Page 125 of The Rules We Broke
We both smiled and faced forward. I tried to focus on the sermon, but it was near impossible.
Covert glances from the front pew. Icy stares from his momma. But it was the quiet, repeated looks from his daddy that struck me most. Not sharp. Not judging. Just . . . gentle.
Sweet, even.
By the end of the service, I was practically ready to sprint toward Sunday School.
Unfortunately, Brady’s family didn’t seem in a rush to move.
I looked at Brady. He caught the cue, stood up, and I followed. Benjamin and Kendra rose, too. Thankfully, they had a legitimate reason to leave—to take Caroline to the children’s class.
Caroline kissed both her grandparents goodbye and waved to everyone like she was closing a Broadway curtain. Absolutely precious.
Brady asked his brothers and their wives, “Y’all staying for Sunday School?”
They shook their heads. Said they were heading home with his parents.
I nearly sagged with relief.
We said our goodbyes. I even lied in church—told them it was nice to meet them all. Judging by their expressions, they didn’t quite know what to say to me either.
His momma stood, posture rigid. She was ready for me to leave.
We began to make our way out of the pew. Heading toward the Promised Land—as it were.
And then Brady’s daddy reached up and gently touched my arm.
I froze.
Of all the gestures I’d expected, that wasn’t one of them.
He looked up at his son. “Brady,” he rasped as best he could, “bring this young lady to Christmas Eve dinner.”
Uh . . . what?
Chapter Twenty-Four
Aswewalkedoutof the chapel, the only thought that echoed in my head was,“Never in a million years.”
We were both too dazed to speak. Isaac’s invitation had blindsided us. Judging by the stunned expressions of the Jackson clan, it wasn’t part of anyone’s predicted programming.
Still, I couldn’t help but think Isaac had chosen his moment deliberately. In church—where tempers stayed cloaked in civility and reputations remained intact. He knew it would mute the reaction. Especially his wife’s.
Brady’s momma looked ready to detonate. We cleared out quickly, just in case her fuse ran short. I could only imagine the car ride home—with Isaac calm as ever and his wife quietly vaporizing in the passenger seat.
Christmas Eve dinner was sacred—practically the Holy Grail of Jackson traditions. And somehow, I’d been invited.
We were so stunned, we skipped Sunday School and walked straight to Brady’s truck. Neither of us said a word until we pulled out of the church lot, rain threatening overhead.
“Brady,” I whispered, staring out at the gray sky. “Why do you think your daddy invited me?”
He was quiet for a beat before saying, “I think it’s his way of making peace. Making up for the past.” He hesitated. “Will you come?”
I thought for a moment.
“I don’t know if I can say no. I want the truth—my aunt deserves that. And your daddy might be the only person who can give it.” I let out a half-laugh, uneasy but honest. “And really, how could it be worse than last time?”
Brady reached across and took my hand, fingers threading through mine like they’d done it a thousand times. And they had.
