Truce Of The Matter

Chapter 21

W hen his head pops from under the duvet, I smile then let my head collapse back on the pillow. As he inches up to my face, the final ripples of that earth-shattering orgasm pulsate through my body. Every sense is heightened and I can feel the tiny hairs on my arms stand at attention. They are saluting him for a job done well. By the time his lips meet mine, my breathing has slowed and I’m finally able to form whole and cohesive words.

“Good morning,” I say, still smiling.

“Hey, beautiful,” he says with a smirk.

“I’m pretty sure that I just woke up every person in this Bella House. They are about to kick us out early,” I tease.

“Nah. They owe us breakfast,” he says before kissing my lips then falling onto the bed beside me.

“But you just ate.” And well. I can practically still feel his warm tongue on my pussy.

“As sweet as you taste, that’s always a treat, my dessert. I need some real food. With best man duties last night, I barely ate.”

Summer is officially here and we are at the beautiful Butterfly Garden and Bella House. Dax and Chantel tied the knot last night in the garden and we danced the evening away in the elegant ballroom of the house. Since the rehearsal dinner was also here, we booked this suite for the weekend. Aryel is here too, in a suite with her aunt.

“You were on go all night,” I agree. “And it turned out perfectly. Chantel’s dress was everything.”

“Yeah, she walked out and Dax’s ass crumbled.”

“And seeing him like that was so beautiful. He almost made me cry but I did cry when he danced with Lyra. The way she hung on to him was special. No matter what, you can tell that y’all love each other.”

“We do. He just needed time to forgive her.”

He slides his arm under me then pulls me onto his chest. His arms envelop me and I snuggle into his warm, muscular body. I’m so comfortable and relaxed that I yawn.

“Mm, excuse me. What time is breakfast arriving? I don’t feel like putting on clothes yet.”

“And don’t. This is my favorite fit anyway,” he says as he squeezes my ass.

“I’m naked.”

“I know. My favorite. If I had my way, you would never wear clothes.”

“Then you wouldn’t be able to watch me get dressed.”

“Nah but I’ll get to watch you put your oils on, do your hair, and put on your makeup. That’s my favorite part anyway.”

“Just so I’m clear, when you come over, I need to be naked with my face and hair done.”

“Every fucking time,” he says then chuckles. He yawns too; we are both exhausted from the weekend. “What kind of wedding do you want?” he asks.

After lifting my head to see his eyes and very serious face, I ask, “You trying to marry me, Rex Goode?”

“You already know I am. This, you, us, it’s my endgame. Everything that we do leads to forever. I would’ve asked you to marry me that night in the bar but I didn’t want you running from me and I want to do this the right way. I don’t need anybody else but what’s more important is I don’t want nobody else. It’s you and only you,” he professes and damn.

Not only do I hear his words but I feel them and the abundance of love they hold. It’s him and only him for me. I love him with all of my being and I’m obsessed with the way he loves me in return.

“I don’t want anybody else either.”

“Good because I’m tired of knocking niggas out. I’m just a furniture man now. Boxing is my past.”

“My furniture man. I’ll recline with you any day,” I say, trying to be clever. That shit fails miserably.

“Don’t do that. You’re beautiful, sexy as shit, and have the sweetest pussy but a comedian? Nah. Don’t try that again.” He laughs, making me laugh.

“Well damn. I tried. I should get an E for effort.”

“A lowercase e because that was trash.” He plants a kiss on the top of my head then says, “I want to meet Daija.”

I’m pretty sure my entire body smiles at his words. I want her to meet him too. Her semester ended and she’s been home for two weeks now. She’ll be home all summer then moving into her new apartment in August for her last year of college. She’s been looking and even sent a few prospective places via text for my input. Things between us are good but I’m cautious. She’s still fragile, especially when it comes to Tremayne.

As much as she has my father, a piece of her is longing to connect with Tremayne. From her own admission, she’s not looking for anything deep with him but she would like to at least speak with him and learn something about the other contributor to her genetic makeup. However, because his words were so finite that day at the restaurant, I know that any contact with him will devastate her. I’m praying she stays away and stops trying to reach out to him but I know her. She’s not. Her stubbornness has no bounds so I want her so occupied this summer that her time is limited.

“I want you to meet her too. You and Aryel. Maybe dinner this week. I’ll cook.”

“Dinner definitely but I don’t want you to cook. I’ll hire a chef and they can handle the food. It’ll be good and you can just chill for the night.”

