Jesus Freaks: The Prodigal (Jesus Freaks #2)

by Andrea Randall

I’m thankful for the loud music, or I might hear the rational voices in my head that I know are telling me to get out. I will get out. When I have my best friend with me.

  “Hey.” I tap Matt on the shoulder, aiming for a casual greeting.

  He grumbles something unintelligible and shrugs his shoulder.

  “Matty,” I say a little too-quietly. I’ve only ever heard Roland call him this, and it was months ago, but it poured from my mouth faster than I could consider it.

  It gets his attention, though. Matt snaps his head around and, while it’s clear he’s teetering on the line between buzzed and intoxicated, the horror on his face as he takes in mine, and then Jonah’s, is overwhelming.

  “Come on.” I nod to the door and put my hand in his arm. “Come with us.”

  Looking right past me, Matt sneers at Jonah. “Why the hell did you bring her here? Get her out of here.”

  “Come on, Man,” Jonah pleads in the brief silence between songs.

  Soon, we’re encapsulated in the late 1980’s with some sexy-sweet rock anthem that has the older men in the crowd on the edge of their seats, wallets out. Against my better anything I look at the stage and find a girl who wasn’t even born when this song topped the charts. It must make the men feel younger, I guess, to listen to music they jammed to in high school while looking at girls the age they wish they still were.

  “I’m not going with you guys. Leave me here. Get out.” Matt hasn’t moved much, but his voice is growing anxious.

  “Let’s just go get you home and into bed and that’ll be the end of it.” My hand is still on his shoulder and I give it a small squeeze.

  He shakes it off. “It won’t be the end of it. This is just the beginning …” He leans back, wrapping his hand over his mouth. “This is where it all started for him.”

  I roll my eyes. “Yes. We know, Matt. Your dad ruined his life starting here. And you’re mad he’s been given a second chance so you’re deciding to have all kinds of fun. Look around you. Does this look fun to you? You don’t want to be this guy.”

  “I am this guy, Kennedy. Just leave me the fuck alone.” Matt’s words pierce through me and I take a step back.

  “Don’t talk to her like that,” Jonah stands up for me.

  Matt stands, not quite dwarfing Jonah, but posturing to him nonetheless. “And don’t bring her to places like this. I trusted you, and this is what you do to repay that trust?” He sways a little before the alcohol he’s already ingested pushes him back to his seat.

  My phone vibrates in my pocket. Sweet Jesus. It’s Roland. My palms sweat, shaking as I put my phone in my back pocket.

  With a shaking voice, I kneel in front of Matt, who hasn’t made eye contact with me since some time yesterday. “Matt?” I ask, putting a hand on his knee. “Look at me please.”

  Casting a dark glance downward, he says nothing but his eyes connect with mine. Dark, hollow pits. “What?” he finally mumbles.

  “Please just leave here with us and get in the car. You need to get out of here. Please. I care about you, Matt. I love you and I don’t want you doing this to yourself.”

  He curls his lip. “You don’t love me. You’re just saying that because you want me to do what you want. That’s how people are—tell you what you want to hear in order to get what they want.”

  My eyes fill with tears. “I’m saying that because it’s true, and because we need to go. We don’t have much time before people come looking for us.” My phone vibrates nearly constantly, highlighting frantic phone calls from Roland. Or my mom if he’s already told her I’m gone. I don’t think he’d do that though. He knows how to choose his battles with me and her.

  “Kennedy,” he growls. “Get out.”

  “Is there a problem over here?” another annoyingly beefy bouncer asks, approaching from behind.

  I have a split second to make a decision. Either I can tell this bonehead that Matt is in here, drinking underage after having snuck in alcohol—which will involve an ugly exit for Matt and a trip to jail most likely—or I can lie.

  When in Rome …

  Shaking my head, I give Beefcake #2 a smile and a wink. “No problems here. We’re on our way out.” I interlace my fingers with Jonah’s, giving him a small tug to follow me. He does, and we exit the club without issue. And, without Matt.

  “What now?” Jonah paces the sidewalk in front of The Pink Pony.

  “We’re in deep shit,” I admit freely. “Roland is calling me.”

