Chapter 41
Morgan
Heaven is wherever Jack is, and right now, he wants to take me to dinner. Our first date.
After showering — a very long shower — and changing clothes, we walk to a nearby seafood restaurant on the boardwalk. It’s cozy, and the rich scent of lobster fills my nostrils as soon as we step inside.
Jack holds my hand, following the hostess to our table. It’s nice to be in public with him. I’m dressed casual, and hope nobody recognizes me, but I am so intoxicated by Jack that I’ve thrown caution to the wind.
Our table is small and by giant windows. They overlook the weathered dock. Black ocean waters glitter under the moonlight.
“Feels good,” he says.
“What does?”
“To be my age. You make me feel that way.”
“Aww,” I swoon. “So you like volunteering with me?”
“Duh.”
I snicker.
As he butters a roll, I decide to test things since he’s in a good mood.
“So... um, your mother was a good preacher. Were you as well?”
“Fuck me, I knew it,” he says under his breath.
I tense, but stay frozen, waiting.
He muses for a moment, then his eyes flick to mine. He sets down his butter knife, and to my surprise, he isn’t upset.
“Alright, church girl. Since it’s our first real date, you get three religious questions. No more for the rest of the night. Deal?”
I nod enthusiastically.
“Good. Yes, I preached with her starting at sixteen. Next question.”
I whisper, “Wow.”
He chews his bread, then replies, “It’s not that amazing.”
“I think you’re a very talented speaker. The way you command the room.” I clutch my heart. “You—”
“Second question,” he interrupts.
I frown, but consider the next carefully, tapping my chin.
“Okay, when exactly did you lose your faith in God?”
His jaw flexes. “You really want to talk about this heavy shit?”
“Please.”
He sighs and speaks quick and flat. “At the accident. I saw my father was dead. There was no saving him. My mom could barely breathe. The car was on fire. I dragged her out. She was bleeding everywhere. I prayed for God to save her. He didn’t. Next question.”
My hand shoots across the table and I hold his tightly.
“Oh, Jack, that’s terrible... I am sorry. It’s a miracle you didn’t die and—”
Jack retracts his hand and leans back in the chair. “No preaching. Last question.”
I half-smile, then lightly tease, “You are very difficult.”
He softens and leans forward. “Yes.”
“Okay. My last question... hm. I got it. Would you ever try to believe again? For me?”
This time, he doesn’t flinch. “Sure, I’ll try, after you stop believing.”
“What?”
“See how ridiculous that sounds? Me pressuring you to be an atheist.”
“Oh.” I look at my water glass. A bead of condensation rolls down the side. The mix of emotions — confusion, disappointment, understanding — feel like a suffocating weight on my chest.
“Hey. Morgan, I don’t want religious-talk to ruin our night together.” He moves his chair closer to me and slowly strokes my back.
His touch is comforting, but I feel... deflated.
“This is too hard, isn’t it?” he says softly.
My heart roars to life as though it’s being ripped apart by talons. My neck snaps toward him.
“What? No! Don’t say that.”
“Okay. Relax.”
“Relax!” I fold my arms and scoff. “How can you just want to end it that fast?”
He slowly shakes his head, and with a featherlight touch, he sweeps a lock of hair behind my ear. “Morgan, sometimes, I think you live in la-la-land and forget reality. Then I pay for it.”
He pays for it...?
Those words stick with me. “What do you mean?”
“I don’t want anything to end, but it really isn’t up to me.”
“It isn’t?”
“I’m trying to be...” He draws in a deep breath. “Hopeful.”
The word seems to scrape out of his throat. He continues.
“I want to believe this isn’t a dream, and I’m not about to wake up... But you always leave me, remember?”
Oh.
I do. It slams back.
How I stopped talking to him after our amazing night at the street races. How I ended things after we slept together. Then the airport disaster, where he confessed he was falling for me, and I still didn’t take him back.
The freaking engagement.
A powerful sense of guilt crashes down as I realize a terrible truth: Jack might be guarded, but that’s partially my fault. I hurt him. Repeatedly.
No wonder why he’s so hot and cold. Quiet at times. Difficult.
I grimace at the epiphany. Maybe I do live in an alternate reality.
I practically fall out of my chair as I lunge at him, my arms hooked behind his neck.
“I am so sorry, Jack,” I say against his neck. “For everything. I promise, I’m not leaving you.”
I sit back, and he nods, but the skepticism in his expression is glaringly clear.
I smile weakly. “I mean it.”
He chuckles softly. “Guess we’ll see if I wake up.”
Fair.
In fact, Jack could slice into me right now. He could throw my mistakes in my face, or leave me the way I left him.
He doesn’t. He simply takes a sip of his drink and gives me a soft smile. “By the way, you look gorgeous tonight.”
No vengeance. No cruelty. Just selflessness.
He may lack Jesus, but he sure acts like him.
“Thank you,” I whisper, quietly overwhelmed. I collect myself, then straighten in my seat. “And you look very handsome. You always do.”
I thread my fingers with his, gazing at my bare skin interlaced with his tattooed fingers. The place where my engagement ring once was has a faint mark against the sunkissed skin. I hope one day, our hands will bear the rings of our love. It’s a crazy thought, considering everything.
Just then, my phone buzzes. His gaze darts to it rested on the table. Blake’s name flashes. He’s surely checking in before bed. “I’ll step out to answer this so he doesn’t worry.”
“Answer it here.”
I sigh, because I knew he’d say that.
I silence the ringer. I’ll call him back once I handle Jack.
“Trust me, you don’t want to hear me lie to him. If I act different, he may come here.”
“Lie? Like you did in the courtroom?”
“I lied for you.”
His eyebrows lift. “You are telling me that you really got engaged for my case?”
I nod, feeling oddly ashamed because my life seems like it is built on lies.
“Morgan, I told you never to give yourself to a man for me. Right before I fried Gabe.”
“I know,” I whisper.
I expect a lecture. Instead, he murmurs softly, “You make it hard not to love you.”
“What?”
“That’s the nicest thing anyone has done for me. Marrying someone you don’t want to.”
“Really?” I say, stunned he isn’t shaming me.
“Morgan, I’m the lucky one here — you realize that, right?”
My heart bursts in my chest. I can’t believe this selfless man thinks he is somehow lesser than me.
At this moment, he isn’t looking at me, as if he doesn’t want to delve much deeper into the topic. Thus, I say what I think he wants to hear. Something simple.
“Thank you, Jack. That’s very kind of you to say.”
The rest of dinner is wonderful. We share laughs, good food, and steadily, the tension lifts, but things have changed.
I understand him a little better. I love him more. And I truly am the lucky one.