“Kennedy!” Matt’s gravelly voice shouts above the deafening rain. It competes with the thunder that’s just started up.
I don’t turn around, and I don’t know where I’m running. Just away. I probably should call Roland, or my mom, or both, but all I can focus on right now is getting as far away from Mission Hall as possible.
“Agh! Would you stop?!” He catches up to me and forcefully grips my shoulders, spinning me around.
“You knew!” I scream, facing him with sheets of water coming down between us. “You fucking knew Roland is my father!” Slamming my fists against his chest, I’m grateful for the release the profanity is providing me in this instant. I have control over nothing right now except my words. And I’m using whichever ones I please.
“Yeah, I knew,” he shouts back. “So?”
I hold my hands out. “So? So?!”
“What was I supposed to do, Kennedy?” His eyes are fierce as he retains his grip on me.
“Say something, maybe? Help me…I don’t know.” Lightning brightens the sky and a startling crack of thunder causes me to jump. From the corner of my eye, I can see a small drove of students leaving the dining hall and heading in our direction.
Matt sees them, too, and takes my hand. “Come with me.”
“Fuck off.” I pull my hand back, an action made easier by my soaking wet hand.
“Take it easy, Potty Mouth,” he tries to tease, but is still yelling. “I’m helping you now. Take it. Trust me.”
“Trust you? Oh, that’s rich.”
Matt sighs and shakes his head. “I didn’t want to have to do this…”
“Do wha—” In one swift motion, Matt hoists me over his shoulder. “Matt! Stop! Put me down!”
Matt says nothing, but picks up his pace until he’s in nearly a run for the dorms. I feel like some prop used at football practice. You know, the ones the guys push across the field—only I’m being carried. And he doesn’t put me down until we’re standing in front of a door inside Matt’s dorm.
“Oh, perfect. The boys’ dorm. What’s a few more demerits at this point?” My teeth start to chatter and I wrap my arms around my body. It’s no comfort—everything is soaked.
Not really the baptism I’d planned, frankly.
“Just…shh.” Matt knocks on the door in front of us, which I take to be his RA’s door, given it’s in the same placement in the hall that Maggie’s is in ours. “Jack, it’s Matt. Open up if you’re in there.”
A second later, the door opens. Jack looks at Matt, then at me, and then back at Matt, who rolls his eyes.
“I know, I know,” Matt says in a huff. “Let us in and we’ll explain.”
“Can’t wait,” Jack grins through his reply. It seems he’s well versed in the inner workings of Matt. “Who’s your RA?” he directs to me.
“Maggie,” I say, voice shaking through my frozen throat.
I walk in and am offered the desk chair. Matt says he’ll be back in a minute, and returns exactly forty-five seconds of silence later with sweatpants and a long-sleeved shirt.
“Here.” He dumps them on my lap.
“K…I, uh…where?”
Matt and Jack look at each other in a moment of silent conversation before Jack turns to me and speaks.
“We’ll wait in the hallway while you change,” he says.
Once the door clicks, I peel my drenched clothes off my body and revel in the warmth of Matt’s soft cotton sweats. I have to roll the waistband over twice, and the bottom of the pants up three times, but they’ll do. And his shirt, while clean, smells just like him. A fact I’m alarmed I know. It smells like a combination of some Armani cologne I’m vaguely familiar with and Tide Sport laundry detergent.
“Okay,” I call after one more deep inhale of his CU Football shirt. “I’m ready.”
Once back in the room, Jack sits on his bed and Matt stands next to me with his hands in his pockets. I heard them talking in the hallway, so I’m not surprised that Jack seems to be finding it difficult to look me in the eyes.
So, I wave and smile like I’m in a parade. “Yep. That’s me. Roland Abbot’s illegitimate child.”
Matt sighs. “Kennedy…”
“Oh,” I turn to him and tilt my head, “do you know something I don’t? Well, really, you do, don’t you?”
Matt looks down and shakes his head, which makes me feel bad. For a second.
“How’d you know?”
