Chapter 6
Morgan
Before leaving the room, I tuck in my shirt and flatten the fabric perfectly. My shoulders set back and spine straightens. I check my hair and wipe away mascara in my compact mirror. Then I apply a fresh coat of candy red lipstick. I wear the color on youth night. It’s bright and fun. Like me.
Muscle memory takes over. Smile ready. Chin lifted.
I’m ready.
I snap the compact shut and look at Jack.
“Let’s go.”
He’s shaking his head for some reason but leads the way. I follow down the long hall that turns twice. My heels echo in the opulent lobby as we pass the front desk. Marble gleams under recessed lighting. Everything smells faintly of lemon polish.
“Goodnight, Norman,” I say to the security guard in a chipper tone.
He waves and I return a toothy smile. The one I practice.
“Night, Miss Montgomery,” he replies warmly.
Good. He doesn’t know what happened.
Jack opens the door for me. As I walk through, I catch him glaring at me with a look that feels judgmental. I’m unsure why. I am nailing this. Daddy would be proud of how well I’m performing damage control.
In the parking lot, crickets sing their loud song. My skin is sticky from the thick humidity.
Jack opens the passenger door of his beat-up car. The hinges squeal in the night air. The sound cuts sharp through the quiet lot.
I strain not to cringe as I gaze down at the old seat. It’s beige fabric, stained with years of spills and worn thin. I even smell the scent of its age, a mix of dust, deteriorating upholstery, and old carpet.
I freeze and glance at Jack. This isn’t my world.
“What, church girl? Never been in a car Jesus would prefer?”
He’s right. Jesus would probably drive this over my BMW.
“It’s perfect.” I drop into the seat like I hadn’t hesitated.
Jack walks around the vehicle. Thankfully, Gabe’s car is gone. I exhale a soft breath, my fear easing.
When Jack sits in the driver’s seat, he opens the console and retrieves a lighter and what looks like...
“Is that drugs?” I gasp as he holds a makeshift cigarette to his lips.
“It’s a blunt.” The lighter’s flame highlights his face in the dark space.
Orange light carves him into angles and shadow.
His features are chiseled. A strong, muscled jaw, defined cheekbones, deep-set eyes, and a few strands of hair lightly resting by his eyes.
His brow has a bead of sweat from the sweltering night, but it only makes him look more masculine.
His cheeks hollow as he inhales.
“So you’re a substance abuser?” I whisper and roll down the window, hoping the skunky smell doesn’t get in my hair.
“Jesus smoked pot,” he says, wearing a smirk, then starts the car.
“He did not. And stop saying the Lord’s name to get your way.”
His lips stretch into a bigger smile before he blows smoke outside the window. The car begins to roll and nervousness fills my body. I should get out.
“Stop the car,” I bark. My voice surprises even me. “I can’t have a drug addict drive me home.”
He brakes quickly, puts the car in park, and reclines a little, relaxed and unbothered. In control. “Good. Because I’d prefer to finish this before I drive anywhere.”
I gawk.
He hits the unlock button, gesturing for me to leave. He takes another drag like I don’t exist.
I snatch the joint without thinking and toss it out the window. It lands in a drainage gutter.
Now he’s the one gawking.
“What the fuck?”
“I’ll scream if you don’t start driving me home. I’ve had a very stressful day.”
He glares defiantly, but jerks the shifter into drive. “This is the only time you’ll get away with that shit around me.”
I purse my lips so I can’t smile.
The car turns onto the highway, and I sit quietly.
Occasionally, I steal glances at Jack. I memorize the way he drives.
How the veins on his hands and forearms make him look so powerful.
How he slouches in the seat, like the space is too small for his long frame.
And how the streetlights flash over his body, illuminating his athletic form as he stares out the windshield.
“So hot,” I whisper. The words fall out before I can catch them.
My heart drops, cheeks flush, and body stiffens.
“What?” he says and side-eyes me.
My hand fumbles with the air conditioning dial.
“It’s hot,” I say loudly, trying to mask my Freudian slip. “I’m sweating.”
It’s not a lie.
He nods and returns his eyes to the road.
I exhale a sigh of relief.
“Is it this street?” he asks.
“Yep. Take a left.”
He does.
In the distance, my house glows with hundreds of landscaping lights. The gold-colored fence glimmers under the moonlight. The property looks more like a resort than a home.
As he approaches the security gate, I grab his forearm.
“Stop here.”
“Here? On the side of the road?”
“Yeah. I don’t want my father knowing you drove me home.”
“Sinner not welcome,” he mutters to himself, but doesn’t seem offended. More expectant. He pulls over. “Okay. Get out. I’ll wait till you’re inside.”
He says it like it isn’t optional.
“No, no! That’s okay. You can drive away.” I open the door and stick my leg out but freeze. I rummage through my bag and pull out my phone. “I need your number.”
His brow furrows.
“In case I report Gabe to the police, I’ll have a witness,” I lie.
There is no possible way I’d call the police. I just don’t like the idea of this being the last time I talk to him.
“Trust me. The cops have my number.”
I frown, but I’m a quick thinker. “We can talk about your brother. Later.”
He hesitates, but that works, and he recites the number. I send him a text to make sure he didn’t give me a fake one. His phone vibrates in the cupholder.
Nice.
I hide my smile and exit the car. I hurry up the fence line, get through the gates and walk the long drive to my front door. Due to the property’s size, it takes about ten minutes. As the front door opens, I glance over my shoulder. Far in the distance, Jack’s car pulls away.
He really waited for me to get inside safely.
Something warm spreads in my chest.
And then I feel empty.
I sigh and march upstairs. My parents are surely asleep long ago.
I shower and let the traumatic memories surface, hoping the water will wash them down the drain.
They don’t. They linger.
I can’t get clean enough, and I scrub and scrub till my skin is raw.
It isn’t so much that Gabe fingered me. It’s more that he betrayed me.
He was someone I’d bet my life would never do what he did.
He took something from me. He shattered my belief there are some people so good, you can always count on them.
As bile rises up my throat, I flip the shower off and get out. It’s making me feel sicker.
In bed, I scroll through my phone, answering a few work emails about tomorrow’s morning service. Then I open my texts and frown.
He didn’t respond. Sure, my message was, ‘its morgan,’ but even a quick, ’got it,’ would have been nice.
My thumbs type fast.
Me: thank u for driving me home.
That’s good. He saved me from Gabe, too.
Me: And for saving me.
I stare at the glowing screen, my heartbeat inching higher.
Jack Killborne: welcome
One word. My heart skips a beat. I exist again.
I am about to fire off another text but stop myself. I need to slow down and sleep on this.
Jack, Gabe, tonight. It’s overwhelming, and something inside me knows texting Jack anything else won’t make the storm inside of me go away.