Page 78 of The Prodigal Son

My body turns frigid as I stare at him. “I think it’s time for you to go, Mr. Goode.”

“Yeah, I think so too,” he mumbles sadly.

Before he stands, I put a hand out. “Can we pray?” I ask, hoping for some way to reconcile this.

He huffs with a shake of his head. “Don’t bother.”

With that, he stands and shuffles up the aisle toward the door. When I hear it close behind him, I take the first deep breath I’ve taken since I walked in here. Dropping my elbows on my knees, I stare straight at the pulpit at the front of the room as the weight of that conversation rolls over me.

Tears prick my eyes for no reason at all. There are so many thoughts and feelings in my mind at once that it’s impossible to grasp just one. Fear, shame, relief, hopelessness, and regret all swirl together like some self-deprecating mental cocktail.

Will I become like Truett Goode?

Am I a fraud for standing where he stood?

Does my position hurt people like me? People like Isaac?

Am I a good man?

Isaac seems to think so, but I’m willing to bet there was a time in his life when he thought Truett Goode was, too.

Twenty-Three

Isaac

Icrash into the plush white bed of the hotel with a sigh. Today was never-ending. I nearly forgot how exhausting touring is. After a long night on the road, the bus ran into an electrical issue and had to go into emergency repair.

But on the bright side, they put us up in a four-star hotel with plush dream beds and showers with the best water pressure I’ve ever felt in my life.

In nothing but a white towel wrapped around my waist, I fall asleep for a few minutes. But then I’m awakened by the sound of my phone vibrating on the nightstand. Jensen didn’t answer my last two calls, and I was starting to worry, so seeing his name on the screen fills me with relief.

“Hey,” I say as I swipe the call.

“Hey,” he replies. “Sorry I missed you earlier. I was…in a meeting.” He sounds tense.

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” he replies. “Where are you? Can I see you?”

“Fuck yeah, you can see me. In fact…” I hit the video call button. It takes a moment for Jensen’s face to appear on the screen. He’s at his house, the wall of his living room behind him.

“Whose bed is that?” he asks with a possessive quirk of his brow.

I spin the camera around the room. “This is the hotel treatment you get when your tour bus breaks down, apparently.”

“Very nice,” he replies. “But put the camera back on your face.”

I spin it around and smile softly at my phone. “You sure everything is okay?”

He breathes out a sigh. “It is now.”

My chest aches from missing him. I left four days ago, but I can’t stand it already. I miss his touch, his kiss, his scent, everything.

“Work has just been…stressful,” he says.

My features harden as I watch him through the line. When Jensen looks stressed or upset, he only lets me see a sliver of what he’s really feeling. He hides himself too well, and it frightens me a little.

What he told me the last time we were together—about the conversion program he was in—has haunted me ever since. The more I think about it, the more appreciation I have for him. The more love I feel. He’s endured something awful, probably more awful than even I know, but yet, he’s so strong. He didn’t let it darken his soul. He came out of all of that and still somehow managed to be the best person I’ve ever known.

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