He shrugs. “I told you that he knows my family.”
I nod, barely, because that’s not an acceptable explanation.
“They worked together at the last church Roland was at,” he continues.
“They?”
“Roland and my dad. They pastored together.”
I lift my eyebrows and my mouth falls open a crack. Momentarily ignoring all of the cards that were thrown on the table in Mission Hall, I’m stricken by the revelation that the borderline vile football player who no one seems to know is Christian is, in fact, a Preacher’s Kid.
“Skeletons,” he mumbles with a grin, referencing our conversation from earlier in the day. “One day,” he continues, “Roland was down in Georgia for a visit, and I heard him talking with my dad about Kennedy enrolling at CU. I hadn’t ever heard your name before then. I don’t think they knew I was in the next room.”
“I didn’t know Roland shared my name with anyone,” I remark.
Matt jumps to Roland’s defense. “I don’t think he did to anyone but my dad. They’ve been friends for a long time. Met at some retreat ten years ago, I think. Come on, you couldn’t have expected Roland to never utter your name—” he cuts off when he sees my forehead crinkle. “Sorry,” he says. “I guess I shouldn’t presume to know anything about you and Roland.”
I shrug. “It’s okay. What’d you do when you heard my name?
Matt chuckles and arches an eyebrow while looking at me, amused. “Stopped fighting my dad about going to CU. I’d already been recruited for the football team, but you piqued my curiosity, K. Sawyer.”
There’s a knock on the door, and a second later, Maggie enters. Jack has been silent since I changed, but is more interested in me and my situation with Maggie present. I’m certain on a number of levels that he’s never had a soaking wet, distressed girl in his room before. He’s clearly relieved to have Maggie here.
I take a few minutes to catch everyone up, probably filling in some details for Matt. I keep it short and sweet, starting with my enrollment in CU and continuing through my meetings with Roland, problems with Joy, and ending with the events moments ago at Mission Hall.
Maggie nudges Matt—who has been kneeling by me the whole time—out of the way and gives me a tight hug. “Honey, you should have told me.”
“Why?” I sniff and wipe under my eyes. “I wasn’t sure I wanted to tell myself some days.”
She wipes a tear away from my cheek. “I could have helped you. Especially with Joy.”
“Yeah.” I snort. “Who’d have thought she was out for blood?”
“I get where her suspicions arose from—” Maggie starts.
“You do?!”
She smiles, unaffected by my outburst. “Well, of course. A girl with no evangelical history suddenly very friendly with the pastor? Sure. But her actions were not okay. You can be sure I’ll deal with her. Like, right now. I just wanted to come make sure you were okay. Have you talked with Roland? Or your mom?”
I shake my head.
Matt places his hand on my shoulder. “I can take her over to Roland’s house and we can kind of deal with everything there. I don’t want her going back to the dorm, and I especially don’t want her going anywhere alone.”
I twitch my eyebrow. “Protective much?”
Matt clenches his jaw. “You have no clue how big this is, do you?”
His tone seems a bit dramatic, but looking at the other two people in the room, I see the situation is quite serious.
“Big how?” I ask, my voice feeling infinite
simally small.
“Everyone will have questions,” Jack answers. “And they won’t stop until they get them from you and Roland.”
I turn to Matt. “That’s why you brought me here and not to my dorm, isn’t it? Because no one would look for me in the boys’ dorm. Smart.”
He makes a clicking noise before putting his hand on my shoulder. “K. Sawyer, you just became the most popular girl at Carter University, and probably the whole evangelical community if we give it a day or two.”
He must be joking.
Reaching for my cell phone, which I left on vibrate when I went to intercept Eden and Bridgette at Planned Parenthood, I wonder how “big” this situation could possibly get. A quick look at my “Missed Calls” shows the potential for really big. There are five from my stepsister, three from Dan, ten—ten!—from my mom, and an equal number from Roland.
Shit.
Maggie stands slowly and places her hands on her hips. “I’m going to go track down Joy.”
“I’ve got to get to Roland,” I say, standing on freshly wobbly legs.