  His eyes bulge so far out of his head I think for a moment he’ll need an ambulance. “Are you kidding?”

  “Yeah,” I snap. “Because this is the time for jokes.”

  Jonah holds out his hands, his voice trembling dangerously. “What are we going to do?”

  Taking a deep breath, I pull my phone from my pocket. “It’s going to be okay,” I say. “Trust me. I’m not scared, which must mean this is coming from somewhere other than me,” I mumble, pointing to the sky.

  “Trust you with what?”

  I shake my head. “I don’t care if Matt never talks to me again, but we need to get him out of there.” Tapping Roland’s contact information, I take a deep breath and hold it in as the phone rings, a lifetime of needing him brewing in my throat.

  “Kennedy?” Roland answers in a sheer panic. “Where are you? Where’s Jonah? Are you with him?”

  His concern is so primal, so tangible, that I let the cool brick wall behind me hold me up. “Dad,” I sob, “Matt’s in big trouble. I need you.”

  Saying the words is too much. I slide down the wall, leaving me crouching above some rocks, questionable wrappers scattered around my feet.

  Dad, I need you.

  In a split second, Jonah is squatting next to me, arm around my shoulder.

  “Okay, Kennedy. It’s okay,” he breathes a sigh that sounds like relief, “just tell me where you are.”

  “I …” I start, but can’t say the words. Instead, I hand the phone to Jonah.

  “Sir? Yes, this is Jonah. Right. I’m sorry. Um … The Pink Pony,” poor Jonah says with a record amount of shame. “Yeah … that’s the place.”

  They say more words, but I can’t hear them. I’m crying so hard into my bent knees that I can’t hear, see, or feel much else other than abject sadness. Suicide isn’t always a physical act, and leaving Matt in those walls feels like watching him pull the trigger with a twelve-inch thick glass wall between us. I didn’t see it coming. I couldn’t see the spiral. It was too steep, too fast. Too real.

  “Sweetie?” A soft hand perches on my shoulder. Looking up, I find a middle-aged woman with thick blue eye shadow crouching next to me. “Are you okay?” She eyes Jonah suspiciously before quickly returning her attention to me.

  Right. Because I’m a young female crying in front of a strip club with a broad-shouldered dude next to me.

  “Oh,” I sniff, forcing myself to stand, “I’m fine. This is my boyfriend,” I lie again, because that’s what you do in and around these places.

  She smiles. “Don’t beat yourself up, honey. Men are pigs. Just bring him home and remind him why he doesn’t need a place like this.” She gives me a wink and slides in a side door labeled Employees Only.

  Jonah returns my phone. “They’ll be here in a few minutes.”

  “They?”

  He nods. “Roland and Mr. Wells.”

  Goose bumps cover my neck and shoulders. “Well, there goes any hope we could keep this from Matt’s parents.”

  “Was that really your plan? To keep this from them.”

  I shrug. “I don’t … know.”

  “No or know.”

  I shrug again, more tears spilling down my face. “I just want to go home, Jonah.”

  With a sigh Jonah steps forward. “Sorry,” he whispers, pulling me into a hug. “Sorry,” he says again, resting his chin on the top of my head.

  I stay in the hug and think about what I just said. I didn’t mean Connecticut when I said “home,” and I didn’t m
ean Matt’s parents’ guesthouse.

  “Kennedy. Jonah.” Roland’s voice lifts my eyes to the sight of him and Buck exiting a small SUV and briskly walking toward us. It seems like we just got off the phone with them, but my perception of time, or anything real, is shot.

  Jonah drops his arms from me and I cross the sidewalk to meet Roland. “Thank you for coming,” I say, wrapping my arms around his shoulders.

  “I’m so glad you called me,” he whispers, sounding like a thirsty man pouring a glass of water. He takes a step back and holds my face in his hands, his thumbs pushing tears out of the way. “Are you okay?” His eyes search over me like I’m a war victim.

  Not that kind of war.

  I nod, and when Roland drops his hands I look at Buck. “I’m sorry. He’s inside and we tried to get him out, but he’s … I think on top of everything else, he’s drunk.”

  A single tear rolls down Buck’s war-torn cheek. He nods with a clenched jaw. “Thank you for calling.”

