Jesus Freaks: The Prodigal (Jesus Freaks #2)(44)

Standing outside, I’m less than enthusiastic to have to dig for the thickest sweater I’d packed for myself when heading to Carter. And, admittedly, it’s not thick at all. A cashmere cardigan, that I’ve only worn once on campus, is doing a crappy job of saving my skin from the icy bite of the wind. And snow.

Snow!

Blinking like I’ve never opened my eyes before, my eyes dart around the parking lot and the surrounding trees. My goose bumped skin is taking a back seat to the fresh, glittering snow resting delicately on the branches and blowing in sparkling circles through the parking lot. It’s a sunny day, made blindingly so by the reflective layer of icy snow.

“Snow!” I raise my arms and jump up and down, forgetting momentarily that it doesn’t typically snow this early.

“From around here?” a guy sporting a UC Berkley sweatshirt asks, standing a few feet away from me.

I nod wildly. “I am, but I haven’t seen snow yet this year. I go to school in North Carolina.”

“Oh yeah?” He tilts his head to the side, interested. “Chapel Hill?” he asks of one of UNC’s campuses.

I shake my head. “No. A smallish school. Carter.” I rub my hands together, blowing on them for extra warmth.

“Carter University?” he questions, and suddenly I find myself wincing, waiting for the look of pity, horror, or grief that is sure to cross his face.

I clear my throat. “You’ve heard of it?” I ask brightly, trying to hide my nerves.

He scrunches his eyebrows as if he’s trying to place it. I take this moment to enjoy his California-kissed sandy blonde hair, shaggy by normal standards—extreme by Carter’s. His eyes are light brown—almost like sand themselves. He’s basically turned into the beach, it seems, during his time at Berkley. His tanned skin mocks the snow blowing between us.

“Christian school, right?” he finally asks.

I can’t tell if he’s messing with me. If you’ve heard of Carter, it’s not usually in passing. There’s usually one divisive reason or another that the name would pass around the dinner table. Especially in Connecticut.

“Yep.” I nod, tightening my sweater around me and wondering where in God’s name my mother is.

“You live around here?”

I nod.

He looks down to the sidewalk for a minute, then sets his hands on his hips before looking up at me. “You look familiar.”

“No I don’t,” I spit out.

You’ve got to be kidding me.

“Wait. Are you that televangelist’s daughter?”

Headdesk.

His eyes widen during my silence. “No way.”

I shrug. “Yes way. How did you even …?”

“Kennedy Sawyer?” He needs more confirmation, apparently.

“That’s me.”

He points to his chest. “I’m Brock Kratz.”

Brock. Naturally …

“Hi Brock.” I stick out my hand. “I’d introduce myself, but that would seem a bit contrived. Wait,” most of the air leaves my lungs, “did you say Kratz? Are you related to …?”

My ex-boyfriend?

“Trent?” he asks, smiling from ear to sun-kissed ear.

Yep, that’s him.

“Yeah. How do you … what?”

“I’m his cousin. His dad’s brother’s son. We live out in San Dimas.” He becomes more animated by the second. “Yeah, man, Trent called me a couple of weeks ago and told me what was going down with you. Said you’d be on the Today Show. How weird is this?”

I sigh. “It’s uncanny …”

“Will I see you on Friday at Trent’s party?”

I shrug. “Stranger things have happened.”

Stranger than showing up at my ex-boyfriend’s house nearly two years after we last kissed.

“Dude, well,” he reaches out his hand, not to shake mine, but to high-five it, “I hope to see you. That’s some crazy shit there, right? That school? Jesus Christ.” His eyes widen. “Shit, sorry. I mean …”

I hold up my hand. “Take it easy,” I dryly assure him. “You’re forgiven.”

“You’re an awesome chick,” he says, moving toward a taxi that’s idling at the curb. “I hope to see you Friday.”

I wave frantically. “Doubtful,” I mumble through my full-toothed smile.

He doesn’t seem to hear me, which is little consolation given he’s probably going to tell Trent while he’s in the car that he’s had a run-in with me. I thought it was odd that I hadn’t heard from Trent during the whole Roland fiasco. Even though we’d broken up before he went to college, we always kept loose tabs on each other. I’d get a text from him if I had a good basketball game, and he sent me flowers when he found out I’d nabbed the valedictorian spot in my graduating class. So, it was just … weird when there was silence on his end during my small time in the national spotlight.

Even weirder was he’d called his cousin about it without so much as a text asking me if, oh, I don’t know, I was okay having my family tree rearranged on national TV.

Whatever.

Despite being on the fence about going to his party as it was, given that I’m still expected to play by CU rules despite being seven hundred miles from campus, now there’s no way I’m going.