“I like cooking, especially for people I love.” After reaching across him, I grab a pillow, straddle him, then playfully hold it over his face. “Now tell me who’s this chef cooking? Male or female? And is her food better than mine?” I interrogate with a faux stern tone.

“Why do I feel like my life is in danger if I answer this shit wrong? Don’t tell me you are the jealous type,” he says, a smirk curving his lips.

“Well, I am. Jealous and hella possessive about mine, especially you,” I tease although my words hold a partial truth. Possessive? Yes. Jealous? Not at all. He gives me zero reason to be jealous. It’s very clear that he has eyes for me and only me. “So, tell me the bitch’s name!” I demand while holding my laughter in.

“I don’t know. I didn’t think that far ahead but I’ll make sure she’s toothless and bald headed. Does that work for you?” he asks and my laughter spills out.

“That works.”

“Good, now, can you put the pillow down, killa?” I place the pillow back on the bed then rest my hands on his stomach. His hands trace my thighs then gravitate to my ass. While holding it, he sits up. “I really do like this feisty side of you. That shit is sexy.”

“I only show this side around you. You make it easy for me to be authentically me, all one hundred percent—the good, the bad, and the ugly. I love you so much.”

“I love you more, beautiful. But let’s get this shit straight. There’s no ugly.”

His lips aggressively collide with mine and he kisses me masterfully. My naked body practically melts into his. The obsession I have with him has to be insane but I’ll gladly be crazy for him. How can I not? Pure love, dedication, and trust all wrapped up in a fine ass man I can’t seem to get enough of is something I can even describe or put into words. Breakfast or anything else is the last thing on my mind. I’m craving him. So without breaking our kiss, I reach down and caress his dick. Then I slowly lift and glide him inside.

“Shittt,” I hiss as I ease down on him.

A fter breakfast, Rex joined me in the shower and blessed me with another orgasm before we checked out of Bella House. I decided to spend some time at my place. For the past two months, I’ve been at his home more than my own and I needed to make an appearance. So I spent the rest of the evening at home, resting for work today.

With my pistachio latte from Brewed Beans in one hand and a dozen cronuts from Seasonal Sweets for the team in my other, I enter the back of the restaurant. Kyron, my new manager, and four of the five scheduled cooks are already in the kitchen. It’s time for his forty-five-day evaluation and I decided to come in early to watch him in action.

“Grand rising!” I greet as I enter.

“Morning, Miss Truce.” Kyron speaks first as he rushes to grab the pastry box.

“Thanks.”

“I wasn’t expecting you this morning,” he says nervously but he has no reason to be concerned.

He has actually been doing a great job. Me being here is just a formality. All new hires get two evals during the first ninety days of probation, one midway and one at the end. This midway one allows us to identify and hopefully correct any areas of concern b fire it’s too late.

“It’s time for your mid and I’ve witnessed everything but an opening. Don’t mind me though. Just do what you normally do; pretend I’m not even here.”

“Okay. I’ll try,” he says.

“And please eat those cronuts. I bought those for y’all,” I tell everyone. Then I look back at Kyron. “Where’s Rohan?”

“He called out and this is his third time in two weeks. I put a verbal warning on the desk for you to approve.”

“Okay. Did you get somebody to come in and cover?”

“Mack is coming in two hours early. He’ll be here at ten.”

“Well, use me until then. Let me put my stuff down and then I’ll be all yours.”

I leave him in the kitchen and journey to the office. After locking my tote in the cabinet, I check everything in the manager’s inbox and find his warning request and five schedule change requests. For now, I leave them in the box. I’ll review it all after this morning’s prep.

When I return to the kitchen, I wash my hands then apron and glove up. Kyron assigns me to the meats. The chicken wings and oxtails have been thoroughly cleaned and he wants me to season them. Between the hundred pounds of wings and eighty pounds of oxtails, it takes me two and a half hours. Mack arrives right on time to start the oxtails. From Sunday to Wednesday, we sell a ton of oxtails and fried chicken wings are a daily favorite.

Since I’m already in the kitchen, I make a few more gallons of lemonade before watching Kyron check in a truck order of food and supplies from the Restaurant Depot. He has already developed a good rapport with the delivery drivers which is always a good thing. It comes in handy when we need rush deliveries or favors during crunch time.

