Our gazes catch. Everything in me screams to go hug him and never let go.
I can’t. I sold my soul for this moment. I’m deeply indebted to my father for making Jack’s freedom possible. I’m engaged to Blake, who did his part, accepting a marriage that is loveless despite his own faith — for the good of the church. For me as well.
I am back to being the Christian princess. The Madonna incarnate, forbidden to be with an atheist.
I love Jack more than before, because time has not eroded my feelings. It only strengthened them. It made me ache for him in every way that matters.
Blake takes my hand and I look over my shoulder one last time.
Jack watches me go, but his gaze isn’t the same as it once was. Those walls are up, taller. He looks away, almost disinterested rather than longing.
It hurts.
“Oh, Lord,” I pray silently. “Please tell him I didn’t choose Blake. I chose him.”
Chapter 35
Morgan
Months pass and spring arrives. It’s April, and my memories of Jack feel more like sacred dreams.
I smile, pose, put on a show. Our new megachurch opened. Blake and I set our wedding date in November. It feels too close already.
Behind closed doors, I check Jack’s page every day. He rarely posts updates, but it’s the only way I feel a connection to him.
A painful yet comforting connection.
“Babes, you have to get out of this funk,” says Ingrid.
Daddy fired her long ago.
She got a new job at a Christian marketing firm. She loves it. I am endlessly grateful she landed on her feet. I am even more grateful she is still my friend.
I hold the phone to my ear and reply glumly.
“I’m trying to be happy.”
“But you miss Jack,” she tags on to my sentence.
“No!” I sit up straighter. “I don’t. I...” my words taper off.
“I’m sorry, sweetie. I know I am not supposed to talk about him, but you are not getting better.” Her voice dips, soft. “Maybe you need closure.”
“I don’t,” I whisper.
“I think ya do. We should go see Jack,” she suggests, “Let’s go when I get off of work.”
“Funny.”
“I am serious. My girl can’t be mopey forever. I know you want to see him. At least to say whatever is on your heart or wish him luck.”
“That really works?”
“Mm-hm,” she replies. “It might help you move on. I miss seeing you smile. Arealsmile.”
My heart won’t respond. The ball of muscle doesn’t beat anymore. It died the day I walked away from Jack in that courtroom.
I try to make things work with Blake. We go on a date once a week. We do everything right. We even kiss when he drops me off at home. Every time, it feels like I am cheating on Jack. Actually, Blake, too. Because the kiss never feels authentic. They’re mechanical. He has to sense I am not into it, but Blake doesn’t complain. He must be averypatient man.
