Worship Him

17. Destiny

17

DESTINY

I wake with a start, my heart racing as the events of last night flood back immediately. Adam's scent lingers on my skin, a reminder of our passionate encounter.

Regret and anxiety twist in my gut as I carefully extract myself from the tangled sheets. They feel cold in comparison to last night’s heat.

Silently, I gather my scattered clothes. My blouse is a lost cause, buttons torn off in our frenzy. I slip it on anyway, holding it closed with one hand.

"Shit," I mutter, searching for my phone. It's wedged between the nightstand and the bed. I pry it free, relieved I didn't make a lot of noise.

I tiptoe to the door, glancing back at Adam's sleeping form. His face is relaxed, peaceful. For a moment, I'm tempted to crawl back into bed, to pretend last night meant more than it did.

But I can't.

In the hallway, I pause outside Avery's room. The door creaks softly as I push it open. She's still asleep, her tiny chest rising and falling steadily. I approach the crib, my heart aching.

"I'm sorry, baby girl," I whisper, gently stroking her cheek. "Mommy made a mess of things. Again."

She stirs but doesn't wake. I stand there, watching her sleep, torn between my love for her and the confusion swirling in my mind.

Last night wasn't about love. It was raw, primal need. A release of pent-up emotions and frustrations.

Now, in the harsh light of morning, I'm left to deal with the consequences. How can I face Adam after this? How will this affect our fragile co-parenting arrangement?

I hear movement from his room and panic sets in. I can't face him now. Not like this.

Grabbing Avery's diaper bag, I hurry towards the front door, holding her sleeping form, praying he doesn't catch me in this walk of shame.

I see a pen on the small table near the door and scribble a hasty note on the back of an envelope:

"Adam,

Had to get home. We should talk later.

Destiny"

Guilt gnaws at me, but I can't face him right now. Not after last night.

Avery stirs in my arms as I sneak out the front door. The cool morning air hits my face, an icy contrast to the warmth of Adam's bed.

I hurry to my car, buckling Avery into her car seat before sliding behind the wheel. The car’s interior is warm and welcoming, but it feels so much colder than the bed I chose to leave like a sneaky thief.

The drive home is kind of a blur. My mind races, replaying every moment of last night. The passion, the urgency, the way Adam's hands felt on my skin. I can still taste him on my tongue, a bittersweet taste that lingers longer than I want it to.

I shake my head, trying to clear my thoughts.

Back in my apartment, I settle Avery in her crib and collapse onto the couch. What have I done? How could I let this happen?

My phone buzzes, startling me. Mom's name flashes on the screen. Shit. I forgot about their visit.

"Hey, sweetie!" Mom's cheerful voice fills the line. "Just wanted to confirm we're still on for next week. Your father and I can't wait to meet little Avery!"

I force a smile into my voice. "Of course, Mom. Can't wait to see you both."

"Is everything okay, Destiny? You sound stressed."

"I'm fine, just tired. You know how it is with a newborn."

"Well, if you need us to postpone?—"

"No!" I say, too quickly. "No, it's perfect timing. I could use the distraction—I mean, the company."

Mom hesitates. "If you're sure..."

"I am. Really. It'll be great to see you."

As I hang up, relief washes over me. A week with my parents might be exactly what I need to keep my mind off Adam and this mess of things.

I drag myself into the kitchen, determined to salvage this disaster of a morning. Flapjacks. That'll do it.

My go-to comfort food, drizzled with honey. I can almost taste the sweetness on my tongue.

The familiar routine soothes my frayed nerves as I whisk the batter. The sizzle of the pan fills the air, and for a moment, I can pretend everything's normal. That I didn't just sneak out of my almost ex-husband's house after a night of... No. Don't think about that.

"Focus, Destiny," I mutter, flipping a golden-brown flapjack onto the growing stack.

The honey bottle gurgles as I drizzle a generous amount over the steaming pile. The rich, sweet scent wafts up, usually enough to make my mouth water. But today…

I settle at the kitchen island, fork poised over my creation. One bite. That's all I need to get my appetite going. But as soon as the flapjack touches my tongue, I know it's hopeless. It tastes like cardboard, the honey cloying and artificial.

"Dammit," I growl, shoving the plate away.

