This Time for Real (18 page)

 

“You've done a fine job with this establishment, Malik,” Blake Harris, president of the Children's Aid Network, said. “When we told you CAN didn't have the funds, you went out and found another source of funding. You're really an asset to the organization.”

“Thank you, sir,” Malik replied. “I enjoy what I do.” Malik glanced at the door and saw that Richard King and his wife, Cindy, had finally arrived. “But you should meet the benefactor in person.” Malik ushered him over.

“Richard King, I'd like to introduce you to Blake Harris, president of the Children's Aid Network.”

“It's a pleasure to meet you,” Richard said and extended his hand.

“No, the pleasure is all mine,” Blake replied, shaking his hand. “Your corporation has allowed CAN to continue to help children and families in need.”

“We're happy to do it,” Richard replied. “Let me introduce you to my wife, Cindy.”

While they finished introductions, Malik stepped away and searched through the crowd for Peyton. He ran into Quentin at one of the food stations. “Have you seen Peyton anywhere?”

“Hmm, sorry.” Quentin covered his mouth. Malik had just caught him with a canapé in his mouth. “Haven't seen her.”

Malik shook his head. “I don't understand it. She should be here. It's not like her not to show up.”

“Aren't you the one who broke up with her?” Quentin asked.

Malik lowered his head. “Yes, I did. But that hasn't seemed to stop her.” As a matter of fact, Peyton had become more stubborn. She was like a dog with a bone. Malik hated to admit it, but it was a turn-on. “I'm going to call her cell.” Malik dug into his pocket for his phone and walked towards the exit.

Once he was in the hall, he dialed Peyton's number. But it went to straight to voice mail. Malik had an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach that something wasn't right. It wasn't like Peyton not to show up or call. She knew how important this night was to him and to the center. Peyton would show up, no matter how angry she was with him.

Theresa came out of the gymnasium in search of the caterer and found Malik pacing the hall floor.

“Theresa, I have to go,” Malik stated.

“What do you mean?” Theresa asked, raising an eyebrow. “
Everyone
is here.”

“I know, and you'll have to cover for me.”

“And why would I do that?” Theresa asked, putting her hand on her hip.

“Because I think Peyton is in trouble and she may need me.” Malik started towards the door. “Just cover for me,” he called over his shoulder, and ran down the hall.

“I will,” Theresa yelled at his retreating figure. She just hoped everything was okay.

Because guests were coming and going, several taxis were outside, waiting, and Malik quickly hopped into one. “NYU, please—as fast as you can.”

He was at Peyton's building within thirty minutes,
but as he exited the taxi, a frog lodged in Malik's throat. A police car was parked outside of her office building.

Frantic, Malik tossed several bills at the driver and rushed towards the entrance. He took the stairs two at a time, until he reached the second floor. A police officer was standing outside Peyton's office.

“Is everything all right?” Malik asked, coming towards the cop. “Is Peyton okay?”

The officer halted him from entering. “And who are you?”

Peyton glanced up from giving her statement and saw Malik in the doorway. “It's all right. He's my boyfriend,” she said, and motioned him in.

Malik didn't mind that she used the term; he was just glad she wasn't alone and that Amber was sitting with her and the cop. He didn't see any bruises, but he did notice she was holding an icepack against the back of her head.

“Thank you, I think that's enough for now,” the officer said and stood up. “We'll need you to come downtown to complete that restraining order.”

Peyton nodded. “Thank you.”

“You're welcome,” the officer said, and tipped his cap before leaving.

“What happened?” Malik asked, rushing forward and kneeling in front of Peyton.

Concern was etched across his face. Peyton smiled.
He loved her.
She was sure of it. She just wished he would say it.

“Omar attacked her in the parking garage.” Amber answered his question.

“He shoved me up against a wall and I hit my head,” Peyton explained. “But other than that, I'm fine. I think he only meant to scare me. He wanted to get me off his back.”

“I'm going to kill him.” Malik rose to his feet.

“No, you're not.” Peyton also stood up. “Listen to me, Malik.” She grabbed his jaw. She didn't want him getting into any trouble because of her. “You're going to let the police handle this. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go to the bathroom.”

