The Broken Ones (Jesus Freaks #3)

by Andrea Randall

“Let’s talk more soon, okay?” she asks, wiping her hands on her grey skirt.

  I nod, feeling a bit emotionally drained. “Of course.”

  Joy turns back to the door, I suppose to go in and finish her “meeting” with Dean Baker. Finn follows close behind her, but stops to offer me a thumbs up and a smile before he disappears into the dining hall.

  Once the door closes, I stick out my tongue in his direction and rake my fingers through my hair, resting a hand on my head.

  Despite dozens of people swarming in and out of my vision, everything goes silent for a moment. I don’t know if NBC will use any of what Finn caught on camera, and I don’t care. I was being as honest with Joy as possible, however brief our conversation was, and I can only hope she was honest with me, too. It was surreal, that whole conversation with her. I haven’t seen her in almost a year and it’s like she dropped from the sky just so we could patch things up. Or whatever it was we just did.

  “Lost in thought?” Roland’s voice startles me. He takes the seat vacated by Joy.”

  “Didn’t you have a class?”

  He chuckles. “It was a brief study session. I stayed for the first ten minutes and let my grad assistant take over, because I have a meeting in five minutes.”

  “You know,” I say with a grin, snapping out of my daze, “people on the outside think you’re weird because you smile all the time. Like you’re a fake, or you’re drunk, or something.”

  Roland laughs. “Well, if I was drunk you’d know it. It would be far from the polished exterior you see before you now.” He gestures to his always-pressed clothing while smiling broader. “I’m glad you mentioned being drunk.”

  Will we ever have a normal conversation? “Because….”

  “Because,” he takes a deep breath, “I’m coming up on my fourteenth anniversary of being sober.”

  “Oh, that’s right. And awesome,” I say with a smile, trying not to think of him drunk on the floor staring at my picture.

  “One of the meetings I go to has asked me to be the speaker on my anniversary date. I’ve spoken a few times before, but this time I’d like you there.” He leans forward, placing elbows on knees, arching his eyebrow slightly.

  I swallow hard. He’s asked me before and I chickened out. I don’t now why. “It’s allowed… right?”

  He nods. “It’s an open meeting, for one thing, meaning you don’t have to identify as an alcoholic to come. Also, I’ve asked the meeting if they minded if I brought you. Everyone said it was fine. And my sponsor thinks it’s a great idea… if you want to.”

  A sponsor. Of course. I know what sponsors are, but hearing Roland mention his at first strikes me as funny.

  “What?” he asks as I fail to respond.

  “It’s just… weird to me to hear you talk about a sponsor. Because, like, you’re everyone’s sponsor at church sort of, right? I mean… you, like, help them get in touch with God and themselves, and all of that.” I shift in my seat, crossing my legs before leaning back in the chair.

  Roland laughs a little. “I guess. But, that’s why anonymity is so important in the program. I don’t know what most of the folks do for a living. And, most people don’t mention what I do. When we get together we’re all just a bunch of drunks.”

  My eyes widen. “That’s a little… something. Self-deprecating?”

  Roland plants his hand on my knee. “It’s just a fact, is all. Nothing to be ashamed about. Have to call a spade a spade once in a while.”

  “I have no problem coming with you,” I say. “But… why do you want me to? I know your story.”

  Roland leans back in his chair and takes a deep, thoughtful breath. “It’s not so much for you. It’s for me. To remind myself that the program helped me get you back, and I’ll do anything to keep you and my sobriety.”

  I’m still uncomfortable with his excessive vulnerability and obvious parental affection toward me, but not as much as I used to be. I just don’t know how to show him that I feel the same way… sometimes.

  You could go to the meeting with him.

  An eerie thought swirls into my head. “Pardon my general adolescent self-centeredness for not considering this before, but, did everything that happened when our relationship status was outed cause you to want to drink? That was wicked stressful.”

