There are also some things that aren’t so easy to explain. Morgan is one of them.
I don’t know all the answers. I don’t pretend to. But I know if she can walk away from her controlling parents, I can try too.
“I’ll pray at night with you, and I’ll mean it the best I can.”
“Oh, Jack!” she gushes and drops to her knees. She clutches my jaw and kisses me with hurried pecks.
I chuckle and shake my head. “Calm down, church girl. I’m not gonna preach. I’ll just believe enough to know maybe God, or whatever is out there, doesn’t hate me.”
Her toothy grin doesn’t falter. “Wait! Did you ask me to marry you yet?”
“Fuck,” I say, realizing I didn’t. “Sorry, I swore. Yeah. That was the whole point.” I fill my lungs, my heartbeat steady and sure. “Morgan Leigh Montgomery, will you be my wife?”
“Oh, yes! Very much so.”
She throws herself into me, laughing and crying at once, and I hold her there under all that stained glass and light, memorizing the exact sound of her saying yes.
For one breath, it feels like the whole world steadies. We pull back and stare into each other’s eyes. It feels like, for the first time, nothing is between us. We kiss deep and passionately, the moment enshrined under the enormity of faith.
When our lips part, I smile warmly.
“I come with a Tommy. Hope that’s alright.”
“Yes!” she says without skipping a beat, then her grin turns impish.
“What?” I murmur.
Her palms press together in prayer. “Oh, I come with someone too. It’s nothing, really.” She winces. “Just a little thing.”
I squint, confused.
“What do you mean?” I say.
“Um, Tybee Island? I’m pregnant.”
I suck in a sharp breath. My heart doesn’t pound. It stalls.
“You are pregnant?” My voice cracks, my throat so tight I have to clear it. “For real?”
“Yes.”
It is the second yes that I etch into my memory forever.
I look up.
The roof doesn’t fall in. The whole world does. With me and her in it. I snatch her, flattening her cheek against my chest, my palm pressing her head close.
“Thank you, God,” I say.
Epilogue
Morgan
Seven Months Later
The new center is quiet. We held a special luncheon for the crew. I mop the kitchen, then search the halls for Jack. Faintly,O’ Holy Nightby Josh Groban plays in the dining room. As I approach, Jack steps through the doorway. The gentle light blends with the shadows of the corridor, accentuating his stunning features.
He’s as handsome as ever dressed in all black — slacks, collared shirt, and his favorite Converse shoes. His sleeves are rolled up, revealing those tattoos I insist he never cover.