Once she'd left, Malik turned to Amber. “I need Kendra's number. I'm sure she knows where I can find Omar.”

“Malik, I don't think that's a good idea. Peyton's right, you should stay out of this.”

“I am not going to let that snot-nosed punk run roughshod over Peyton,” Malik growled.

“Does your presence here mean that you're here to stay?” Amber inquired. “That it's not over between you and Peyton? Because if not, then I see no reason to help you.”

Malik stared back at Amber without answering.

She took his silence as a “yes.” “Okay.” She grabbed Peyton's purse and pulled out her cell phone. When she found the number, she rattled it off to Malik.

“I have to go. Take Peyton home and I'll stop by later. I have business to attend to.”

 

Malik arrived at Omar's apartment within the hour. Kendra hadn't wanted to give him the information, especially when he'd informed her that Omar had attacked her professor—but Malik had been adamant, so she relented.

The apartment was in a bad part of town, but it didn't bother Malik. Before Joe, when it had just been him and his mother, they'd lived in one hole in the wall after the other. Later, when he, Quentin, Dante and Sage had moved out of the orphanage, the four musketeers hadn't
been able to afford much. He and Sage had been at NYU in work-study programs, while Dante and Quentin toiled at minimum-wage jobs for their true passions—cooking and photography.

Malik climbed the steps to Omar's apartment, hell-bent on teaching the kid a lesson. How dare he lay a finger on Peyton? He banged on the door for several minutes, but no one answered. He was about to leave when a young man walked up the stairs from the other direction. “Can I help you, playa?”

Malik stared back at the young man who was full of fire and bravado. His jeans were hanging down and his baseball cap was tipped to the side.

“Are you Omar Bishop?”

“Who wants to know?” Omar postured.

“I do.” Malik punched a fist in one hand and took a threatening step towards Omar.

“Hey man, what's up?” Omar asked.

“I believe we know someone in common.”

Omar looked Malik up and down. “With those threads, I doubt it, my brotha.” He turned his back on Malik, pulled out his keys and unlocked the door. He was about to close the door when Malik stuck his foot out.

“Not so fast.” Malik pushed the door open and forced his way inside. Omar backed away from him like a scared puppy dog. It amazed Malik that abusers could push women around so easily, but if they're picked on by someone their own size they cower.

“I don't know what you think I done,” Omar began.

“You know what you did.” Malik shut the door behind him. “You paid Peyton Sawyer a visit and roughed her up, didn't you?”

Omar clearly recognized the name, because Malik watched him look around the room for a weapon—as if
Malik would ever let him get the opportunity to reach for one. “I didn't…” Omar shook his head. “I didn't hit her.”

“No, but you shoved her against a wall.” Malik followed Omar into the living room. “Threatened her.”

“I just wanted her to stop interfering in my family.” Omar was so busy backing up as far as he could, that he fell onto a table. “She…she's been putting all these ideas in my girl's head, pitting her against me.”

Omar tried to get up, but Malik lowered himself until he was inches away from Omar's face.

“How would you feel if someone threatened your woman?” Malik grabbed Omar by the collar and lifted him to his feet. “What would you do?” Malik pushed him against the nearby wall and held his arm against Omar's throat. There was fear in Omar's eyes, the same fear Malik had felt all those years ago when Joe used to beat him with an extension cord or choke him into submission.

“That's why you're here, isn't it? To kick my butt? Well, then—just do it!” Omar taunted Malik. “Stop playing and just do it, man. I'm used to getting my butt kicked.”

Malik wanted to strike back and get revenge, but Omar's words gave him pause.

“What did you just say?”

“I said I'm used to it,” Omar replied. “So go ahead.”

Although Omar puffed out his chest, Malik saw tears in the young man's eyes—and for the first time, he saw a scared little boy looking back at him.

“My daddy used to beat the crap out of me and my momma every night, so if you wanna hit me, then go ahead. I know I deserve it for messing with your girl.”

Malik stepped backward.

“I said
go' head!
” Omar yelled, coming towards him.

Malik stared at Omar for a long time and then turned away. He ran his fingers through his dreads.
How had he gotten here?
He'd almost hit that kid. If he had, he'd be no better than Joe Johnson.