By one, I’ve seen enough and I’m thoroughly impressed. He’s efficient, good with delegating and jumping in when needed, and he has truly gained the trust and respect of the team. So, after grabbing some collards mixed with cabbage, two wings, and a cornbread muffin from the kitchen, I go back into the office. Taj is inside eating a salad.

“Well damn. Make me look greedy then,” I scoff playfully when I sit behind the desk. “You made that?”

“No. Mack always makes my salads.”

“Oh really? He’s never made me one.”

“Have you ever asked him to?”

“No but still,” I respond and she laughs.

“Do you want a salad?”

While laughing myself, I answer honestly. “Hell nah. These greens were calling me and I can’t eat greens without fried chicken and cornbread.”

“How was the wedding?”

“Beautiful. It was in the Butterfly Garden, where Monae had her wedding.”

“Oh then it was definitely beautiful. Her wedding was my first time there but I’ve been back a few times. I’ve even eaten in the restaurant there.” She lifts her head from her salad then asks, “So what did you think of Kyron?”

“He’s doing so good. I’ll write his eval up before I leave. No areas for improvement and I only have one score of average and that’s on scheduling. I’m not concerned though. He listens, so between me and you we can get him more proficient at scheduling.”

“Agreed. I can’t believe I almost counted him out because of that damn suit.”

“See. Can’t always judge a book,” I tell her. Then I feel my phone vibrate in my pocket. When I pull it out, I see a text from Daija.

Daija: Where are you?

Me: At the restaurant.

Daija: In the back?

Me: Yes. Where are you?

Daija: Bout to come back.

Daija’s appearances here are few and very far between. She’s always tried to avoid being here. So hearing that she’s at the restaurant causes me to beam.

“Daija’s here,” I say and Taj’s eyebrows shoot up.

“Really? Okay. Things are still good with y’all?” she asks.

“Yeah and I think it’s just going to get better since I have her here for the summer. She’s meeting Rex and Aryel this Friday.”

“Aww. I’m so happy for you. Really happy. This is all you ever wanted.”

“It definitely is,” I agree, utterly and completely. This is truly a dream come true.

The door opens and Daija walks in with a to-go box and a cup of lemonade. Taj smiles then starts to pack up her lunch.

“Hey. Am I interrupting?” Daija asks.

After standing, Taj says, “Oh no. I’m done. You can sit here.” She grabs her box and Stanley then stands. Daija walks over to the desk, places her food on it, then side hugs Taj. “That better be our to-go box,” Taj says with suspicious eyes.

“It is. Oxtails and rice. I smelled them as soon as I came in and had to get some. But I see I really need to come here more. The girl up front tried to charge me.”

“That’s Lovely. She’s new. You didn’t pay though, right?” I ask because we eat free, not all Redmonds though.

There’s too many of us to be giving all family members free food. We would never make a damn profit. The free meals only apply to the owners: me, my dad, and Daija, and Taj. My managers get a free meal a day, on or off the clock, and all employees get fifty-percent off all meals.

“No, the other girl told her who I am. It was cool.”

“Good.”

“Alright. Let me get back to it,” Taj says before departing.

Before sitting, Daija steps behind the desk and hugs me. I’m sure I embrace her for too long, trying to get as much of her as I can. Although I’ve always had her in my life, it’s different now. She truly knows who I am to her and I feel like we are starting over again, in our true roles.

“Did you come to work too?” I ask when she sits.

With raised eyebrows and a smirk on her pretty face, she quickly says, “Um, no. There is nothing poly sci for me to do here. I came to talk to you and grab some lemonade. These oxtails are an added bonus.”

Talk to me ? “You okay?” I ask.

“I’m good.” She opens her food box and her lips drop. “Ugh. I forgot hot sauce,” she says, frown deepening.

“I got you.” I keep condiments in here because the managers often eat on the go in here and forget the condiments. “Right behind you in that top drawer,” I direct her.

She turns, reaches back for the drawer, and grabs the Louisiana Hot Sauce. “Perfect,” she sighs. After getting her food how she prefers, she takes a bite and her smile springs back. “I swear I can’t find oxtails like this in the A.”

“Or nowhere else. But what do we need to talk about?”

“Friday dinner and Daddy and before you stress, it’s nothing bad,” she says and I relax. At the mention of dinner and my dad, I immediately tensed. I didn’t think she noticed but she did. “Porsh is going to be the chef Friday. Her boss told her today that she’s preparing a dinner for four at the home of Rex Goode. She called me immediately.”

