Chapter 3
Albany
I should’ve known better.
The writing was on the wall from the moment my exhusband insisted I use his studio name on the wedding invitations.
Not his real name, Darrell Washington Steele.
But … Grim. In hindsight, it was foreboding.
Because his rap persona showed up at the church that day.
High as a kite, but charming as fuck. Grim. Just like my entire marriage.
The signs were there all along, though. At the engagement party when Darrell’s own father, a sitting United States senator, offered to drive the getaway car.
That was after his mother passed me a note that read, I love my son, but I don’t love him for you.
During the bridal shower when his Aunt Ethel whispered—loudly—that it wasn’t too late to cancel everything.
On the bachelorette trip when his sister begged me to leave her brother alone.
In the limo when my friends threatened to kidnap me and whisk me off to an undisclosed location.
Still, I persisted for one reason. Darrell was the man of my father’s dreams. On paper, he was perfect—articulate, wealthy, and from a well-respected family.
At the youthful age of nineteen, Dad’s approval had meant the world to me because I’d never really felt it.
And for the first time in my life, I was Daddy’s Little Girl.
He smiled when I entered the room and bragged about me to his colleagues. He was proud of me.
Before the wedding, though, my doubts intensified.
When I finally expressed my reservations to my father, Dad claimed I was overreacting, that things weren’t as bad as I thought, that Darrell had potential.
And he did. He had the potential to steal from me, to destroy my credit, to cheat on me, to lie every damn day of our marriage, and to destroy my faith in love and commitment.
Lazy, conniving, philandering muthafucka.
Scanning the divorce decree, I silently cursed Darrell for making everything difficult.
Although the marriage was technically over now, my legal trouble had just begun.
I’d already received several certified letters from his bankruptcy attorney and letters from creditors threatening to sue me because, in his latest attempt to screw me over, he’d filed for chapter 7 protection.
Which would effectively leave me to pay all our joint debts.
Not that I had the money to pay it because I was flat broke.
The only way out of this was to follow suit and declare bankruptcy myself or hit the Mega Millions.
Since I didn’t play the lottery, I was down to one option.
All my savings had been wasted hiring an attorney to dissolve my ill-fated marriage.
Sighing, I tossed the latest letter into the pile with the rest. Clearly, my morning had gone from promising to shit after my meeting with Joyce Batchelor earlier.
Now I was home—correction, at my best friend’s house because I no longer had a home of my own—with a bunch of mounting bills, cheap wine, and questions about my once certain future.
I closed my eyes and prayed that my life would even out, that I would at least be able to regain some peace in the midst of this terrible storm.
I heard my bestie, Brianna, behind me before I felt a comforting hand against my back. “Are you okay?” she asked softly, setting a plate of two loaded tacos in front of me. “You need food with your wine.”
I breathed through the tears threatening to fall.
I’d already shed too many. Nodding, I wiped my nose with the tattered tissue I had in my palm.
Staring outside the window, I fixed my gaze on a family of four playing with their puppy in the courtyard outside of Brianna’s condo.
The pang of hurt in my heart intensified as I wondered if I would ever be as happy as the woman smiling lovingly at her husband and kids.
“Just more proof that I fucked up,” I admitted. “That’s all.”
“No, he’s the fuck-up. You did what you thought you were supposed to do. Love and support him. You’re not the first woman to give her all to a man, to work on her marriage. None of that makes you less of a person and it doesn’t make you weak.”
I let out a humorless chuckle. “Why do I feel this way then?”
“Because you’re a control freak, not used to needing help. But we all need it at some point. And it’s okay.”
I poured myself another glass of Merlot.
I didn’t bother to glance at my watch. I knew it wasn’t five o’clock and I didn’t care that I was on my third glass of wine.
“At least, it’s over.” I pivoted to another topic I had mentioned every day since I’d shown up on her doorstep.
“I can’t thank you enough for letting me move in with all my baggage.
” I was grateful that my best friend had offered me a place to stay, but I hated feeling like a freeloader.
