Page 75 of Unbound
"Lie down," I murmured, helping him stretch out on the mattress. He was still in his damp clothes, but I didn't care. I pulled my comforter over him, and he curled into a ball. I lay down on top of the covers beside him, one hand resting on his back, just so he'd know he wasn't alone.
His eyes were closed, his face pale and tear-stained. He looked impossibly young and fragile. Every instinct screamed at me to protect this man. The game was so long gone it felt like it had happened to someone else.
He was drifting off when I leaned closer, my lips near his hair.
"I love you," I whispered. I don't know if he heard me. It didn't matter. It was the truest thing I had ever said. "I've got you. Just sleep."
His breathing finally deepened. I stayed there for another few minutes, just listening. The muted sounds from downstairs had changed. The frantic energy was gone, replaced by a low, determined hum of activity. Phoenix wasn't shouting anymore. Diana wasn't barking orders. They were planning. They were mobilizing.
He was safe. He was here. He was ours to protect.
Leaving the door slightly ajar, I headed downstairs to figure out what came next.
"We need to talk about what happens next," Andrew said, settling into his usual spot on the couch. As fraternity president, he naturally took charge in crisis situations. "Because this isn't over."
He was right. Jesse had escaped, but he had nowhere to go. No money, no legal emancipation, nothing. His parents could come for him—legally force him to return as long as he was financially dependent on them. Or they could cut him off completely, leave him with nothing.
"What if they claim he's mentally unfit?" Sam asked quietly. "Try to get conservatorship?"
"Or just show up here and drag him back?" Diana added. "Court order or no court order, if they think God's on their side..."
Phoenix, uncharacteristically serious but still Phoenix, said what we were all thinking: "Okay, but real talk? We need a legal strategy that's tighter than Beyoncé's security detail. I'm not letting these holy rollers pull some Britney-conservatorship bullshit and drag our boy away."
I'd been thinking the same thing. "I know someone who might help."
I called Professor Okonkwo from the kitchen, stepping away from the group. He answered on the third ring, sounding like I'd woken him up.
"Adrian? It's rather early for constitutional law questions."
"I'm sorry for calling so early Professor, I need help. Not for class—for real. For Jesse Miller."
I explained everything. The escape, the threats, what Jesse's parents were planning. Okonkwo listened without interrupting, which somehow made it worse. The silence on the other end felt like judgment.
"Adrian," he said finally, "this is beyond my scope as an educator."
"But not beyond your scope as an attorney. I know you don't actively practice anymore, but you've still got your bar certifications so you can help us."
Another pause. "What exactly are you asking me to do?"
"Jesse argued for constitutional rights in your class. Now he needs someone to argue for his constitutional rights. For real."
I heard him sigh, a long exhale that could have meant anything. "Come to my office. This afternoon. Bring whatever documentation you have."
Professor Okonkwo's office was exactly what you'd expect—books everywhere, papers stacked on every surface, diplomas and awards covering the walls. But it felt lived-in rather than pretentious. Like someone actually worked here, actually cared about the law beyond academic theory.
Andrew, Elijah, and I sat across from his desk while he listened to the full story. The kiss, the threats, the escape. Jesse's history with conversion therapy. His parents' plan to send him back.
"Do you know where they plan to send him?" Okonkwo asked.
"Place called Restoration Ridge in Montana," I said.
His face darkened. "I'm familiar with them. They've been sued multiple times." He pulled out a legal pad, started taking notes. "Kansas City banned conversion therapy for minors in 2019 via local ordinance, but Jesse's over eighteen."
"So they can just... take him?"
"Legally, they can commit an adult with financial dependence. The question is whether we can stop them."
He laid out the problems with brutal efficiency. Jesse was twenty-one, technically an adult, but financially dependent on his parents. No history of legal emancipation. His parents could claim he was mentally unstable—use the public kiss as evidence—and get temporary conservatorship. Force him into "treatment" against his will.
