Page 55 of The Prodigal Son

“Oh,” I mutter with a chuckle. “It’s…uh, Isaac.”

“Isaac.”

“Yeah,” I reply, hoping he’s not about to leave. “Theo is a stage name. I didn’t want to use my real one, so it was easier to just make one up, but you know you can still call me Theo if you want?—”

“No, I want to call you by your name. I hope you know I’m not here because you’re a star or a celebrity. I don’t care about that. I’m here foryou.”

His mouth curves with a crooked smile as he runs a hand down the side of my face. Then he leans in and presses his lips to mine. “Isaac.”

Hearing him say it feels like cracking open the last layer of my heart and letting him all the way in. Now, there is nothing between us. No secrets. No boundaries. Jensen has full access to my heart, and I pray he keeps his word and doesn’t break it.

Sixteen

Jensen

Texas in the summer is blistering. The humidity makes everything miserable. But the one thing that Austin has going for it right now is that for the next two weeks, Theo—I mean, Isaac—will only be twenty minutes away.

It’s been ten days since I saw him in Denver. He had a photo shoot there the day after our night in the hotel. I flew home while he worked, and we’ve been texting each other every day since.

They took a couple of days to travel, and then once he got back, his work schedule was crazy, but I can be patient.

I still can’t wrap my head around this thing between us. What he said in the shower that night was so true. This relationship is blossoming so fast it’s almost terrifying. But at the same time, I’ve never been happier.

Waking up the next morning in the hotel with him in my arms was divine. Heaven on earth. Ironically, Isaac and I fit so well together. Like he was made to be there. Our dynamic is effortless.

But I can’t deny the obvious…that Isaac does not fit well in the life I’ve built around myself. More than once, I’ve considered what my life would be like if he did. What if, instead of trying to fit him into my life, I built my whole life around him? How happy would I be?

No more church. My relationship with my parents might be strained. My community. My friends.

But I’d have him.

Hell, it’s too soon to start thinking like this already. It’s only been a few weeks. He still doesn’t even know what I do for a living. Somehow, I’ve gotten by talking about work without any real specifics. The guilt of that omission is weighing on me.

Especially after he came clean about his real name. I won’t pretend that wasn’t a big deal for him. He let me into his life. Hisreallife.

Now it’s my turn.

I have to tell him the truth. We’ll get through the rest together.

For the first day in weeks, Isaac is off work. He has a pool at his place, and he invited me over. We’re going to do nothing but sit in the sun, cool off in the pool, and be together. It sounds like a dream. Am I putting this day at risk if I tell him the truth? I don’t know if that’s a risk I want to take.

I should probably be working on my sermon for Sunday, but I can do that later. There are enough drafts on my computer to work with. I’m sure I can pull something together tonight.

If I do spend the night, there’s just the small issue of needing to leave early for service. God, I feel like such a monster for keeping this from him. The longer I hold back, the worse it will be when I finally come clean.

I’ll know what to do when I see him. My knee bounces on the entire drive over to his place. After ten days apart, the idea of having him all day today is what I’m choosing to focus on.

When I pull up to his place, I send him a quick text so he can open the gate. Immediately, there’s a beep, and the gate starts to move. As I creep up the drive, I find him standing at the top in front of his house in a pair of black shorts and a tight-fitting shirt. He looks so good that I’m grinning from ear to ear.

His house doesn’t seem too big. It’s tall, sleek, and modern, with lots of windows and little natural landscaping. Just the kind of place you’d expect a single musician to live in.

He’s beaming as I step out of my car, with dimples piercing his cheeks like parentheses. It would be too dramatic to run to him, although that’s exactly what I want to do. So, instead, I walk quickly over to him, and he does the same.

When I get my arms around his slender frame, his lips press eagerly to mine, and I manage to lift him off the ground by a few inches. I can feel his smile against my mouth.

“Oh my god, I missed you,” he mumbles.

“I missed you too,” I reply, pleased to hear his enthusiasm. I don’t want to be alone in my excitement. I like knowing he feels the same passion I do.

---