I bobbed my head and replied, “Yeah. I might just do that.”
When he removed a key from his keyring and handed it to me, I almost lost my shit. Saying I would do it and having the key in my hand to empower me to do it was another thing. That place held so much happiness for me. The second time we went to the Reeds’ home, they took us on vacation there.
It was right after our apartment had caught on fire, and I had been burned severely and had spent a little over a week in the hospital. That vacation had cheered my heart up and gave me hope again. Every time we went there afterward, it was based on some special situation, and they used that home to heal our hearts.
Most times, the Flowers came with us. Dove and I had been inseparable in those years. My heart tugged, wondering where she was and what she was up to. I had seen some stuff about her on social media, but when I reached out, she didn’t answer.
I felt like that little boy all over again who broke down and cried whenever his mama didn’t return home. Papa Larry pulled me close to him, and the rest of them folded in around me and formed a group hug.
“Take some time out, Son. You deserve it,” Papa Larry declared.
I was too emotional to speak. The memories and everything I had going on with the EFC, Extreme Fight Club, on my ass about doping allegations, Daniella breaking up with me, spending timewith my core family, and learning my mother was getting out of the hospital again washed over me and made me emotional. All I could do was nod.
My heart was overwhelmed, and I knew a nigga like me needed to do some healing. I prided myself on being strong physically, mentally, and spiritually. The world knew me as a gruff, emotionless nigga who didn’t give a shit about anything, a nigga whose morals were questioned for the way I handled the world.
These people knew the real me. They were the only ones who saw my heart. They were the ones who knew me like no other, except for a small handful of people I had grown up with throughout the years. It had been years since I had seen any of them, especially her. The house would always bring back memories of Dove Reign. Those were memories that were always welcome, because they reminded me of home. She had been my home and my peace in those early years.
I accepted the key, palmed it, and tucked it away in my back pocket before I pulled out of the hug, wiped my cheeks, and held my head up.
“Thanks, y’all. I’ma head out now. I’ve got some packing to do.”
I inhaled the fresh,crisp ocean air as I stepped out of the car. There was a balmy breeze on this first day of July. I welcomed the breeze, the smell of the ocean, the sound of the seagulls, and all that came with being on this beautiful island.
I prayed that the change and the restoration that I needed would come while I was here. I prayed that the answers and healing I sought would be found on this island. The last year had been extremely rough, but I had no one to blame but myself.
Neal was my ex, who never should have been my man. We met at a floral convention that he was covering as part of a larger celebration. It had been two years since we met in Miami, and the city was celebrating Memorial Day. There were so manyevents going on, and he had been assigned to cover some of them.
I was one of the people he interviewed at the florist convention that day, and he liked my energy, or so he said when he invited me for coffee and dessert later. We talked nonstop about everything under the sun, and I vibed with his energy too.
I was single and open to wherever our connection led. I learned that he lived just over fifty miles from where I lived in Cherokee Springs, and we made plans to reconnect once we were back home.
His work often had him traveling, and whenever I could, I traveled with him. Our connection was spontaneous, our chemistry was explosive, and my heart didn’t fall for him; she tumbled over, tripped up, and stubbed her big toe on that man.
I ignored the signs in the beginning: late night phone calls, always meeting at hotels, quickly ended calls, and last-minute canceled plans. He blamed it all on work, and I accepted it—until it all changed one weekend while we were away. Neal thought I was asleep when he took the phone call that led him to the hotel room balcony. He thought he closed the door behind him, but he didn’t.
I overheard him speaking with someone named Tanya about “the kids.” When I questioned him about it later, he tried to lie, but that was when I searched for him on the internet, something I vowed never to do. That was when I learned the field reporter that I loved and hoped to marry was already married.
There were tears, recriminations, shouting, throwing things, threats, and him finally grabbing me in his arms and carrying me to the bedroom. That was where he apologized and explained that he was wrong for not being completely open with me in the beginning.
He said that they were separated, their marriage was crumbling, and all they had in common were the kids. He saidthey were past the point of reconciliation, and he was simply waiting for her to sign the divorce papers.
I chose to believe him for the sake of my heart. I chose to ignore the voice in my mind that said, “Girl, don’t be a fool. If he’s serious about you, let him reconnect after his papers are final.” I let him make love to me that day and many more days afterward. He showered me with gifts and affection, and he became more attentive than ever.
It was all good, until it wasn’t. It was all good until we were spotted together at a concert in California, holding hands, kissing, and laughing. It was captured and plastered all over social media and the gossip vlogs. That was when I learned the truth. Not only was he still married and living in the same home with his wife and kids, but they were expecting another one. She was five months pregnant.
I was labeled “Rose the Recker,” based on my business and the fact that I was a homewrecker. He avoided the media initially, and when he finally did face the allegations, it was at his news channel. He explained how he had allowed some misguided young woman to lure him into a situation that no married man should be caught up in.
He explained how many regrets he had, how much he loved his wife and kids, and how he would never lose them and prayed that they wouldn’t leave him. He explained me off as nothing more than a “mid-life crisis.” He was fifty, and I was thirty. People chose to side with him surprisingly.
I was devastated and left all alone. He wouldn’t take my phone calls or anything. Everyone hated me and vilified me for a while, until the next sensational scandal took over. At that point, I finally blocked him on my phone and on social media, in case he changed his mind and decided to reach out one day.
Seeing him at my shop again brought all the hurt, humiliation, and shame back to the forefront. Yes, I was wrongfor the part that I played in the affair. I should have walked away the minute I learned he was married, but I didn’t.
“Ma’am, would you like for me to carry your luggage to the porch for you?” my driver asked, pulling my attention back from the past.
I looked up at him and smiled. “Yes, please.”
I took in the cute four-bedroom seafoam-green cottage, with four rockers on the front porch and a porch swing. Seashells decorated the front door, and wind chimes swayed in the breeze.
