Rewriting Destiny

by Shelly Morgan

  REWRITING DESTINY

  © 2015 Shelly Morgan

  All rights reserved.

  Rewriting Destiny is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Edited by Dane Thompson

  Formatted by Max Effect

  Cover Design by Wicked by Design

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgements

  Also by the Author

  To my mother –

  you have always stood behind me, no matter what I did. Thank you for always having faith in me and being my number one fan.

  Love you Mommy!

  They say everyone has a destiny. That when things happen, good or bad, that it is fate. Everything happens for a reason and these things are put in place to prepare us for the life we are meant to have. Or even for the people who have been dealt a shitty hand in life, that it is the price you must pay before you can enter the good part of your life. It’s all a bunch of bullshit though. I used to believe all that nonsense, but I’m wiser now.

  The universe always seemed to throw me lemons. To be completely honest, I think destiny and fate are just sadistic bitches. When they were throwing those lemons at me, they were probably just laughing and waiting for one to hit me in the face. Maybe they would even cut one open so I would get juice in my eye. Pretty much I think it was their way of saying, “Fuck you Danielle!”

  See, when I was younger and life threw me lemons, I just made lemonade because I figured that’s what I was supposed to do. Not anymore. Now when those lemons come my way, I’ll be doing shots of tequila instead. I’m no longer a naïve little girl with dreams of a happily ever after. Nor do I believe in sayings like “Good things come to those who wait,” or “Everything happens for a reason.” I’m now hardened by what destiny has thrown my way. Thoughts of fairy tale endings were forced out and I know now that the world will turn its back when yours is against a wall. The truth is, life just sucks, pure and simple. I figure if I want anything good to happen in my life, I need to take charge of my future. I’m going to rewrite my destiny.

  Everything started when my mother was taken from me at the age of three. After a complicated pregnancy, she was diagnosed with cervical cancer after I was born. The prognosis was terminal. They said she wouldn’t make it to see my first birthday, but my mother was a fighter and made it longer than anyone thought she would. Just not long enough for me to grow up with a mother, or even long enough for me to build one single solid memory of her. She died two months after I turned three, and everything just continued going downhill from there.

  After my mother died, my father couldn’t handle being a single father with a toddler, or he was just a shitty father to begin with. Either way, he signed his rights over to my grandmother and never looked back. My grandmother was one of my aces though. Even though she was really old and didn’t have the energy to take care of a child, she was determined that I have a good childhood and not wind up somewhere in the system. And even though I didn’t get to do all the things that kids my age got to do since she didn’t have the energy to do them with me, she loved me fiercely and that’s all that matters in the end.

  The only good thing you could say my father did for me was sending money every month to my grandmother to help care for me. What money she didn’t use was put into a savings account for when I graduated high school. He also set me up with a trust fund that I would have access to when I turned eighteen, to use for college or for whatever. How nice of him, right? Yeah…

  I don’t know much about my father, but my grandmother used to tell me about my mother. At first it hurt too much to hear about her, because even though I’d never met her, I missed the idea of having her as my mother. I mean what child wouldn’t miss having a mother, even one they never knew.

  My mother’s name was Melissa Rose DeChenne, and she was beautiful, with long blonde hair, blue eyes, and a smile that could light up even the darkest of days. She met my father her freshman year of college and fell hopelessly in love. They were married a year later, and found out they were pregnant with me shortly after. My grandmother said my father loved my mother very much and was good to her. But he became broken when she died, and wanted something better for me. Not sure if that’s the truth, or if she’s just trying to make it so I wouldn’t hate him all my life. Regardless, even if he loved my mother and treated her like a queen, he still left me and that is unforgivable in my eyes.

  I’ve seen pictures of my mother and father when they were together, and I can see from the pictures how happy they were. It makes my heart ache to think about what my life would have been like if she hadn’t died. If she was still here, maybe my father wouldn’t have left and I wouldn’t feel so broken.

  Every time I look at those pictures, I try to memorize their faces; my mother’s so I never forget her, and my father’s so if I ever see him on one day, I can turn and walk away from him like he did me. But I don’t have to try very hard to memorize his face; I see a lot of him whenever I look in the mirror. I have long, thick brown hair and deep green eyes like him. And I had to have gotten my 5’6’’ height from him, because from the pictures I’ve seen, my mother looks tiny. It doesn’t look like she is taller than 5’2”. Then there’s my strong jawline, high cheekbones and olive colored skin which no doubt came from him. The only things that I can see I got from my mother are her bright smile and her small nose.

  When I was thirteen, the Hendricks’ moved in next door to me and my grandmother. They were two boys that became my best friends, my only friends really. Zane was fifteen and his brother Zeke was seventeen. I remember always seeing them in their back yard tossing the football around. You could tell just by looking at them that they were close. Zane looked up to his brother, but Zeke looked at his little brother like he was his best friend.

