Hollywood Hustle & Heart
Chapter 6 - Mike
Chapter 6 - Mike
Jenna lay peacefully on my chest, her breathing soft and steady like a lullaby I didn’t know I needed. I didn’t want to move. But nature called. Carefully, I shifted her, gently placing her head on the pillows behind me. I brushed a kiss on her cheek before slipping away, trying not to wake her.
As I walked to the bathroom, I smiled to myself. Three weeks. That’s how long it’s been. And somehow, we just… clicked. To be real, I almost backed away when she admitted she was still working through her faith. I’d always imagined I’d end up with someone already on fire for God. Someone fully grounded. But when I called my brother after our third date, halfway ready to call it quits, he challenged me.
“Maybe God’s using you to draw her closer,” he’d said. “But that’s only gonna happen if you keep it holy. Stay abstinent. Build a real friendship. Exclusive, but pure. That’s how God shows up.”
And man… God had been showing up.
The last couple weeks, Jenna and I prayed together, studied the Word. And in my spirit, I felt a quiet confirmation: she wasn’t just a good woman—she was assigned. Not just to be loved, but to be led.
Still, part of me wrestled. My mom’s faith was what anchored me and Chi when things got bad with our father. That kind of love for Christ—it leaves a mark. So I guess it makes sense that I was holding Jenna to that same standard. Not out of judgment, but out of hope.
Washing my hands, I stared at my reflection. I was proud of the man I was becoming. But beneath that pride was something I hadn’t fully faced—my father. Around the second date with Jenna, memories of him started creeping in like old dust stirred by new movement. Maybe God was nudging me to deal with it. To confront a chapter I had long closed but never truly healed from.
I didn’t have a relationship with him. Barely even a memory worth salvaging. But I knew one thing for sure: I couldn’t let that wound infect what was blooming between me and Jenna. I needed this to work. I wanted it to.
Back in the living room, I paused at the sight of her—still curled up on the couch, the golden afternoon light casting a soft glow over her face. That familiar warmth rushed over me, the kind that made me believe that maybe, just maybe, love could be safe this time.
She deserved rest, and I knew she’d been grinding hard on that new reality show. I slipped away to my office, wanting to give her space to nap while I got some work done. As I updated my spreadsheet, I played a podcast by Will Johnson, this mental health expert from Philly who had been blowing up lately.
I was about to skip to the next episode when his words hit me like a sucker punch:
“As men, we try to outrun the pain by swearing we’ll never be like our fathers. But that promise—if rooted in bitterness—will backfire. You can’t heal what you won’t face. Healing happens from a place of wholeness, not revenge.”
I stopped. Rewound. Listened again. Then scribbled the quote in my journal.
It was like he reached inside my chest and yanked out the exact vow Chi and I made as boys. We’ll never be like him. But were we healing… or hiding?
I sat back in my chair, chest heavy. Maybe that’s why God brought Jenna into my life now. Not to fix her—but to finally fix me. I didn’t want to carry the weight of broken male legacy into something so beautiful.
Without overthinking it, I drafted a quick email to Will, hoping maybe he’d respond. Healing wasn’t just about being a better man—it was about becoming a man capable of real love. The kind Jenna deserved.
Sunday, after church let out, Jenna and I walked hand-in-hand to the parking lot. As I helped her into my car, I noticed she looked radiant, energized by the message. Pastor Sarah had come back to preach at ONE, and as always, she brought heaven down with her. She had this way of speaking directly to a woman’s pain—untangling trauma with truth and reminding them of who they were in Christ.
As I started the car, Jenna was already reading her sermon notes, eyes full of light.
“That was so good,” she said, her voice soft but certain. “I feel like God heard my prayers last night.”
I glanced at her, intrigued. “What did you pray about?”
She hesitated, then smiled shyly. “Us. I asked God to show me He’s really with me in this season… and her sermon confirmed it.”
I squeezed her hand, my heart thudding. I didn’t press for details. I didn’t need to. She was seeking God the same way I was—and that meant everything.
As the music played low, she turned to me again. “Mike… have you ever been in love?”
The question hung in the air as I slowed to a red light. I looked over, seeing the curiosity dancing in her eyes.
“Yeah,” I said honestly. “But I don’t think it was God. It was love, but not purpose-driven love. I’ve always wanted that—my person. The one God wrote into my story.”
She tilted her head. “That makes sense. There’s a difference between loving someone and knowing God ordained it.”
I wasn’t expecting her to grasp that so quickly, but there she was, catching it. Feeling it. Living it.
“Can I share something?” she asked, voice suddenly vulnerable.
I nodded, eyes still on the road, but hand tightening around hers. “Of course, baby. What’s up?”
She shifted in her seat to face me. “I think I’m in love with you.”
The words came out in a rush, like she feared she’d lose the courage if she slowed down. My heart skipped. Stopped. Then surged.
I pulled into a nearby plaza and parked. I needed to see her when I responded.
“You mean that, Jenna?”
She nodded, her eyes glistening. I leaned in, kissed her slowly, reverently.
“I love you, too,” I whispered. “And I know this feels right… because it is. I won’t run from it.”
She reached for my face, pressing her lips to mine again. “I wanted to run… but this feels like home. I need you.”
The weight of her words landed heavy on my heart—in the best way. We kissed again, this time slower, more intentional. Sacred.
Then I did what I’ve never done before—not in love like this.
I took her hands, bowed my head, and prayed.
Not for the idea of love.
But for this love.
For a love that honored God from start to finish. For healing—mine and hers. For grace to be the man she needed, not in spite of my past, but because I was finally willing to face it.
And for the first time in my life, love didn’t feel like pressure.
It felt like purpose.