Malik turned and faced Omar. “I did come here to beat the living daylights out of you, but I'm not going to do it.”

Omar was shocked. “Why not?”

“Because, kid, I could have been you.”

“What are you talking about?”

“My stepfather used to beat the crap out of me too. But unlike you,
Omar,
I didn't turn to violence. Just now I stopped myself from becoming him, but I could just as easily have ended up like you. That's why I'm going to get you some help,” Malik stated.

“I don't need any help,” Omar said. “I've been taking care of myself for years.”

“Everyone needs help, Omar,” Malik replied.
Even me,
Malik thought. “Peyton may want to file charges against you, but I can persuade her not to—if you'll agree to go to counseling.”

“You would do that?” Omar was confused. “Why would you help me? You don't even know me.”

“I just will,” Malik replied and started towards the door. “And don't even think about running, because if you do, I'll find you.”

After he left Omar's apartment, a maelstrom of emotions overtook Malik, and he realized he needed to see Peyton. He wanted to tell her everything that had happened. He had to finally tell her that she was right. He did need someone. He needed her.

S
omeone was knocking at her front door.

Peyton glanced at the clock on her nightstand. It was after 11 p.m. and she was in no mood for company. She had a splitting headache and had finally started to drift off to sleep. Reluctantly, she rose from her bed and padded down the hall in her slippers. When she looked through the peephole and saw Malik standing at her front door, Peyton's heart nearly leapt out of her chest. She'd thought that it was truly over between them when he'd left her office without saying a goodbye. So, why was he here?

Slowly, she unlocked the dead bolt and opened the door. “What are you doing here?” she asked, keeping the door half closed.

Malik looked down, and when his eyes finally landed on hers they were haunted. “I need you.”

Peyton had been waiting for weeks to hear those words.
She held her arms open and Malik rushed into them. When he finally released her, Peyton took Malik's hand and led him to her living room couch. She held him in her arms for what seemed like hours before he finally spoke.

“I almost became my stepfather tonight. I nearly attacked Omar,” Malik said. “I almost lost myself tonight.”

“But you didn't.” Peyton grabbed his chin and turned him towards her. “Did you?”

Malik shook his head. “No, I didn't. I stopped myself in the nick of time.”

“That's because you're a good man, Malik,” Peyton reassured him.

“I don't know, Peyton. I could have hurt that kid. I felt so angry that he threatened you. I wanted…I wanted to tear him to pieces. I felt all this rage inside, and I was going to take it out on him.”

“Don't beat yourself up,” Peyton said. “You've been through a lot—a lot that you haven't fully dealt with.”

“You might be right.” Malik admitted the truth for the first time. For so long, he wouldn't admit that he needed to talk to someone about the abuse he'd endured as a child—not to himself, not to his friends, not to Peyton. The orphanage had tried sending him to counseling when he was younger, but he'd acted out so much, that they'd finally dropped the matter altogether.

It warmed Peyton's heart to finally hear Malik admitting that he needed help. “I am so glad to hear you say that.”

“Trust me, it's not easy for me to say, and neither is this….” Malik turned around until he was facing Peyton. “I was a fool to ever break up with you, Peyton. And I'm sorry if I hurt you. I was stubborn and pigheaded and…”

“I understand,” Peyton said and slid into Malik's lap, but when she tried to kiss him, Malik resisted.

“No, wait. I have to say this.” Malik put a finger to
her lips. “Peyton, I'm crazy about you. From the moment I saw you at Dante's, I knew you were special. And the more we worked together, the harder I fell for you. I tried to push you away, but I don't want to do that anymore. I'm in love with you, Peyton Sawyer.”

When Malik finally hazarded a glance at Peyton, her eyes were misted with tears. “I love you too.”

Peyton locked lips solidly with his. She shifted in his lap and her buttocks came into intimate contact with his bulging groin. Malik sat upright and Peyton joined him. They worked together to free each other of their clothing. He slid her robe down her shoulders and tossed it aside as Peyton feverishly unbuttoned his shirt. She wanted to revel in his broad, well-defined chest, but Malik was tugging at her nightie, so Peyton lifted her arms and, in one fluid movement, Malik had it over her head and sent it flying in the air.

