Chapter 36
Thirty-Six
SEBA
Pastor Sinclair claps a hand on my shoulder, champagne flute raised high in the other.
“Our Lord has a bright future in store for this young man. A bright future. A future not only as a leader in this congregation, but as a commander of His Word. A commander in a holy war against the corruption of our children! And to that, I say AMEN!”
A chorus of “Amens” reverberates off the vaulted ceilings.
There are way too many eyes on me. My face hurts from holding a smile. My shirt collar is cutting into my neck. Or maybe it’s the tie. Sweat dampens my pits beneath the suit jacket I borrowed from Whitley. It’s too tight across my shoulders and too short in the sleeves.
I don’t belong here, surrounded by people in custom designer, sipping expensive champagne as they casually spend tens of thousands of dollars at a gala. I belong at home, taking care of Cade.
Cade. Cade. Cade.
My fingers drum the phone in my pocket. He hasn’t texted me as I asked.
I’ve checked about five hundred times. Mom and Declan won’t be back until tomorrow night, meaning he’s all alone in that house.
It’s giving me heartburn. With every minute that passes, my mind conjures worst-case scenario after worst-case scenario.
I should’ve skipped this shit and stayed with him.
I almost did. He looked so peaceful, wrapped in my sheets, still wearing my hoodie. I wanted to crawl back in bed and haul him against me. Feel each of his slow inhales and exhales. Know that he’s safe and calm in my arms. Maybe touch him…
A wave of powerful, complicated emotions crashes over me.
This morning shouldn’t have felt so good.
So effortless. So intimate. But it did and I don’t know what to do about it.
There’s only one other person I’ve connected with like that and instead of holding her close, I ran.
Which I regret. Deeply. Just the thought of Andrea sucks me into a black hole of longing.
Even now, after spending last night in bed with Cade, I can’t help but scan the crowd for her.
There’s something seriously wrong with me.
Sinclair pats my back as the applause winds down.
“This is just the beginning.” He grins at the crowd.
I do my best to mimic him, but I’m hopelessly distracted and already mapping out an escape to the restroom.
Until my gaze snags on a brunette in a black gown.
Dear God.
Chocolate waves brush her exposed shoulders, the high neck of her dress accentuating her elegant throat. Silk drapes off her dainty curves, shimmering like oil. The second her dark eyes spot me, they narrow into slits.
Shit.
Andrea Sinclair is as furious as she is gorgeous.
She storms at me like an angry goddess, her red lips curled in a snarl. When she reaches me, she doesn’t stop. She grips my sleeve and drags me through a set of tinted glass doors into the hot summer night.
Then whacks my chest with a beaded purse. “Ow!”
“What the fuck are you fucking doing, you fucking imbecile?” She shrieks. I stand there, gape-mouthed, while she pummels me with tiny fists. “You big, gullible, dumbass, why? They’re gonna chew you up and spit you out and when they take everything from you, then what? Then what, Seba?”
It takes me a second to realize what she’s mad about.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” I hold up both hands in surrender. “It’s just a job—”
Another hard thwack of the bag. “Jesus!”
“Working for my father is a death sentence,” she seethes.
She can’t be serious. “That’s a bit extreme—”
That damn bag is gonna leave welts.
“You don’t know him! You have no fucking idea what you’re doing!”
She’s breathless and trembling, but it’s not only with rage. She’s scared. Which puts me on edge because this girl isn’t afraid of much. I check that we’re really alone before stepping into her space.
“It’s not a big deal,” I reassure her. “I just need money for tuition.”
Red simmers her heavily lined eyes. “You sold your soul… for money.”
I recoil. “I didn’t.”
“You just said—”
“No! I mean— it’s not like that,” I protest, huffing out a short, exasperated breath. “Not all of us have rich parents, sweetheart.”
“Don’t patronize me,” she fumes. “Open your fucking eyes! You can't seriously buy his generous servant of God act.”
My gaze drifts past her. “You sound like Cade.”
She throws her arms wide. “Good! He doesn’t fall for bullshit!”
No, he’s just losing his damn mind. My molars grind. “You’re not telling him about this.”
A manic laugh leaves her. “You’ve got to be kidding me.
” She spins in a circle. “This is a joke. A sick fucking joke.” Then she’s back in my face.
“One, you don’t get to tell me what to do.
