Sunday Morning (Sunday Morning #1) Read Online Jewel E. Ann

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Angst, Contemporary, Forbidden, New Adult Tags Authors: Series: Sunday Morning Series by Jewel E. Ann
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Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 102079 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 510(@200wpm)___ 408(@250wpm)___ 340(@300wpm)
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That was the first time I let myself feel actual guilt.

Not regret.

Not remorse.

I did something that hurt someone else, and I felt bad, but regretting it wasn’t an option because I loved the girl. And I believed I loved her more than he did because I loved all of her.

Her fears.

Her dreams.

Her insecurities.

Her everything.

Matt loved the version of her he made up in his head.

“Yes,” I whispered.

His face scrunched while he choked on his emotions. “Go,” he croaked.

“There’s more⁠—”

“I DON’T WANT TO KNOW!” He stabbed his fingers into his hair, panting out of control.

I stepped toward the door. “Get ready for the funeral. After today, you won't have to see me again. But for the next few hours, we’ll pull our shit together and pay our respects.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

MARVIN HAMLISCH, “I’LL NEVER LEAVE YOU”

Sarah

I could either love God or pretend that He had a plan for all of us, but I couldn’t do both because His plans didn’t feel like love.

While everyone filled the church for Joanna’s funeral, I sat in the old cemetery, resting against a headstone.

Walter Arnold

Beloved husband and father

1902-1974

“You should be inside,” Heather said, taking a seat next to me. She wore the same stone-washed denim shorts and blue Gap pocket tee she had on the day she dropped me off at the church to go to Nashville with Isaac.

“Yeah, well, you should be alive,” I said after a tiny grunt.

She picked a dandelion and plucked each little yellow petal. “Tell me about Nashville.”

I smiled. “Isaac let me sing on stage, and I didn’t want to leave. There’s something really special about singing to a crowd of people. Music is so much more than notes and lyrics. It’s an emotion, like when something moves you so deeply or gets you so excited that you can’t just speak the words; you have to sing them because you don’t want people to just hear the words. You want them to feel them. Music is what happens when your body and soul speak at the same time.”

Heather leaned her head back against the headstone and closed her eyes while humming. “I love that.”

“Me too,” I whispered.

She stood.

“Where are you going?”

“Joanna’s making popcorn for the funeral. You know how much I love popcorn.” She nodded toward the church. “Get going. I bet your family saved you a seat.”

“Don’t go,” I said, quickly standing and wiping off my wrinkled dress.

“I’m not going anywhere,” she said, wistfully walking away and glancing over her shoulder with a sly grin. “But you are.” She winked. “You’re going far. Carry me with you. Sing me all of your songs. Be with the man of our dreams. Just don’t be afraid.” She turned back toward the gates and kept walking.

“Afraid of what?” I tried to reach her, but she remained effortlessly out of reach.

“Letting go.”

“Letting go of what?”

“The hate … the fear … the need to please …” She laughed, holding her hands out to the side like an angel. “Let it all go.”

As quickly as she appeared, she vanished.

I combed my fingers through my sticky hair. After I left Isaac, I went to McDonald’s for a drink and to use the bathroom to freshen up. Then I picked up a deodorant at the pharmacy. Still, I was a mess.

As I slipped into the church, my dad finished his opening prayer with a mumbled “Amen” from Joanna’s friends and family. I hadn’t been friends with her as long as I had with Heather, but ten years was still a long time, and my bravery was waning by that point. I just wanted to hide somewhere far away from these people who looked at me with pity as I padded my way to the row where my mom and sisters were sitting next to the Corys.

I don’t know why I didn’t expect to see Isaac, but he was there, and so was Matt. They sat together with their parents in the middle separating them. Everyone in Devil’s Head excelled at brushing things under the rug and plastering on fake smiles when necessary. It was small-town protocol.

But my broom was broken, and I was fresh out of plaster.

Isaac sat on the end of the aisle, so instead of squeezing past everyone’s knees to reach my mom and sisters, I wedged into the ten-inch space between him and the end of the bench. I didn’t look at his parents or Matt, nor did I look at my mom and sisters.

When everyone scooted in to make room for me, Isaac didn’t budge, not even as my dad eyed us while quoting scripture. Isaac held his space, which meant we were touching shoulder to toe. He didn’t look at me, and I didn’t look at him, but I felt him. And that was enough to hold it together.

Joanna’s cousin sang a song, and our friend Kennedy recited a poem. I didn’t sob as I did at Heather’s funeral, but with every blink, I released tears. Isaac proved to be his father’s son, whether he would have liked that label or not. He handed me a neatly folded hanky. As I blotted my tears, I slid my leg around the back of his. It wasn’t holding hands, but it was a close second that was more discreet.


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