Jack holds out his hands. “I don’t really know how to handle this. Maggie, are you okay with the two of them walking to Pastor Abbot’s house?”
Before turning to him, I catch Maggie comically roll her eyes. “I’d say this situation is outside any CU protocol. They’re fine.” She turns to me. “Get going before everyone comes back from dinner and you’re bombarded.”
Matt opens the door, sticking his head out cautiously, checking for people wandering, I assume. “It’s clear,” he says quietly.
I find it hard to move my legs, but do so anyway in the interest of getting somewhere else. Walking down the stairs, Matt fishes car keys out of his pocket.
“Why do you get to have a car?” I question without much conviction, referring to CU’s stance that only those students with the highest privileges get to have their vehicles on campus.
“Favoritism,” Matt blurts out cynically.
There’s much more there, but I can’t focus long enough to ask follow up questions, so I drop it.
Navigating the short mile to Roland’s house in Matt’s new-looking Jeep, I dial my parents’ house number.
“Kennedy?!” Mom shrieks thanks to caller ID.
“I’m fine.” I know in what order to address her concerns.
“Jesus, Kennedy. What the hell is going on?” She’s in full-on panic mode.
I give her a few seconds to tell me what she knows and how. Apparently my Facebook page has gotten quite popular since Joy started handing out the “Look Who’s Sleeping with the Pastor” flyers. Pictures of the poster along with a host of un-Christian wall posts from my CU classmates, according to my mom, went viral. When those who stuck around Mission Hall heard my revelation about my actual relationship with Roland, the activity on my Facebook page exploded past viral to epidemic. My stepsister Jenny called our parents after failing to reach me when she saw my name filling up her newsfeed.
“Matt is taking me to Roland’s house now,” I reply, ignoring all information regarding social media. I haven’t been on my Facebook page in days. I can’t say my curiosity isn’t on overdrive, though.
“Who is Matt?” she demands.
“Matt Wells. I guess Roland is friends with—”
“Is his father Buck Wells?”
I hold my phone a few inches in front of my face, perplexed.
“What?” Matt asks.
I shake my head “I…is your dad’s name Buck?”
Matt laughs. “It’s Joseph, but…when he was younger…yeah.” Matt shakes his head and grins. “Buck.”
Without explanation to Matt, I return to my mom. “Yeah, it’s Buck. Why?”
“Interesting,” she replies, sounding far away for a moment. “Just…get to your father’s house and call—”
Mom stops talking and I stop breathing. Not once in my eighteen and a half years has she referred to Roland by anything other than Roland. She’s never even called him my birth father. I don’t even know how to respond.
I clear my throat. “I’ll call you.”
“Okay,” she says with a little less confidence in her voice than when we started the call.
“Mom?”
“Yes, sweetie?”
My voice trips on some tears forming in my throat. “Can you come?”
“Of course,” she whispers, a sign I’ve learned that means she’s hiding her own tears. “I’ll get in the car right now. I’ll be there before you wake up.”
I check the clock and see that if she really did leave now, and didn’t stop, she’d arrive at Roland’s by five in the morning.
“If I even sleep,” I remark.
“You’ll sleep,” Mom and Matt say at the same time.
It makes me grin. I say goodbye and realize Matt has us parked in Roland’s driveway, and Roland is standing on his front porch.
“Ready?” Matt asks.
“Are you coming with me?” I look up at him hopefully.
“If you want me to.”
My eyes shift to the front porch, then back to Matt. I nod. “I want you to.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
10,000 Reasons
“I have a thousand friend requests. One thousand.” I stare at my phone as if it’s the most alien thing I’ve ever held.
Roland, Matt, and I are sitting in Roland’s grand living room. His assistant, Jahara—who I didn’t know existed until an hour ago—is pacing through the house on her cell phone. We’re on lockdown.
Matt pushes a window curtain aside, moving his head to survey the land in front of Roland’s house. “There’s more of them now,” he comments, referring to the news reporters.