“So she knows about me and Rex?” I ask with a smirk.

“You know I tell her everything.” Her everything is full of so much innuendo and inflection.

Porsh has become privy to our family secret.

“She knows and she even knows who he is. He’s cute.” She nods with a smile.

“I think so too and you are going to like him. He’s a good one and I’m really happy with him.”

“Does he know?” she asks and I’m very frank.

“Yes. I also tell him everything. His little girl, Aryel, doesn’t know because she’s just seven.”

Her only response is a nod and I’ll take it. Then, she eats some more of her oxtails. I take the moment to enjoy some of my greens and chicken too. And her too. Any time with my baby is always welcomed and embraced.

After a few more forkfuls of her oxtails and rice, she closes her box then sips her lemonade. Although she is moving at a normal pace, it feels like slow motion because I’m waiting on her news about my dad. I speak to him almost daily, even if the calls are brief and he sounds okay. I just saw him last week and he looked fine. And God knows, I need him to be as good as he looks. I truly couldn’t fathom losing him too.

“Since I’ve been home, I barely see Daddy. He comes home late and is usually gone by the time I get up. He says that he’s going to the church for prayer meetings, Bible study, and deacon meetings but it ain’t that much church in the world.”

“You think something is wrong?”

“I don’t think anything is wrong, wrong but something ain’t right. Like today. It’s Monday and when I got up around nine, he was gone and when I left, he hadn’t come back. That’s at least four hours. At least. Four hours is a long time for church on any day but especially a Monday.”

My mind starts churning at her words: He is gone a lot, damn near every day and Daddy is not sociable. His life was family, the restaurant, and the church. But every day at the church? I don’t think so. But I’ve been talking to him. He’s fine. Well, he was fine but shit! Because of the wedding, I didn’t talk to him all weekend. Panic and worry permeate my spirit as my thoughts run wild.

“Did you go by the church to see if he’s there?” I ask. My box of food is closed and my keys are in the desk drawer. I’m ready to open it, snatch up my purse, and head to the church if she responds in the negative.

“No. I came straight here.”

Before she finishes her answer, my tote is out and I’m standing. “We need to go check,” I tell her.

“Now you’re scaring me. You think something’s wrong with Daddy?” she asks, words and face riddled with anxiety.

“I don’t know and that’s why I need to go see for myself. Let’s go.”

Daija grabs her phone and keys then follows me out of the office. When I see the doors are off her Wrangler, I make the decision to drive and we hop in my ride. We ride mutedly on the short trek to Mt. Calvary Church of God. Daddy’s Cadillac isn’t in the parking lot but thankfully, Daija volunteers to go inside to double check that he isn’t or if he even has been. God Himself would have to tell me to step foot inside before I do.

While watching her trek to the door, a speck of red catches my eye. Whatever it is was quick, almost a flash ,but my eyes did catch it. Curiosity and nervous energy compel me and I kill my engine and step out of my ride. I walk over to the passenger side and lean against it as I search for the moving red object. A small wind pushes through and then I see it. Coasting in the wind is a tiny red bird, probably a cardinal. For a reason I’m not quite sure why, I’m very intrigued so my eyes trace his flight and my feet fall in line. Seconds later, I’m walking along the side of the church.

Mt. Calvary has two parking lots, the main large one out front for the church and a small one for the private cemetery where my mother and other members of the church lay at rest. My dad’s Cadillac is in the last space in the small parking lot. He’s here, in the cemetery.

With each step I take toward my mom’s grave, a cocktail of emotions flood me and I notice a slight uptick in my heart beat and breaths. It’s been one hundred and five days since I was here. The day we left her here I knew it would be my last. Since I can remember, my parents instilled in me that graves were filled with nothing but memories. Upon death, if we lived a life pleasing to Our Father, we would be united with Him in heaven.

“Don’t look for me in the ground, I’ll be with My Father,” my mom would always say.

I held firmly to her words. Obviously, my dad isn’t. I spot his side profile. He’s sitting in a portable chair with what looks like a book in his lap. A large insulated cup is on the ground next to the metal legs of the chair. Because I don’t want to startle him, I call out to him as I approach.

“Daddy,” I say and his eyes lift from his book. When they land on me, he gives me a wry smile but doesn’t divert his eyes. He watches me until I’m by his side. Without saying anything else, I lean in, wrap my arms around him, hold onto him tightly. As we embrace, my eyes well with tears but I inhale slowly and deeply to keep them from falling.