With a frustrated sigh, I grab the plate and dump its contents into the trash. The clatter of dishes in the sink echoes my mood—discordant and harsh. I scrub furiously, as if I could wash away last night's memories along with the sticky remnants of honey.

I tiptoe into Avery's room, my heart softening at the sight of her peaceful slumber. Her tiny chest rises and falls, a soothing rhythm amidst the chaos in my mind. I brush a curl from her forehead, marveling at how much she looks like Adam.

"Sweet dreams, little one," I whisper, reluctantly tearing myself away.

Back in the living room, I grab my laptop, determined to lose myself in work. After opening it, a folder catches my eye.

The slideshow. The one I made for Adam, sharing memories of Avery. The one I haven’t had the courage to show him yet.

My fingers tremble as I open it. Images of Avery's first moments flood the screen. Moments Adam missed because of my choices.

"Dammit," I mutter, slamming the laptop shut.

The events of last night come rushing back. Adam's hands on my skin, his lips on mine. The urgency, the passion. It felt so right in the moment, but now...

I pace the room, my mind a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. On one hand, the connection we shared was undeniable. The passion, the intensity – it felt like coming home. But on the other, the hurt and distance between us that led to our separation still linger.

"What the hell am I doing?" I groan, collapsing onto the couch.

After a few moments, I return to my laptop. The inbox icon taunts me with its unread message count. Might as well tackle this mountain of emails. Anything to keep my mind off... everything else.

"Let's see what we've got here," I mutter, clicking open the first message.

It's from my fabric supplier. They're having issues with the silk I ordered for my new collection. Great. Just what I need right now.

I type out a quick response, my fingers flying over the keys. "Hi Jenna, Thanks for the heads up. Can we set up a call to discuss alternatives? I'm free tomorrow morning."

Send.

Next.

An invitation to a fashion week event in Paris. Any other day, I'd be thrilled. Now? The thought of jetting off to the City of Light feels hollow.

Delete. Slight regret.

I open the next message. It's from my assistant, reminding me about the photoshoot scheduled for next week. I'd completely forgotten.

"Shit," I groan, rubbing my temples. "Get it together, girl."

I fire off a reply, confirming the details and asking her to double-check the model bookings. At least someone on my team has their act together.

As I work through the inbox, a pattern emerges. Every email answered is a tiny victory, a moment where I'm not thinking about Adam's hands on my skin or the way his lips felt against mine.

But then I hit send, and reality comes crashing back.

The silence in the apartment feels oppressive. I strain my ears, hoping to hear Avery stirring in her crib. Nothing but her adorable sleeping sounds. No distraction to truly lose myself in.

My cursor hovers over the 'Compose' button. I could email Adam and sort things out digitally. Keep it professional. Ask about his visit with Avery. Pretend last night never happened.

My fingers twitch, ready to type. But what would I say?

"Hey Adam, thanks for the mind-blowing sex last night. By the way, when do you want to see our daughter again?"

I slam the laptop shut once more, disgusted with myself. This isn't solving anything. It's just delaying the inevitable conversation we need to have.

Avery’s soft cry from the baby monitor on my desk pulls me back to the present. Finally. I hurry to her room, glad for the distraction.

I cradle her against my chest, her tiny body warm and comforting as I return to the living room. Her soft breaths tickle my neck as I pace the living room, my mind a whirlwind of conflicting emotions.

"What are we gonna do, baby girl?" I whisper, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead.

She coos in response, her tiny hand gently holding my finger. The simple gesture sends a wave of love through me, so powerful it nearly brings me to my knees.

"Your daddy..." I start, then pause, unsure how to continue. How do I explain the complicated mess of feelings I have for Adam to our three-month-old daughter?

"He loves you so much already," I tell her, my voice cracking. "And I love him. God, I love him more than I ever thought possible."

But love isn't always enough, is it? The memory of our arguments, the hurt and betrayal in Adam's eyes when he thought I'd cheated, it all comes rushing back.

"What if we mess it up again?" I ask Avery, as if she could provide the answers I'm desperately seeking. "What if we hurt each other, and you get caught in the middle?"

She happily gurgles, completely oblivious to my inner turmoil. I envy her innocence, her ability to exist in the moment without worry for the future.

"I wish it was that simple, cupcake," I sigh, sinking onto the couch. "I wish I could just follow my heart without being terrified of the consequences."