A Girl Worth Waiting For (The Worthy Series Book 1)

by S. M. Smith

  “I really, really wanted to go to the Caribbean. Can we go for my birthday? Like all of us, you, me, Daphne, Isaiah and Shelby. Maybe Jason, if he lasts through his internship.” I feel his smile by the way the muscles in his chest and throat tighten.

  “I’m not sure everyone could make that work, but I like the idea. Nothing like starting the last year of your twenties with a bang.”

  “Ugh, don’t remind me. Speaking of, I’m pretty sure I’m getting too old for all this.” I wave my hands to signify the club and all the debauchery I have thus far endured. That makes him laugh.

  “What? You can’t party like you’re 22 anymore? Wait, did you ever party when you were 22?” I smack him in his rumbling chest as he laughs at me, but he’s right. This isn’t me. This isn’t how I handle what life throws at me. I don’t need alcohol and flaunting around in a scanty dress to make me feel better.

  I take in another deep, cool breath. I think I can stand again, but when I try, my ankles wobble. So I sit back down and flash him a guilty grin. “Could you take me home, please?”

  He gently smiles back as if my request is the highlight of his night. “Sure, I’ll take you home.”

  Chapter Two

  I open my eyes only to immediately close them again. Whose bright idea was it to leave my curtains open? Where is that light coming from anyway? And why on Earth is my head pounding?

  I squeeze my eyes tight and pinch the bridge of my nose, trying to recollect last night’s events. I remember getting ready, checking my reflection, and Daphne telling me I looked hot. Okay, that’s a start. Then Stephen picked us up and we went to that new place, um Club something….Static maybe? Then there were shots…ugh….lots of shots. I make a mental note to leave a “not so thank you note” on Shelby’s desk on Monday.

  Then there was that hot guy at the bar, Carl, Cade, Caleb…..wow! Just how many shots did I have anyway?

  “Fifteen. Or at least that was what you were proudly yelling to everyone in the hallway at 2 o’clock this morning. Apparently that is the most you’ve ever had? Good morning, by the way,” a voice replies to the thought I apparently spoke out loud.

  I peek my eyes open to see Stephen come in with a tray of goodies. He smiles like the sight of my horrendous hangover is as cute as a wrinkly puppy with a fluffy red bow on its head. But that is all I see because the wave of nausea that passes over me forces me to shut my eyes and take deep breaths.

  “Here take this.” He hands me two small, white pills and a bottle of water. “I was just about to run and grab some breakfast. Trust me, some hash browns and coffee will be your best friend in about 30 minutes. Do you need help to the bathroom?”

  If I had been my normal self, I would have assured him that he was my best friend in the whole world and that it was thoughtful of him to come check on me this morning. But unfortunately the part of me that wanted to hurl all over my sheets is starting to take over and is rendering me speechless. So I nod my head, taking him up on his offer, and hold my hand out for him to help me out of bed and guide me to my bathroom.

  You know you have a friend for life when they hold your hair for you when you’re in the most revolting of positions. Yes, Stephen is that friend. I will be sending him a sincere thank you note on Monday.

  After the last of my stomach contents were flushed, the proper gentleman that is my best friend excuses himself to make some coffee, while I start a shower. It takes me ten minutes just to work up the courage to stand up and attempt to take off my skin tight black dress, but when I finally do make my way under the steamy water I start to feel a bit better. I let the water wash the remnants of last night down the drain while I try to replay last night again.

  I don’t even know how I got home. Hopefully Stephen can help me piece together just what all happened. When I get out of the shower I find some yoga pants and a loose t-shirt to throw on. I carefully comb out my hair and pull it into a messy bun after braving a quick brush of my teeth. Stephen must have left to get that breakfast because he wasn’t in the kitchen when I let my nose follow the soothing scent of coffee. I pour myself a cup and let the warm liquid relieve my achy throat and calm my rumbling stomach. Stephen returns with some glorious smelling breakfast a few moments later.

  “So….last night was fun,” I said, looking over my cup to see him chuckling to himself. He hands me a small container with a good sized order of hash browns.

