Page 90 of Serenity
Dropping my shorts, I cut on the shower, seeking to wash away the funk of the interaction resting atop the funk of an intense workout. Unbridled, confusion loomed, failing to settle at the sound of the showerhead. How the fuck did I miss this?
“Don’t use that reverse psychology on me.”
Stepping toward the shower, Serenity switched off the showerhead. Sweaty arms crossed, weight thrown to a single hip, she voiced her frustration. Full lips pouted. Ample cheeks tightened. Bright eyes squinted. Even in anger, her beauty reigned. It held me captive. A subject in her court.
“Answer the question, Duke. And not with a question.”
“What explanation do you want, Bee?”
“That’s another question.”
“Mya—Julie is my ex-wife.”
A deep sigh emancipated from her chest. Bee didn’t know. How could she know? Mya’s narcissistic ass was walking around telling people her name was Julie.
“Okay,” she dragged, waiting for me to explain further.
“Her name is Myaquanna Julliette Stepford. I was married to her for six years while she maintained a previous sexual relationship with my best friend.”
The dryness in my throat rivaled the Sahara.
Shower. I needed the shower. Leaning forward, I cut on the showerhead again. Mimicking my action, Bee turned it off again.
“Serenity!”
“Duke. I just need to understand.”
“Understand what? I walked in on them.”
My voice dipped. Paired with the desiccating of my vocal cords, the retelling of my sordid past was near fucking impossible. Hard and fast, the pain of relived trauma returned. “In our home,” I croaked. “Our bed. My best friend and wife.”
Serenity’s voice lowered. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. It just conjures up a host of shit I probably haven’t dealt with.”
“Regarding her?”
“Regarding him,” I confessed, realizing I hadn’t fully grieved the loss of my twenty-year friendship. As far as Mya was concerned, I’d done my share of things to add misery to her life in passing, but I was over that now. Over her.
“What was all that stuff she was saying about humiliating her with innocent women? Am I—was I part of your revenge plot against her?”
“Baby.” Stepping closer, I reached for her arms. Surprised she didn’t retract, my feet consumed the space, keeping us distant.
“Was I on your list of women you intended to use against her? The “self-care team” you fucked?” Softly, she asked the question, her inquiry eerily calm.
“No, Serenity. No. You know I wouldn’t—”
“I don’t know shit, Duke.” Stepping away from me, she peeled my hands from her limbs. “I don’t know anything because you haven’t told me anything. You still aren’t telling me anything, leading me to believe everything that woman out there said.”
“Believe that shit,” I shrugged, turning the showerhead back on. “She didn’t lie.”
The wind fled Bee’s chest. Before she could leave the bathroom, I dragged her sweaty limbs into the shower with me by her shirt. A mountain of tears pricked her eyes. Thumbing them away, I latched on to her orbs.
“I fucked her hair stylist, her brow lady, and her nail tech. I told you that when I met you.” Shirking the details that her nail tech was the woman on stage at Genevieve, I exposed the truth.
“So I was—”
“Not a part of that plan, Bee.” Tugging the hem of her shirt upward, I pulled it over her head. Without a fight, she allowed me to undress her from the waist up.