Page 41 of Awakening
If there’s any space left in your heart for me, I’m asking for a chance to earn it back. To be the father I should’ve been all along.”
My dam of emotions broke, and the 26 years of pain, grief, and sadness I’d been carrying flooded, and I cried the tears of a black boy who didn’t have the support he deserved, the black boy who had to go into the world and find the family and support he was robbed of. JJ and mymother moved to me, wrapping me in their embrace, as Knox and Ajaih stood back and allowed this moment of healing between us. Finally regaining some of my composure, I moved closer and took his hand.
“I forgive you,” I managed to get out, my voice hoarse from the tears I’d just cried, “But I won’t forget. We all carry the weight of what we’ve survived. But now I don’t have to carry it alone.”
Tears slid down his cheeks as mine restarted.
“Son, I would never ask you to forget, but I am asking you for a chance to love you the way you deserve to be loved and be the father you deserve in the now. I can’t change the past, and I don’t deserve to, but I do want to be in your life.”
Behind me, Ajaih and Knox stood like pillars of support. Steady. Unshaken.
“Dad, this is Ajaih and—”
“Knox,” surprise written all over my face that he knew Knox’s name.
“JJ never hid who you were. I’m guessing you didn’t know he cussed my black ass out years ago about how I’d treated you. He told me that you’d fallen in love with an amazing man named Knox, and he refused to hide your truth to make me comfortable. Said if I wanted to be in the know about your life, I had to accept all parts of your story, not just the ones I deemed acceptable. He even gave your mama the business for being silent about it,” He chuckled as his weak body coughed.
I looked over at my brother as he shrugged like it was no big deal, but the reality is that my baby brother had always been proud of the man I was, and he flaunted it like it was the rarest jewel in the world. That kind of love was integralin replacing the pain I’d carried for so long.
“They say my heart is bad, son. They want to do some type of procedure, but I’d have to travel to another hospital to have it done. I don’t know if it’s worth the headache and pricetag. It might be cheaper to d—”
“AHT! Don’t you fix your damn mouth to finish that statement!” my mother fussed.
“Mr. Carter,” Ajaih spoke, “My best friend is one of the best, if not THEE best, cardiothoracic surgeon in the world. If you’ll allow it, I can have her look over your records and provide a second opinion on the best method of treatment and a plan of attack to get you back healthy.”
Before he could answer, my mother accepted the offer on his behalf, thanking Ajaih with a hug as tears streaked her face. It was apparent that just like my parents had to get to know this version of me, I had to get to know this current version of them. It was evident my father had softened, matured, and grown into a man I could get to know, and my mother had become more outspoken, a bossy little thing whose days of demure were well behind her.
For the first time in years, I felt the roots of something new take hold.
Not just healing. The parts of my life once consumed by darkness were now shining in the light.
It was strange, being back in Winston Hills. The air was heavier, slower than the ocean-kissed breeze of Santorini, but there was something comforting about the familiarity. I stayed with Maverick while I looked for my own place, not out of convenience, but because I wasn’t ready to be apart from him or Ajaih just yet.
One afternoon, I set out to explore neighborhoods and scout locations for the restaurant I had every intention of building from the ground up. I needed something with soul. Charm. A space where food could tell stories. At some point, hunger hit me with a vengeance, and I decided to check out a cozy, contemporary bistro tucked on a quieter corner of the downtown strip. I’d heard they carried local wines, and the vibe was laid-back but stylish, just the kind of place I could see myself frequenting.
I was halfway through a citrusy ceviche and a glass of dry rosé when I felt a shift in the room, a presence, unfamiliar but dominating.
She walked in like she owned the place, full of grace, confident, eyes sharp behind tortoiseshell frames. She was tall, mocha-toned, dressed in wide-leg linen pants and a silk blouse that looked like it cost more than my watch. She carried a leather satchel and an energy that was bothcommanding and inviting.
“Sorry to interrupt,” she said as she approached the bar, “I’m Dana, the owner of Maison Noire. Just wanted to drop in and personally see how the summer rosé’s been moving.”
The bartender greeted her like she was a regular. I turned back to my meal, but I couldn’t help sneaking another glance. She was magnetic.
A few moments later, she noticed me watching. “You trying to figure out if I’m the wine lady or someone’s date?”
I smirked, “A little of both.”
“Knox,” I said, introducing myself as I held my hand out.
That earned a laugh, low, warm, throaty. “Nice to meet you, Knox. I’m definitely the wine lady, but you can call me Dana. You in the mood to taste?”
I lifted a brow, “Of the wine or the mystery?”
She grinned and pulled a bottle from her bag, the gorgeous rock on her finger nearly blinding me. “Let’s start with the wine. The mystery might require a second glass.”
We ended up sitting side by side at the bar. She poured a few samples, explaining the notes—black cherry, burnt orange, a whisper of smoke. She was sharp, knew her stuff, but never talked down. And that smile? Dangerous.
“I’m opening a restaurant soon,” I said between sips. “I’m looking to partner with local farmers, local small businesses, and local wine partners to bring a truly authentic farm-to-table energy. You always show up with a curated selection and a sense of humor?”
