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Saint
After spendinga week in Saint Lucia alone, Saint was prepared to stand before a judge to divorce his wife. Tristan had covered almost every basis. The only thing she hadn’t been able to control was what happened if they divorced because of her wrongdoing. Thankfully, the prenup had a clause that stated if the divorce was because of her cheating, it would be granted immediately, and Saint wouldn’t have to pay any alimony.
As bittersweet as the moment was, Saint kept repeating that it was worth it. Even if he couldn’t record and make profit from new music and shows for the next ten years… even if all distribution proceeds went directly to Tristan… Even if he couldn’t start his own label, Saint was free, and that freedom was priceless.
Heading out of the courtroom, Saint couldn’t help but smile as his lawyer congratulated him. He was sure when he got home the weight of the choice he’d made would settle in, but at that moment, he was at peace.
“Hey!” Tristan called. Not bothering to turn back and look at her, Saint continued to walk. “You’re going to regret this. You can’t get rid of me that easily.”
“Aye, back the fuck up, Tristan. You’re lucky I didn’t call Cartier and tell her about what you did in my home while I was out of the country. It’s in your best interest to stay the fuck away from me.”
The whole time she destroyed his property, Saint watched on the cameras he had in his home. Depending on how she took the divorce, that would determine if he pressed charges and used the footage as evidence to have her arrested. Normally, Saint wouldn’t involve the police in his personal dealings, but with Tristan, that would probably be the safest route to go.
Tristan’s cackle would have usually irritated Saint, but he didn’t care how amusing she found this. If she didn’t want to take the divorce seriously, that was on her. When she grabbed his arm, Saint jerked it away, finally turning and giving her the attention she wanted.
“What!” he roared, ignoring his attorney as he stepped between them.
“I willnotbe left behind and ignored.”
“Tristan, you know how I come. It’s in your best interests to stay away from me,” Saint warned for what would be the last time.
Saint was about the street life he rapped about, and he had the scars and bullet wounds to show for it. Getting money and moving to California hadn’t taken the hood out of him, but it seemed Tristan had forgotten who he was and where they’d come from. If he had to remind her, it wouldn’t be pretty.
“I will not have this conversation again,” Saint continued. “Keep acting out and youwillbe punished.”
Her eyes widened and chest heaved in fear.
With a nod, Tristan remained silent. Slowly, he put space between them. Saint’s conviction and principles forced him to hold himself accountable for the part he played in the demise of his relationship with Tristan. While he could say he’d done his part by being upfront and honest with her, Saint should have never taken things as far as he did with Tristan. She’d always been more into him than he was her, settling for a marriage and life that would have never satisfied her. For Saint, it was enough for him to be content.
He didn’t need romantic love. They had good sex, she supported him, and he thought she was trustworthy.
How could he have been so wrong?
With a shake of his head, Saint shot his attorney a quick nod before heading to his car. The last thing he wanted was for anyone to take pictures or videos of him and Tristan’s disagreement and sell them to a blogger. Once he made it to his car, Saint pulled his phone out to check his calls and messages. The crew had been texting him nonstop waiting for confirmation that the divorce was finalized, and the sight made him laugh. He sent them,I’M F-R-E-E CRAZY WIFE FREE!with a chuckle before starting his car and heading out with no clear destination in mind.
The person he wanted to share the news with most had been heavy on his mind all day. When he couldn’t stop himself any longer, Saint dialed Whitney’s number and prayed she answered. It crossed his mind to invite her to Saint Lucia just to enjoy her company, but Saint didn’t want to blur the lines between them. They’d agreed what they shared was over, and Saint didn’t want Whitney to feel tempted to renege on that.
“Hey,” she answered, and the sound of children in the background let him know she was at work. The elementary school teacher had stolen his heart and gave him a few lessons on how it was supposed to work. “I’ve been worried sick about you ever since I heard you passed out. I’ve been calling you like crazy.”
“You have?”
“Yes! All of my calls went straight to voicemail.”
“Damn, my bad, Whit. When we agreed to end things, I cut your notifications off on the off chance you reached out. I didn’t want to be tempted, you feel me?”
Whitney released a sweet chuckle. “I did the same, but I still checked to see if you called or texted daily. When I heard about you at your show, I cut your notifications back on.”
Saint’s smile was wide as he aimlessly cruised down the street. “I’m good. Just needed to rest.”
“I’m happy to hear that.”
“I think you’ll be happy to hear that Tristan and I are officially divorced.”
“What!” she yelled. “Oh my God, Saint!” The sound of her voice quivering sent a pang through his heart. “I’m so, so happy for you. And I’m proud of you. I know that was hard to do.”
She had no idea. Saint shared with her what was at stake if they ever divorced, and that was the only reason she’d agreed to seeing a married man. Whitney cared about him enough to not put him in a position to choose what he loved and how he made his money versus her. Quite frankly, Whitney believed she would lose.
“Have I finally proven how much you mean to me?”
