Chapter 28
Jack
“Yes. We’re open till six,” I say into the phone. “No problem. Bye.”
I hang up the phone at the front desk.
Check the time. I got a few minutes. I open my news feed to see Morgan’s latest posts. The comments annoy me to no end:
LOVED when Morgan got choked up about marriage *heart emojis*
Blake is perfection! Theyre getting married. Cant fake that kind of chemistry.
GOD’S COUPLE.
I toss my phone on the desk. I’m torturing myself. I can’t fucking stop thinking about her.
A delivery man enters.
“Sign here.”
I scribble my signature.
“It’s outside being unloaded.”
“Unloaded?” I look out the window. A car hauler.
I hurry out the door as a large white truck rolls down the ramp. A man hands me keys and an envelope, which I rip open.
This is safe and reliable. -MLM
What the... she bought me a truck?
No way.
Julie gawks at the vehicle. “Guess you don’t need rides anymore.”
I don’t respond, just march back inside.
She’s fucking nuts. This isn’t happening.
Oh.
I get it. Bet she did this before our fight.
“You seem upset. Is this not good news?” asks Julie.
“It’s a bigger headache. Not as bad as Noel missing, but close.”
She rubs my shoulder in a comforting gesture.
“Can you do me a favor and go to the airport with me after work?”
“Definitely! Anything to help.”
“Thanks.”
Later, I park the new truck in the airport parking garage.
This thing is ridiculous. Nicer than her dad’s truck. Leather seats, luxury sports package, all the upgrades.
“Fucking, Morgan,” I grumble bitterly.
Julie parks beside me. Good. We’re on time. Soon, we’re by the arrivals gate. I scope the travelers, looking for Morgan.
She’s so dead.
When I finally spot her, she’s her dolled-up self. Perfect silky ponytail, makeup, and a bubbly smile. That Blake-fuck and her dad are beside her.
Perfect.
I whistle loud to get her attention.
“Morgan!” I call out, leaving no doubt I’m waiting for her.
When her eyes catch mine, the color drains from her face. She’s mortified.
She appears ashamed as she weaves through people to cross the space between us.
“What are you doing?” she hisses low.
I hold up the truck keys. “I didn’t think you were this stupid, but apparently I was wrong.”
“The truck was arranged before our text blowout.” She stamps her foot.
“You bought me a $150,000 truck. Think, Morgan. I’m running a nonprofit that’s barely getting by. The public will think I’m squandering the money on luxury shit.” I force the keys into her hand.
There. Now she can’t hold her massive wealth over my head. I can’t be bought like her fucking church buys believers. I definitely won’t be pitied by her.
“You... you don’t want it?” she says, her tone a mix of sadness and astonishment.
“Hell no.”
I glance at Blake, who watches from afar. He’s trying to be subtle, but he can’t look away.
I hate that guy.
I want to storm off, but I can’t stand the idea that he’s the type she’ll marry. I’ve barely been able to digest the fact Morgan was touching him.
No, no, no. Think about something else.
But seeing him and her in person is too damn much. I’m pissed.
“Did ya tell your boyfriend I fucked you?”
“What! He’s...” Her words trail off, which is not the response I wanted.
Something’s really there. Something between them.
Fuck, I am infuriated with myself for hoping there wasn’t.
I bite down as the past five years flash. Every dream died, along with every hope since.
“We should go,” Julie coos, and pulls out her car keys. Together, we turn toward the exit.
“Who’s this?” says Morgan. She follows us, her high heels clicking.
Julie, being the professional she is, extends her hand as we walk.
“I’m Julie. I work for Jack. It’s lovely to meet you. Noel spoke of you as his inspiration for our weekly Bible study.”
“Oh. That’s nice.” Morgan’s eyes narrow as they shift my way.
“Jack, hold on,” she whispers with concern in her voice.
I ignore her. There’s nothing to say.
“Jack,” she says louder.
When I don’t stop, she grabs my hand and jerks hard.
It surprises me. Not whispering and publicly touching me.
That makes me halt.
“I gave you the truck because you needed one.”
“But you bought me a fucking truck.”
