Chapter 8
Jack
Once inside the store, I walk down a long aisle of doors. The place smells like lumber and paint. Fluorescent lights buzz overhead.
Morgan walks beside me, texting on her phone. Her heels click softly against concrete.
I try to be careful with what I say. I need her to like my family enough to give Noel a break. Her dad must want him punished if he pressed charges. He’s always been heartless. Everything I do circles back to protecting my brothers, yet he won’t give me a break.
I ask casually, “Why did you come to my house, and why help with the door?”
“I don’t know. Paying it forward. You helped me. I help you.”
Makes sense, I guess. But deep down, something doesn’t feel right. She’s too calm.
Now that I think about it, she seems unbothered. Nobody would guess she was assaulted yesterday. Just look at her. Hair and makeup as polished as ever. Little Sunday dress.
I wonder if she knows it’s tailored in a way that screams sex despite covering every inch of her most tempting parts.
And man, are they tempting. Her small waist accentuates the fullness of that plush ass...
Okay Jack, stop. Focus on what matters. The attack. I’ve been so disoriented from the robbery, that I forgot to ask how she’s doing. Apparently, she went to church like it was just another day.
“You alright? After last night?”
“Mm-hm,” she answers dismissively and points ahead. “Oh, wow, that’s a pretty door.”
Okay... she doesn’t want to talk about the assault. I’ll let her deflect. I don’t have much right to pry.
“Out of my budget,” I say.
I find a door that looks like the old one and is cheap enough. I load it on the trolly and head for the checkout. Soon, we’re back in the truck and almost home. Then this weirdness will be over. Just need to fix things for Noel.
“Hey, Morgan. About my brother. Do ya think your dad will drop the charges?”
She taps her chin and looks out the window.
But then, her phone rings.
“Hey. Yep. I know, Bailey,” she says into the phone. “I’m just really sick. I can’t do the evening service. Maybe Ingrid can fill my spot?”
They talk for a minute before she hangs up.
“You’re sick?” I say and park in my driveway.
She clutches her stomach. “Nauseated all day.”
Not buying it. She looks great.
Quickly, she jumps out of the truck and opens the tailgate. “I’ll help you install this.” She struggles to pull the door from the truck bed. Her heels wobble on the old concrete drive. It’s ridiculous watching her, but it makes me smile.
“I got it from here, Morgan,” I assure.
Her bottom lip protrudes as she pouts.
I slide the door out easily. “Thanks, though. For everything. And if you could talk to your dad, that’d be great. He doesn’t like me much, but he likes you.”
For some reason, she seems distraught, pauses, but beams once more.
“I’m starving. I’ll make us dinner while you install that,” she blurts, once again changing subjects.
Nobody’s cooked for me in years, but it shouldn’t start with her. I try to protest, but she answers her phone and walks inside my house.
I am almost certain she isn’t on a real phone call.
This is starting to get confusing. She’s kind of clingy, but we haven’t done anything. I wonder if I am giving her signals unintentionally. Can’t be. I’m not hitting on her. Not once.
I shrug it off. I don’t want to dwell on what goes through a preacher’s daughters mind.
I install the door and feel pleased with the result.
“Good job,” she says, appearing at my side.
“Um, thanks.”
“You look all sweaty.” She hands me a glass of ice water and condensation cools my palm.
“Do I? It’s humid.”
I smell my shirt. It’s fine. Regardless, I strip it off.
“I’ll shower before dinner,” I call out, then I stop and spin around. “Oh, and if you have to go, please don’t leave until I’m out. I don’t want Tommy alone.”
She seems dazed. I look behind me, but there’s nobody there.
“Morgan? You alright?”
She squeezes her eyes shut, then blinks as if they’re dry.
“Sorry,” she says, fanning herself. “It’s hot in here, huh?”
Oh.
This makes sense now. I’m shirtless. Most guys she’s around wear collared shirts buttoned to the top. My tattoos are new to her.
I keep walking. Shower. Dress. Assure myself I am overthinking this.
When I get to the dinner table, she has created a feast. I look at the sink and I am sure she used every kitchen gadget. Mom would’ve been proud, but I tense, because it’s both invasive how much she’s done, yet a welcome relief.
“Damn, this is amazing.”
“Yeah!” Tommy agrees. “Amazing.”
She sits across from me, looking bashful.
“Thank you,” she murmurs modestly.
I notice her pray silently before digging in. It’s kinda cute, but of course, I don’t join in.
I say nothing the entire meal. I devour it. I haven’t had this kind of home-cooked meal in ages.
When I finish, I set my fork down and lean back. I just stare at her for a while. The space feels fuller.
She catches my gaze and smiles nervously.
“Morgan, this was incredible. I fucking needed that.”
Because I feel so much better.
She bites her bottom lip and blushes, then smiles. Real this time. “My pleasure.”
She gets up to clear the table, but I stop her.
“No, no, no. You’ve done enough. Tommy and I will get it.”
We grab plates, but my phone rings. Noel. I glance out the window. It’s getting dark.
“Are you coming home?” I answer. “You have school tomorrow.”
“I know, I know. I wanna stay at Liam’s. We’re at an important part in this game, and his mom says she’s too tired to drive me home.”
“Let me talk to her.”
“She’s like showering or something.”
“Noel, don’t lie.”
“I’m not!” he whines.
Then Liam’s voice sounds in the background.
“She is. My mom’s showering.”
At least he’s really with Liam.
“Have her call me when she gets out,” I persist.
He groans and mumbles, “Not my dad,” but agrees and hangs up.
I grunt as the tension in my shoulders returns.
I finish cleaning up, stewing the whole time about Noel. I look for Tommy, who disappeared halfway through as he always does, and I find him and Morgan in the front room. They sit on the couch watching YouTube videos and snickering. It’s a relief to see Tommy laughing after what happened
“Did you clean this room?”
She nods, proud.
“Thanks,” I murmur, but once again, it’s somewhat jarring.
I wait by the television for a moment, expecting her to get up and leave now that everything’s done.
She doesn’t.
She pats the cushion next to her. “Come relax.”
Okay, I’ve had enough of this shit. It’s time to face this. I drop beside her. Immediately her perfume floats over. Sweet and flowery.
It’s nice. Really nice.
Everything about her is nice.
Even the way her glossy hair rests on her shoulders. That smile. Her dainty fingers pulling a blanket over her lap. The way she chats with Tommy like he deserves a real conversation and not just a few words out of pity. She talks to him like he matters.
I sigh softly in frustration, because I guess I don’t want her to leave.
I rub my face and slump deeper into the couch. This is another problem I don’t need.
Her and Tommy laugh more. She even makes us popcorn.
I let her, too. I sorta like the company. I like the warmth she brings into this house. It makes it feel more like a home than a burden I have to maintain.
And I take in the rare moment of peace since someone is here to watch Tommy. My eyes close. Just for a minute.
A power nap.
Nothing will go wrong.