Page 43 of The Prodigal Son

“Thanks for letting me vent,” I reply sleepily.

“Anytime. And there’s no rush to make a decision. When you’re ready, you’ll know.”

I nod before rolling over to hit the lamp on the wall next to the bed. But I don’t hang up. I don’t want to say goodbye.

“I’ll stay right here,” he whispers when my eyes finally close.

“I can’t wait to see you,” I reply, half-asleep.

“I can’t wait to see you either.”

“Jensen,” I whisper.

“Yes, Theo?”

“I’m coming into your hotel room this time.”

He growls softly into the phone line, and I smile with my eyes still closed. Just before I drift off, I hear him say, “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Twelve

Jensen

The moment my Uber drops me off at the venue, I bolt toward the entrance. There’s a massive line to get through security and into the stadium, which is a bit different than last time and it makes me irate. I’m practically bouncing.

I just need to get to him. It’s only been five days, but it feels more like five weeks.

You here yet?

Waiting in line at security.

Fuck, I should have given you access to come around the back.

I wish I could come out there.

Don’t even think about it. You’ll only make things worse.

I’m coming to you.

I don’t have a private greenroom this time.

I’ll be on the tour bus.

I’ll get to you.

I can’t wait.

It’s unbelievable how close Theo and I have grown in the past week. Everything between us feels so natural. Nothing is ever awkward or uncomfortable. We text each other all throughout the day. We FaceTime as much as we can. He’s like a drug I can’t get enough of.

When I finally get through security, I bolt toward the VIP section that leads to the backstage area. They are more skeptical this time, and I nearly lose my mind when the security guard almost doesn’t let me through, claiming it’s only for after the show.

I’m about two seconds away from threatening to get Theo himself on the phone when a supervisor comes over and tells him to let me through.

Next time, Theo definitely needs to get me access to come around the back instead of through the stadium. Which is wild to even think.

Not all that long ago, he was just a favorite singer of mine. Now…he’s so much more to me. He’s a man I’m growing feelings for. A real person with wounds and scars. After only a week, he has me wishing I could be the guy who makes sure he never gets hurt again.

But I can’t. Not really. Not unless I make some very serious changes in my own life.

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