Free Jesus Freaks: The Prodigal (Jesus Freaks #2) by Andrea Randall

When everything was still relatively normal. Now I’m officially Roland’s kid, Joy has gone MIA, and my Jesus-loving, sweet-as-pie roommate is falling apart on the inside.
    And tomorrow morning I’ll be on live national television.
    Without brushing my teeth or washing my face, I crawl into bed and send a lame text to Maggie, begging to be let out of the nightly prayer meeting since I have to be up so early in the morning. She chimes back, granting my wish but insists this is the last time.
    Before fully submerging myself under the covers, I roll out of bed and sink to my knees.
    “Okay,” I start in a whisper. Hearing myself pray out loud is still weird for me. “I just … I don’t k now what you’re doing here, but I need you to keep doing it and keep keeping me safe. Please. I’m filled with so much fear, God. I’m sure that’s not what you want from me, so I need you to take it away however you can. Please help Bridgette, too.”
    I don’t hear Eden come back into the room, but suddenly she’s kneeling next to me. Offering her own prayers into the mix.
    “Lord Jesus,” she begins. “Thank you for leading Kennedy this far. Calm her heart as you bring her through the rest of this leg of her journey, and keep her eyes focused on you, Lord.”
    Wordlessly I reach over and grab onto her hand, holding onto it for dear life.

CHAPTER NINE

Never Say Never
    Roland.
    “Lift your chin,” a make up artist named Gwen instructs. Doing so, I cast a sideways glance at Kennedy.
    The crew holds up a few different lip colors, ranging from light p in k to concerning red. I watch her eyes roam over the options, pausing at the darkest shade, seeming to try it on in her mind. With a heavy sigh, she points to the lightest one.
    “Nice choice,” I comment.
    “It’s not really a choice,” she shoots back. “I’m still a CU student, and need to follow the rules, right?”
    “Right,” I offer without much emotion.
    I don’t know enough about Kennedy to know which color she might choose if not under the umbrella of the guidelines, and that’s a thought that spears my chest. We’ll get there, I’m sure, but I’ve got to keep it together. The perfect push-pull balance of dealing with someone who you made sure—quite legally—was going to have no bearing on your life. Only, from the very second I walked away she was there in the full weight of the shame and regret I felt as my life spiraled downward almost infinitely.
    In the corner of the kitchen, Jahara is speaking with Wendy and someone who appears to be a production assistant. The interviewer, a man probably a little older than I with salt-and-pepper hair, sits in his chosen chair in the living room. Waiting. A hungry look i n his eyes and a disarming smile on his face, I force myself to swallow and get my game face on. I have nothing to hide. Not anymore.
    You take care of her out there. If they start chewing her up, I want you to sacrifice yourself. In any way you have to. Do you hear me?
    Sitting straight while the production crew twitters around my living room, I reflect on the words Wendy whispered to me upon entering my house this morning. She was in rare form, strung out on too little sleep and too much caffeine. She picked up Kennedy from the dorms and they arrived at my house at precisely six-o’clock to begin preparing for our live segment.
    Sacrifice.
    A word both Wendy and I are far too familiar with for wildly different reasons. I forced sacrifice on the young, beautiful college student when I asked her to raise our child without me. And, I unknowingly sacrificed a large chunk of my soul in the process. More recently, both Wendy and I have been sacrificing our comfort levels to guide Kennedy through this whole thing.
    Despite having seen each other a few times over the last five years, it’s always been in a “hello” and “goodbye” context before and after meeting Kennedy for the rare lunches we were granted. To be in near constant contact