Malik's eyes landed on Peyton's bare breasts, but she shook her head. Reaching down she unbuttoned his pants and eased the zipper down. Malik stood, stepped out of them and his briefs, and was back on the sofa before she had a chance to miss him.

“Come here.” Peyton gripped his shoulders and fell back onto the pillows, taking Malik with her.

“I've missed you,” Malik said as he lay on top of her. He caressed her face and buried his hands in her hair.

When she felt his hard length rubbing against her stomach, Peyton jerked her hips upward. “So did I. That's why I want you inside me. Now.”

“I need to protect us first.” Malik reached for his pants, pulled out a foil packet and quickly took care of the protection. “Are you ready for me, Peyton?”

“More than ready, baby.”

Malik's hot and greedy mouth captured hers while
his hands nudged her legs apart. He drove himself deep within Peyton in one long, satiny stroke. She felt him hard and slick, pumping inside her, and Peyton couldn't resist letting out a long, satisfied moan. He was just what she wanted. Just what she needed.

Malik's dark eyes connected with Peyton's and she met him thrust for thrust by rolling her hips. He rewarded her by slowly withdrawing and plunging in again. Malik thought he would die from ecstasy as Peyton milked him by clenching her inner muscles around him and kissing him full on the lips. The pressure intensified, becoming stronger, until a tidal wave struck, imploding the world around them. As he slowly descended back down to earth, Malik realized just how much he loved Peyton and that he didn't want to ever live without her.

 

“So, what happened to you last night?” Andrew asked when Malik strolled into the center well after 10 a.m., with a smile on his face. Andrew was helping Theresa and the volunteers prepare for the big Thanksgiving Day dinner coming up on Thursday, putting up holiday decorations in the reception area. “The board of CAN was very shocked that you weren't here for the big speech.”

“Last night…I wasn't even here to thank the King Corporation.” Malik couldn't believe how negligent he'd been. All he'd thought about was Peyton and her safety. Richard King deserved a lot better. “I must have seemed really inconsiderate.”

“Don't worry, I stepped in for you,” Andrew replied. “We said there was a security problem at the Brooklyn property, and that you felt you had to go and check it out personally. So you may have some explaining to do this morning.”

The first thing he needed to do was call Richard and
offer his apologies. “I will. Thanks, Andrew.” Malik patted his shoulder. “I owe you one.”

“So you never answered my question. What happened to you last night?”

“A lot.”

“Care to elaborate?”

Malik motioned for Andrew to follow him into his office. Once they were inside, Malik closed the door. “I came this close—” Malik pinched his thumb and index finger together “—to going to the dark side last night, Andrew, and it scared me. It scared me so bad that I've decided to go to counseling.”

“You have?” Andrew was shocked. The last time he'd mentioned it Malik nearly bit his head off.

Malik nodded. “I have. I almost hit this young kid because he'd shoved Peyton. And do you know what I realized? I realized that I'd become like Joe, and that's when I knew that something had to change. I had to deal with the past once and for all.”

“You had an epiphany.”

“Yes, I did. And now it's time to put that plan into action.”

“I know a great therapist,” Andrew replied. After years of being director of the center, he'd referred many people.

Malik turned and smiled. “Thanks, Andrew. That's just what I need.”

 

“Are you okay, Dr. Sawyer?” Kendra asked when she poked her head into Peyton's office later that afternoon. “I heard from Malik about what happened.”

Peyton nodded. So Kendra gave Malik the info he needed to go after Omar? She figured as much. Thankfully, the situation hadn't ended in disaster. Instead, it had been an impetus to propel Malik into realizing that
he had a lot of unresolved issues about his stepfather's abuse that he needed to deal with.

“I'm fine, Kendra,” Peyton replied, smiling. “No broken bones.” She turned around so Kendra could see her.

“I'm so glad.” Kendra sat down and released a huge sigh of relief. “When Malik asked me for Omar's address, I didn't know what to do, but he insisted. He didn't hurt Omar, did he?”

“No, he didn't. Malik discovered that Omar is a victim of child abuse himself and probably needs some counseling.”

“Maybe that's why he's always been so angry,” Kendra said. “Do you think he can be helped?”

“I certainly hope so,” Peyton said. “I'll agree not to press charges, in exchange for Omar immediately going into counseling and anger management.”

