in rehearsals the last couple of weeks.”

Peyton reached across the table and grabbed Jude's hand. “This is wonderful news. Let's celebrate.” Peyton looked around for the waitress. When she caught her eye, she motioned her over. “Two beers, please.”

“I can't believe you're drinking in the middle of the afternoon.”

“Oh, what the hell!” Peyton shrugged.

“What has gotten into you?” Jude asked. He hadn't seen Peyton this happy, this full of life, in a long time.