When I don’t stop, she grabs my hand and jerks hard.
It surprises me. Not whisperingandpublicly touching me.
That makes me halt.
“I gave you the truck because you needed one.”
“But you bought me afuckingtruck.”
She leads me a few steps away to give us privacy. “Jack, you need help.”
“Not from your church’s piggy bank.”
“No! The money was from my book sales and appearances. Not donations.”
I stare, a bit taken aback that she used her own money to buy me something that generous.
“I thought that’s what we’re supposed to do.” She looks over her shoulder at the men still staring at us.
“What do you mean, supposed to do?” I ask.
“You know. I felt like we... it doesn’t matter. Please keep it.”
My stomach knots and I strain not to react.
“No, Morgan. Keep your truckandyour regrets.”
She winces, then draws in a deep breath.
“You weren’t a regret, and I was fine at first.” Her thumb strokes the top of my hand, and her gaze finally meets mine. A single tear rolls down her cheek. “It was hard on that stage. I thought about you... the things we’ve done. I truly wish we could be together, Jack, but you don’t believe in God.”
My heart races and palms sweat, but I stay composed.
“Save your religious shit.”
“My faith is important to me,” she says. “The guilt that overcame me onstage was testament of what I already know. Sleeping with you was bad, but God forgives me.”
For a moment, I stare, and everything I’ve tried to ignore comes crashing down in perfect, brutal clarity. Deep inside, I wished that photo of her and Blake was innocent. I hopedour phone call wasn’t real. That her grim texts weren’t the end.
They were.
Morgan and I are over. I’ll never touch her again, hold her, talk to her.
My chest collapses on itself. My hands curl into fists to hide their tremble.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers. “You are always welcome at church. God loves you. He has a plan for you, too.”
The pity in her tone is lethal. Enough to boil my blood and ice my veins at the same time.
“A plan for me,” I mumble low, the words venom on my tongue. “Tell me, you dumb preacher’s daughter, did God plan for my parents to die in a car wreck? Have me hold my mom’s bloody body when she took her last breath?”
“God didn’t—”
I hold up my hand.
“So I could raise two brothers on my own. One who hates me. The other—” I grab Tommy and cover his ears tightly. “The other an endless challenge. Who I love unconditionally, but will have to take care of for the rest of my life?”
I release Tommy and shake my head. “What a plan. Twenty-three years old and I’m practically a single father. I didn’t sign up for that, so what woman would?”
