Page 120 of The Prodigal Son

My heart is pounding so fast I have to pull air into my lungs, one large breath at a time. There’s a tremble in my hands that is so violent they tingle and feel numb.

Deep breath. Deep breath. Deep breath.

I struggle in vain, trying to calm my body and my mind, but it’s futile. The voices are back and louder than ever. Suddenly, I’m a teenager again, scared and alone andstupid.

“God doesn’t love men like you, Jensen.”

I’m no man. I’m a fraud. A liar. I’ve tricked everyone into believing in me, including Isaac. I’ve manipulated him into trusting that I could be different. That I could be with him. That I could be righteous. That I could be anything at all.

I’ve conned him into loving me.

I’m as bad as Derek.

It’s like I’m standing between two land masses being ripped apart, and when I can’t seem to grasp onto either side, my nails digging desperately into the surface, trying to keep my feet on the ground, I fail and plummet into the depths.

Where I belong.

All I can do is let out a deafening, roaring cry of anger.

Everything hurts. And I’m not sure I’m ever going to crawl back out of the darkness again.

Thirty-Five

Isaac

“Hey, babe. You must have fallen asleep early last night. And…you’re sleeping in late today. I hope everything’s okay. If I don’t hear from you before the show tonight, I’m going to have to send Lucas over there, and you know how much fun he is.”

I force a laugh when I can’t feel an ounce of humor in me.

“I love you. Maybe your phone broke or something. Or you just need a break from me. I don’t know. My mind is coming up with crazy scenarios, so please stop freaking me out. I love you. Did I mention that? I’ll say it again. I love you, Jensen. Please call me back.”

I feel sick. Like physically sick. I called Jensen after my TV interview last night, but he didn’t answer. I expected to wake up to a text this morning, but still nothing.

I don’t know if he’s mad at me or ghosting me or lying dead in a ditch somewhere, but the constant worry is making me physically ill. My body aches and I have no appetite.

It’s past noon back in Austin, and we’re supposed to do a promo video tonight for some brand sponsorship, but I can’t even get myself in the shower, let alone dressed for photos.

Everything was great when I left town a few days ago. Did I push him too hard with the family stuff? And then the moving in.

I let out a groan as I bury my hands in my hair. Because I have nothing else to do, I pick up my phone and ring him again. According to my call log, I’ve called him twelve times today.

Needy much, Isaac?

It rings and rings just like it has all day. Then, to my relief, it stops ringing like he’s picked up.

“Jensen?” I ask, my voice buzzing with anticipation.

“Hey,” he mumbles.

“Are you okay? Jesus, you scared the shit out of me.”

My pulse is pumping in my ears as I let the relief flow through me. He’s okay. We’re okay.

“I’m fine.” His voice is low and raspy. It’s him, but not him at the same time.

I clear my throat, not sure what to say. “Did you see the show last night?”

The line is silent for a few minutes. My knee bounces, waiting for him to just speak to me like the real Jensen that I know and love. Inside, I’m panicking that somehow everything I thought I had is slipping through my fingers.

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