That church is as fake as their pastors.
Then, Dad looks up. “Shall I go on?”
“No, but there are positive comments, too,” I defend. “That I am inspirational and will motivate other victims to go to the police.”
“Nonsense. There shouldn’t be any comments. This was a private matter. The only thing accurate in your self-serving speech was your inaction led to this disaster. You should’ve told me.”
I frown, but I am indifferent at this point. The damage is done. I can’t change the past.
“What’s your plan, Morgan? After setting our world on fire, what will you do? Leave the church. Find a new faith. What?”
“Dad, I didn’t mean to destroy everything. I truly wanted to fix things. I wanted to help Jack.”
His voice drops, rough and gravelly.
“Jack. It all goes back to that boy again and again. I’ve had enough.”
He stands and hovers over me. His eyes pierce.
“I raised you to put God first, but if all you care about is an atheist, very well. I will help Jack.”
I scrunch my face, confused. “You will?”
“Yes, and he’ll need a lot of help if he is to breathe fresh air again. I have a team of lawyers big enough to fight that battle. You do not. They’re far more effective than your amateur press conferences.”
I both lift and cower at his words. They’re precious words, though, that illuminate this dark hour with a sense of hope.
“But, it will cost you,” he adds sharply.
I wince. “Cost me?”
“Yes. A lot. I want your unwavering loyalty.”
I squint, unsure what he means.
“I want all of your truths. No more lies or unspoken nightmares. I want your obedience. Do as I say, when I say it.”
“And you’ll get Jack out of jail?”
He chuckles once more. “Morgan, I will try. This morning, Gabe sued our church for defamation of character because our precious pastor, Miss Morgan Leigh Montgomery, brazenly announced on national TV that Gabe was a rapist. If Jack survives the criminal case, then he’ll face a costly civil case. If he walks free, he will never have a penny in his wallet.”
My stomach twists hard and bile surges up my throat.
“He was helping me,” I whisper. My chin trembles, which makes Dad snarl in disgust.
“All this passion for a boy? A shame. You had such promise.”
Hot tears roll down my cheeks.
Abruptly, he takes me in his arms and holds my cheek to his chest, petting my hair in long strokes.
“Shh, shh, Morgan. I will right the wrongs. I need you to trust me moving forward. Trust that I knew what was best for you, my lamb, but you wandered toward the wolf. This time, I need you to obey your father, your shepherd, solely here to lead you toward salvation. Not temptation.”
My throat is too tight to speak, and my body grows limp against his.
“Will you? Trust me? And believe I will help Jack?”
I barely nod against his chest. It should feel like I am coming home by being held in his warm arms. Instead, something doesn’t sit well, like I am making a deal with the devil.
