With a heavy sigh, I finally pushed my way in. The only thing inside was my wedding dress. The original plan was to donate it. Then, that morphed into delivering it to his mother with a letter saying, “Fuck you and your limp dick son.”
Except, he had a beautiful dick, aworkingone. The sex was amazing, but good dick never made every trouble fade away. Sometimes, but never for long. Because once the heated glances, the wet kisses, the deeper-longer of it all passed . . . All we had was silence. Bitterness where there used to be grace. Anger where there used to be peace. Hate where there used to be love.
I finished the glass of wine and dropped it on the carpeted floor. Unzipping the garment bag, I stared at my one-of-a-kind, Allina Smith original. I’d traveled all the way to Michigan to get this shit. It was stunning, elegant, and fit me like a glove.
“I’ll miss you,” I whispered to the dress. “Thank you for making me feel beautiful.”
“Girl!” My sister Zara dropped her purse on the floor. “I know you’re not talking to that damn dress.”
“Shut up,” I muttered. “Leave me alone.”
She walked over to me and zipped up the bag. “Remember when I quit my job and moved to Atlanta? I wanted to wallow and eat my Orange Chicken in peace, but noooo. Your ass barged in with your own food and made me talk to you.”
Zara was a sports agent. The time in question, the realization that a coworker took her ideas and passed them off as his own, led her to quit her job at the Huntington Agency and take a job at Pure Talent Agency.
I giggled. “That was fun.”
“It wasn’t fun for me.”
“But you got a whole husband out of it,” I pointed out.
She smirked. “But I didn’t know that would happen at the time.” She brushed my hair out of my face. “So the way I see it, turnabout?”
My chin trembled. “Zara,” I whispered.
Her expression softened and she pulled me into a tight hug. “It’s okay, Sissy. You’re going to be okay.”
We stood like that for a few minutes. “Promise?” I asked.
Pulling back, she offered me a sad smile. “Not today. Maybe not tomorrow or even next month. But you will be okay. Promise.”
I nodded. “I’ll try to believe you.”
“X told me to give you an awkward side hug for him.”
Unable to help myself, I laughed. “Tell my brother I appreciate it.”
When Zara went to work for Jax Starks, she was forced to compete against his son, former child star Xavier Starks, for director of the sports division. Since we grew up next door to the Starks family, we were all friends. Eventually, their friendship turned into something more, something permanent. Now, she had two kids, a big house, and drove an SUV with a third row.
“He also said he was willing to kick Rick’s ass.”
Chuckling, I shook my head. “No need. I already know X would win.”
“I don’t know, I kind of want to see it happen. Because what the fuck? I loved Rick. Mom loved him, too.”
“Everybody did,” I grumbled.
“I still can’t believe he didn’t fight for you. Punk muthafucka.”
“I have the divorce decree to prove that he didn’t. And, honestly, it wouldn’t have mattered. By the time I filed, there was nothing he could do to change my mind.”
She sighed. “I just hate to see you like this.”
“Did I tell you he wrote me a letter?” I offered, changing the subject.
“What?”
I grabbed the crumpled piece of paper from my pocket. I must’ve read it a thousand times since he’d left it on my pillow like a fucking punk-ass nigga.How did I not know that about him?
