Page 59 of The Convict Gets His Girl

"You're not alone in this. We can help," Tasha said.

Zarrel nodded. "That's right. When you move in, we'll all be there to pitch in. That's what I love about this small town. Everyone supports everyone, even convicts like us."

He ran his hands down his thighs as his stomach twisted. "I'm going to need to spend a lot to furnish the house, which means dragging someone with me to drive a truck, since I still don't have a license. There's just a lot piling up right now, and I'm afraid to fail again."

Tasha frowned. "Again?"

His shoulders hunched. "When I got really stressed in high school, it led to a series of terrible choices and that girl died and I went to prison."

"Ah," Tasha said. "You're afraid of making more terrible decisions. You've been conditioned to expect failure, to brace for the worst. It's time to start believing in the possibility of success, of a future where you're more than your past mistakes."

Chase's eyes flicked to Zarrel, whose presence was a balm to the raw edges of his own anxiety. The big man had seen the darkness too, yet here he was, a testament to the journey towards redemption.

"Success in school always came with a letter grade and a degree," Chase echoed. "After I was sent away, I never really considered how it applied to relationships or anything else. Even though I got the degree, I always figured I'd be paying for what I did, not… not building something new."

"Reintegration is more than just surviving on the outside, Chase," Tasha said, her voice gentle but firm. "It's about allowing yourself to thrive. To have hopes, dreams, and yes, even a house of your own or a family if that's what you want. You have tools now to manage stress that you didn't have access to back then, remember?"

He took a deep breath, practicing the meditative techniques to remain calm despite the pain in his chest at the mention of a family—one he wanted with Jewel, though she'd made her stance on that idea clear.

But Tasha's words were also a sharp reminder of the potential daughter he had down in Houston. She deserved more than the shadows of doubt and fear that clung to him like a second skin. He needed to set an example for her, make her proud to have him as a father—and provide a place of refuge. That's what a house of his own would mean to her.

Not having a relationship with Jewel didn't mean he couldn't become worthy of the title of dad. He needed to provide not just a house and physical means such as money for school. He also needed to have healthy relationships with her mom, Jewel, and his own parents and Hunter.

He rubbed a hand on the back of his neck and sighed.

"Ah, I sense a breakthrough," Tasha said, her voice rising with excitement.

He snorted a grin. "Maybe. It's just—if I want a family with my potential daughter, I need to set an example with healthy relationships. Which means—even though I fought with Hunter, and it made me nervous to talk to my parents—I should try to repair that relationship."

Tasha clapped and squealed, "Yes! That's it. The least you can do is try."

He and Zarrel laughed at her excitement.

Once he'd known his mom was going to be alright and there was a schedule of people to stay with her round the clock, he'd holed up in the cabin until he'd gotten tired of going to his parents' for food. He needed to stock up on supplies in the cabin, so he'd arrived in town just in time for his therapy appointment.

This was why he'd long ago learned to look forward to therapy sessions, even when he was still in prison. It was often uncomfortable, but it was always necessary for growth. Like when he became a teenager and his legs would hurt all the time; growing pains were a pain in the ass.

"Do or do not, there is no try," Chase said finally, the declaration feeling like the first step of a thousand-mile journey. "I'll move into the house and speak to my parents before Thanksgiving."

Tasha smiled warmly, affirming his resolve. "That's a step in the right direction. Just remember, you're not walking that tightrope alone."

As the session drew to a close, the walls that once enclosed Chase in his old life seemed less formidable. The path ahead was fraught with uncertainty, but for the first time, he felt equipped to face it—not just as an ex-convict, but as a man striving for a future unchained from his past.

It was what was best for his daughter. Well, his potential daughter. He needed to take this step for himself, so he could grow, but it was easier to focus on doing this for her.

They all stood, and he walked out with Zarrel.

"You need a ride home?" Zarrel asked as they both paused outside the door and pushed their sunglasses on.

Chase shook his head as he put on his baseball cap. "No, I rode Gladys today. Wanted the extra time to think and plan."

Zarrel laughed and stepped toward his car, parting ways with a snide dig at him being the richest careless guy he'd ever met. Chase just grinned and dipped into the alley between the old buildings where he'd left Gladys tied up.

He rubbed her neck and checked that she was alright, but didn't mount up. Instead, he went back around the side of the building and into Tasha's office.

At the ring of the bell above the door, she glanced up from where they'd left her sitting, laptop open now. Her brows rose as she waited.

He pursed his lips then sighed, "Do you have another half hour to talk?"

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