When we end our embrace, I simply ease down onto the grass, bend my legs, and pull my knees as close as I can to my chest. After hugging my legs, I lean my head on my knees and turn my head to him. He closes his book and I recognize it; it’s his devotional Bible. His eyes are trained on the headstone and mine are focused on him.

“I’ve loved your momma since I was seventeen. When my family moved here and I saw her sitting on her porch, it was love. She ignored me for a few months but I won her over. We married three years later so for forty-one years of my life, I was blessed to be with my heart, my whole heart. I love you and Daija. I do but that’s different, a different kind of love.”

As he pours out his heart, my own aches for him and I can no longer inhale my tears. They flow steadily for the man who has always been larger and stronger than life to me. He’s hurting and truly missing my mom. The hurt, loss, and anguish in his voice is heart wrenching.

“Every day for those forty-one years, I woke up next to my heart. I built a life with her and no matter what went on with you girls, at the restaurant, or even at this church, my solace and heart was there for me and we talked. That didn’t just stop because God decided that He wanted His angel back in heaven. I can’t turn it off that fast. That takes time. I need time to adjust and deal with the loss of my heart. Our bodies aren’t supposed to function without the heart but by the grace of God, I am. I just need to come here sometimes and talk to my wife.”

His eyes break from the headstone and he shifts his body and chair to face me. He places his left hand on my knee then stares intently into my eyes.

“Trust me, sweetie. I’m fine. Well, as fine as I can be. I’m not living out here and I know your mother isn’t actually here but it gives me peace and a feeling of comfort to come out here and talk. My visits are less frequent now, and one day, I might not come at all, but right now I need this.”

He squeezes my knee as his eyes plead with me for something, likely understanding. But he doesn’t need to seek anything from me. I miss my mother too. We might have disagreed on a lot of things but my love for her never diminished. Never and it hurts every time I think about her not being here but I can’t imagine how he’s feeling. Their bond, connection, and love was amazing to witness and even harder to watch when it was broken. My heart hurts for him, and if this is what he needs, he can have it. My worry and anxiety have dissipated now that I know what he’s been doing and where he’s been.

“Please don’t worry about me, sweetie. I’m good.”

“I only worried because I didn’t know what was going on with you, Daddy. I understand now. Well, at least from my point of view, I get it. We all grieve in our own way and nobody can dictate it. Just do me a favor, talk to me more. Please.”

“I hate that phone,” he says with a smile, “But I can do that.”

“Then, I’m good. I love you, Daddy.”

“I love you too, sweetie.” After patting my knee, he lifts his hand then stands. “I’m getting a little hungry. You ate?” he asks and I tell a half-truth just to spend some time with him.

“I can eat,” I embellish. “In fact, I can cook if you want.” I ease off the ground and brush the back of my pants off, discarding any grass or dirt residue.

“I think I want to go to the restaurant. Who made the strawberry cake?” he asks.

“Taj. You know she doesn’t let anyone else make it.”

“Good. We can go there for sure. Call your si... Call Daija and see if she wants to meet us.”

“Oh, Daija. She’s here. She went into the church to look for you. She’s probably at my ride, angry.”

“Well, some good food will fix that.” While he lets his chair down, I grab his cup and Bible then we journey to his car. He unlocks the trunk and places the chair in while I place his cup and Bible inside. “I’ll drive you to the front.”

“I can walk, Daddy.”

“Just get in,” he says and I relent.

He drives around the church and parks next to my ride. Daija isn’t inside or standing by my ride. She should definitely be out by now. It’s three; I was back there with my dad for over twenty minutes.

“I wonder where she is.”

“Probably still inside,” he says and I’m sure my face contorts. Reading it, he says, “I’ll go check.”

After releasing an exasperated breath, I agree to do something I vowed never to do. “Nah, Daddy. I’ll go,” I tell him before opening the door. When I do, the doors to the church fly open and Daija barges out. She’s running frantically and it looks like she’s crying. Unintentionally, I slam my father’s passenger door and rush to her. She practically falls into my arms when I reach her and I catch her.

“What’s wrong?” A loud, agonizing, gut-wrenching sound falls from her lips and she screams into my shoulder. “Baby, what’s…wrong?” I ask again, trying to sound calm and cool but I’m far from cool or calm, a million damn miles away. My baby is hurting and I need to find out why.

“Daija, what’s wrong?” my dad’s smooth baritone asks. I hadn’t even realized that he was out of the car and standing beside me.

