Page 139 of The Prodigal Son

“Why? Because I’m upset? Because I want to defend myself? Am I not allowed to be sad?”

“Of course you are.” I open my arms for a hug from her. She’s reluctant, probably because she knows I’m offering her my lasthug. After today, I will have no choice but to cut her out of my life—for my own good.

It’s not her fault she doesn’t get it, and I’m not even angry at her. I’m not mad that my mom can’t be the mom I need her to be. Just like me, she was brainwashed, too. She grew up in a world that fed her lies, but it’s not up to me to fix her.

It’s up to me to protect myself and the future I have planned.

“Goodbye, Mom,” I say, my voice shaking with emotion.

She whimpers with a cry as she stands up. “I only wanted you to be happy.”

I pull her into my arms, hugging her tight. “I will be happy. Don’t worry.”

As she cries against my chest, it’s like a weight has been lifted. This was probably the hardest conversation I’ve ever had to have, but I had it. It’s over. It’s not the outcome I wanted, but it’s the one that will give me the most peace.

I hope it’s not forever. I hope my mother learns to grow and change and is someday ready to accept me the way I am. I want that vision of Isaac and me in our home with our children to involve my mother, being the grandmother I know she wants to be. I hate that she’s depriving herself of a relationship with me.

But with every hard decision I make, I’m one step closer to him.

One step closer to us.

Forty-One

Isaac

I’m pacing the greenroom of the stadium in Atlanta. I keep stopping to check my appearance, but it’s not like there’s much to check.

Black cowboy hat, check.

Tight jeans, check.

Unbuttoned flannel, check.

Tight white T-shirt that will end up on the floor by the second half of the show, check.

“I know I’ve said this a thousand times already, but if you’re not ready, you don’t need to do this.”

I pause to glance at Lola on the couch, chewing on her lip and toying with the new piercing in the center. Grinning at her softly, I nod. “I know. I’m just nervous. I can be nervous and ready at the same time, right?”

She shrugs. “How should I know?”

We both let out a nervous laugh and I start bouncing on my feet. I’m ready. I know I’m ready. I’ve been thinking about thisand planning it for weeks now. The rumors have started to die down and the ball feels back in my court.

I’ve discussed my plan with my publicist, and they’ve made it very clear that they are behind me one hundred percent. There’s no pressure in either direction, which makes it feel like the right time.

I pull out my phone as we wait and open the mile-long note I’ve been writing to Jensen since he left. It’s a mess at this point and I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to properly translate it all into English, but it helps so much I can’t stop.

I’m so fucking nervous, but I’m also so fucking ready. I’m ready for all of my closeted days to be behind me. Whatever the world throws at me, it couldn’t be worse than what I’ve already been through. So give me your worst.

Then I finish the note like I finish all of them.

I miss you.

It’s been six weeks and three days since he checked himself into the facility. I haven’t spoken to him at all, but I do keep in touch with his dad. He has assured me that Jensen is doing great and will hopefully be out next month.

I would never rush him. I want him to have all the time in the world, but at the same time, I miss him so much it hurts.

The only contact we’ve had is a handwritten letter that his dad sent to me while I’ve been on the road. I’ve read it no less than fifty times.

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