  “You seemed to be having loads of fun. Was it worth it?” he says over the door of my refrigerator. His head disappears behind it and a second later he pulls out a bottle of ketchup

  “You know, I thought so at the time, but I was definitely wrong.” This makes him laugh out loud and I can’t help but smile. “Thank you for coming to check on me this morning. I really appreciate your help.”

  “Well, thank you for letting me crash on your couch.” Seeing my look of confusion he continues, “You don’t remember offering, do you? What do you remember about last night?”

  “That Shelby started ordering rounds to help me ‘celebrate.’ I danced and vaguely remember meeting a guy who I’m pretty sure his name is Caleb, although I could be wrong. He bought me a drink…you and I talked outside, but then Shelby wanted to dance some more… and then bright blinding light this morning.” I take a bite of hash brown. The salt and grease immediately calms my rolling stomach and my whole body melts back onto the counter. Aww peace at last.

  “Ok. Well. To leave out all the minor details, you danced until you nearly broke your ankles. You did meet a guy named Caleb who you can also thank for assisting in making this morning oh-so-glorious. You told me that you’re not happy and asked if I could bring you home. So I did, where you proceeded to thank me for taking such good care of you and then offered me the couch because it was ‘too late to go home.’ By the time I carried you and placed you in bed, you were nearly dead to the world. Did I mention you told everyone in your building how proud you were on breaking your drinking record?” I cover my face with my hands in humiliation. Ugh…what was I thinking?

  “Oh yeah. The college kid at the end of the hallway always smoking a joint gives you kudos by the way. He seemed exceedingly impressed.” He continues to tease me.

  “Oh my word! Seriously?”

  “Oh well, don’t worry though. The sweet little old man who makes it a point to come out to flirt and wave at you whenever we go out, yeah he was snoring pretty loudly, so I’m confident he didn’t hear a thing. Your reputation is safe, well, with him anyway.” His serious look makes me want to throw something at him. But he still makes me laugh. His expression softens a moment later though and he asks, “In all seriousness now, are you okay?”

  “Hangover aside, yeah. I think I am.”

  “Jess, it’s me. You can talk to me,” he says softly. “Last night, that wasn’t you. You are not the type of person to turn to alcohol when times get tough.”

  The truth is I don’t know, but I’m not about to tell him that. I’m not about to talk about it at all, really, to anyone. I’m done talking about it. I’m done crying tears over it. I’m just done with it.

  “I know. Really, I’m fine. There will never again be a repeat of last night….ever.” My body involuntarily shudders as I briefly remember my morning. Yeah, this morning’s events definitely outweigh the temporary relief I felt last night. By the look on his face, I can tell he’s debating on my emotional stability, so I switch gears. “Thank you for breakfast. You were right, coffee and hash browns are my best friend right now.” He gives me a playful look that says he’s pained that he lost that status.

  “I thought I was your best friend?”

  “Well you were, until you started teasing me about old man Harvey. Seriously, he’s like 90 and doesn’t even know how to flirt anymore.”

  “Oh, trust me. He knows how to flirt all right.” He winks at me. “So what’s on the agenda for today?” he asks, thinking he’s distracting me from what today was supposed to be, but it had already registered. I’m trying real
ly hard not to think about it and I knew that I would have this problem, so I had brought home my laptop to edit about 400 pictures.

  “Editing. All day. Wanna help?” I smile big knowing that he wouldn’t be interested at all.

  “Sure,” he says genuinely, returning my smile.

  My jaw drops to the floor. I shouldn’t have been that surprised, though. I was supposed to walk down the aisle today in a beautiful white gown, then spend the evening dancing and finally making love to the one person I thought understood me and my beliefs. Well that isn’t happening, and after what happened last night, maybe I did need someone to keep me from attempting to beat my drinking record—again.

  “I know what you’re doing,” I say quietly, giving him a pointed look. He blushes, then deflates a bit.

  “I don’t think you need to be alone today. So if you really have work to do, then I will find something good on TV or we’ll go rent some movies or anything else you want to do, but I’m not leaving you by yourself.”

