The Carpenter's Daughter (20 page)

This time I centered a hand on his chest and pushed harder. “Stop, Troy.”

“Come on, baby.” His hands dropped to my jeans, searching for the button. “You can’t do this to a man.”

Guilt soured inside me. I’d done this. Made him think this was what I’d wanted. But it wasn’t. “I’m sorry. I can’t do this.”

He pulled away, his heated eyes roaming over my half-naked body. I wanted to huddle under a blanket far away from his lecherous gaze.

A slow, ugly smile carved his mouth. “I see.” One finger grazed over my shoulder and down my chest. “It’s okay, little girl. I don’t mind your inexperience.” He slithered closer, tugging my hips against his. “I’ll be gentle.”

Was that why I was afraid? He tipped my head to the side, kissing my neck, my shoulder, and then my chest. I shut my eyes, sinking my fingers into his arms. Every girl was afraid her first time, right? Maybe it’d be best to get it over with. It would be okay. Plus, he wanted me. Bad, apparently.

Don’t give yourself to him.

Jesse didn’t want me. Why should he care?

Don’t do this.

Tears lined the seams of my eyelids. Why was I so messed up?

“Troy.” With both hands I pushed him away again. “Stop.”

He stared at me, his face reddening, his jaw moving hard. Both of his palms braced against the wall beside me as his eyes fired with anger. “Didn’t pin you for jailbait.”

I blinked, pushing into the wall as much as possible.

“Fine, you ugly little tease.” He pushed away and turned his back to me. “Get out of here before I lose my self-control.”

I bent to grab my shirt, quickly placing it over my trembling body. “Troy, I’m—”

“I said get out!” His bare muscles rippled as he turned.

Fear tied a frozen knot in my chest. My bottom lip went between my teeth, and I darted for the door.

Nearly running down the stairs, I felt like trash. I should have just slept with him. Seemed my insides were going to rot either way.

Jesse

For hours I’d played at distraction. Spent a good sixty minutes or more staring at Sarah’s drawings. Her vision would transform that trash pit of a house, and when we were finished, it would make someone an amazing home. So talented, that little carpenter’s daughter. Really, she ought to be doing this kind of job more.

After shutting her laptop down, I took myself to the mom-and-pop grocery in town. Sarah’s sad, desperate blue eyes came with me, and I begged God to intervene tonight as I replayed our standoff in her room. My gut knotted again as I imagined Troy pressed against her.

“Have a thing for yogurt?” Some stranger—an older woman—stopped next to me in the dairy aisle.

“Huh?” I glanced to her and then to the basket I was gripping in my left hand. At least twenty little containers had been piled in there. I must have checked out of reality. “Oh. No. Well, yeah, I guess. A couple for breakfast. You know.”

She cackled and patted my arm. “No wonder you’re such a looker. Healthy boy.”

Yeah, I was a looker. That was why, up until that day, I hadn’t kissed a woman since college. Well, actually that was mostly a choice. I hadn’t found anyone who made my heart simmer the way Sarah did. I shouldn’t have kissed her though.

I pressed a half smile to my mouth and looked at the woman. She grinned back and shuffled on her way. What was it about me that the older women were drawn to? I was such an oddball.

After I replaced half of the yogurts I’d stacked in my basket, I found the bread, some lunch meat and cheese, and a bag of chips. I swung back around to the dairy section for a gallon of chocolate milk and headed for the front to check out. The liquor aisle distracted me. I was not opposed to a drink here and there. Preferred something mild though. Shane always laughed at my choices. He’d rather taste his liquor than disguise it, which was fine. He hadn’t been drunk since he was a teenager. Dad had fired him once back then—showed up to a job late and hungover, and Dad cut him loose on the spot. We lost him for a year or so, although Dad kept track of his doings during those months. One day Shane showed up on a build. Said he was ready to work, was done being stupid, and please, would Dad give him another shot? The rest…well, Shane ran the company, and I was glad of it.

Not a common story though. The path of rebellion seemed to be the long, twisted, sharp-drop kind. I paused in the middle of the store, shut my eyes, and pictured Sarah. Bile churned around inside, and my chest ached. If I hadn’t been so selfish, maybe she wouldn’t be going this direction. She wouldn’t have gone out with Troy.

God, please…

I went through the checkout and then back to the hotel. After several hours of
House
reruns, I flicked the TV off and pretended I could go to sleep. Sarah’s face waited for me, surfacing vivid and piercing every time I shut my eyes. Alternately, she looked heartbroken and then angry. Because of me? Or because of the scene that I was sure was playing out between her and Troy?