  “I’m sorry we stole your car,” I say to Roland.

  “Yeah, Sir,” Jonah echoes. “I’m really sorry.”

  “No worries. No worries,” Roland repeats, placing hands on our shoulders. “You did the right thing. Why don’t you go wait in my car,” he says without it being a real question.

  Jonah and I look to each other and do as told, sliding into the backseat of the Prius.

  “Who’s going to drive that car home?” Jonah asks, reminding me that Matt took his dad’s car and Roland and Buck showed up in what I assume is Matt’s mom’s car.

  I shrug. “I’m sure there are plenty of people who pick their cars up in the morning from a place like this. Or they’ll have one of us drive. Jonah,” I quickly change the subject, “Matt’s going to be so mad.”

  He nods. “Eventually he’ll realize this was for his own good.”

  “I’m sorry I dragged you into this,” I say absentmindedly.

  “Kennedy,” Jonah replies, grabbing my hand. “I’m the one who asked you to come. I should be the one apologizing. I had no business bringing us here. Neither of us should be here.”

  “Are you worried that Roland and Buck will tell your parents?”

  He shrugs apathetically. “I expect them to. I’m not worried about consequences from them so much.”

  “Just from CU?”

  He nods.

  “Yeah,” I whisper. “I’m on borrowed time there as it is, but I don’t care. I just want Matt to be okay.”

  “I know.” Jonah squeezes my hand and returns his to his lap. “It might take a while, but he will be.”

  He’s never going to talk to me again.

  Not only did I show up at the strip club, and not only did I call Roland into the mix, but Matt’s dad—his archenemy—has gone in after him. For that alone I know he’ll never forgive me.

  “Did you see anything while we were in there?” I ask Jonah.

  He shakes his head. “No, you?”

  “No,” I lie, yet again. I suspect he did, too.

  A few moments of silence later, Jonah taps the window, drawing my attention to the front of The Pink friggen Pony. From there, I see two pastors, clad in jeans and polo shirts flanking the sides of a somber and swaying Matt. His head is down and he’s walking to the smaller SUV without much resistance at all. After they close Matt in the backseat, they exchange a few words, nodding to the Hummer, before Buck gets in the smaller vehicle with Matt and drives away.

  “That was fast,” Jonah remarks. “I wonder what they said to him.”

  Roland makes his way to the car quickly, and signals for both of us to get out. “Jonah, will you drive the other car back to the Wells place, please?” He produces keys from his pocket and drops them in Jonah’s hand.

  “Sure thing,” Jonah answers.

  “Is Matt okay? I mean … how is he?”

  Roland shakes his head. “This is a tough one, guys. It’s hard to say how he is.”

  “Is he going to be allowed back at school?” Jonah asks.

  My eyes move to Roland’s and I silently beg him to tell me I don’t have to endure the rest of my time at CU without Matt.

  He lets out a heavy sigh. “I think we all need to get some sleep.”

  Jonah nods and walks to the Hummer, getting in and driving away slowly. I slide into the front passenger seat of Roland’s car, and lean my head against the window as he silently navigates us out of the parking lot.

  “Are you okay?” he asks as we trek down an empty stretch of road.

  I nod. “Because of the naked women you mean?” I saw more than what I allowed myself to admit.

  He winces. “I mean because your friend is hurting.”

  “He thinks he’s like his dad, but he’s also mad at his dad, and mad at God for showing his dad grace but not covering the whole family with it. Like his dad gets to walk away while they tend to the scars, or something.” I do my best to sum up Matt’s rant from several hours ago.

  Roland shakes his head. “Buck doesn’t get to just walk away.”

  “I know that, but I get what he’s saying, too. I used to think the same thing about you.”

  “Used to?” Roland asks, pulling into the Wells’ driveway.

  I nod, unbuckling my seatbelt and getting out of the car. “I was determined to hate you.”

  “And now?” he asks, putting his keys in his pocket and walking around the front of the car, standing across from me.

  I shake my head. “I don’t hate you anymore. I don’t think I ever really did, honestly. I’m sorry about tonight,” I add in quickly.