  He picks up his hash browns, covers them in ketchup and turns to the living room. He picks up the TV remote, gets comfortable on the couch and pats the space next to him. Seeing I wasn’t going to win this argument, I dig my laptop out of my messenger bag and grab a blanket from the basket beside the TV stand. Sitting with my legs propped on his lap, I start editing photos.

  ***

  I manage to get 247 edits done before I can’t handle his snoring anymore. Deciding that the battery on my laptop needs charging anyway, I carefully uncurl myself from my little nest on the couch, trying hard not to wake him. Plugging my laptop in, I realize that I don’t know where my phone is. I quietly search the sofa table and the kitchen bar, but it isn’t there. So I figure one of us managed to plug it into my charger on my nightstand last night.

  I walk back into my room and get distracted by the mess my bed is in. I quickly straighten the sheets and comforter and set all my pillows in place when I instinctively pick up the picture frame that lay face down on the nightstand. It was a picture from my twenty-fifth birthday. Maddy and Daphne had made this amazingly delicious strawberry cake from scratch and we took it to the bowling alley where Stephen, Jake, Isaiah and a very pregnant Shelby all met us for twilight bowl. In the picture, our teeth, eyes and white clothes all glow from the black light. Jake is squeezing me tight and kissing my cheek. I was happy.

  About fifteen different emotions flood me all at once; sadness that I am not that happy girl anymore, betrayed by the two people I trusted most, anger that I didn’t see what was going on sooner. I feel lost, like I don’t know where I belong any more, like my place in life was no longer available and I have to move on. But I’m not sure where I am going or who I want to be when I get there. And that feeling of being lost, more than anything else, is what unleashes the unwanted tears.

  “How can I make this all better?” I didn’t hear him get up, but here he is, leaning up against the door with his arms crossed, his hands balled tight with anger. I look up at him through tear-filled eyes, and in two strides he crosses the room and scoops me up.

  The moment I feel his arms tighten around me, the dam bursts and the sobs start pouring out of me. I don’t know what to do next. I had this plan, this very detailed plan of what was supposed to happen and who I was supposed to be. That plan has been crushed, shattered into a million tiny pieces and I have no way of knowing how to put it all back together.

  “Tell me what to do now...because I don’t know… who I’m supposed to be…. or what I’m supposed to do.” It’s a super power, really, that he understands what I am trying to say in between sobs. He lets me finish though, waiting until I am breathing normally again. He holds me out so he can look into my eyes, holding my attention with an intense stare.

  “You keep being you. You keep being the kick ass photographer you are. You wake up every day knowing that you are someone who is strong enough to keep her promises. Someone worth waiting for. Someone who will make a wonderful wife and life partner later because she puts Jesus and others above herself. Jake doesn’t define you, Jess. He never should have and didn’t deserve the love you showed him. Don’t ever let anyone else define who you are. You are so much more than any one person could ever want you to be.” He wipes a tear from my cheek and pulls me tightly against him again.

  “That was very prophetic of you.” I chuckle, wiping away a stray tear. He shrugs.

  “It was all Jesus.”

  “Even calling me a kick ass photographer?”

  “Um, I’m pretty sure He can call you whatever He feels like calling you, you know, since He died for you and all.” Stephen smiles teasingly.

  “Yes, I guess He can.”

  Chapter Three

  Growing up so closely to Stephen and the Cahill family, we had a ton of traditions from Sunday lunches to holiday feasts. They moved to our tiny town the summer after I turned seven, purchasing the land across the road from us. It wasn’t long after that that Mark was elected into the leadership at the church that my father practically planted himself. Since then our families have done just about everything together. Every Sunday after church, Janine and Mark would help lock up the building while Dad upheld his pastoral duties of seeing everyone off for the afternoon. Then we would all make our way over to either house and divvy up responsibilities for a lunch. Dinner this Sunday with Dad and the Cahills is more uncomfortable than I thought it would be.

  Normally at these lunches with Mark, Janine, and Stephen, the table buzzes with multiple conversations about everyone’s weeks, how business is going, and the like, but not today. The moment they show up, Janine looks like she wants to hug me, but a subtle shake of Stephen’s head, that he thinks I don’t see, stops her in her tracks. She holds her head high and her tongue quietly as she gives me a brief hug and tells me she is glad I’m able to join them today. Knowing Janine, she probably has plenty to say about my situation, but I’m incredibly grateful that she keeps it to herself for now.

