Chapter 20
Jack
Idon’t open the note. Not with Noel close.
When I am alone, I unfold it.
A short message that drenches lighter fluid on my obsession with this woman.
I’ve been waiting for a match to strike, and with that, my world burns.
It’s been four days since I last saw her. I didn’t expect her to text. I knew she’d face consequences if her dad was willing to pull a gun on me. The court case was looming. I stayed away for both of us.
Then I got this note that says nothing yet everything. She wasn’t ghosting me. She’s trapped.
We both are, in our own ways.
I shouldn’t go after her dad’s threat, but here I am, about to walk outside.
“Who’s the girl you’re meeting?” says Noel.
“Dating app.”
He nods, skeptical. “It isn’t Morgan, right? Cause the court case is over and now you think it’s okay.”
Shit.
“Nah, man. It isn’t her,” I bold face lie.
But if I’m being real, this isn’t a date. I don’t know what it is. I guess it isn’t really a lie.
He seems unconvinced as he crosses his arms. “I hope you know if it’s Morgan, it’s a mistake. She’s too young for you, and it’s selfish to take her chastity from her rightful husband.”
“Chastity? How much of that Bible have you been reading?” I push on his shoulder jokingly to break the tension.
He doesn’t laugh.
“I read it all.”
“Please say that isn’t true,” I reply earnestly. “You’re not trying to be a pastor or some shit, are ya?”
“When I turn eighteen, I’ll be ordained and get a job at her church. By then she’ll forgive me and we can be together.”
I have no words. My brother is delusional. I just stare, unsure of the best way to respond.
“Jack, be honest. You spent money on a babysitter for some chick you haven’t met?”
I sigh. “I can’t trust you to watch Tommy.”
“Can, too!” he says defensively. “I messed up one time.”
“Stay out of trouble and I’ll believe you eventually.”
He scowls. “Isn’t it late to go on a date?”
“It’s only eight.”
I leave out the part that it’s a three-hour drive.
“Will you be home tonight?”
“Maybe. Don’t wait up.”
Then I leave to end this mock interrogation. He’s becoming a man, but I won’t let him challenge me constantly. A little is fine, but not that damn much.
I’m an hour late after my car broke down. I was able to fix it, but barely.
I doubt Morgan will be awake now. It’s midnight.
Standing outside her hotel room, I debate on knocking. I press my knuckle to the door.
Fuck it.
I knock several times.
A freight train of footsteps runs toward the door. She must’ve been in bed.
The heavy door opens soft but swift. She practically drags me inside then carefully shuts the door.
The room is dim. She wears a red top and shorts, and her dark hair is piled on her head. Her big hazel eyes look up, their gleam reflecting too many emotions at once.
“You came,” she whispers, astonished. “I didn’t think you were coming.”
“I had car trouble. I was—”
Her arms fly around my waist, and she nuzzles her face against my chest.
It’s a relief. A simple, innocent gesture that speaks volumes.
I stroke her back soothingly as we stand in silence.
After she doesn’t let go, I ask, “What’d your dad do to you, Morgan?”
“Everything!” she huffs and steps back, hands waving in the air. “I have stupid bodyguards. One is across the hall. My life is under surveillance. This is the only way I could see or talk to you.”
“You’re an adult. Tell him to fuck off.”
She gawks like I said something blasphemous.
“It’s not that easy,” she replies sourly. “You wouldn’t understand.”
She’s a ball of nerves.
I search the small fridge and grab some shooters. “I think you need a drink.” I toss her a vodka bottle while I down a whiskey.
“Jack! They’ll charge the room! It’ll show alcohol on the bill.”
“Oh, no!” I tease.
I’m not trying to get her drunk and fuck her, but she needs to chill out about ten notches.
I take the little bottle from her hands and twist off the red cap.
“Drink.”
She purses her plump lips tightly and uses her throat to grunt, “No.”
It’s cute and I smirk, but firmly clutch her jaw and tilt up. My lips press to hers as I deliver a sensual kiss.
She melts as expected, and when I pull away, I pour a sip into her mouth.
She wretches, causing me to burst into laughter.
“It burns!” she whines.
“Straight vodka will do that.”
She declines a second swig, making me chuckle.
I grab a shooter and down it before tossing her another. She catches the bottle and stares at it like it’s a bomb.
“It’s wine, church girl. Jesus made it himself. Cheers.”
She hesitates, but takes a sip.
“Not as bad,” she whispers. “Spoiled grape juice.”
I laugh again. “Look at you being a grown up. How does it feel?”
She sits on the edge of the bed. “Sinful.”
“Finish the bottle and give it ten minutes. You’ll feel better.”
She glares.
“Or don’t.” I hold up my hands, amused by her defiant expression.
She tips the bottle back, swallowing the rest.
“What’s it like being an atheist?”
The question jars me. A spiritual discussion is the last thing on my mind when I stare down at this gorgeous woman sitting on the bed.
Normally, my gaze would be fixed on her like a wolf about to attack its prey. After all, she invited me to a hotel room in the middle of the night.
A man can hope.
But this is Morgan. Just being alone with a man is cause for her damnation.
“Jack?” she whispers. A tear rolls down her cheek as she waits for my answer. “What’s it like not believing in God?”
I suppress a groan.
I guess I lie to myself when it comes to this woman. I try to ignore the fact she is what she presents to the world.
A sweet, curious girl.
And damn, do I long to satisfy that curiosity.
I lean against the wall, keeping my distance from the pure thing I’m not supposed to touch. Especially with her crying.
“It’s lonely,” I answer honestly. “I have to fight for everything to keep things going.”
Morgan looks up, and the sadness in her face lessens. “Then why don’t you believe so you don’t feel lonely? You could pray to God and belong to a church. A community.”
I shake my head. “Been there. Done that. Doesn’t work. My family was very religious.”
“Really?”
“Mm-hm. We went to church and prayed regularly. Ya know, Jack is short for Jonathan, my real name. Tommy for Thomas. Noel, because he was born on Christmas. We all have biblical names.”
“Oh my gosh! That’s amazing!”
I snicker, then shake my head. “Not that amazing. My parents worshiped God. Now they’re dead while murderers and rapists have a pulse. Kids get cancer and die. I won’t go on, but what kind of god is that?”
She doesn’t flinch. “Evil exists on Earth. With faith, it makes it easier to live among it.”
I squint, because I am just now sensing where this conversation is heading.
She isn’t... no.
Could she be?