All That Really Matters (McKenzie Family Romance #1)

by Nicole Deese

His swift and candid assessment of me had stung far worse than the vilest of comments left by an online troll. But try as I might, I still hadn’t found a delete option for real-life rejection. And I’d been searching for one for twenty-seven years.

I could almost imagine it—the delight all those gifts would bring to someone who’d had so little good given to them in life. And to be the one to give it to her! That feeling would be nothing short of elation. Is that how Silas felt every time he approved a new resident’s application into the program, too?

“I do know that feeling.” My eyes met his, and I knew his next words even before he spoke them. “And it’s usually an indication that God has something to do with it.” “That’s one possibility, sure.” But I didn’t like pinning things on God that I wasn’t completely certain about. And truth be told, I wasn’t certain about a lot.

I loved having a set time and place to be each week, with actual people who expected me to simply show up. To sit. To listen. To share. To be nothing more or less than Molly McKenzie. It was such a different reality than the one I lived in most of the week. And there was something surprisingly refreshing about that. Something right. Something I hadn’t even known I’d been missing.

Whatever exchange had taken place just now had been a positive one. Quite the gamble on my part, given Molly’s parking lot mood not even fifteen minutes ago. Yet I knew from experience that serving others was a sure-fire way to shift an off-kilter focus to a new perspective.

“Question one: What was the high point of the day or week, a moment when you felt closest to God and to the truest version of yourself? Two: What was your low point today, a time when you felt tension or regret or most unlike your truest self? Three: What were you most grateful for today?”

“Nobody wants to see images of empty ice cream cartons and piles of dirty laundry. They want pictures of pristine living rooms with fluffy throw pillows and white shiplap walls and huge vases of fresh wildflowers. They want contouring compacts that promise a face like a Kardashian. They want chins without blemishes and clothing without the stains of last night’s chili cheese dog. Because that’s where hope actually lives—in the hustle. And if they can just hustle a little harder, a little longer, a little faster . . . then maybe all those pretty things can be theirs. Maybe life will finally make sense. Maybe something they do will actually matter.” I swiped at the tear trailing my jaw. “Reality isn’t enough. It’s never been enough.”

“You’re right. Our present reality isn’t enough; it was never meant to be. The danger, as far as I see it, is not in promoting the stuff you enjoy, it’s in believing that something so temporary can bring you actual joy. Peace. Acceptance. Fulfillment. Because if that were actually true, you wouldn’t be here tonight.

“When I first started in this line of work, helping these youth navigate a life path they hadn’t been prepared for, I didn’t want to praise every baby step forward. I wanted to see them run through the finish line. I knew how far they had to go, and the progress I could see in the moment didn’t feel worth the time. I wanted to rescue them—to pay their way, to cosign their debts, to remove the hardships they faced on a day-to-day basis. I wanted to be the faithful authority figure they never had.” He looked at me. “But more often than not, the best rescue plan we can offer someone we care about is our support for each step they take forward.”

And as I laid my head against his chest, listening to the strong beat of his heart, I realized I didn’t want to be a Catherine type after all. Because as much as I craved his respect and approval . . . those weren’t the only things I desired from a man like Silas. A man I could so easily care for, and yet could never deserve.

Life had taught her how to play the game of getting what she needed without actually having to engage herself in the process. Though we’d seen the warning signs during her initial interview, we’d hoped and prayed her walls would crumble over time as she learned to trust her leaders and housemates. Instead, Sasha had continued to give lip service to all the right answers with no real growth to show for it.

“I’m aware of who Molly is, but Sasha needs a professional.” “She’s had professionals, Silas. Lots of them. Maybe she needs someone different to talk to, someone with a bit of spunk and style to mix it up.” I could feel the beginnings of a headache coming on. “Sasha will eat Molly alive.” “Maybe. Maybe not.”

Who was I to Val now? A former boss? A former friend? Both? I wasn’t sure of the new rules. What were the boundaries for such a strange arrangement? I didn’t know. Just like I didn’t know how to push the constant swell of grief and regret away whenever I thought of her. Why hadn’t I visited Val in Alaska when I’d had the chance? I knew all about her fears of flying, her obligations to Tucker and her parents, and yet I never actually booked a flight. I should have surprised her, shown up with balloons and a cake for her birthday one year. I should have planned a girls weekend at a spa retreat on a snowy mountaintop as a thank-you for her countless overtime hours and loyal dedication to building my brand. I should have put one of my many work trips aside to do something that actually mattered for someone who actually mattered. And yet, I’d done none of that.

It had been an unexpectedly fun day, yet like so often over these last few weeks, I couldn’t help but think of Val. I’d reached for my phone countless times to snap a picture of something I knew she’d find amusing or cute or post-worthy for an upcoming feature. But then I’d remember how things were between us now, and that terrible gut clench would return.

“I think we first have to understand just how deeply we are already loved that way—by God. Then we can love each other out of the response to His love for us.”

But in my experience, showing up after a rough day or a hard meeting is worth more than the fanciest words in the universe to these kids. That said, you can do everything right and still be rejected in the end. We don’t get to control how someone else chooses to respond.” Her cheeks lifted into a knowing grin. “About the only thing you have control over is your attitude and your heart.”

“Do you feel like God is asking you to give up your platform? Your influence?” “I don’t know. . . .” My voice trailed off into an uncomfortable silence. “Because if you gave everything up, He might, what? Love you more? Forgive you more? Accept you more?” I didn’t miss the way Silas tried to catch my eye. But I didn’t want to be caught. All of that was true. “If that’s your goal, you’ll never meet it. There’s nothing you can sacrifice that’s worthy of what God gives us freely.”

You don’t honor God with your life by changing your personality and tossing out everything that is unique about who you are. You honor Him by offering those very gifts back to Him.”

“But what I want you to see, to know, and to hear tonight is that no matter how much you strive to make over the outside with the products I’ve endorsed, none of them holds the power to make over what’s on the inside. And I’m realizing more and more just how much I’ve neglected the most vital parts of who I am, of who I’m meant to be. When I’m focused inward, I miss out on divine opportunities to bless others—to serve, to help, to protect, to befriend. To love beyond my own capacity and capability.” I laid a hand to my chest, glancing for half a second to Silas’s face. “This heart makeover is still a work in progress.” I closed my mouth, rubbed my lips together. “But in the end, the condition of our heart is all that really matters. I pray that the same grace that’s been extended to me as I’ve begun this heart work will be extended to you, as well. Until next time, good night and God bless.”

“Your mother told me to keep writing. Never to stop, not even if I never received one letter back from you. She said sometimes we need to write our story more than we need someone else to read it. She was right.”

“I love you, Molly. Not for the promises you intended to keep or for the things your platform could have provided, but for you. For who you are right now.” She stared at me and then shook her head. “Silas, I just lost your chance at a million dollars.” “I love you.” I spoke the words again, relief intermixed with conviction. There were so many solutions we didn’t have, and yet, this was one answer I knew for certain. Her pained features morphed into a look I couldn’t quite identify. “But love shouldn’t be forced to live in our disappointments and loss.” “It’s not forced to live there—it chooses to.” I framed her face in my hands. “Love lives in the hard places with us because that’s what sets it apart. That’s what makes it love.”

The Carlos who could have avoided much of his strife and addiction if only he’d been given a chance to thrive, a home that supported him the way The Bridge supported these twenty-two lives.