  Our friendship began one day when my grandmother had to go run a couple of errands, so she sent me over to their house. I was a little shy and didn’t know what to do at first, but they brought me out of my shell and the rest is history. Even though I was younger than both of them, they accepted me. I would go over to their house almost every day. After a while, it almost seemed like I was their little sister since I was there so much. I learned a lot that year from them both; Zane taught me everything there is to know about football, and Zeke taught me a little about motorcycles.

  I didn’t have much to offer the trio that we were, but I always listened to what they wanted to tell me or what they were trying to teach me. The only thing I think I shared with them was my love for art. They found me doodling one day and asked me about it. After that, they would always challenge me to draw different things, and the challenges would get harder and harder. I think drawing for them was better than any art class someone my age could have
taken. They were also very supportive and were always honest about what they thought of a drawing. Zeke in particular would always say how amazing my talent was, and encouraged me to be proud of what I drew. He told me that I could make art my career, and from that day on, I knew I was going to go to college and major in art. That’s pretty impressive if you ask me. How many thirteen year olds know what they want to go to college for? Not many, that’s for sure.

  Zeke graduated the following year and decided he was going to join the Marines. Everyone was so proud of him and happy he was going to be doing something so selfless. Well, everyone except for Zane. Of course he was proud of his big brother in most ways, but he was worried that he would get hurt and he was upset because they had plans. They were going to go to the same college, University of Texas, to play football together, then spend a couple years riding cross country on their motorcycles. I think aside from him staying safe while being a Marine, he was just worried that Zeke was going off to do something without him. They always did everything together, so when he decided to change those plans and do something for himself first, that would take some getting used to for Zane.

  To be honest, I was scared shitless too, but I never showed my fear to either of them. I didn’t want to seem like a big baby, plus Zeke had other things to worry about. He didn’t need to worry about me too. So whenever it was mentioned, I would smile and tell him how proud I was of him. That he’d always be my hero, but now he’d be everyone’s hero as well.

  I went with them the day Zeke left on the bus to start his training. We had breakfast at a family diner close to the bus stop and then sat and waited with him until it was time for him to leave. I remember I was sitting in one of those hard chairs that are attached to the floor, not looking at him or saying anything. I didn’t want him to leave, but I didn’t want to say anything that might make him stay. He wanted to do this so I wouldn’t be the person to make him feel bad about this decision.

  Once we saw the bus pull up outside, his parents and Zane got up to say goodbye to him. When he was done saying goodbye to them, Zeke knelt down in front of me and pulled his old worn football he and Zane always played with out of his bag. “Will you hang on to this while I’m gone?”

  I looked down at the football, then back up to him. “You want me to keep it?” I whispered. I wasn’t sure why he would give it to me, and not his brother. “Yeah, what do ya say? Just till I get back.” I gave him a small smile and reached out to take the football from him. “Ok,” I told him as the tears I was holding back started to roll down my face. He smiled at me one last time and told me not to cry, that he would be back soon. Then he got on the bus, but before he sat down, he gave us all one final wave.

  Four months later he informed us that he was getting deployed to Iraq. We drove to Houston for his sending away ceremony to say our goodbyes. It was a very emotional day. There were so many families there saying goodbye to their loved ones. So many tears were shed that day.

  During the time Zeke was gone, Zane and I made sure to play catch with the football at least a couple times a week. Then I’d tell him about the letters I was writing to his brother and I’d show him the pictures I drew for him, and he would tell me about playing football on the high school team and how he couldn’t wait to go to college to play. Then he’d tell me about the plans he was making for when Zeke got back to the states. I guess that’s what they would talk about on the phone when Zeke was able to call home. I think it helped Zane to know his brother still wanted to carry out all those things they planned on doing before; it would just take a little longer to do them.

  It was a Tuesday, eight months after Zeke was deployed. I came home from school and my grandmother was sitting at the kitchen table waiting for me. “Danielle, can you come sit down for a minute please?” she asked. I did a double take and really looked at her. She looked upset about something, so I walked over to the table and took her hand as I sat. “What’s wrong Gram?” I hoped she wasn’t getting sick again. It seemed like she was sick more often than not nowadays. “Sweetheart, I need to talk to you about something,” she told me in a low voice.

  I sat there and waited for her to tell me what was going on so I could get over to Zane’s. I couldn’t wait to hear what he thought of the picture I drew for Zeke this week. He loved my drawings and said that I had a real talent. He was my biggest fan actually, so I tried to send him a drawing at least once a month. My grandmother broke me out of my thoughts. “Miranda came over this afternoon.” Miranda was Zane’s mom, so I was trying to think of what she would come over to talk to my grandmother about. “I’ve been good and haven’t caused any problems when I’m over at their house, I swear Gram.” That was the only thing I could come up with for why she would come over to talk to my grandmother, but I always made a point to be good when I was there, because I didn’t want to risk not being allowed back.

