Jesus Freaks: The Prodigal (Jesus Freaks #2)(45)

Maybe.

It would be nice, after all, to have some breathing room around normal people for a few hours. I that know my friends at CU are normal, sort of, but I mean my kind of normal. And, if I’m being completely honest with myself, I need reassurance that I can still fit in. That one foot in my old life and one in my new is still a safe path to travel.

Before I can give it much more thought, I hear my name from across the parking lot. Squinting, I shield my eyes and crane my neck to the side, where I see arms waving and someone racing toward me.

“Mollie?” I shout as her petite figure bounds toward me.

“Damn straight, fool! Who else would come out here at the crack of dawn to pick your ass up?” We crash into a squealing hug.

“I’m freezing!” I admit when we separate. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”

“Starbucks?” She winks.

“I love you.”

Once inside Mollie’s warm Jetta, I text my mom and let her know Mollie’s retrieved me, and we’d be making a coffee run before heading home. Then, I thumb over to Trent’s contact information, still in my phone for reasons I don’t fully understand, or want to admit. I ignore the fact that Trent isn’t likely to be up for another three or four hours.



Me: Met Brock at the Stamford station. He’s … interesting.





Trent: He’s an ass. Glad to hear you’re back on Yankee soil in one piece.





Me: Be nice.





Trent: That WAS nice. See you Friday?





Me: We’ll see. Rules.





Trent: I’ll behave ;)





I click my tongue and wrinkle my nose.





Me: Not those rules, you perv. CU rules.



“Who you texting?” Mollie asks, pulling out of the station lot.

“Trent,” I reply nonchalantly.

Mollie immediately pulls the car to the shoulder of the road, puts it in park, and turns on the hazard lights. “Explain.”

So, I do my best. I don’t have much to say, other than the story of Brock, which takes a few minutes to tell in its entirety.

“Isn’t it weird he’d talk to his cousin about it, but never text or Facebook me or anything?” I ask once we’re back on the road.

Mollie shrugs, looking quite contemplative. “He still has a giant boner for you,” she finally says.

“Mollie!” I smack her shoulder, certain my ears will be bleeding before the week is out.

“Calm yourself,” she demands. “This is how we talk. Bring back your accent and crass language, sister. We only have a few days before I send you back into the seventh circle.”

“Of what?”

She laughs. “Hell.”

I roll my eyes and grin. “Stop.”

“Come on,” she says. “Just say it, just once.”

“What? Say what?”

“You know,” she instigates. “You know. Just once. Come on, it’ll feel good.”

Shaking my head, I look out the window and consider it.

“Come on,” Mollie whispers.

Taking a deep breath, I close my eyes tight and scream as loud and long as I can. “Fuuuuuuuuuck!”

“Better?” Mollie asks as I lean back against the seat.

I let out a loud laugh and lean across the car to kiss the side of her head. “Much.”





After lounging around Starbucks for an hour, Mollie deposits me at my house and says she’ll call me in a few hours, claiming she needs more sleep after a killer exam week. Once I spot my stepsister’s car in the driveway, I’m too excited to even consider sleep.

“Hellooo!” I call, creeping through the side door of the kitchen. Dan and Mom are at the oversized range, cooking what smells like Spanish omelets. My favorite.

“There she is!” Mom bellows melodramatically, handing her spatula to Dan and moving toward me with open arms.

“Hey Mom,” I half-whisper as we embrace in a hard, tight hug. “Thanks for having Mollie pick me up.”

She chuckles. “She told us she was. I don’t think we were given much option. Yale’s done her assertiveness some good,” Mom says of my best friend, who is always spunky but sometimes less outspoken than I am.

“How was the ride?” Dan asks, expertly flipping an omelet before sliding it onto a glass plate and placing it on the breakfast bar.

I wave my hand. “Drunk Boston fan threw up everywhere, but I slept most of the way.”

Mom and Dan shake their heads and go back to their task of breakfast-making together.

Walking to the breakfast bar, I take a deep breath, appreciating the smells of home before answering. The house is expansive, average by the neighbor’s standards, but I’ve been places and know how fortunate I am to have far more square footage than I could ever possibly need. I mean, seriously, it was just the three of us most of the time in this house, since Jenny spent a majority of the time with her mom, and we have. Of course three of them are used as active bedrooms, including one guest/Jenny room, and the other two have been converted into offices. Dan and Mom each having their own workspaces in which to save the world.