Page 68 of The Street Disciples
The window was cracked just enough to let in the faint hum of Lyon Crest at night: a distant siren, laughter from a porch two blocks away, the low rumble of a bike rolling past. But in here? It was calm. Sacred. A sanctuary carved out of a warzone.
The rain tapped against the window, a steady rhythm. My hands trembled as I laid her down, but not from fear. From knowing this was holy.
We moved slow, like we were relearning each other, like every touch was sacred. Her lips trailed along my jaw, her breathwarm on my skin, and for the first time in years, I felt… peace. Not because the world outside stopped being dangerous, but because I was finally where I belonged.
Then Nova froze.
Her hands cupped my face, eyes closed tight, and I felt her body tremble—not from fear, but from something heavier. “Wait,” she whispered, voice thick but steady.
I leaned back, breath uneven, heart pounding loud enough I swore she could hear it. “What’s wrong?”
She shook her head, tears gathering but not falling. “I can’t… we can’t— not like this. Not with all that’s still tied to us.”
I swallowed, unsure, watching her climb off the bed and kneel right there on the worn rug. Her hands lifted, palms open, chain glinting in the dim light.
“Father God…”Her voice cracked, but she didn’t stop.“I come before You broken, but Yours. And I lift this man before You—the husband You gave me. Lord, I break every soul tie, every bond, every chain that was never meant for us. I renounce every spirit, every shadow that tried to take what You made holy. I cover us in the blood of Jesus, from our heads to our feet. Wash us, Lord. Make us new. Give us clean hands and pure hearts.”
I felt a lump in my throat so thick I couldn’t speak.
Her voice grew stronger, authority threading every word.“No more shame. No more guilt. No more curses over this bloodline. We break every assignment of the enemy in Jesus’ name. Every Jezebel, every Delilah, every spirit of death, lust, and betrayal—gone, right now, in the name of Jesus Christ. This marriage belongs to You, Lord. This family belongs to You.”
Tears burned my eyes, but I stayed quiet, listening to her pray over me like she was fighting for my soul.
She reached for my hand, fingers lacing through mine, and bowed her head. “We’re not perfect, Lord. But we’re Yours. Clean us. Heal us. Redeem us. Tonight, we start fresh. A covenant renewed under Your covering.”
The air in the room shifted. Heavy. Holy. Like the weight of everything I’d done, everything I’d carried, had just been placed in Someone else’s hands.
I sank to my knees next to her, forehead pressed against hers, both of us trembling. I couldn’t find the words, but she prayed them for me. She always did.
When she finally whispered“Amen,”it felt like chains snapped in the air around us.
I pulled her into my arms, burying my face in her neck, breathing her in like I’d been drowning for years.
“Nova…” My voice broke, but she didn’t flinch. She just held me tighter.
“I love you,” she whispered, tears finally spilling onto my shoulder.
“More than life,” I rasped, and meant every word.
And when we kissed again, it wasn’t desperation anymore. It was healing. I climbed from the floor and sat down on the edge of the bed, elbows on my knees, eyes locked on Aaliyah. That weight on my shoulders felt heavier in here. This was home. My home. But I was a stranger walking back into it, carrying ghosts like they were part of my wardrobe.
Nova came over quietly, a glass of water in her hand, wearing a simple oversized tee that made her look softer than I remembered. She looked into my eyes with love that I knew shouldn’t be there. Her finger curled under my child. Our gaze locked. She gazed at me, then at Aaliyah, a small smile pulling at her lips even through the exhaustion in her eyes.
“This is what you almost missed out on,” she whispered, her voice cutting through me sharper than any bullet ever could.
I swallowed hard, nodding once. My fingers traced the chain at my neck as I leaned back, the smell of baby powder and lavender filling my lungs. This was everything I never thought I’d deserve, sitting right in front of me.
My hands moved to her waist, sliding her night shorts down slowly, my touch careful, reverent. She allowed me access to her again, and I didn’t want to mess this up.
She pulled at my shirt, tugging it over my head, exposing a chest she hadn’t seen in years. Her name rested over my heart in big, bold letters, the ink darker than the room’s soft glow.
Her fingertips brushed over it, trembling but sure, tracing every letter like a promise I’d broken but never erased. I kissed her wrist, then her shoulder, breathing her in like a prayer I didn’t deserve to pray.
The lamp’s warm light painted her skin gold, shadows pooling in the curve of her collarbone as she looked at me with that fire and grace that always made me weak. She didn’t speak, but her touch told me everything—years of love, loss, and forgiveness woven into every slow movement.
I held her close, hands anchoring her like I was afraid she’d vanish again. The lavender-scented air was thick with tension and need, but it was more than that—it was home.
The world outside faded away as our breaths tangled, the storm in the Crest quiet for once. And in that stillness, it was just us—two souls finding their way back, one touch at a time.