  Roland runs a hand through his hair. “I wish you would have come to me right away, but I’m glad you eventually did.”

  I snicker at the double-meaning about coming to him that I’m not sure he’s aware of.

  “Come here,” he says, holding out his arms.

  I do, and feel at home in his hug. It’s the most at home I’ve felt in weeks. It’s scary, and it’s tense, and uncertain. But it’s wonderful. “Did you call my mom?”

  Roland sighs. “Not yet.”

  “What are the odds we need to tell her?” I ask, stepping back. “I mean, what are the chances anyone but the five of us—six counting Matt’s mom—will know or need to know about this?”

  Roland sighs again and starts for the guesthouse. “I don’t know how to answer that, Kennedy. I’m not only a parent that was involved tonight. I’m on the faculty of Carter University, the pastor of New Life …”

  “And internationally responsible for, like, everyone,” I add, resigned, following him into the house and onto the couch.

  He nods. “I have a lot of moral and ethical balls in the air here.”

  “So,” I ask, breathless with oncoming tears, “what do we do?”

  Roland lowers his head for a moment and then grabs my hand, eyeing me. “Pray with me,” he requests, not asks.

  “Of course,” I answer without hesitation. I mean, it’s the least I can do. I can’t imagine the scene my mom may have caused in or around the strip club tonight. All Roland did was remind me over and over that I did the right thing.

  Now I need to do the right thing for him.

  With our heads lowered and eyes closed, Roland starts. “Dear Lord, please guide our actions and decisions over the oncoming days and weeks. We don’t know what your purpose in what happened tonight is, Father God, but we do know it’s written in your plan.”

  “All things work together,” I whisper without thinking. Matt hates the scripture, but it’s the only thing that’s giving me hope right now.

  “As you state in Romans, Lord,” Roland adds, picking up where I leave off, “that all things work together for good to those who love you and who have been called according to your purpose.”

  I lose focus on what Roland is saying as he finishes the prayer, because I’m stuck on one bit of scripture. One thorny bit I’ve never given much consideration to before, because it hasn’t mattered as much as it does in this moment.
<
br />   All things work together for good to those who love God, is what the scripture says.

  To those who love God …

  My blood runs cold at the thought. The thought of Matt alone in his room, angry, hurt, and self-destructing.

  What if he doesn’t love God? I know he thinks God doesn’t love him and he’s angry with God. But people get angry at those they love all the time, and continue right along loving them.

  What if he doesn’t love God, though? How will things work together for him then?

  Epilogue

  Kennedy.

  It’s been six weeks since Matt’s talked to me. Get out were his last words.

  He’s never talking to me again.

  If I weren’t getting powdered down by Today Show makeup people again, I’d probably try texting him again. I text him every single day. Once in the morning and once at night. I remind him that I love him and care about him, and he never responds. That’s okay though. I’ll keep doing it until he finally does talk to me or one of us dies because, even if he changes his number, I’ll find out.

  Roland and Buck sat down with school counseling to arrange intensive sessions with Matt in order for him to be able to finish out the year. Per my request, and Roland’s understanding, they kept Dean Baker out of it. Chills race down my spine at the thought of what Weeble Baker would do with that information on Matt.

  I’ve seen him though, even though he won’t talk to me. We have Roland’s New Testament class together, which is weird and awkward on a number of levels. I haven’t tried to talk to him in person yet because I need him to know that while I care deeply, I also respect his wishes to not speak to me, kind of. I don’t want him changing out of the class, so I walk the line I guess.

  Oh, the Today Show, right.

  Well, apparently Jahara—Roland’s assistant—forgot to tell Roland she’d set up an interview with us and them at the family conference thing we were going to in Georgia. Only, Jonah, Matt, and I never made it to the conference. Roland and Buck excused us from it given all the “excitement” from the day before, and when they ran into Dean Baker, as expected, they simply told him we got food poisoning from the Chinese dinner we’d had a day and a half earlier. Still, that left the matter of the Today Show hanging in the air. I flat out refused to go on camera until school was back in session. I needed to chill out after all the emotions of the break, and the last thing I needed was a national camera up my a—butt. Alas, here we are, a couple of weeks into my second semester at CU, with another national interview on deck.