Two, I haven’t heard from him—” A finger stabs my sternum, “or you— in months. Which is fucked up because both of you led me on.”
I’m in free fall.
“Both?”
“You heard me.” Tears perch on her lower lashes despite her snarl. “Cade did too. We kissed! And what’s worse is I miss you. Both of you assholes.”
Cold shock paralyzes me.
“Wait. You kissed him?”
“I tell you I miss you and all you hear is that Cade kissed me?”
“He kissed you?”
Now I’m pissed and I’m not sure who I’m pissed at more: Her, Cade, or myself. Probably all three of us. (Definitely all three of us.)
“Sure fucking did!” She grins through angry tears. “And you know what else? I stopped him because of you.”
My heart flips and sinks. It doesn’t make sense, but something in me is relieved by what I’m hearing. That I’m not the only one caught between them and suffering for it.
A chirp.
Before I realize what’s happening, Andrea is tearing my phone out of my pocket and opening the text. I don’t need to see it to know who it’s from. I set a specific notification sound for him in case he needed me.
She releases another hysterical laugh. “Now it makes sense.”
I try to snatch it back, but she darts out of reach, flipping the phone around so I have no choice but to stare at the screen.
A photo.
Cade. Reclined on my bed. Wearing my new FMU football jersey.
And nothing else.
I lunge, ripping the phone from her. My cock is throbbing and my face is on fire.
“Well, I’ll be damned,” she says. Either I’m delusional, or she doesn’t sound mad anymore. There’s a lack of accusation in her tone. An absence of hurt. Her dark eyes study me, ratcheting up my heart rate. “What are your intentions with him?”
I blink at her.
Her hands clench into fists. Apparently, it’s not the response she wants.
“He’s going through something and…” I struggle to find words. “I’m… being supportive.”
“Supportive? Of what exactly?”
My mouth opens. Closes. Opens.
“For fuck’s sake, Seba, is your skull that thick? He wants you. He told me. And he’s never admitted to wanting anyone like that. Ever. Which tells me this isn’t casual for him.” Her snarl returns. “I swear to the God I no longer trust, if you hurt him—”
“I would never hurt him,” I growl. The insinuation has me rabid.
“Maybe not intentionally, but your track record is shit,” she scoffs.
The truth slices like serrated blades. I wince. “I never meant to hurt you, believe me.”
She sniffs, looking away. “Sure.”
“Sweetheart,” I plead, my hands hovering, desperate to hold her but unsure how she’d react. “I promise, I’ve wanted to be with you since the day I saw you sitting in the window. I still want to be with you.”
A tear tracks down her cheek. “But… not in that way.”
Shit. I grasp her by the arms. “No, no, no, I do.” I shake out a nervous laugh.
“I really, really do. Fuck, you’re breathtaking, Andrea.
” Her shimmering eyes peer up at me. Thorns scrape my throat.
My gaze slides to her bare shoulder. “Even if…” My tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth.
I glance at the glass doors. “Even if I did want him like… that… I can’t be with him. Not really. Not the way you can.”
“So what?” Her voice breaks. “You just… let us both go then?”
It’s impossible to look at her right now. “You deserve so much better than me. And so does he.”
She’s nodding back tears. “Yeah, well, it’s not up to you what either of us deserves.”
Fuck, I’m being torn in two.
Suddenly, a guy in a navy suit stumbles through the doors we exited, murmuring into his phone. He glances at us before hurrying in the opposite direction.
“We should get back,” I sigh, burying my hands in my pockets. If I don’t, I’ll do something astronomically stupid like reach for her.
Andrea dabs a knuckle under her lashes. “Go then.”
Leaving before we’ve resolved anything feels wrong. But the intrusive thought of Pastor Sinclair bursting out here like that guy just did and finding his daughter crying because of me wins. So I turn and numbly retreat the way we came.
“You don’t have to choose.”
I pause.
Then look back.
I’m met with glistening eyes.
“You don’t have to choose,” she repeats. So soft— like a prayer. Her fingertips skim my sleeve. Her lips whisper a kiss on my cheek. Then she brushes past like smoke, disappearing inside.
My ears ring. It’s all I can hear. White noise. Because she can’t mean what I think she’s implying. She can’t. That’s an unforgivable sin. Grounds for excommunication. Insanity.
Maybe all three of us are going mad.