Finding Us (Christian Interracial Romance)

Rekindled Trust

Jeremy 

The warm glow of the candles flickers in Cecilia's cozy apartment, casting soft shadows against the walls. Her intimate 31st birthday party is in full swing, but I've slipped away for a moment, my feet carrying me to her bedroom without much thought. It's quieter here, the noise of laughter and chatter muffled beyond the walls.

I hadn't meant to snoop. Really, I hadn't. But when I notice a framed picture on her nightstand, I freeze. It's us—Cecilia and me—dressed in ridiculous Halloween costumes from 1997. She's a tiny princess, her curls stopped to shoulders while a tiara was adorn on top of her head, while I'm a vampire with plastic fangs too big for my mouth. We were five years old, grinning ear to ear like we owned the world.

A chuckle escapes me as I pick it up. I can almost hear Cecilia's childhood giggle, high-pitched and innocent. Memories flood back—stealing cookies from my mom's kitchen, daring each other to sneak into the neighbor's yard, me singing off-key to Disney songs, on the other hand, Cecilia singing on-key while jumping on the bed.

"Jeremy?"

Shit! I turn, caught like a kid with his hand in the cookie jar. Cecilia stands in the doorway, arms crossed, but there's a softness in her eyes.

"I, uh..." I lift the frame. "I was just looking at this."

She steps closer, taking the picture from me. "Oh, my gosh, we were adorable."

"Yeah and I had the worst fake fangs in history."

Cecilia laughs and it's that same laugh from all those years ago. "I remember you kept tripping over your cape. And then you cried because you got candy stuck in your fangs."

I groan. "Don't remind me."

We stand there for a moment, the past merging with the present. Then she reaches over to her dresser and grabs her wrist, showing off the charm bracelet I gave her earlier.

"I love this, by the way," she says, voice softer. "You always give the best gifts."

I rub the back of my neck. "Just wanted you to have something special."

Her fingers trace one of the charms. "I know Athena and I forgave you a month ago, you know that. But I'm really glad we're getting back to this—to us."

"Me too," I say, meaning it.

We sit on her bed, the mattress dipping beneath our weight. Our knees brush and neither of us moves away. There's a moment—one filled with an awareness that wasn't there before. I swallow hard as Cecilia's fingers absentmindedly play with the bracelet, the delicate silver catching the light.

"You were always the one I trusted the most, Jeremy," she says quietly. "Even when we drifted and deny I thought about you, I still thought about you."

My heart tightens. "Same here."

She looks up at me then, her deep brown eyes searching mine. The air shifts between us, heavier, charged. Her gaze lingers on mine, and for a moment, the noise of the party fades completely. My heart pounds. Cecilia's always been beautiful, but right now, in the soft glow of the lamp, with the hint of a smile playing on her lips, she's breathtaking. There's something unspoken between us, a connection reigniting in the space between our breaths. Slowly, tentatively, I reach for her hand. She lets me.

There's warmth, familiarity... but something new, too. Something fragile and growing.

I exhale, rubbing my temples. "There's something I need to get off my chest."

Cecilia tilts her head. "What is it?"

I hesitate before saying, "Damien O'Brien."

Her lips press into a thin line. "I saw the interview."

"Of course, you did." I let out a humorless laugh. "He's really got it out for me, huh? Keeps going on about how I 'ruined my career' by taking on lighter roles. Like, I can't do anything outside of brooding psychopaths."

Cecilia shakes her head. "You were in The Murder Diaries for almost a decade. You deserve to break out of that typecast."

"That's what everybody said—Amaya, Drew, who is my therapist, and I keep telling myself," I mutter. "But the industry doesn't want that. And Damien sure as hell doesn't."

"You're better off without him," she says, voice firm. "I'm glad you didn't take that role."

"Me too," I admit. "But, I gotta ask—when are you gonna sing again?"

She exhales, staring at her hands. "I don't know."

"You won a Grammy, Cecilia. And then—" I snap my fingers. "You disappeared."

Her gaze lifts to mine. "Singing... it's always been my gift. Since I was four, remember? Belting out Celine Dion in your parents' house?"

I grin. "How could I forget? My parents still talk about it."

She smiles, but it falters. "But now... I don't know if I can keep doing it."

I hesitate. "Is it because of faith?"

She nods. "A little. A lot, actually."

I lean back against the headboard. "I haven't been to church in forever. Grew up in it—Roman Catholic and Christian, strict. But... I don't know where I stand."

Cecilia watches me for a moment. "I know God is real."

"Yeah?"

She nods. "I knew when He gave me the gift to sing. When He healed me as a kid."

I frown. "What do you mean?"

"I had an injury when I was little. Doctors weren't sure if I'd recover fully. But I did. And I know that was Him."

I run a hand through my hair. "That's... pretty incredible."

She reaches for her nightstand and grabs her Bible. "Jeremy, you don't have to figure it all out right now. But faith isn't about having all the answers. It's about trust." 

She flips through the pages and starts reading scripture. 

'For I know the plans I have for you, declares the Lord, plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.' - Jeremiah 29:11

I listen, letting the words settle in a way I haven't before. I glance at Cecilia, her expression steady, unwavering.

"You really believe Damien is... what? Evil?"

Her lips press together. "I know for a fact. There are symbols, red flags. I saw things while working with him that didn't sit right with me."

A chill creeps down my spine. "Like what?"

She hesitates. "It's not something to take lightly. But I've learned to trust what God shows me."

I nod slowly. "And what does God want me to do?"

She squeezes my hand and something stirs in my chest. "He wants you to seek Him. You don't have to be perfect, Jeremy. Just be open."

For the first time in a while, I don't have a comeback. I just sit there, my fingers still laced with hers. There's something comforting about it, about her. I just sit there, Cecilia's voice settling over me like a song I've known all my life but am only now truly hearing. My thumb brushes over her knuckles, lingering, and she doesn't pull away. Instead, she leans in, her forehead resting gently against mine.

A quiet understanding passes between us. Maybe, just maybe, I don't have to figure everything out alone.