Chapter 43
Jack
Islept with Morgan. In the bed, the shower, the back of a truck.
What the fuck.
The temptress I swore off transformed back into the precious thing I don’t want to live without.
Christ, I took her on a date like an obsessed idiot. Held her hand like if I let go, she’d be gone. Even hugged her every chance I got, because she smelled good, she fit there, and she was mine.
I groan loudly and drag my palms down my face, agonized.
After all, I fucking told her I loved her.
I must be a masochist. Guess I want to bring myself endless pain and suffering. This can’t work out. The second I shut that truck door, I knew the dream was over. She’ll get dragged right back into that church.
It’s not her fault. I love her for it. She wants to do what’s virtuous in her eyes. That life is what she believes is right.
Can’t change beliefs.
Once again, I have to coach myself:
“Just be grateful for the time you got with Morgan.”
It doesn’t help much.
Work is over, night has stolen light, and I sit on the couch, checking my phone every five minutes even though it doesn’t chirp with a new message.
“Come on, Morgan,” I beg into the nothingness. “Bring me good news.”
But the phone stays quiet.
I light a blunt and lean back into the couch, trying to get my nerves to calm down.
The front door lock turns and Noel bursts into the house. When he sees the red embers burn as I inhale, he practically runs to my side.
“Give me a puff.”
I side-eye him. He just turned eighteen. He knows I smoke once in a while. It’s just weird to condone it to my younger brother.
“Please. You’re not my guardian, anymore. I’m an adult.”
True.
“And I smoke with Liam.”
I muse for a moment. He is a man now. If he can go to war and die, he can smoke a joint.
It isn’t easy, but I sigh and pass him the blunt.
Sure as shit, Noel takes a deep drag and hardly coughs. This isn’t new to him. He goes for a second, but I snatch it back.
“Guess you have lit up, but we need to talk first before you get too fucked up.”
“‘Bout what?”
I take in a sharp breath and answer, “Morgan.”
Regardless of what happens with that unpredictable woman, I can’t repeat the mistakes of my past.
“Okay,” Noel says, his voice reluctant.
My knee bounces in a fit, but I push through it.
“I don’t want to have lies between us again. I saw her this weekend at Tybee Island.”
He glares, and his body tenses.
I swallow hard and contemplate the best way to say it, but I’m not a shrink. There’s no way to soften it.
“I fucked her.”
He keeps staring. Thinking. His hands ball into fists.
“I’m sorry, man,” I add, my voice as sincere and remorseful as I feel.
A beat.
“Say something,” I urge.
He scoffs, his eyes narrowed. “I thought we agreed not to go after her!”
I rub the back of my neck, feeling like I screwed up. “I know.”
He shoots to his feet. “So much for brothers first, huh?” Then he rounds the coffee table, storming off to his room.
All I can do is say words I don’t want to repeat, even to myself.
“Noel, I’m sorry, but I’m in love with her. Okay?”
He takes a few more strides, but his pace slows. He turns to face me.
I can’t look at him and veer my eyes. I hate saying that shit. Quickly, I hold up my phone.
“She’s supposed to text me tonight and tell me if she left Blake.”
“She is?” he whispers, stepping closer. “When?”
“Soon. It’s dark out. I don’t know how much more time she needs. She’s had all day.” I lean back into the cushion. “But it’s Morgan. You know I got no chance in hell of her actually leaving him.”
I peek over at my brother. His anger seems to have faded some. His head hangs as he returns, dropping onto the couch.
“You could preach,” he mutters, as though he wants to help me.
“I can’t lie on a stage.”
“Come on, bruh. I’d lie all damn day to have Morgan.”
I take a drag of the blunt, wishing it’d make me feel better. It doesn’t. I’m too amped. I check the phone.
Nothing.
I rest my elbows on my knees and stare down at the carpet. Why’d I have to fuck her? She isn’t gonna call. I just need a text. Something. This not knowing anything is gonna drive me insane.
“Jack, you didn’t kill Mom. She’d be sad you quit believing.”
My stomach drops, and my eyes blow wide.
Harshly, I bite back. “I don’t wanna talk about that. Not now.”
He frowns and steals the last puff of the blunt. His gaze shifts to my phone.
“How ’bout a movie?” He flips on the television and finds Predator. It’s half over, but a distraction.
He doesn’t say it, but I know what he’s doing. He’s being a good brother, and helping me get through this.
By eleven, the movie ends and another starts.
“Go to bed,” I grumble. “She ain’t calling.”
“Maybe you should text her?”
I smirk at the idea. “At some point, the girl has to choose you, too.” I sigh and add, “Ever read The Great Gatsby?”
Noel shakes his head. “Nah.”
“I read it in high school. There’s a famous line, ‘It was all but a dream.’”
He presses his tongue to the inside of his cheek, musing once more. And for the first time, Noel nudges my shoulder with his in a small act of mercy, then stands.
“Women,” is all he says, then goes to bed.
My little brother just consoled me. I guess I didn’t do so bad with him.
I check my phone one last time. Zilch. Yet, the empty notifications don’t gut me.
I watch the television flicker, staring blankly at the screen. I don’t even register the sound.
In my mind, I replay the weekend, every beautiful moment. The dream was magnificent, although fleeting. It was the perfect illusion sewn from a past — religion, her dad, that faithful night I walked back into a church and saved her.
Before the weekend, I wanted to forget Morgan.
Now, I never want to forget my church girl.
I linger there in the dark, reliving the dream, hoping every second never fades.
I hope she texts.
I hope she knocks.
I hope, and that is the most dangerous thing I can do.