  “No sweetheart, I know. That’s not why she came over.” She paused for a minute, and put her head down. I was starting to get a really bad feeling. Whatever the reason for her visit, it couldn’t be good. “Danielle, she had some news about Zeke,” She said as she looked up at me. I smiled, thinking he must be coming home early. “Does he get to come home early? I should go over and talk with Zane, we can plan a party for him.” I got up to run over there, excited that he would be home soon. But before I got to the door to leave, my grandmother stood up on shaky legs and stopped me. “Danielle, no. I’m sorry, but he’s not coming home.” I noticed she had tears in her eyes.

  “O-Ok… Well, I guess it’s only a couple more months till he’ll be home anyway,” I told her, still not knowing why she looked so upset. I could wait a couple more months. Or maybe Miranda had news that when he got home he’d be stationed somewhere else in the states. I’m not really sure how the military works, but we could plan trips to go see him where ever he was. “Sweetheart, listen, something happened….” She started with a broken sob, but I just shook my head. “No Gram. No! Don’t say it! He’s coming home!” I shouted, finally beginning to understand. I could feel the tears coming, but I wouldn’t let them fall. He was fine and he was coming home. He promised he would come home. I just got a letter from him a couple days ago and talked to him on the phone last week. “Danielle, something happened. There was an accident… Baby, he’s gone, I’m so sorry,” she finally finished with tears rolling down her cheeks.

  I shook my head again which caused my tears to fall. “NO! You’re lying!” I yelled and turned to run up to my room. By the time I got to the top of the stairs, my tears were falling so fast that I could barely see where I was going. Zeke was gone; he was never coming back. I would never see him again or get to hear him say he loved me like a little sister and that my drawings were amazing. I’d never be able to give him his football back. Zane would never get to play football at college with his brother. Oh no, Zane!

  I ran down the stairs and out the door before my grandmother could stop me. I had to get to him and be there for him. He would be devastated!

  I ran over to Zane’s house and banged on the door. I waited a minute, but no one answered. Where were they? I knocked again, but still no one came. I started to walk back to my house to grab my phone to call him when I smelled it. Smoke. It was coming from the back yard.

  I walked back to see what was going on. As I got closer, the smell got stronger. Someone was definitely burning something. Once I cleared the fence and walked into their backyard, I spotted him. Zane was sitting on the ground by the fire pit tossing what looked like papers into the fire. I walked over to where he was and saw what he was burning. “Zane, what are you doing?” I asked, wiping the tears off my face. I had to be strong for him, he needed me now more than ever.

  He didn’t answer or even look at me, so I sat down and looked at the stack of papers about the University of Texas sitting in front of him. He was taking them one by one, crumbling each one into a ball and throwing it into the flames. He’d wait till it was fully engulfed and was nothing but ashes
before he’d repeat the action. “What are you doing?” I asked again. Instead of answering me, he grabbed the whole stack and threw them all into the fire. Then, finally, he turned to look at me. His eyes were bloodshot, but no tears fell. “Why did you burn the information you got about playing football at the University Zane?” my voice broke at the end, but I continued on. “You got those with Zeke before he left.”

  “He was supposed to come home and meet me there. We had it all planned out; did you know that? I’d be in my third year when he’d be out, but he was going to enter the open try outs. And he would have made the team too, because he was an even better player than I am. But now that’s never going to happen. He just had to go and sign up to be a Marine. He couldn’t just stay here and do what we both talked about for years. He ruined everything!” he yelled at the end. After a couple of calming breaths, he continued, “He’s not coming home, so I’m not going… How can I go without him?” He started angry, but by that last sentence, it was barely a whisper. He looked so broken and defeated.

  I reached over and took his hand. “You have to go Zane; he would want that for you.” He just stared at me, not even blinking. He finally looked away and said, “I’m not sure if I can. Without him, there is nothing there for me.” I noticed a single tear slip down his cheek. I reached up and wiped it away, then turned his head so he was looking at me again. “I know it’s hard right now to see it this way, but I know that he wouldn’t have wanted you to quit. You have to go Zane, if not for yourself, then go for him. He may no longer be able to be here with us the way we want him to be, but he’ll always be with us in our hearts. Play for him.” I don’t know where my words of wisdom came from, but it just flowed out of me and felt like the right thing to say.

  We sat there for an unmeasurable amount of time, just staring at each other. We didn’t have to say anything else, because there was nothing else to say in that moment. I squeezed his hand, then got up and walked back over to my house. I cried myself to sleep that night.