Quit. Nothing I could do about it. I flipped from my back to my stomach, punched the pillow down, and folded my arms under my head. Sleep.

Every muscle in my body was tense, and I couldn’t make any of them relax. I tried all the techniques I remembered from my required stress-management class from college. Nothing worked. Every time the sound of a vehicle pulling into the parking lot rustled outside my room, I had to beat down the urge to sneak to my window and peek through the blinds. Why would I want to see them together anyway?

I rolled to my back again. Maybe if I stared at the ceiling, eventually sleep would force my eyelids closed. So I stared. About as relaxed as one giant muscle cramp, and calm as a cornered tomcat, I stared. Nothing.

Flip over and repeat. The cycle lasted for who knew how long. Finally I sat up, tossed the worn-out blankets aside, and planted my bare feet on the floor. The red numbers on the clock said 12:35.

I growled in the dark room. Why couldn’t I forget all of it? Sarah was a grown woman and could make her own choices. Not my problem. I flicked on the bedside lamp and stomped to the bathroom. After splashing my face, I ripped open the pack of water I’d bought earlier and grabbed a bottle. The cap twisted off and fell out of my grip. Might have been a little aggressive with the twisting part. It landed on the table and bounced around about fifty times before it dropped to the floor.

Insomnia and messy. Who was this guy? Definitely not me.

With the bottle at my mouth, I threw back my head to chug. Warm. Yuck. Tasted like plastic. After throwing on my green zip-up hoodie, I grabbed the ice bucket and my key card.

I had to pass Sarah’s room on the way to the ice machine. I looked the other way and forced myself not to tune in. I didn’t want to know. Halfway down the stretch of hall, a passage opened to my left—the side stairwell and vending area. Looking at my feet more than anything else, I turned. A small figure huddled against the wall on the bottom step—dark-blue jeans, white top, short dark hair.

Sapphira.

My chest caved even while I sucked in air. “Sarah?”

Though her head barely moved, those blue eyes looked up and locked on me. Sad, lost sapphires that squeezed my insides until tears burned against my eyelids. The wolf had done what a wolf would do, and now she sat with her insides shredded.

How do I respond?
Surprisingly, I felt only pain—for her.

She sat in silence, dropping her gaze to stare at nothing in front of her. I stepped to the stairs and eased onto the riser beside her, setting my bucket to the side. She didn’t move, didn’t speak. Just sat with her eyes glazed, peering into space as if she’d find the answers she ached for in the silent emptiness of the night. I studied her as quiet cocooned us with a surreal sense of intimacy and understanding. The skin on her cheeks, neck, and chest were splotched red—the burn marks left by the sandpapery texture of a man’s evening shadow. A darker mark on the exposed part of her shoulder demanded my attention—red and purplish. A hickey. A sick feeling swirled inside my gut, and I moved my eyes away from the bruise. The tag of her white top stuck out, and I moved to poke it back into place, but stopped before my fingers touched it. The seams were out too.

I swallowed. Hard. My insides continued to wring tight. Unzipping my hoodie, I tugged my arms from the sleeves and draped the sweatshirt over her small frame.

“Did he hurt you?” I could hardly force my whisper past the knot in my throat.

“No.” Her lips quivered, but that vacant stare persisted.

Yeah. Clearly not.

There were moments in life in which nothing said could ever make the pain less. Like in a hospital after your parents were pronounced dead. Or in a stairwell after you’d sold your body for a moment of human warmth. Words couldn’t penetrate the solid mass of complete and suffocating heartache.

Sarah was in that place. Hurting, but not understanding the pain. Hungry, but not knowing why. Nothing said—that was my best move. So I put an arm around her and carefully drew her close. She turned her face into my shoulder, pressing her forehead in deep. My other hand came up, and with fingers combed into her soft hair, I held her.

She didn’t cry—no sniffing, no warm pool of tears soaking into my white T-shirt. She just stayed—worn out, used, and lost—tucked in tight against me.

Somewhere in the hurt I felt for her, a strange calm washed warm and clean in my heart. I thought of Peter, the traitor who’d denied Christ. Redeemed. Paul, the church slayer. Redeemed. The thief on the cross who, at the moment of death, recognized Christ for Who He was. Redeemed.

Nothing was unredeemable in the hands of the redeeming God. I’d blown it earlier. He could still work in Sarah’s life, even if it wasn’t through me. Sarah had made a heart-shattering decision. God could still seek her lost soul and heal it. His call was still on her life, and neither she nor I could render it void.

I blinked back tears at the same moment she pulled away. After a long intake of air, she sighed, put her hands on her knees, and pushed up to her feet.

