Page 73 of The Prodigal Son

“Then, one day, my dad made the local news. He was working a pride event that was attacked. He was a hero. But after Derek saw it, he tried to keep me from seeing him, my own dad. That was the final straw. I was twenty-five.”

Holy shit.

“I was in a conversion program for nearly ten years, and everyone knew it. To this day, I hear their voices in my head. They still tell me that I’m a sinner. Not only that Icanchange, but that Ishould. That it’s my fault. In a way, I never left.”

Pressing my lips to his chest, I hold him as close as I can. “But you left, Jensen. You were smarter than them. They thought they had you, but they didn’t. You made it out.”

He doesn’t look convinced, and it worries me. Did they really do so much mental damage to him he’ll never truly recover? Will he ever be able to accept himself and trulylovehimself with the harm they’ve caused?

“You know the worst part?” he whispers, still not able to look at me. His face is wet and his eyes bloodshot.

“What?”

“They tried to ruin my relationship with God. They made me believe he would never love me. Don’t we deserve God’s love, too?”

I force his face toward me so he has to look me in the eye. “Yes, we do.”

Suddenly, I see more vulnerability than I’ve seen before. It’s like seeing the full-color picture of Jensen for the first time. He’s taken down the walls between us. Bared his soul and cut himself open just for me.

Holding his face, I pull him close for a kiss. It’s not passionate or heated. It’s a kiss of love.

I rest my forehead against his as I murmur, “Thank you for sharing that with me. I’m so sorry that happened to you. It’s not fair, but Jensen…” I say with emphasis. “They did not ruin you.Don’t give them that much power. You can still heal and have a happy life, even with those memories.”

He doesn’t immediately argue, which is hopeful. Instead, he stares into my eyes just a few inches away. Sadly, he whispers, “I hope so.”

When I peel my eyes open the next morning, the space on the bed beside me is empty. Reaching over, I touch the pillow and find it still warm. Then I check my phone. It’s nine thirty on a Sunday. He left for service.

The thought sours my stomach. I’m suddenly remembering what he told me last night. The shit he’s been through. The brainwashing. The sexual assault. The shame they embedded into his sense of self. It’s fucked.

How can he continue to work in a church after that? Maybe it’s just me, but the shit my dad said when I came out tainted every bit of faith I had left in me. Why would I show up for God when it was clear He had no tolerance for me? If He can’t love me the way I am, then fuck him.

But deep down, I do miss my faith. I miss the good parts, and there were good parts. I miss my relationship with God. I missbelievingin him.

I only wish Jensen had stayed over longer today, but I understand. He has a job?—

The coffee grinder whirs loudly downstairs. My eyes pop open and I climb from the bed. Padding quickly down the steps, I turn to find Jensen standing in my kitchen in nothing but a pair ofmyjeans.

“What are you doing here?” I ask.

He looks up in surprise. “Oh, I…called in.”

“You called in?”

He smirks. “Yeah. There are other people at the church who can deliver a sermon, Isaac.”

“Did you call in just to spend time with me?” I ask sheepishly as I walk into the kitchen.

“Of course I did,” he replies, tipping his chin up.

I can’t help but smile. Then, my gaze rakes over his body, and I shake my head, appreciating just how good he looks in my clothes.

“What did I tell you about this outfit?” I ask, gesturing to the jeans without socks or a shirt. It should be illegal.

“What, this?” He glances down and I notice that his jeans normally hang loosely from his hips, but mine fit him very snugly.

Stepping up to him, I press our bare chests together as I kiss the side of his neck. “Make your coffee, and then come back to bed,” I mumble against his skin.

“Yes, sir,” he replies with a sexy rasp to his voice.

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