Page 36 of You Deserve Good Things

His voice, deep and unwavering, had pierced through the armor I’d meticulously crafted over the years. Armor forged from past hurts, betrayals, and the haunting memories of a love that once turned violent.

I remembered the last man who claimed to love me. His love came with bruises, both visible and hidden. He taught me that affection could be a weapon and trust, a trap.

But Chase . . . he was different. His presence was a balm to my wounded soul, his touch, a promise of safety.

I recalled a line from Lil Wayne’s “How to Love”:

“You had a lot of crooks try to steal your heart. Never really had luck, couldn’t never figure out.”

That was me. A heart once vibrant, now guarded. But Chase saw through it all.

Words that melted the ice around my heart.

I found myself at his doorstep, drawn by an invisible force. He opened the door, his eyes reflecting a mix of surprise and understanding.

“Daniale,” he whispered, his voice a gentle caress.

“I . . . I needed to see you,” I admitted, my voice trembling.

He stepped aside, allowing me in. The warmth of his home enveloped me, contrasting the coldness I’d felt for so long.

We sat in silence, the air thick with unspoken words. Finally, I spoke.

“I’m scared, Chase. Scared of what this means, of what you mean to me.”

He reached out, taking my hand in his.

“Daniale, I know your past has been filled with pain, but I promise you, I’m here to heal, not hurt. The only time I’ll lay hands on you is to hold you close, to cherish you.”

Tears welled up in my eyes, his sincerity breaking through my defenses.

“I don’t know how to love. I don’t know how to receive true, genuine, pure love,” I confessed.

He smiled softly.

“Then let me teach you. Together.”

In that moment, surrounded by his unwavering presence, I felt the walls around my heart begin to crumble. With Chase, I saw a future where love wasn’t a battlefield but a sanctuary.

And for the first time in a long time, I was ready to embrace it.

I sat in my car,the engine humming low beneath me, hands wrapped tight around the wheel like they were gripping the moment itself. My heart was knocking against my chest like a drumline at halftime, but it wasn’t fear; it was purpose. It was love on a mission. I wasn’t nervous. Nah, I was charged the hell up. Locked in. Ten toes down.

I had been waiting my whole life to love her out loud, without limits. To put some weight behind all the promises I whispered against her skin when the lights were low and my truth was loud. And now? I was ready to make her mine in front of the whole damn world.

But before the rooftop lights, the music, the ring, the yes—I had one stop to make. One conversation that mattered more than anything else. Her daddy.

Samuel Stiles. That man didn’t speak unless the moment required his voice. He was the kind of OG that made silence sound like scripture. When he opened that front door, the porch light caught the silver threading his beard, and his eyes—calm, but knowing—met mine like they’d been waiting.

“Jacory,” he said with that steady nod, the kind that always made you fix your posture.

“Mr. Stiles,” I replied, clearing my throat like my heart didn’t just skip a whole damn beat.

He stepped aside. “Come on in, son.”

The air in the living room was still. Heavy like it knew what I came to say. We sat across from each other, no distractions. Just me and the man who raised the woman I was ready to build a kingdom with.

He leaned back in that big recliner of his, fingers interlocked, watching me the way real men do—quiet, steady, calculating. And I didn’t fold.

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