“Still have a full day of work in the morning, right?” she said, still not looking at me.

I stood, reclaiming my ice bucket as I moved. “Yeah.”

Her nod preceded a moment of silence, and then she moved for the hall. “Good night.”

“Night, Sapphira.” I turned to the ice machine to fill the pail. Small chunks clinked together as I held the dispense button, willing myself not to watch her go.

“Jesse.” Sarah’s hush voice cracked.

I looked up, releasing the button so she wouldn’t have to talk over the falling ice.

Tears glazed her stare. “I didn’t sleep with Troy.”

Relief surged over me so strong I was almost ashamed at how selfish it seemed. After setting the bucket on the floor, I closed the gap between us and wrapped her in my arms.

Her shoulders trembled, and then her arms twisted around me. Her fingers dug into my back as she gripped my shirt. She was crying, and I got how desperate she was to feel special. Loved. How horrible she felt to be treated as a cheap diversion, as someone unworthy of sincere affection. I’d been a part of that, but maybe, in this silent, emotional moment, she would understand that I hadn’t rejected her like she’d thought.

She wasn’t ready yet. Maybe neither was I.

Sarah

I’d never cried in a man’s arms before. Tough girls didn’t—butch girls, that is. But I’d never done a lot of what I’d done that night, and all of it balled into one giant storm of hurt.

I’d behaved like a cheap thrill. Like my mother, probably. And I’d done it partly to hurt the man who held me. Why did I do these things? Any of them, recently? Storming out of the house, leaving Dad without telling him where I was going, flirting with a man I knew was as shallow as a Nebraska puddle—and then nearly sleeping with him? This wasn’t me. It couldn’t be me—I wouldn’t feel so miserable if this were who I really was.

Jesse rubbed my shoulder with his thumb. “It’s going to be okay, Sapphira.”

I loved that he was calling me that again. There, in his arms, I could believe that. I was okay with him. Was it desperate to beg him to make it okay—for always? My heart twisted. He wasn’t in this for that. I really needed to plant that truth and let it grow, because even if he wouldn’t ever want me, love me, I needed him as my friend. For some reason he understood me and wanted the best for me.

What if I told him I thought he was what was best for me?

Warmth washed over my face, and then I connected the dots. He was this magnetic, medicinal sort of man. He had a way about him that made a girl feel special and okay with life, and I wasn’t the only one to experience that. Laine had too, which was why she was hoping for forever. Jesse hadn’t played her. She’d hoped for his heart in ways he hadn’t intended. I needed to learn from her—because if I let myself hope that way again, well, tonight would be a calm prologue to what would play out in my life.

I moved away from his shoulder and rubbed my fingers over my eyes. “I’m sorry, Jesse.” Sorry for things I didn’t want to put into words.

For the tiniest moment he cupped my face in one hand, and then moved away as if he knew that would tie up my heart. He dropped his touch to my elbow and squeezed. “Sapphira, you were created beautiful.” He paused, his green eyes plunging me into his stare. “God loves you.”

Not what a girl wanted to hear after a heart-dropping look like that.
Can’t you?
I wasn’t able to squelch the poisonous thought before it formed. This was what he could offer, and only this.

Breaking our connection, I looked at my shoes.

Jesse released my elbow. Felt like when the sun set on a chilly day, leaving my skin begging for its warmth.

“Walk you to your room?”

“You don’t have to.” I peeked at him with a meek smile. “I know the way.”

His eyes glazed, which triggered questions in my unsettled heart. Why did he care so much, yet not enough? How could he seem to feel so deep and not drown in it?

He retrieved his ice, which suddenly struck me as strange. An ice run after midnight?

“Why aren’t you sleeping?”

With a hand on my back—again with the touching. Didn’t he understand how that would make me long for more?—he nudged me back into the hall. “Couldn’t sleep. I was worried about you.”

We stepped off several paces in the dim-lit corridor. Shouldn’t surprise me—he didn’t want me to go in the first place—but confusion sneaked back into the spot I’d been trying to resolve.

“Why?” I stopped, and he did too, and we faced each other. “Why would you lose sleep over someone like me?”

That look. Again. Made my insides puddle and my confused brain swim.

“You’re worth so much more than a one-night stand,” he said.

My eyes leaked again, and he pulled me against his chest.

Please, can’t you love me?
I let him hold me—no, I buried myself against him. I’d probably regret this taste of what I’d longed for but couldn’t have, but at the same time, at least I’d know the flavor.

He stroked the back of my head. “Sarah, that carpenter’s kid I was telling you about earlier today?” Pausing, he nudged me away and then tipped my chin to look at him. “He thought you were worth dying for.”