Chapter 37
Morgan
Paul stopped recording...
But Ingrid didn’t.
She spliced that video into several clips and blasted it all over social media. It went viral among Christian circles. Even non-Christians reveled in Jack’s talent to recite the Bible so effortlessly.
I haven’t recovered.
Ingrid sprawls on her couch, grinning. “And Gabe said I was bad at marketing! I just made Jack ten times bigger than him.”
I purse my lips to hold back a frown. With my phone held up, I complain.
“I really dislike all these women wanting to meet him.”
She laughs, her grin just as wicked. “Envy is a sin! Don’t be jealous.”
I stick out my bottom lip. “I am.”
The last thing I want to do is make Ingrid feel bad when she is on cloud nine, but this is awful.
“I mean it. I wish you didn’t post that. I can’t imagine what Jack’s DMs look like. He is probably getting marriage proposals from twenty-year-old virgins. Women who can actually settle down with him, unlike me.”
“Aww.” Ingrid pops up from the couch and rushes to my side. “Relax, babes. I saw the way he looked at you. Jack isn’t over you.”
“Then why hasn’t he tried to contact me?”
This time, she shrugs. “I hoped going viral would make him see he belongs in a church.”
I snicker softly. “So you were trying to convert him!”
Her cheeks flush and she replies shyly. “I was. Stupid, huh?”
“No, it wasn’t,” I soothe. “I just wish God would give me a sign. I truly believe he wanted me to see that side of Jack.”
Suddenly, my phone vibrates in my hand. “Eugene.”
“Hello, Morgan, your dad wants to know what the ten-dollar charge was at a place called the Burnout Shack.”
I sigh, exasperated. I am so tired of Dad tracking every time I use my credit card. “It was a coffee shop. I bought a latte. This is ridiculous.”
“I am just doing my job,” he defends.
I pause. He is right. It is not his fault he has to follow Dad’s insane orders.
“Sorry, Eugene,” I say earnestly. “I am just... depressed.”
The confession expels from my throat like shame-vomit. I’ve known Eugene my entire life, but still, I haven’t admitted that truth to even myself. To be depressed when I have everything feels selfish. Like I am spitting on God’s gifts.
“I didn’t mean that,” I assure, my tone filled with desperation.
There is a long pause on the phone.
Finally, I whisper, “Eugene?”
“I shouldn’t tell you this...” He draws in a deep breath.
“There is a hurricane clean-up. A three-day event this weekend by Tybee Island. Lots of damage. Jack will be there to stack up community service hours. The lawyers track that to make sure he is following the plea deal. They gave an update at our last board meeting.”
My heart thrums in my chest as thoughts swirl violently.
“You think I should go?” I squeak.
“I didn’t say that!” he replies hastily. “But if you happened to volunteer, perhaps that would put a smile on your face. I miss seeing it.”
I have no idea why he is taking a risk and telling me this, and frankly, I am just grateful.
When the call ends, I look at Ingrid. Now I am the one wearing a wicked smile.
“God just called and answered my prayers.”
I arrive as the sun peeks over the ocean waters. Tybee Island is a mix of residential and public areas. It’s a casual family beach near Savannah.
The line at registration is long. I get a yellow vest and swag bag filled with snacks and basic gloves to prevent blisters. There is plenty of trash, debris, and fallen trees to clean up after the last hurricane.
I am on a mission today, sleeves rolled up, loose ponytail, overalls, and a ball cap on. Although I wear my makeup, I look more like an unremarkable volunteer rather than a famous Christian influencer.
There’s one problem: hundreds of people are here. I may miss Jack. I think fast.
“Excuse me, ma’am,” I say to one of the ladies at registration. “Has Jack Killborne checked in? We are supposed to... volunteer together.”
She flips through her clipboard of names. “K’s, Kenneth. Kinder, Killborne. Here we are. Group sixty. They’re meeting by the lighthouse. I’ll add you to the group’s roster.”
“Oh, thank you so much!” I giddily head that way.
Soon, I weave through the hordes of people and come upon my new group. It takes me seconds to find him sitting on concrete, back against the lighthouse, eating a breakfast sandwich. The orange sunlight bathes his face. Handsome as ever.
I sneak over to him, stand between his outstretched legs and look down.
“Hey, Jack,” I say, chipper.
He freezes mid-bite, and slowly, his gaze drags up my body to my face. When our eyes meet, he stares, wide-eyed.
His mouth is full, so I fill the silence.
“Looks like we’ll be working together all weekend.” I give a cheeky smile.
He coughs and swallows his food. “Fuck no, we’re not.”
I drop to my bottom and cross my legs, facing him. “It’s so good to see you, Jack.”
“Are you crazy?” he snarls and hurries to his feet, but I follow. He searches around, probably looking for whoever is in charge. “Nope. This ain’t happening.”
“Don’t worry. I won’t be a problem. Nobody knows I’m here. By the way, I am sure lots of women have told you this, but I was incredibly impressed by you and-”
“Oh for fuck sakes, Morgan. Don’t start.”
I beam up at him, unfettered. “Your command of the Bible is truly inspirational.”
He points at me. “Stop. I have an eidetic memory.”
“A what?”
“A photographic memory. It’s nothing.”
“You mean, you’re blessed.”
He groans, as if he’s agonized by my certainty. He gives me a serious expression.
“Morgan. Listen to me carefully. I don’t want you.”
That stabs, but he doesn’t end there.
“I am not God’s wonderboy. I am just a guy who remembers things.”
“Humble, too,” I say with heartfelt sincerity. “That’s a nice trait.”
He gawks, then his eyes darken.
“Overalls look terrible on you.”
I shake my head and return a playful grin.
“Those walls won’t keep me away, Mr. Killborne.”
For a second, I don’t feel so confident, and not because of his jab, but rather, because it’s him. I know what he went through. I’m still his chaos, not his salvation.
I snap out of it and do a spin, then hook my thumbs under the straps like a farmer might. “Besides, you didn’t like me in spandex either. Did you?” I wink.
The intensity of his eyes is breathtaking as he stares, bewildered by my persistence.
“What the hell are you doing? You’re getting married.”
My smile falters. He sees it.
“Marriage mean nothing to you, church girl?”
A whistle sounds and our group begins to circle around a guy with a neon green shirt, brown hair, and freckles. Jack gives me one last look.
“Stay away from me. My life is finally back to where it was. I don’t need you fucking it up.”
He walks to the other side of the group to distance himself from me.
It’s not the way I anticipated this to go, but I won’t back down. Not yet. I know in my heart, God wants me here.