Arrogant Bastard(45)

I’m not sure what he’s getting at. Sure, we may not go to church regularly since the nearest AUB temple is a two hour drive from here, but my father has always raised us with the teachings of the Holy Bible, Book of Mormon, United Order, and the Articles of Faith.

“Someday soon, you will be married,” Bruce says, releasing my shoulder from his grasp. “These are trying times we live in. Temptation is everywhere.”

I glance up at my dad, hoping for at least a sign of what this might be all about, but I get nothing. My fingers twitch against my sides. Deep down, I know what this is about. I just don’t want to believe it.

Bruce clears his throat. “The priesthood typically does not promote marital arrangements, however, the option to choose your partner is one that must be earned by staying pure and true.”

He smiles as if to soften his message, though his eyes penetrate mine, like he’s trying to invade my soul. The room shrinks around us. I may as well be in a prison from which I can’t escape.

I’m being threatened with an arranged marriage.

Jensen rises from the sofa, plodding across the room and pushing past my father and Bruce without so much as an, “Excuse me.”

Must be nice to be able to walk away.

I turn to my father, who for the first time in my life is a stranger to me. I don’t know this passive aggressive coward. “I’m not feeling well. I think I need to go lie down.”

The expectation to continue on in the tradition of plural marriage has been embedded into my psyche for as far back as I remember. In this moment, here and now, I’m finally realizing that those opinions in my head were never really mine to begin with. They were planted there, sowed and reaped and fertilized over the years.

I’m too young to get married, and I certainly deserve the right to choose whom I marry.

And I don’t want to have a plural marriage. I’ve never told anyone that before, but I know with every fiber of my being it’s not what I want. Not anymore, not since I realized I have a choice.

“Waverly.” My father peers down his nose at me, like he’s disappointed, like I should tough it out. “I think you’ll be fine.”

I blink away hot tears that fill my eyes. The one man who was supposed to love me and take care of me is perfectly fine placing my future in the hands of a church elder, like his job here is done.

My mother stares ahead, blank-faced and refusing to meet my pleading gaze. There’s a powerless kind of sadness in her eyes.

“Excuse me,” I mutter, ambling out of the family room. My legs wobble, barely supporting me, and I’m quite certain I’ll barely make it upstairs before I collapse. I grip the railing and then the walls, desperate for something to hold onto because in this moment, I have nothing.

No one.

I am alone.

Powerless.

The choice of whom and when to marry has been swept out from under me without warning.

I have no control, and right now, it’s the one thing I need more than anything else in the entire world.

No one chases after me. They wouldn’t dare. They all know better than to make a scene in front of a church elder. I’m sure I’ll get a stern talking to tomorrow, but for now, I’m thankful to be away from that creep.

I need to breathe.

I need to think.

I need to wait out the storm until I can find dry ground again.

Standing outside my bedroom door, I catch a glimpse of Jensen’s door. It’s half open. The light is on. I pull in a long, cleansing breath, wipe my tears on the back of my sleeves, and show myself in. I really don’t want to be alone right now.

He’s seated on the floor, his back against his bed and his knees bent. He’s sketching, zoned out.

“Hey,” I say. I tuck my curled hair behind my ears and shut the door behind me.

He sets his sketchpad down and shakes his head. “Fuck, Waverly. What the hell just happened downstairs?”

I bite my lip and blink away foggy tears. I can’t say it. If I say it, it becomes real, and if it becomes real, there’s not a damn thing I can do about it. I battle my wars in complete silence, the way I’ve been taught to do.

Jensen reaches for my hand, pulling me down to the floor with him. “You know you don’t have to worry about a damn thing, right? He can’t make you do anything you don’t want to do.”

I want to believe his words hold weight, but he doesn’t understand. He has no idea how things work with the AUB and my father’s expectations. It’s not that simple.

“You’re going to tell me I have a choice,” I say.

His lips inch up at the sides, soft and strangely inviting. I realize just how close we’re sitting now. I breathe him in, closing my eyes and getting lost in his world for just a split second. I’d give anything to be anywhere but in my own reality.