She leads me a few steps away to give us privacy. “Jack, you need help.”
“Not from your church’s piggy bank.”
“No! The money was from my book sales and appearances. Not donations.”
I stare, a bit taken aback that she used her own money to buy me something that generous.
“I thought that’s what we’re supposed to do.” She looks over her shoulder at the men still staring at us.
“What do you mean, supposed to do?” I ask.
“You know. I felt like we... it doesn’t matter. Please keep it.”
My stomach knots and I strain not to react.
“No, Morgan. Keep your truck and your regrets.”
She winces, then draws in a deep breath.
“You weren’t a regret, and I was fine at first.” Her thumb strokes the top of my hand, and her gaze finally meets mine.
A single tear rolls down her cheek. “It was hard on that stage. I thought about you... the things we’ve done.
I truly wish we could be together, Jack, but you don’t believe in God. ”
My heart races and palms sweat, but I stay composed.
“Save your religious shit.”
“My faith is important to me,” she says. “The guilt that overcame me onstage was testament of what I already know. Sleeping with you was bad, but God forgives me.”
For a moment, I stare, and everything I’ve tried to ignore comes crashing down in perfect, brutal clarity. Deep inside, I wished that photo of her and Blake was innocent. I hoped our phone call wasn’t real. That her grim texts weren’t the end.
They were.
Morgan and I are over. I’ll never touch her again, hold her, talk to her.
My chest collapses on itself. My hands curl into fists to hide their tremble.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers. “You are always welcome at church. God loves you. He has a plan for you, too.”
The pity in her tone is lethal. Enough to boil my blood and ice my veins at the same time.
“A plan for me,” I mumble low, the words venom on my tongue. “Tell me, you dumb preacher’s daughter, did God plan for my parents to die in a car wreck? Have me hold my mom’s bloody body when she took her last breath?”
“God didn’t—”
I hold up my hand.
“So I could raise two brothers on my own. One who hates me. The other—” I grab Tommy and cover his ears tightly. “The other an endless challenge. Who I love unconditionally, but will have to take care of for the rest of my life?”
I release Tommy and shake my head. “What a plan. Twenty-three years old and I’m practically a single father. I didn’t sign up for that, so what woman would?”
“It okay,” Tommy chimes in, trying to cheer me up. He must see I’m upset.
Morgan puts her hands in prayer. “We all have struggles that test our faith. Sometimes, we don’t understand God’s plan, but later—”
“Later? That’s the best part!” I say sarcastically.
“Did you know a lot of people with Down Syndrome lose their ability to speak by thirty? As if it isn’t hard enough to communicate with Tommy.
There’s something to look forward to. But never mind the future.
How about now? That’s when God’s plan really got good. ”
I stare intensely into her hazel eyes.
“God threw a virgin in my path. One that I’m not supposed to touch or want.
One that after years of darkness brought a sliver of joy.
Then my dumbass started falling for her because I believed that maybe, I could have one fucking thing that was mine.
Then God, in all his wisdom and glory, said, ‘No, no, that’s not the plan.
You’ll fuck her, she’ll regret it, dump your ass, and then hook up with a preacher. ’”
As if I flipped a switch on her, tears gush down her cheeks.
It sickens me, though. I should feel bad for making her cry. It’s not her fault we’re incompatible. It’s not her fault this is my life. It’s just irritating.
“Regret weighing you down again? Poor Morgan Leigh Montgomery. Rich and famous. She can get any guy she wants. And here she stands, crying in front of a man who has nothing.”
She doesn’t leave and that frustrates me more, because if I am being real, her being close is...
Fuck.
I glare. I shouldn’t say it. I shouldn’t. But goddamn, this woman is too much.
So I say it.
“Fuck your god and his plan, Morgan. And fuck you, too.”
Now I hate myself for stooping this low. She didn’t deserve it.
But instead of running like I need her to, she just stands there, speechless. I know what she’s thinking. She’s searching for God’s help, but it’s hard to preach when fluffy words fix nothing.
I sigh, defeated, and mumble, “See ya, church girl.”
Then I finally step away.
And it sucks.
Never again will I put myself in this situation.