He wasn’t kidding: this really is a big deal. A big fucking deal where I come from. The iron gates that surround the New Life property are serving one hundred percent of their purpose, as far as I’m concerned. They were closed per Roland’s orders the second Matt and I walked in his house. Good thing, because local news reporters started showing up less than twenty minutes later, shouting Roland’s name, and mine. Jahara says it won’t take long for national news outlets to come knocking.
“A thousand,” I say again regarding my friend requests on Facebook, not yet able to handle that anyone who covers the news is interested in me at all.
Throughout the semester I’ve ignored friend requests from everyone at Carter, including my roommates and close friends like Silas and Jonah. I told them all that there is zero censoring among my secular friends, and I didn’t think it was wise for me to mix the two. That was true, but in reality it was me who didn’t want to mix the two in my head. A decision I’m regretting now. I haven’t let anyone all the way in. I’ve sent texts to my roommates assuring them that I’m fine and I’ll get ahold of them as soon as I can. I hated sending a second text asking them not to talk to any news outlets that got ahold of them, but Jahara insisted.
Scrolling through the names on my request list, I see that they’re mostly CU students. There are new request notifications beeping through my phone every few seconds, including friends of high school friends who must be hearing things through the gossip mill.
A thousand damned friend requests, I text to Mollie, who I’ve been in constant text contact with for the last hour.
Maggie: Why is your page still public?
Me: I only have my phone. Can’t change privacy settings with this piece of shit app.
Maggie: Nice language ;) Use Roland’s computer.
“Can I use your computer?” I ask, looking up from my phone. “I need to change my Facebook settings.”
“Sure. It’s in my office. Help yourself.”
“Told you,” Matt teases. “Most popular girl on campus.”
“It’s not funny,” I snap as I leave the room.
Sitting at the computer, I navigate to Facebook. While on my phone, I didn’t look at my actual wall, given I was sidetracked by the sheer number of friend requests, so I take a minute to peruse th
e messages posted by people out there.
Is it true? A girl from my high school band posted in an attempt to be cryptic.
Several CU students posted pictures of the flyer Joy handed out. Beneath each of them were a varied array of comments.
Sinner.
Repent.
This is what CU is coming to? Looks like I’ll have to transfer.
Whore.
Whore. Someone who calls God their personal friend called me a whore. Luckily, a few posts down, someone called them out on it.
Number one, don’t call her a whore. Or anyone, for that matter. Number two, why don’t we wait for the real story before we get all up in arms? Let’s pray for them, guys. Come on, we’re better than this.
I click on that person, Danielle Market, and see they’ve friend requested me as well. I accept her request and send her a quick message that just says “thank you.”
The messages higher up on my newsfeed, posted after my outburst in Mission Hall, are completely different.
Crap, Kennedy, are you serious? That guy’s your dad?
I’m sorry for the things I said about you a few minutes ago. Forgive me.
It’s all mind-numbing, so I quickly accept requests from Bridgette, Eden, Jonah, Silas, Maggie, Matt, and Roland, before making my page as un-public as possible. I also completely delete my Twitter and Instagram accounts for good measure. I haven’t used those sites at all since arriving at CU anyway.
I walk back into the living room to find three men in suits who weren’t there when I retreated to Roland’s office. I recognize them from New Life, but I’m not entirely sure what their roles are or why it’s necessary for them to be here.
“Kennedy,” Roland hurries over to me, gesturing to the starched-looking trio, “these are a few Elders from New Life. Rich, Chris, and Zeke. They’re here to help us figure out the next step.”
Rich is a short, stout white man with thinning hair. He looks to be in his late sixties. Chris is younger, but how much so is hard to tell given what great shape he’s in. He’s tall, like Roland, with hair similar to his as well, and I can’t help but wonder if he’s putting himself on a pastoral track. Zeke, whose name is probably Ezekiel, is the youngest of the bunch. His skin is the color of charcoal, and when he says “hello,” I think I detect a slight French accent.
Jesus Freaks: Sins of the Father Page 22
