Page 13 of Unbound
Something cold settled in my stomach. "The Constitution isn't scripture."
"Isn't it, though? The way you talk about it?" His eyes never left mine. "Sacred text, divine inspiration, original intent that can't be questioned. Sound familiar?"
I stared at him, the vanilla latte still warming my hands. No one had ever made that comparison before. No one had ever suggested that my approach to constitutional law might be... religious.
"That's not—you're twisting what I said."
"Am I?" Adrian leaned forward, his forearms on the table. "Tell me something, Jesse. When you read the Constitution, are you looking for truth, or are you looking for confirmation of what you already believe?"
The question hit like a physical blow. I set down my cup with shaking hands, coffee sloshing dangerously close to the rim.
"I believe in the rule of law."
"Whose law? Man's law or God's law?" His voice was gentle now, almost kind, which somehow made it worse. "Because in your world, they're supposed to be the same thing, right? Government is supposed to reflect divine will?"
"I don't—this is—" I couldn't form a complete sentence. My throat felt tight, like someone was squeezing it. "You don't understand my faith."
"I understand it better than you think." Adrian's expression softened slightly. "I understand what it's like to have your entire worldview handed to you by people who claim to know God's will. I understand what it's like to be afraid of thinking for yourself because thinking might lead to doubt, and doubt might lead to—"
"Stop." The word came out sharper than I'd intended, loud enough that several nearby students glanced over. I lowered my voice, my face burning. "Just stop."
Adrian sat back, studying me with those too-knowing eyes. "You know what I think, Jesse? I think you're brilliant. I think underneath all that programming, you have a mind that wants to question everything. And that terrifies you."
I stood up so quickly my chair scraped against the floor. Several more people looked our way, and paranoia crashed over me in waves. What if someone recognized me? What ifthey knew about my father, my church? What if they saw me here with Adrian and drew the obvious, horrible conclusion?
"I have to go."
"Jesse, wait—"
But I was already moving, weaving between tables toward the door. Behind me, I heard Adrian call my name again, but I couldn't stop. Couldn't turn around. Couldn't face those dark eyes that seemed to see straight through every defence I'd built.
I burst through the door and into the afternoon air, my chest heaving like I'd been running. Students moved past me on the sidewalk, absorbed in their own lives, unaware that Jesse Miller's carefully constructed world was cracking apart one constitutional argument at a time.
I walked quickly back toward campus, my messenger bag clutched against my side. The vanilla latte's taste lingered on my tongue—sweet, warm, nothing like the black coffee my father drank every morning while reading scripture. Even the coffee had been a rebellion I hadn't chosen.
By the time I reached my apartment, my hands had stopped shaking, but my mind was still racing. I climbed the stairs to my unit, fumbling with my keys, desperate to be behind a locked door where I could think clearly.
The apartment was exactly as I'd left it—clean, organized, safe. I set my bag on the kitchen counter and stood in the middle of the living room, trying to process what had just happened.
Adrian had bought me coffee. We'd sat across from each other like... like friends. Like equals. He'd challenged everything I believed, not with mockery or anger, but with logic. With questions I'd never thought to ask.
Questions I wasn't supposed to ask.
I sank onto my couch, pressing my palms against my eyes. This was exactly what my father had warned me about. College was full of people who would try to undermine my faith, twist my thinking, lead me away from truth. I should have walked away the moment Adrian started talking. Should have refused the coffee, ignored his arguments, maintained my distance.
Instead, I'd sat there and listened. And worse—part of me had found his arguments compelling.
The thought made my stomach lurch. I reached for my phone, intending to call Rebecca, to ground myself in something familiar and safe. But as I scrolled to her contact, I realized she would ask where I'd been. What I'd been doing between classes.
I'd never lied to Rebecca. In three years of courtship, I'd been completely honest with her about everything. She was my accountability partner, my spiritual sister, my future wife. We didn't keep secrets from each other.
But I couldn't tell her about Adrian. Couldn't explain why I'd followed him to a coffee shop, why I'd let him buy me a drink, why I'd sat there listening to him tear apart everything we'd been taught about constitutional interpretation. She wouldn't understand. She'd be worried. She'd want to pray about it, maybe even tell my father.
My phone buzzed with a text message. Rebecca.
Hey! How was your morning? Still on for dinner with our parents tonight? Mom's making her famous pot roast. ??
I stared at the message for a long moment, then glanced at my watch. 2:55. Professor Hamilton's Civil Procedure class started in five minutes—a class I'd never missed, never even been late to. The thought of sitting in that lecture hall, trying to focus on discovery rules while Adrian's questions echoed in my head, made my stomach churn.
