Page 33 of Wait For It

“No,” she chuckled. “For you… to write down what you want to say.”

Oh. Right.

In my excitement, I’d forgotten I was terrible at Charades. Although, in my defense, trying to act out the phrase “Noah’s Ark” in front of sixty hyperactive youth members would have been daunting for anyone.

The breath caught in my throat when the door opened and Morgan appeared. She pulled me into her arms, squeezing to the point of pain, but I didn’t care.

I’d missed her.

I hadn’t realized just how much until I was enveloped in the comforting scent of her raspberry and vanilla body spray.

“I’m sorry, Ari,” she rasped before abruptly pulling back. “Am I hurting you?”

I shook my head, unable to wipe the grin from my face.

“Good. I’ve—” Morgan awkwardly cleared her throat and took a step back, letting her hands drop to her sides. “We’ve been praying so hard for your recovery. The church, I mean. We—”

Tsega offered her a chair, and she fell silent again, dropping onto it with a frustrated exhale. “Your father—he’s just been sick over this. Well, we all have… really.”

The thoughtful look returned to Tsega’s face. “Did Ginny have you do the family training when you got here?”

“I watched the video, and we discussed the basics. Is that what you’re asking?”

Sensing where Tsega was leading with her questioning, I began nodding, pleased that she and I were on the same page.

“Yep, and since you’ve been informed of the protocol, I can actually step out and let you two catch up in private,” she said with another strange expression that made deciphering her thoughts virtually impossible.

The woman was quite the enigma.

Morgan’s smile slipped as soon as Tsega left the room. She grasped the arms of the wheelchair, yanking me until our knees butted together.

“What happened to you?” she hissed, her mouth twisting into a brief grimace as she leaned forward.

I pulled the pen from the binding of the notebook and scrawled,

You don’t know?

It didn’t make sense.

“No,” Morgan admitted, sadness clouding her features. “He said you were in a car accident. I needed you to help me understand, but you can’t even talk.”

We told each other everything—if I ran away, she would have known the reason, unless…

Unless I no longer trusted her.

I released the notebook and dropped my hands down to the wheels on my wheelchair, pulling back until I was satisfied with the distance I’d placed between us.

Was this Tristan’s plan—using Morgan as a spy?

It seemed ridiculous—even to me—but there was no other explanation.

“Ari, it’s just that Tristan—”

No, I mouthed at the mention of his name, holding my hand up.Stop.

The same woman who’d once stood in the middle of Sunday school and proclaimed that the church’s teachings were archaic and slanted toward men had seemingly changed her stance without a second thought. Meanwhile, I’d been questioning the accuracy of my memories because I appeared to be the only person in the world who saw Tristan James for what he was.

At night, I’d laid awake, wondering if everyone else had it right. I’d even gone as far as considering the possibility that his treatment of me was nothing more than a direct response to my alleged rebelliousness.

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