No matter what was going on in life, I always paid my way.
To not have the resources to do that made me grouchy and a little depressed.
“I promise I’ll pay my rent as soon as possible.
” I pulled out a hundred-dollar bill. “Here’s something on the groceries. ”
Brianna waved a dismissive hand my way. “Sis, stop. You know that’s not what we do. Put that money back in your purse and use it to set up your post office box. I’m not hurting for money. I just want you to be okay. Take the time you need to build your business and find work.”
Keyes Investigations was still in its infant stage, started because I had been laid off from my position with the FBI months ago.
Initially, I’d relished the chance to realize a dream I’d had since I was a teenager, but the reality of launching a new business, losing my home, leaving my husband, and then relocating to a different state had made everything bad.
I’d spent years building a life away from here.
I wasn’t proud of the fact that I had to return home with nothing. No home. No job. No money. No marriage.
I swallowed against a lump in my throat. “Fine.”
“Don’t fine me. You’ve been there for me at some of my lowest points. Do I have to remind you of that drama with Hendrix?”
Shaking my head, I said, “No. Let’s not go there.”
She raised her hands in the air dramatically. “Exactly! Anyway, it’s time for you to let me be there for you. And it’s also time for you to call your family.”
My stomach churned at the thought of my father and his wife finding out I was in town.
I didn’t know it in the beginning, but my parents had leveraged my relationship for their own personal and political gain.
Once it became clear that I was a means to an end for them, and not a cherished part of their family, I limited contact.
We’d barely spoken in years, and although I’d recently turned thirty-two, I had no doubt that my stepmonster—er, stepmother—would jump at the chance to have me under her thumb again. When I was younger, she’d dictated what I wore, what I ate, who I spent time with … Everything.
While I’d been in Detroit for weeks, I’d purposely avoided certain places in the city so that I wouldn’t run into her. Involving her in anything, especially my struggle, would only make things worse.
Bri’s soft touch pulled me from my thoughts.
“I’m not talking about Allisifer, sis,” she assured me.
The nickname my bestie had given my stepmother was fitting—a cross between her name and Lucifer—because she was as charming as she was evil.
“I understand why you wouldn’t want to tell her anything. ”
I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. “I’m glad I don’t have to explain that to you.”
“But your—”
“I’m not calling my father either,” I interrupted.
Gregory Keyes was married to Allison when he got my biological mother pregnant.
Unfortunately for them, a tragic accident claimed the life of my mother when I was a toddler.
I was forced to move in with a man more concerned with his next mistress and a woman who resented me for existing.
As a result, I’d always believed they both considered me his biggest mistake, despite their assurances to the contrary.
“Why would I call him now anyway?” I asked.
“He’s been a distant observer since I was born except when he needed Darrell’s family to get a government contract.
All my life, he tossed out checks to make himself feel good while simultaneously making me feel like shit for surviving the car accident and making him accountable for his failure as a husband.
There’s always something more important than me for him.
His wife, his cars, his side pieces … I’d rather slice my hand with a piece of paper than ask them for anything. ”
“What about Grandma Liv, though?” she said.
“I don’t want her to know about the mess I made of my life.” Especially since Grandma Liv had cautioned me against marrying Darrell. In fact, she was so against the union that she almost didn’t show up to the wedding. “Besides, she’s been sick. I don’t want to add more stress to her.”
Getting away from Darrell was partly why I made the move back to Michigan, and being around for Grandma was also a factor.
We talked every week, and I’d visited as often as possible, but I knew my grandmother had recently had a hip replacement.
And that wasn’t her only health concern.
High blood pressure, diabetes, unreliable family, and years of working had taken a toll.
I wanted to be close, to help in any way, and spend as much time with Grandma as I could.
Grandma had fought to be an integral part of my life, often inserting herself into disagreements between me and my parents.
She was my saving grace, even bringing me to live with her when Allison convinced my father to send me to a boarding school in Colorado.
I would do anything for the woman who’d never hesitated to be there for me.