Page 122 of The Prodigal Son

There’s a knock on the door to my room. “You okay in there?”

“No,” I murmur with my face in my hands.

The door opens and Lola walks in. She takes one look at me and her expression morphs into pity. Then she crosses the space, crawls onto the bed next to me, and pulls me into her arms.

I can’t cry. I’m too angry.

Why would he do this? Over the fucking phone.

None of this is adding up.

“Want me to call Martina and reschedule the shoot?” Lola asks.

“No,” I mumble. “I need the distraction.”

“Are you sure?” she asks, patting my back. I can’t stand the idea of being coddled, so I remove myself from her hold and stand from the bed.

“Yes, let’s just get the fuck out of here.”

With a look of remorse, she nods and follows me as I march angrily off the bus.

“This attitude is working,” the photographer says as he clicks the camera again. “Now, let’s give the girls a smile, can we?”

I try to smile. I really do. But it’s only the bottom half of my face contorting, and I don’t feel an ounce of joy behind the expression. I can tell the photographer is disappointed.

“Broody and sexy it is,” he mutters as he snaps a few more from different angles.

All day, I’ve been thinking about Jensen. I check my phone every five seconds. I’ve written and rewritten about a hundred texts to him, but none of them feel right. It’s like I’m talking to a version of him I don’t even know.

I just want to scream at him, “It’s me. Stop acting like this.”

Not once in our relationship has he ever spoken about God, other than the times when he was baring his soul about what he went through. He has never used God against me the way he did today.

That’s not him. That’s what those monsters at Eternal-whatever taught him to think. They fucked him up. They have to be in his head. That’s all this is.

But if that’s all this is, then maybe he needs me. Is it wrong of me to let him push me away when he so clearly needs me to remind him what’s real and what’s not?

We’re traveling to our next tour stop tomorrow.

“Do you need a break?” the assistant says as she sprays water on my chest.

“What? No,” I reply, shaking my head out of the stupor. “Let’s get this over with.”

“Then you have to give me some emotion,” the photographer snaps with irritation.

I manage to make it through the rest of the shoot somehow. The entire time, I just have to do my best not to think about Jensen, but it’s impossible. Anxiety replaces the anger I felt earlier. I can’t sit around and do nothing. I have no intention of just getting over this. I’m not going to let him go that easily.

After the shoot, I get in the car with Lola. The minute the door closes, I blurt out, “I have to go home.”

“What?”

“The rest of you can go to Charleston, but I need to go see him in person.”

“Tonight?” she asks with shock.

“Yes. I’m looking up flights now.”

When I find one that takes off late tonight, I quickly book it without another thought. I have to get home to him immediately. I’ll explain to my tour manager, and I’ll be back in time for dress rehearsal the day after tomorrow.

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