“He…wouldn’t…look…at me. He wouldn’t,” she cries, still screaming.

“Who?” my dad asks but I already know who.

Tremayne.

“I got this, Daddy,” I tell him. Then, I gently touch the sides of Daija’s arms and lift her from my chest. “Look at me, baby,” I say and she slowly lifts her head. “Stop crying over him. He’s not worth it. Do you hear me? Not worth a damn. The man who raised you and loves you is right here.” I motion toward my dad and he nods. “Tremayne has told and shown you how he feels, believe him. He isn’t going to change and you don’t need him anyway. But stay here with the only father that you know while I go deal with him. Okay?”

“Um kay,” she sobs.

My dad steps closer to her and I transfer her from my arms to his. Hurting Daija’s feelings like this for a second damn time just earned Tremayne a well-deserved cursing out. If he was offended by my few choice words at the restaurant, he’s about to have his entire soul horrified.

While walking toward the church, I say a quick prayer, asking God for forgiveness in advance. Although I wholeheartedly disagree with the leadership in this church, I respect Him and the institution. Today, I just need grace for what’s about to commence.

As soon as I enter the main sanctuary, my eyes make a beeline to the pulpit and see him standing and pacing. With my line of sight only seeing him, I march down the aisle, fury already falling from my lips.

“What the fuck did you do to my daughter?” I bellow ragefully and I hear collective sighs.

We are not alone and I don’t give a fuck.

My words and anger are reserved for only him. The others are just inconsequential and collateral victims. I hear them but my tunnel vision doesn’t allow me to see them. However, Tremayne hears and sees me clearly. So clear that he stops dead in his tracks and glares at me with shock and awe plastered across his cowardly face.

“You need to leave,” a female voice pregnant with righteous indignation says but I tune it out and focus on muted Tremayne.

“Tre-mayne! What the fuck did you do to our daughter?” I repeat, intentionally changing my words for the women minding my damn business. If he won’t say a word, I will gladly announce and expose it all, every damn thing. “Daija, your daughter, is out there crying her eyes out because you can’t be a fucking man and just talk to her. That’s all she wanted, to talk and get to know your sorry ass.”

As I talk, his eyes never leave me and his body appears to be frozen. Muted and motionless but exposed. I feel a hand on my arm and I roughly shake it off. The intrusive voice speaks again.

“This is a church. Please leave,” it demands and I just huff, reserving my words for him.

“How can you claim to be a preacher, a man of God, when you can’t be honest. Huh? What’s the matter? You don’t have shit to say. Why? Is your wife here? What about your other children? You don’t want them to know about your oldest child? Is that it? Huh?”

“Tremayne!” a voice behind me screams and that gets his full attention.

“Baby,” he rushes out.

And although I know I’m surely not his baby, I respond, “Yes,” and that infuriates him. He finally moves and his hand crashes into the podium with so much force the microphone falls to the floor. Loud feedback from it fills the church and bounces off the walls.

“Shut up!” he yells and I just laugh. The nerve of this bastard.

Someone rushes past me and my focus finally shifts. A woman in a blue dress is rushing to the pulpit. Before she takes the four steps up to it, she glances back at me. There’s a flash of something in her eyes, maybe recognition, I don’t know and I really couldn’t care less. The moment she’s on the stage, she’s in his face and they argue so I interrupt.

“I’m not shutting up shit. I will say what the hell I want when I want.” In case anyone in here missed my revelation in the midst of his wife’s interruption, I speak my next words loud and clear. “Tremayne, you and I created Daija together. She’s your daughter and all she wanted was to know you. You fucked that up. You broke her heart and I hope you suffer for that. Just know that you don’t deserve Daija at all. She’s too good for you and your hypocritical ass. It’s you missing out, not her. She has more pureness and goodness in her pinky than you have in your entire body. Whatever you said to her was wrong. Dead ass wrong. You better pray that God forgives you because I never will.”

His secret is out. If my baby has to deal with hurt, so should he. Feeling vindicated, I turn to leave. That’s when I notice the first two rows of pews are filled with people; we really had an audience. Good. The previously empty lobby also is occupied with about seven people. Even better.

With a satisfied smirk on my face, I walk out and see Daija sitting in the car with my daddy. She spots me and hops out. I step to her and she lovingly wraps her arms around me and I gladly embrace her back.

“I love you,” she utters.

“I know. I love you so much.”