Playing With Destiny

by Phillip Thomas Duck

• ISBN13: 9780373830398
• ISBN10: 0373830394
• Edition: Reprint
• Format: Paperback
• Copyright: 2007-03-01
• Publisher: Kimani Press

Summary

As brothers, Colin and Courtney Sheffield know their lives will always be connected. But their mistakes, and those of their absent father before them, have tangled them in a web of bitterness and regret neither of them can shake.A writer constantly struggling to live up to the hype surrounding his first book, Colin is haunted by an event in his past that still darkens his dreams and casts a shadow over his marriage to Liza, a former model with ghosts of her own to vanquish. Even the birth of their beautiful daughter, Lyric, can't hold them together when Colin begins to measure every word he writes against that of another bestselling author who has taken an interest in him--and his brother.Basketball is Courtney's lifeblood. With only one year of college left, h's willing to leave school when rumors of a valuable NBA contract promise to make him everything his brother is not--a true success, and a winner his mother will finally be proud of. But with all h's ever dreamed of within reach, he begins to wonder if he wants something else more--a true relationship with Chante, the only woman h's ever loved, and the mother of a child who may or may not be his.

Excerpts

May 6, 2002Colin Sheffield tapped out the four words on his computer screen, paused for a moment to take them in, as a wine taster swirling a vintage on his tongue would do, then hit the back-space key to erase them. The flicker of light from his computer monitor shone off his face. The tight expression around his eyes, in his forehead, meant only one thing. The words weren't flowing with the ease he'd become accus-tomed to. Perhaps it was the hour, early morning, when the darkness of the predawn sky covered the sunroof above the loft like a coat of black paint. He could count on one hand the number of times he'd written after the sun slept. He did most of his writing early in the day. Or it was the story itself. Never before had he written a novel so close to his own reality. The characters were all pieces of people he knew; the main protagonist, a skewed replica of himself. He leaned back in his leather recliner and massaged the soreness from his overworked fingers. That his fingers hurt didn't bother him, that what they'd produced wasn't usable, did. He'd done a thorough sketch of all his characters before he wrote one word on this latest novel--yet here he was, up to his knees in mud. "Come on sweetheart," he commanded of the woman inside his monitor, talking to her with tenderness, this woman inside his imagination. "What's going on in that head of yours? Think of what he asked you, how are you going to respond? Angry? No, no, no, maybe you brush it aside--he wants you to be angry." He almost pulled the file with his character sketches aside, so he could read over it again to get a tighter feel for how she'd play this scene, but the scattered disorganization of his desk made the task an afterthought. The sound of slippers scratching across the linoleum flooring on the lower level of the condominium took him from his novel-in-progress. He followed the soft swishing sound, like medium-grade sandpaper chiseling something glorious out of wood. His wife made her way through the pitch black of their home. He listened to her but kept his gaze on the computer monitor. "Smile that heartbreaking smile of yours and walk away. That'll kill him," Colin said aloud as he decided on his sassy female character's action. After a few beats the kitchen light came on. The sink turned on, shut off, and then turned on again. Colin could hear paper being torn. He rose from his desk and went to the rail of the loft so he could sneak a look at his wife, Liza. He touched his abdomen as he took in her dark chocolate legs, still feminine despite their muscularity. The teal-colored silk of her pajama top hung off her thin shoulders, opened through the middle so her full stomach could breathe. His jaw muscles tensed as he eyed the round belly. Could he deal with father-hood? Was he ready? Was Liza? Liza had a deep erotic presence, stronger than at any other time he could remember, her skin glowing like a florescent bulb. She moved about with ease, unaware of his eyes on her. If she had looked up and seen him watching, her ease would have dissipated quicker than the words he had typed and backspaced away a few moments before. He watched her a few moments more. Oh, how badly he wanted them to regain the closeness they once had. Their fight from earlier still hung in the air, unresolved. He looked at Liza's full belly again. It was criminal to bring a child into this mess. He sighed and returned to his chair. He took the lukewarm cup of coffee from his desk, swal-lowed the concoction, and washed his tongue with the milk and extra sugar that would make a serious coffee drinker cringe with disgust. He was prepared to return to his story when the loud screeching sound, metal on metal, halted him. He glanced at the clock and frowned. Kraaaaaa. Kraaaaaaa. He saved his file and rushed down the steps that led from his loft to the living room and then to the kitchen. "Mrs. Sheff