Let It Be Me by Becky Wade (top young adult novels .TXT) 📕

of speaking to Leah about his emotions left him feeling unprotected.

Which was worse . . . losing Leah or feeling unprotected?

He was going to have to get over feeling unprotected, because losing Leah was much worse.

The pastor read from 1 John. “‘See what kind of love the Father has given to us, that we should be called children of God.’ The most meaningful thing about you,” the pastor said, “isn’t your job. It’s not your status as a father, a mother. A husband, a wife. A son, a daughter. A sister, a brother. A friend. We’re all tempted to try to plant our identity in those things. Ultimately, they won’t satisfy, because that’s not how God created us to find meaning.”

Hands down, the most meaningful thing about Sebastian was his profession. He definitely had planted most of his identity in it. His degrees and accomplishments had given him his truest sense of pride. Really, his only sense of pride. Yet as much as he loved his work, as committed as he was to it, it hadn’t brought him peace or wholeness.

“The most meaningful thing about you is that you are loved by God,” the pastor continued. “You’re a child of God. That’s the only identity that can bring satisfaction.”

At the close of the sermon, he prayed along with the pastor, asking God to forgive him, to help him find his identity as a child of God.

It didn’t help. His spirit remained distracted and frayed.

When Leah’s phone rang the next night, her heart wedged into her throat, just like it had every time her phone had rung for the past seven days. On each occasion, one name had sprung into her head.

Sebastian?

She wanted it to be him.

She didn’t want it to be him.

But mostly, as in ninety percent mostly, she did want it to be him, despite her belief that going their separate ways was for the best.

She moved her attention from the paper she was grading to her phone, and for the first time since she’d argued with him in Atlanta, the caller ID displayed the name Sebastian Grant.

She covered her mouth with her hand and listened to it ring again. What should she do?

Her body decided for her. Without permission, her fingers shot out and answered. “Hello?”

“I miss you.”

“Who did you say was calling?”

“Are you still angry?”

She gathered her thoughts. “No, I’m not still angry. However, I do stand behind the concerns I verbalized.”

He made a sound of frustration. “You know what? Talking on the phone with you isn’t going to work.” She heard rustling. “We need to talk in person.”

“Hmm?”

“I’m going to drive there.”

“What? It’s eight o’clock. On a school night.”

“I’m locking my apartment now. I’m already on the way to my car.”

She spluttered. “You have work in the morning, don’t you?”

“I don’t care.”

“Round trip, the drive will take you more than three hours.”

“I don’t care.”

“I’m not sure if it makes sense—”

“I’ll see you in less than an hour and forty minutes,” he informed her.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Concentration proved impossible after Sebastian’s phone call. So impossible that she couldn’t finish grading. She ended up funneling her nervous energy and conflicting thoughts into cleaning.

“What’re you doing?” Dylan asked during one of his kitchen snack breaks.

“Straightening up.”

“When you clean, you make me help. And you never clean at this time of night. Plus, you’re moving at, like, twice your usual speed.”

“Sebastian is going to stop by.”

“Even though he lives in Atlanta?”

“Mmm-hmm.”

“And isn’t your boyfriend?”

“It’s complicated.”

He chuckled all the way back to his room.

She was Swiffering the hardwood floor when Sebastian’s headlights bounced onto her driveway. She set the broom aside and pushed her arms into a fitted blue sweatshirt. Wearing the yoga pants and tennis shoes she’d donned for her after-work hike earlier, she stepped onto the front porch.

He shut his car door and crossed to her. The serious lines of his features emphasized glowing gray eyes. He’d clothed his tall body in worn jeans and a casual black pullover with a short, open zipper at the neck.

He stopped a yard away and scrutinized her. She scrutinized him right back. She’d had time to prepare for him. Even so, she was not prepared for him. Had she really believed just a few short months ago that she was incapable of experiencing physical attraction? Now she was suffused with it to the point that it threatened to decimate clear thought and good intentions.

He’d said on the phone that he missed her. She’d missed him, too. His assurance, humor, self-reliance. And beneath all of that, a very real storehouse of goodness. Her world had been small and dull without him in it.

“Come in.” She led him to the now-spotless kitchen, the room farthest from Dylan’s room. “Can I get you anything?”

“No.” He leaned against the countertop, facing her, his hands curled around its edge on either side of his hips.

She leaned against the opposing counter and crossed her arms. It really was exceptional, the combustion that thickened the air when they were together. Like the Force in Star Wars—invisible and powerful.

“I’m sorry that I didn’t ask you first before calling the dean about Dylan,” he said. “And I’m also sorry that I didn’t say anything about it when you mentioned the dean’s email. My motives were good, but my execution sucked. If my execution sucked, then it doesn’t matter what my motives were.”

“Your motives do matter to me, actually. I know you wanted to help. It’s just the—the way you helped happened to poke right at my worst fear, which is my own helplessness. Or, in this case, my concern that you perceived me as helpless.”

“I view you as the least helpless woman I’ve ever met.”

“Honestly?”

“Yes.”

The admission unwound something tight within her. “I’m sorry, too. I wish I’d reacted with more patience.”

Hip-hop music pulsed softly from Dylan’s room.

“I can’t help but want to do things for you,” he said, “to show you how I feel. But there’s very little I can do, so when I saw my chance, I took it.”

“I don’t