Page 26 of You Deserve Good Things

“Four years,” she said softly. “Since . . .”

She trailed off, but I already knew what she didn’t say.

I nodded. “Since you left me.”

Her whole body stilled. Her grip on the cup tightened like it was the only thing keeping her grounded.

“Jacory,” she started, her voice barely a whisper.

“Nah.” I shook my head and leaned forward, my elbows pressing into the table. “We gon’ talk about it, Yaya. I told you, ain’t no more running, baby. Not from me.”

She exhaled, long and heavy, like the truth weighed more than her chest could hold.

“I ain’t mean to hurt you,” she whispered.

My jaw flexed hard. “You ain’t mean to, but you did. It’s not even that you left. You couldn’t control that shit at all. It’sthe fact that you cut me out your entire life when you did. No contact. Straight silence.”

And it was like I could feel the memory of that pain crawl back up from my gut. That night. That silence. That goodbye I never got. It still haunted me like unfinished business.

She looked at me then, really looked at me, like she was tryna measure just how much damage she’d done. But she didn’t even know the half of it.

I ran a hand down my face, steadying my voice. “Four years, Yaya. Four years of wondering if you ever thought about me. If you missed me like I missed you. If you still had love for me buried underneath all that pain you’ve been carrying.”

She closed her eyes, her lashes trembling. “Every damn day.”

That confession hit me harder than a bullet to the chest. It knocked the wind outta me and kissed my soul at the same time.

I reached across the table, my hand sliding over hers. She flinched at first, like touch was foreign to her now, like love was a language she forgot how to speak. But after a moment, she let me hold her. And that was all the answer I needed.

“You think I came all this way to let you slip away again?” I asked, my voice dropping low, rough around the edges, filled with every ounce of the love I had left in me.

Her breath hitched.

“You don’t know me anymore, Jacory,” she whispered.

“Nah, baby,” I said, tilting my head as I studied her. “I know you better than anybody. I know the way your voice gets real soft when you’re scared, how you tuck your hair behind your ear when you’re tryna stay strong, how you laugh with your whole body when you finally let yourself feel joy. I know the way you shut down when you feel like you gotta protect everybody but yourself.”

She looked down again.

“You’re still scared,” I said gently. “Still afraid to lose me like you lost Silas.”

Her body tensed. Her whole aura dimmed like I’d reached too deep, pulled at a wound that never healed right.

But I didn’t flinch. I squeezed her hand tighter. “I get it. But, baby, you don’t have to carry that fear alone. I ain’t him. I’m still here. I’m still breathing. And I’m not going anywhere.”

She shook her head slowly. “You can’t promise that.”

“I can,” I said firmly, locking my eyes with hers. “I can promise I will fight every damn day to stay. I will love you through every breakdown, every tear, every wall you try to build up between us. I will climb that shit barefoot if I have to.”

She blinked fast, tears threatening to fall. But she was stubborn as hell—wouldn’t let them fall in front of me.

“I waited too long for this,” I added. “I’m ready when you are. Been ready. But I need to know if you are ready to stop being scared and start being loved the way you deserve.”

Silence wrapped around us again, thick and heavy like summer heat.

She pulled her hand away gently, her fingers trembling. “I need time.”

I nodded, standing up slowly, not in anger but in understanding.

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