  Dad made his famous pot roast with roasted red potatoes and green beans, which he knows is my favorite. I’m pretty sure he is doing everything in his power to help make today easier. I don’t have the heart to tell him that his efforts are pretty much fruitless. Every few seconds my mind tries to pin down what I’d be doing if things had gone differently. I shake some clarity into my mind and focus back on the dinner at hand. Forks clank on ceramic plates as everyone tries to grasp something to say, but twenty minutes ticks by in painful silence. The quietness starts to grind on my nerves as everyone avoids any topic that relates to what should have happened this weekend. I figure if anyone is going to break this silence, it needs to be me.

  “This roast is better than ever, Dad.” I plaster on a smile, trying my best to hide the aching in my heart.

  “Thank you, Jessie. Stephen, how are things at the firm?” he asks, picking up on my attempt to break the silence.

  “They are going very well, sir. Thank you,” Stephen replies politely. I knew they were going better than he let on, but I also knew what he was doing. He doesn’t want to brag while someone else is hurting. He’s too nice sometimes.

  “Jack, I forgot to tell you. Mrs. Abernathy asked me this morning if-“ I don’t hear much more of what Mark says. I tune everyone else’s words out, but welcome the chatter. It is nice to not feel alone, and the growing buzz of conversation is slowly melting the frigidness I feel I’m stuck in.

  The moment I get up to start cleaning the table I hear everyone exhale as if they were holding back their breath as well as the words of comfort and anger they want to let out. As soon as I step out of the room, their voices turn hushed. Being a glutton for punishment, I hide next to the door to hear what everyone is dying to say.

  “She’s holding up surprisingly well.” Janine sounds shocked.

  “I couldn’t even imagine what is going through her mind right now, but she has the grace and composure of a saint.” Mark is such a kind and uplifting man.

  “I am so proud of her. I kno
w these last couple of days couldn’t have been easy for her, but she really is doing very well.” My dad sounds as if he’s about to cry. I didn’t realize how much this whole ordeal was impacting him. But it’s Stephen who surprises me the most.

  “The last two days have been the hardest. I’ve never seen her like this, but in all honesty, I have to admire her strength. She’s so determined to move on from all this and get back to living. I’ve never seen her persevere like she has the last two days. She’s a champ.”

  I’m not sure if I kind of expected him to sell me out, tell everyone about how I had a horrible breakdown that caused me to get wasted and nearly break my legs, woke up the next morning needing him to hold my hair while I puked my guts up and then later fell into a sobbing mess over a single picture. But he’s willing to hold my secrets with me, making me sound like a saint. To say that he’s seen me at my worst is a bit of an understatement. After all that, he still thinks I’m a champ. Hmm.

  Deciding I’ve heard enough, I finish putting everything away and excuse myself for some air. Everyone gives me sympathetic looks as I head up to my old room to grab one of my old cameras. When I open the door to my old room, I’m so flooded with all sorts of emotions that I have to pause and take a few deep breaths. I really am done with wanting to cry. My eyes have hurt for the last few days, making me feel exhausted. Honestly, I’m tired of feeling tired.

  This room is full of old memories; some that include Jake, but most involve my mom. Put aside that Jake betrayed me, and that what was supposed to be the happiest day of my life has turned into a dark mark on my calendar, the part of me that hurts the most hurts solely because she’s not here to tell me what to do next. She always had the best advice and I could really use some right now.

  I walk through my room and little things here and there remind me about all the things she counseled me through. Pictures of me when I was five in a dancing leotard trying to learn ballet, all my medals from band competitions and my drum major’s staff, my high school graduation cap, a picture of her in her hospital bed and me holding my acceptance letter to University of Missouri, both of us elated at reaching my dream. All things that she walked me through, helping me to be a better person. What would she say to me today if she were here? Would she be proud of my actions? Of me drinking my sorrows away? Of me collapsing into a weeping, sobbing mess at the sight of a picture? I don’t know if she would tolerate some of that.