“I still had to finish my senior year of college but I tried hard to be the best wife. I chose to give up my career ambitions initially because he said he needed me to be at home, there for him when he wasn’t working. I did. I joined all of the basketball wife organizations, joined all types of philanthropic engagements, but mostly I was there for him. I learned the best massages to give when he was sore, to cook the foods he liked, listen when he had problems. I did it all, or so I thought.”
Stopping, she looked down into my eyes.
“Seven years into our marriage I decided it was time to start a family. I was mostly tired of being alone in the big ass house he bought, when he was on the road. The social clubs and foundations and whatnot were no longer fulfilling. I wanted to be a mom. So we tried. Not long after I got pregnant. I was so happy. I planned everything out. His room, where he’d go to school, everything I could think of. It was a boy. But when I was six months pregnant, something went wrong. I began bleeding. Darryl wasn’t home so I called Resha. She came over and saw how much I was bleeding and called 911. I was rushed to the hospital but it was too late. By the time the baby was born h-he … didn’t make it.”
Destiny inhaled deeply, her eyes watered, and her hands clasped tightly around my shoulders. Holding onto me for strength.
“That wasn’t even the worst part. The worst of it was when the doctor told me the reason I’d gone into early labor was because I’d contracted a sexually transmitted infection. Syphilis. In some cases it can cause premature birth of a baby which can lead to death. My husband had been the only person I’d been with sexually for over ten years at that point. But obviously, I hadn’t been his only person.”
She shook her head before lowering it to my shoulder, hugging me tightly.
I rubbed my hands up and down her back, carefully. I fought the rage that threatened to bubble up inside of me. I loathed men who betrayed their family. My father taught me there is no deeper betrayal than hurting your family. To top it off, this was the woman I loved, and despite the fact I hadn’t known her all those years ago, it obviously still affected her now. That alone was reason to call for Darryl Wright’s head on a platter.
“You want me to kill him?” My voice was tight but controlled.
Destiny pulled back, her eyes searching mine. I found myself surprised when a small smile found its way to her lips. She shook her head.
“That won’t be necessary. As hard as it was, I forgave Darryl.”
I wrinkled my forehead, confused. “Forgave?”
She nodded. “Yes. I hated him for a long time after that. I divorced him and refused to take anything from him just because I knew it’d hurt him more. I only ended up shooting myself in the foot. My divorce lawyer went on and on about how much of his wealth I was entitled to. But it felt like blood money. The thought of having anything of his made me sick. But a year and a half after our divorce I picked up a newspaper and saw an image of him smiling as he held the hand of his new fiancée. She was five months pregnant with their son. That was the moment I knew I needed to let my hatred go. It was killing me, not him. So, I started seeing a grief counselor. With the money I’d saved from working, I booked my first solo vacation to Italy where I got my scuba certification. A year later I started my own side business that would eventually become my full-time job. Resha and I started our podcast and I began dating again. But most importantly, I prayed for him to find happiness. That was what one of my counselors suggested I do. Pray for all of the good things I wanted for myself for Darryl. It was hard but I did it. Slowly, my hatred melted into anger, which eventually dissolved into annoyance and then … nothing.”
I sat back, staring, ponderingly. “Nothing?”
She shrugged. “Not nothing, totally, but mild annoyance at best. I don’t hate him anymore.”
I grinded my teeth together, hating the question I couldn’t stop myself from asking. “Do you still have feelings for him?”
Destiny pulled back sharply, staring at me as if I were insane. I just might’ve been but I needed to know.
“Hell no. I just don’t hate him anymore. I forgave forme, Tyler. Because my anger and bitterness was holding me back. I spent two years trying to think of ways I could get Darryl back for the pain he caused me, and what I found out was the best way to get him back, was to let him and the pain go. So I could live my best life. And if I hadn’t I wouldn’t have been free to …”
“Free to what?”
“To fall in love with you.”
I won’t bother trying to describe whatever it was that flowed through me at hearing those words, because it was a feeling beyond any description I could muster. All I knew, was that the imaginary weight that’d fallen on my chest ever since I laid eyes on Destiny McDonald months earlier had lifted. I knew I was a goner that first moment—the weight was composed of the stress of waiting for her to come around to the same conclusion. And she had.
“I love you more than I ever knew was possible,” I responded, my voice raspy, strangled by all the emotion bubbling through me. My hand was at the back of her head, pressing our lips together. I would’ve thought hearing her say those three words would’ve satisfied my hunger, but as we continued to kiss and take our fill of one another, I grew hungrier for more. More of her. More of this. More of us. Just more of everything.
****
Destiny
“Oh my God! What is this music?” Tyler questioned out loud, looking around the expansive interior space of the yacht. Seriously, calling this thing anything other than a mansion on water was an understatement.
The yacht, or the Supernova, as his parents named it, was over three hundred and fifty feet in length. Contained a large dining and living room space that housed all leather furniture. I loved how the interior had been decorated in woods and earth tones. The outer portions of the yacht boasted a whirlpool and jacuzzi, a helipad because you never know when someone needs to drop in from their helicopter, and three spacious bedrooms and bathrooms, throughout the first and second decks of the yacht.
“What do you have against Coldplay?” I demanded.
He grunted. “No wonder Resha calls this yourwhite boy music.”
I giggled. We had been on the yacht for less than a half an hour and I’d set up my Spotify playlist to play throughout the yacht’s speaker system. Apparently, Tyler wasn’t a huge fan of the Coldplay, Five for Fighting, or the Train songs that had played thus far. I suddenly regretted telling him how Resha constantly got on me about my supposed love affair of pop and soft-rock from the early two thousands.
“Fine, I’ll play something just for you.” I bounced over to the granite bar where my phone rested, picking it up and changing the song to bring up something a little more recent that Tyler just might appreciate.
“A little Kanye West?” he had the nerve to ask.
