Jesus Freaks: The Prodigal (Jesus Freaks #2)(46)

“I see Jenny’s car. Can I assume she’s still sleeping?”

“You could assume that,” Jenny’s voice trails down the stairs, “but you know what they say about assumptions.”

Bleary eyed and bed-headed, Jenny rounds the corner of the main staircase and enters the kitchen, her boyfriend Paul closely behind her.

“I didn’t know you’d be here this early!” I grab her into the tightest hug we’ve shared in a long time. Turns out, I’ve just missed the hel—crap—out of everyone.

She yawns and eyes Paul before pointing to the coffee maker. He understands her silent request, and moves to the machine, pouring two cups. For a moment, I find my eyes darting between all of them, a weird pit in my stomach.

“What?” Jenny asks. When Paul saddles up to her side and hands her the steaming mug of coffee, planting a kiss on her cheek, it hits me.

“Oh God,” I grumble.

“What?” Mom asks while everyone goes silent.

I twist my lips in slight embarrassment. “For a second I thought Jenny was about to get in trouble for having a boy sleep over. Got any liquor for the coffee? I need a re-emersion course, and fast.”

After a brief moment of silence, the entire kitchen bursts into a fit of laughter. We settle around the breakfast bar for delicious Spanish omelet’s, hash browns, coffee, and loads of undiscussed premarital sex swirling through the air.





After a full day of catching up on reality TV, and delicious local pizza for dinner, I’m ready for a good night’s sleep before eating more during our Thanksgiving meal tomorrow. I haven’t checked in with Matt since I arrived in Connecticut, so I decide to send him a quick text.

Me: Forgot to tell you—made it back to CT okay. Drunk guy is probably nursing a heck of a hangover in Boston right now.



Matt: Oh good, I was worried :) How’s home?





Me: Amazing. You?



I wince a little after sending the text, realizing that, while I don’t know the whole story, I do know things are dicey with him and his dad.

Matt: Meh. My mom picked me up at the station in Atlanta last night and I went to bed right when I got home. Spent most of today watching TV in my room.



Me: Avoiding reality?





I decide to push it a little.





Matt: For as long as possible.





Me: Good luck with that. Any fun plans with friends this weekend?



Matt: Homecoming is Friday. As last year’s King I’m expected to be there, I guess.



My jaw drops open, and I press the button to call him.



“Hello?” he answers, sounding surprised.

“Yes,” I reply in my most proper, upper-crust accent, “I’d like to speak to His Majesty.”

He grumbles in to the phone. “Come on!”

“You come on! Homecoming King? How have I gone all this time and never knew this.”

“Because my plan to never have you find out worked until just now.”

I click my tongue. “Tsk, tsk. I can’t believe you held out on me.”

“What about you? Aren’t you prom queen, or something?”

“Ha! Yeah, that’s me. Are you drunk right now?”

“I wish,” he answers a little darkly. “Do you have plans this weekend?”

I sigh. “I don’t know. There’s this freakin’ party at my ex-boyfriend’s house that everyone is going to. Whatever. I don’t know.”

Matt is silent for a few seconds. “Wouldn’t that be weird?”

“Yep. I’d have a bunch of friends there, though.”

“Alcohol?”

“Huh?” I ask.

“Is there going to be alcohol there?”

I shrug, as if he can see me. “Probably.”

“Watch your six, K. Sawyer. Remember that bull’s-eye you talked about? Bet it followed you home, too.”

My throat tightens, because I’ve considered the same thought. “Do you think for real?” I ask anyway.

“Just be careful, okay?”

“I will. Talk to you later. Have a good day tomorrow. And Friday, King.” I giggle like a damn schoolgirl.

“You, too. Night.”

“Night.”

“Who was that?” Mom startles me as she stands in the doorway.

I jump, sliding my phone onto the bed next to me. “Matt.”

“Wells?”

I nod.

She crosses the room and sits on the edge of my bed. “You light up when you talk to him,” she says in a scientific tone.

I shrug. “He’s nice to me. I feel safe with him.”

Mom’s eyes move carefully over my face. “Do you like him?”

“Mom, please.” I roll my eyes. “Even if I did, what business would I have dating a preacher’s son?”

She narrows her eyes. “Why not?”

She doesn’t point out the fact that I’m a preacher’s daughter.

I stare at her for a while, tilting my head to the side. “Why not?” I state for clarification.

She shrugs. “It might be good for both of you, don’t you think? He’d be an upstanding, safe, respectful guy, and you could teach him about the real world.”