Page 45 of When Forever Stays

The fact that Rhett has a son isn’t what took me over the edge. It would be something we need to work through, but it’s not insurmountable. What feels impossible to get over is his deception. The fact that Rhett made the conscious decision to keep his identity a secret from me. He had multiple opportunities to tell me he was RJ Hemlock. Rhett and I listened to Phantom Echoes as he taught me tennis, and I told him how much I loved the band. Back then, again, I can understand him keeping his past under wraps. But when he got his memories back he should have told me the truth. When I told him I wanted more he should have told me. We listened to Phantom Echoes after dinner and he had countless opportunities to tell me. But he didn’t.

If Crew hadn’t put the pieces together, would Rhett have ever told me the truth? Or would he have strung me along until another girl snagged his attention? Like the last three guys I dated?

Swallowing the lump in my throat, I sit up and rub my forehead trying to fight back the painful thoughts and questions that threaten to consume me.

They pour in anyway.

Who’s to say he wouldn’t get back together with Ashley, the mother of his son? If Oscar decides to connect with Rhett, it would mean Rhett connecting again with Ashley. I know he talks to her to keep up with how Oscar is doing, but if they start spending time together, who’s to say they won’t decide toget married? It wouldn’t be surprising since I’m never the final choice. I’m the last step before forever but nevertheforever.

You won’t be Rhett’s forever either.Another intrusive thought breaks in. I should pray. I should focus on Jesus and remember that no matter what happens with Rhett, I am chosen by Him. That Jesus chose me. That He died so that He can spend forever—eternity—with me. But I’m too deep in my head to stop.

My head is too full of thoughts and emotions. A numbing pressure weighs down my chest. I need to cry. Crying would help relieve some of this pressure, like letting air out of a balloon that’s too full. But the tears refuse to come.

I clench my eyes closed. “Lord, what am I supposed to do?” I ask out loud.

No answer comes.

I should be ecstatic now that we’re back at youth group after summer break. I get to see my girls and listen as they sing and praise our Savior then tell me all about their summers. And I am excited to see them, but how can I show excitement for the Word of God when I haven’t been able to read it? How can I show excitement for prayer when all of mine have been…pathetic?

Even though I’ve tried opening my Bible countless times, God has continued to be silent, and I’ve allowed the distance to grow. I’ve been tempted so many times to call my sister and tell her she’ll need to lead on her own tonight. Then guilt would strike, and I knew I needed to push through this lack of motivation so I could spend time with my girls. Because if I can’t push throughthis, how can I lead the girls’ retreat that’s right around the corner? The girls’ retreat where I am supposed to teach a group of teenage girls how to deeply study their Bibles?

The retreat is going to be here before I know it, and Istillhave nothing to share. My relationship with God is in shambles. There is only one way that should help me overcome this hurdle.

Feeling more desperate than ever, I crack open my well-worn Bible and stare at the black and white pages. I find a passage my pen and highlighters haven’t touched yet. Back when I wasn’t a mess, I originally planned on using a different group of verses for the lesson. But the longer I stare at the untouched text, the stronger I feel about this developing idea. I grab a pen and paper then scribble down a couple ideas. My phone lights up with a notification, and it distracts me enough that the idea slips away. I’m left with two sentences that barely make sense.

The timer on my phone goes off, notifying me that I need to get ready. Usually, I try to look at least somewhat put together when I go to youth group. But tonight, all I can manage is leggings, a long black T-shirt, and my leopard print cardigan. I run the brush through my hair and call myself ready to go.

Music fills my car as I make the short drive to church. Hollyn’s song “In Awe” plays on the radio, and the words choke me up the longer I listen to it. By the time I pull into a parking space, I’m wiping tears from my eyes and am grateful I didn’t put mascara on. The lyrics are the reminder I need that God is good and I am not. I hear it and understand it. Now it’s a matter of letting it sink into my heart so it can be a balm to my soul.

After making sure my face is not red and splotchy from my tears, I head into the church and send up a silent prayer of forgiveness and guidance.

“Miss Dana!” Liz, one of my small group girls, greets me as I enter the church’s sanctuary. She’s sitting beside Madi, another one of my girls. The rest of the group sits with their hands folded on their laps, feigning innocence. They must be up to something.

I take the seat at the end of our aisle.

The other clusters of students mill around the modern sanctuary while they wait for their leaders to arrive and for Pastor Dillon to open with prayer. To distract my mind from wandering down the Dillon path, I look toward the largest stained-glass window. It sits at the front of the sanctuary and is a depiction of Jesus sitting on a rock with a dozen children sitting around him with one on His lap. It’s exactly how I picture Jesus when I close my eyes. Even now as I sit in this spiritually dry season of life.

Not spiritually dry. Disobedient. The thought comes to me unbidden. Shame fills me. Something needs to change.Ineed to change.

“We heard your secret boyfriend is back in town!” Madi and Liz manage to say in unison, almost as if it was rehearsed and it makes me focus on the present.

The rest of the girls turn toward me.

“He’s not my boyfriend,” I say too quickly and defensively. Madi and Liz share a look.

“Riiight,” Madi says with an exaggerated teasing tone.

I draw my lips into a firm line and stare the group’s two troublemakers down. “Listen, Rhett and I aren’t dating.”

“Is that so?” Gracie asks haughtily before adding, “I heard that after you went out with him, he ghosted you, and then you found him washed up on shore a few weeks ago.”

“And I heard he stayed with you while recovering from his surfing accident and you two have been seen around the island out to dinner and walking on the beach,” Liz adds with a conspiratorial smile.

I point at each of them. “How did you find any of this out?”

Each of them pinches their lips closed.

I scan them with narrowed eyes before choosing Emma as my victim. “Emma, how did you learn about my and Rhett’s past relationship?”

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