Chapter 8 #3
The walls I thought I had fortified cracked like glass.
I forgot how to be guarded and lost sight of every reason I had rehearsed for why love wasn’t safe for me.
I overlooked how many nights I spent crying over being played, ignored, and silenced, as well as the nights I lay awake, convincing myself I wasn’t worth the type of love I kept praying for.
I even forgot parts of myself that still flinched when someone’s voice became too loud or when a shadow leaned in too close to me.
All I remembered, in that moment, was what joy tasted like.
His kiss wasn’t wild or careless. It was syrup-slow, Sunday-morning warm, deep as scripture when you stopped reading to check a box and start reading to let it pierce your chest. It was a psalm whispered against my lips, worship tangled in passion, and I let myself feel it all.
My eyes fluttered shut, my hands flattening against his chest, every inhale breaking like it was trying to hold on to forever.
His thumb brushed along my jaw, patient, reverent.
My fingers curled into his shirt, clutching tight, afraid that if I let go, he’d vanish.
The world dissolved: the noise, the smells, the fireworks.
All that remained was him, this man’s mouth painting peace across mine, his breath tangling with mine like we’d been doing this for lifetimes.
I didn’t even realize I was crying until I felt a tear race down my cheek, and right after, his lips pressed against it.
Happy tears.
The tears I never thought I would experience again. They felt like God saying, “See? I didn’t forget you.” They were tears of closure and new beginnings mingling together in a way that left both salt and sweetness on my lips.
He pulled back just enough to brush his nose against mine, his eyes searching my face with a tenderness that made me weak. “You good, baby?”
I couldn’t even open my eyes yet. I nodded, my lips parted, my breath shaking like a hymn left half-sung.
“Yeah. I’m good.”
But the truth was deeper than that. Inside, wrapped up in his arms, kissed breathless, feeling seen and safe, I wasn’t just good. I felt like I was home.
His thumb brushed my jaw as my fingers curled around his shirt. Everything around us faded into nothing but sound and color, and that man’s lips painted a sense of peace across mine.
I was home.
EJ was damn near floating when Elias buckled him into his booster in Miss Elyse’s back seat.
He hugged his teddy bear like it was a VIP pass to Heaven and waved at us with both hands like he had nothing but joy stored up in his little chest. “Bye, Miss Pretty! Bye, Daddy! I’m going to Gram’s house! ”
I smiled and kissed his forehead. Elias reached over and dapped him up like he was one of the boys, then turned to me with that grin that always did something disrespectful to my knees.
When we pulled up to my place, the streetlight flickered like it was trying to set a mood. I reached for the handle.
“Hold up, Deputy Gorgeous. You know better than that,” Elias said, his voice smooth and low.
He got out, jogged around the front like a gentleman, securing his Sig to his waistband, and opened my door.
Before I could get a word out, he grabbed my hand and guided me toward my house.
Elias pulled his duty weapon from his waistband, clicked on the flashlight, and stepped inside like he paid bills in this bitch.
“Lemme clear it first,” he said, disappearing into the shadows.
I watched him move, methodical, practiced, a whole storm in hush-toned footsteps. He wasn’t just a man. He was security with a fade and a fresh lineup. When he came back to the front door and nodded, I swore my ovaries tried to salute.
“All clear, baby.”
He took my hand, kissed my forehead, and walked me in like I was worth protecting with every bullet in his clip.
“I started your bath,” he said, already moving like he lived here. “I figured you needed to soak some of that drama off.”
The candles were already lit. The bubbles foamed like clouds baptized in eucalyptus and coconut oil. He helped me undress, taking his time like he was memorizing skin instead of just slipping off clothes.
He washed me, hands slow, respectful, but intimate. Like he wasn’t just washing my body. He was removing the residue of every time I settled, every time I doubted I was worth this level of care.
Then he dried me off, lotioned me down with shea butter and my vanilla butter, and helped me into bed. He tucked me in like I was a precious doll.
He leaned over, kissed my forehead again, then my lips. “Your pretty ass needs to get some rest. I’ll lock up. I’ll see you soon, baby.”
And just like that, he was gone. I sat in my room with my heart full of contentment. I grabbed my journal off my nightstand and logged in a new entry.
July 17th, 10:42PM
My heart has been talking louder than my fears lately. Tonight—it screamed.
Tonight—something shifted.
It wasn’t just the fireworks. Or his mama telling me I made him smile again, like joy hasn’t been a regular in his house for years. Nah, it was deeper than all that.
It was the way Elias looked at me when the sky split open—like God had personally lit that fuse just so he could memorize my face in technicolor. Like I was something rare, worth marveling at. Like I was his peace in a world that doesn’t even apologize when it breaks men like him.
It hasn’t even been that long. We are still learning each other’s favorite snacks and middle names and childhood regrets. But somehow… it feels like I’ve been knowing him through every lifetime my soul had to survive just to end up in his arms under that Self Ridge sky.
Elias isn’t perfect—but damn, he feels permanent.
He feels like Sunday after a storm. Like soft jazz and smudged lipstick.
Like redemption with tattoos and a badge and a voice that sounds like it was brewed in between God’s thunder and a slow jam.
He moves like protection and talks like poetry wrapped in street smarts.
And when he laughs—it feels like I did something right in a past life just to be able to hear it now.
And Lord knows… trust isn’t easy. Not after Kam. Not after having my spirit cracked open and poured out, just for someone to sip from it and spit it back at me like it was bitter. Not after questioning my worth based on the way somebody mishandled my love like it came with a damn return receipt.
But Elias, he didn’t ask for my trust—he earned it without even trying.
He shows up. Steady. Real. Present. Even when I get quiet and hard to read. Even when I’m still half-healing and low-key scared to admit how bad I truly want him.
He’s different.
He isn’t the storm I have to escape. He is the storm—and I don’t want to hide from him.
I want to let him wash over me, flood all the dry places Kam left behind, and rebuild whatever he wants to plant there.
’Cause whatever is growing between us? It feels like flowers sprouting from grief.
Like peace learning how to bloom with a lil’ hood edge and holy protection.
He has weight in his spirit, but he still makes space for mine. He has never tried to shrink me or silence me. Just held me like I was both fragile and fireproof. Like I could burn everything down and still be worth rebuilding.
And when he kissed me tonight?
Whew.
Baby, that kiss under that Self Ridge sky, with all those lights crackling like the universe was throwing confetti just for us?
That kiss made me forget Kam’s name. Made me remember what it felt like to feel safe inside somebody’s arms with good intentions.
It didn’t feel like a goodbye to the past—it felt like a front porch to a brand new life.
It was slow. Sacred. A whole psalm written in pressure and breath. I haven’t felt that seen in years.
I’m finally able to admit it—I love him, not just the idea of him or the fragile hope of love, but him in all his truth.
It isn’t a fantasy I’ve built in my head; it’s the man in front of me, with his flaws, his pain, his past, his boy, his grief, his grit, and the softness he reserves only for me and EJ—I love all of it, all of him.
I really, truly love this man, and though part of me wonders if I’m a fool, if I’m moving too fast or feeling too much, another part of me knows it doesn’t matter.
For the first time in a long time, I’m not scared to say it, not afraid to claim what my heart already knows.
I love him, I really do.
—Nay