Page 6 of Mine to Worship

“You’re shouting his name in the middle of the night.”

“I am not doing it on purpose.” I sigh and dig my nails into my palms, hating that.

Her mouth opens, but Jake’s truck appears on the driveway, leaving a trail of dust behind it.

With his blue scrubs hugging his strong body, he strides to her and plants a kiss on her lips. Ugly jealousy sinks its teeth inside my heart. I am happy for her, but my pain overshadows everything.

“How is the broken heart today?”

“Jake.” My aunt glares at him, but my lips curve into a small smile.

His eyes shimmer with warmth as he tips his head. “Enough with moping around. We’re going out tonight. A change of scenery will do you good,” he announces.

“I am not in the mood,” Aunt Esther says. Jake pouts and my aunt gives in.

They turn to me, and I shrug.

The day passes in a blur until Jake insists we go out.

In the rustic bar, the bartender is cleaning a glass behind a wooden bar top, her fiery red hair pulled up in a high ponytail. There are a few patrons scattered around the bar. They all greet Jake and my aunt as we make our way to a table where a man is already seated.

“It seems someone else took our table,” I say.

“No, it’s my friend, Austin.”

My aunt sends Jake a look, and they have an entire conversation with their eyes. We reach the table, and Austin cocks his head and stands up. I look into a pair of brown eyes with specks of gold.

He says his hellos with Jake and greets my aunt before turning to me.

“Hi, I’m Austin.”

“I’m Ellia.”

He smiles at me, and we shake hands, slipping into easy conversation.

Over the next hour, I learn that Austin is thirty years old, a general physician, and he and Jake are longtime friends.

“So, you’re his nurse?” I ask with a grin, taking a sip from my drink.

Jake scowls playfully as laughter bubbles from my aunt, and Austin muffles his smile.

I lift the glass to my lips and my ring catches the light in the bar. Austin’s eyes land on it.

Every muscle in my body stiffens. I don’t want to discuss my marital status. I’m wearing this ring until it means nothing, until I bury my love for Kian, until I rise above the pain and emerge unaffected. Until it feels more like a ghostly presence and not a fresh seared stamp.

“Jake told me you’re an artist?” he asks, cutting through the stifling silence, and a breath of relief topples from my throat.

My aunt and I order a second round of drinks, and Jake suggests playing cards. Over the course of the night, this is what we do—play cards and make small talk.

When we reach home, I wrap my arms around Jake and say, “Thank you for tonight. It was fun.”

He smiles in understanding. “Any time.”

In my bedroom, my body hits the mattress, but Kian’s face pops into my vision, stealing my sleep—again. I groan and shout into the pillow. I miss him, and for a moment, I let my heart tear up for him, until I remember. The images of him with Melanie and that dreadful night slice through me––again. The wound is still pulsing and bleeding. Not even all the time in the world will help get over him. But one day, it has to. I refuse to believe differently.

The next day, I am cradling a glass of iced tea in my hands, staring out the window, where the late afternoon sun is bouncing on the creek. My ring reflects a hundred mini suns, mocking me with the promise of a forever love. It’s a lie, nothing but a lie. I glare at it. One day, you’ll mean nothing.

My aunt finds me and sighs. “I would do anything to make your pain go away…”

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