Page 11 of Wait For It

Mama’s warning had chosen a most inopportune time to pop in, but there was no stopping it now.

“I’m here—I’m here now.” His fingers brushed against my hair and my back involuntarily arched off the bed. Searing pain moved powered through the center of my chest, sparking and pulsing like a downed power line.

When I was a child, I’d experienced periodic episodes where I would wake, only to find myself unable to move or speak. I was forced to lie against my pillow, completely helpless, until my brain and body were no longer opposing forces.

That in and of itself wasn’t terribly frightening. It was what occurred during those moments of paralysis that left me quaking in fear. But this wasn’t a hallucination or the trick of an overactive imagination.

This monster was real.

“Did you hear that, Ariana? Your father is right here with you.” The woman’s mouth stretched into a wide grin I couldn’t quite return.

Once people realized who my father was, I became someone worth knowing. The disinterest in their eyes morphed into expressions of star-struck wonder. Despite what the world believed, growing up the daughter of a megachurch pastor hadn’t exactly been smooth sailing.

I’d known Tristan James was a household name by the time I could walk. He’d written instant bestsellers, appeared every Sunday morning on televisions across the country, and had an entourage of celebrity followers.

Tristan loved being in the spotlight, and with his gravity-defying dark hair and piercing aquamarine eyes, the media just loved him right back.

Tristan James: America’s sexiest pastor.

Seriously.

As if that was even a real thing.

When people claimed he looked much younger than forty-six, he’d attribute it to doing the Lord’s work, conveniently leaving out that his eldest daughter was twenty-four.

I pushed my trembling fingers beneath the white sheet, hoping no one had noticed. I’d been doing so well, reading my Bible and praying more… just like he wanted.

After thousands of mistakes over the years, I had it down to an almost exact science and could sense when the world was close to slipping off-axis. If I stepped in at the right moment, I could keep him happy, and the façade was preserved.

As far as anyone knew, we were one happy family.

It was only when the world slept that I found myself wanting something I couldn’t put into words—this desire to be seen as more than Tristan James’s daughter.

I wanted freedom.

“Do you know how long I’ve been waiting for that call?” He asked, his mouth tipping up in a smile that conveyed nothing.

Was he angry?

Did he know how I’d ended up here?

Tristan gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head as if he’d been granted a direct line into my thoughts. The nurse continued beaming, unaware of our silent conversation.

No to what—both? One?

Tell me!I wanted to scream.

“Melanie,” Tristan stated, turning his attention back to the nurse and signaling the end of our little discussion. “Would you mind if I prayed?”

Melanie readily agreed, jarring the side of the bed with her hip in her hurry to reach Tristan’s outstretched hand. I winced as the pain in my head expanded like an overfilled balloon, but instead of fading to black, the room seemed to grow brighter.

Or maybe it was just Tristan’s unnaturally white teeth.

“Heavenly Father—”

I added my own silent prayer. Obviously, it had been too much to ask for freedom. At this point, I was willing to settle for unconsciousness.

The rhythmic beeping from the machines made tuning out his words easier than I imagined. The nurse might have believed differently, but if he was here, then I was not safe.

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