“That's awfully generous of you, Dr. Sawyer, but why should I be surprised? That's who you are.” Kendra smiled.

“Don't canonize her yet,” Amber said from the door, “otherwise, she won't be able to fit her halo inside the door.”

“Dr. Martin,” Kendra said, smiling, “it's good to see you.” She rose from the chair. “Guess I'll get going.” Kendra started towards the door, then stopped. “In case I haven't said this before, thank you, Dr. Sawyer, for all your help. You saved my life.” She waved as she walked out.

“Wow, a lifesaver!” Amber teased her. “Now how are you going to outdo yourself?”

“Oh, stop.” Peyton laughed.

“So, how did last night turn out?” Amber asked, sitting down in the chair Kendra vacated. After the way Malik had reacted when he'd seen Peyton hurt last night, Amber was sure he'd returned. “Did you have a visitor?”

Peyton grinned from ear to ear. “Malik stopped by
and…Amber, he loves me. He loves me as much I love him!”

“Peyton, that's fantastic!!” Amber couldn't be happier for her. She knew how deep Peyton's feelings ran for Malik. Even though she'd been skeptical initially, there was no denying the couple loved each other.

“After all these years, Amber, I've finally found love again, and everything is sunshine,” Peyton sang.

 

As a favor to Andrew, the therapist he'd suggested squeezed Malik in for a session before he left for his four-day Thanksgiving weekend.

“How was your first visit?” Peyton asked him later, when he stopped by her office. He'd been on her mind all morning and she was anxious to hear details.

“It wasn't what I expected,” Malik said, taking a seat across from her. “I thought I'd be sitting on the couch pouring my heart out, but it was nothing like that. He allowed me to talk about whatever I wanted.”

“How did that make you feel?”

“Comfortable,” Malik answered honestly. “We talked about how I almost lost control with Omar, and the profound effect it had on me.”

Malik had insisted Omar meet him and Peyton downtown at the police station. And in front of an assistant district attorney, Peyton agreed not to press charges, provided Omar sought counseling. The assistant district attorney had some names on file, and Omar had already called to tell Malik that he'd set up his first appointment with a therapist. Omar wasn't happy about it, but he hoped it was the first step in helping him get his family back.

“And did you take anything away from the session?”

“Yes,” Malik said. “I realized I have a lot of built-up anger at my mother for not protecting me from Joe's
abuse and for abandoning me. The therapist said we have a lot of work to do.” Malik didn't want to take his anger about his mother's abandonment and negligence, or Joe's abuse, out on another human being.

“But it's a start.” Peyton walked from behind her desk and kneeled down in front of him. Malik's anger issues wouldn't be resolved overnight; she would have to stay positive and encourage him along the way.

“Yes, it is,” Malik admitted. “He said one day when I'm ready, I should confront Joe about the abuse and tell him how much he hurt me.”

“I think that's an important step.” When she brushed back his dreads so she could see his face, Peyton saw the doubt in Malik's eyes.

“Joe's never going to admit that he did anything wrong.”

“No, he probably won't,” Peyton agreed. “But it might do you some good, honey, to finally say the words aloud.”

“What would I do without you?” Malik asked, pulling her towards him and sitting her in his lap.

“Let's hope you never have to find out.”

 

On Thanksgiving Day, Malik and Peyton, Andrew and Theresa, Dante and Sage, and many other community center staffers, served Harlem's homeless and residents a free Thanksgiving supper. Quentin and Avery had been unable to make it, due to a previous invitation to her parents'.

Malik was pleased with how the day was progressing. Everyone had pitched in, because the new setup had allowed several hands to be in the kitchen at one time. They would serve fried turkey, stuffing, mashed potatoes and gravy, green bean casserole and candied yams and apple and pumpkin pies donated from a local bakery.
Theresa had decorated the tables with festive centerpieces from the afterschool program, so the now-spacious dining room was filled with the Thanksgiving spirit.

“Thank you for pitching in,” Malik said to Dante when he came into the kitchen looking for trash bags. Although Andrew had fried several turkeys, Dante had prepared all the sides, with some help from volunteers. He was still cooking more food, because he was afraid they'd run out.