Jesus Freaks: The Prodigal (Jesus Freaks #2)(39)

“Get over yourself,” Matt teases. At least I think he’s teasing. “A. I don’t think anyone, except maybe Joy, thought you were a scary anything. B. Freshman aren’t usually invited anywhere like that. Even if the upperclassmen are going to break the rules, there’s kind of this understanding that they won’t poison the young and impressionable.” He offers a cheesy smile, posing as innocently as possible.

I point my index finger into the end of his nose. “Young and impressionable you are not?”

He shrugs.

“Hmm,” I nod approvingly, “the dark underbelly of CU.”

“Not that dark.” He points to my phone once more.

After a few seconds of silence, while I reshuffle my assumptions once more, tossing most of them into my mental trash bin, I address Matt. “Do you drink a lot?”

“I don’t drink at all,” he says flatly, causing me to purse my lips. “I’m serious, Kennedy.” His tone darkens, almost sending a chill through me.

“Why not?” I ask. “Why bother going at all if you’re not going to do the illegal thing they’ve gathered to do?”

“Do you drink?” he asks.

“No.”

“Would you go if you were invited?”

“Yes,” I admit quickly.

“Why?”

“To study the disciples in Sodom,” I answer with a grin.

Matt holds his hands out, mouth hanging open comically as if I’ve just said the most obvious thing in the world.

“Bull,” I challenge.

“Excuse me.”

“I call bull. I’d say shit, but you’re being weird, so I won’t. But, bull. You don’t go to study anyone. You know how everyone is. These are your people.”

I guess I’ve hit a nerve, because Matt stiffens at my side and bites the inside of his cheek.

“Just be honest,” I say softly. “If you’re not going to drink, is it so you’ll feel included in the team? I mean, I’ve looked online—you’re really good from what the stats say—so I don’t think you’d need to prove something …”

Matt faces me and starts to open his mouth, but I cut him off.

“You’re dancing with danger,” I blurt out.

“What?”

“You’re trying it all on—the scene—to see if maybe it’s something you want to do.”

Matt shakes his head. “I promise you I don’t want to drink or degrade women. And, I do go to study people.”

“Why?”

He lowers his voice to a near whisper. “Do you ever wonder why Roland ended up the way he did in college? Star basketball player for a D-one school that ends up washed up, alone, and no titles to show for it just a couple of years later?”

“Every single day,” I admit somewhat absently.

Matt takes a deep breath. “My dad may have made it through college in one piece, but that says nothing for what happened later. Like way later. I guess sometimes I just try to figure out where he started. It was a slow slide, I think, but if I can find where it started, I’m hoping—”

“That you can avoid the same fate?”

He nods.

“But you don’t believe in fate, right?” As far as I’ve always been taught, fate isn’t a Christian thing.

Matt shrugs. “I don’t know what I believe most of the time, Kennedy.”

“A. Stop calling me Kennedy all the time, it’s weird. B.,” I grin, mimicking his speech pattern from earlier, “What in God’s name happened with your dad? You’ve told me nothing, which is hardly fair since you know absolutely everything I know about my relationship with Roland.”

“Fair?”

I nod. “Fair. That’s how friendships work, Matthew. Reciprocity. If you’re going to be friends with a girl, you better get your act together. Now,” I shift so I’m sitting cross-legged on the bench, facing him, “what’s the deal with you and your dad?”

Matt licks his lips and looks away from me. “Do we have to do this today?” he asks with a heartbreaking amount of vulnerability in his voice. It sinks my stomach.

“I … I guess not. No, no we don’t. Sorry.” It’s the first time I’ve been so direct about his dad, and it turns out my instincts were right. Off. Limits.

Leaning forward, I wrap my arms around his neck and squeeze into a warm Matt-hug. He gives the best hugs. This time, though, he barely hugs me back. A slight pat between my shoulder blades that feels like it’s more my Great Uncle Marlin and less like the Matt that hugged me when I told him I was having a hard time trusting anyone.

Guess I pushed him way too far.

“Sorry,” I whisper, returning to my regularly seated position.

Matt’s eyes look vexed by something I can’t quite make out.

Yes. I’ve definitely pushed too far.





CHAPTER SIXTEEN





The Impression That I Get


Matt.




Pulling away from the train station in Gastonia, I close my eyes and hope to fall asleep for the majority of my five-plus-hour ride to Atlanta. Kennedy left before me, and that hour I had to kill until my train boarded was near torture. I tried texting her a couple of times, but I knew as soon as her train departed, her signal would be spotty through most of North Carolina. She hasn’t responded to any of them yet.