  Roland shakes his head. “I suppose it could have, but it was kind of everything that happened in the fourteen years before that made me want to drink. I haven’t had to white-knuckle it regularly in years, but there are plenty of things about our relationship—my guilt, actually—that pose a risk for me. Like your birthday, the day I got your picture, any time I would wonder what kind of young woman you were growing up to be…” he trails off and I study the rarely-seen vulnerable face of Pastor Roland Abbott.

  “Did Jesus really come save you on the kitchen floor that day?” I sit frozen, contemplating what exactly constitutes a miracle.

  Roland licks his lips and looks skyward. Heavenward, maybe. “Kennedy,” he says, looking back at me, “science can’t even explain what would make someone like me—a low-bottom, hope-to-die drunk—want to walk away from the bottle. Just like there’s no thermometer for love, hate, sadness, or joy, there’s nothing scientifically measurable about the force that lifted my sorry behind from the cold floor that day. It wasn’t my will, I can tell you that. I’d long since drunk that well dry by the time I got sober.”

  Goosebumps spring up along my arms and down the back of my neck. I haven’t felt a kiss from God like this in several weeks, maybe more. But, staring at Roland and knowing his story, my mom’s stories of him, and seeing the man he is today, there really isn’t anyway to explain it besides miraculous.

  “I’ll come,” I finally say. “I’d love to.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Okay?

  Kennedy

  “Do we really need an audience for practice?” I glower at Matt and Eden as they causally take their seats in the sanctuary at New Life, where Water on Fire is rehearsing before tomorrow morning’s service.

  “It’ll do you some good,” Eden quips. “Multiply us a couple of hundred times and, voila! Tomorrow’s audience.”

  Matt chuckles and I shoot Jonah a horrified glance. “Why’d I let you talk me into this?”

  Jonah laughs. “It wasn’t a tough sell.”

  Far be it from NBC to leave us alone for rehearsal. The “camera kids,” as I’ve come to call them, are twittering around. There are more of them, along with a half dozen more important-looking people playing with the lights and measuring the acoustics of the sanctuary. We’re all preparing for tomorrow, it seems.

  “Ready, guys?” Max Walker, the drummer and lead of the band questions. He doesn’t sing much—most drummers don’t—but he’s been in the band the longest, knows the sets like the back of his hand, and is an incredible percussionist.

  “Yep,” Jonah answers for the both of us, taking a swig of water before slinging his acoustic guitar over his shoulder. An electric one sits on a stand a few feet away, though he doesn’t use that as often.

  While the rest of the group gets their act together, Jonah turns off his mic and steps closer to me. “You okay?” he asks.

  “Sure,” I say, uncertain. “I mean… it’s just practice, right?”

  He chuckles and hands me his water. “Here, take a sip. Your voice is all raspy.”

  I arch an eyebrow. “Some genres of music require that.”

  “Maybe so.” He winks. For the love of God, he winks. “But for safety’s sake, let’s stick with the set as arranged.”

  I can’t peel my eyes away from him as the cool water coats my throat. My chest and neck feel like they’re on fire and I’m sure they’ve turned red under the dreamy gaze of Jonah Cross.

  Wait, what’s happening?

  “Here. Thanks.” I hand him the water and wipe my disconcertingly sweaty palms on the back of my skirt.

  “Hey,” he whispers after setting the bottle down.

 
He stares for a few seconds, not saying anything.

  “Yeah?” I draw out slowly.

  “We want you to sing with us permanently,” he blurts out.

  My eyes bug. “That’s awfully confident of you since I haven’t even performed in front of an audience yet.”

  He laughs, looking down as if he’s nervous. “I know, but you’ve got a real joie de vivre on the stage.”

  My mouth slacks open. “Jonah Cross, do you speak French?” I joke.

  “Yeah,” he says without offering more explanation.

  Suddenly I can’t even feel my tongue.

  “Sorry,” I sigh, setting my hands on my hips in the hopes I won’t fall over, “but all the books I’ve read tell me I should stay away from boys with guitars. And there are at least two on the stage right now. It’s an anti-drama policy I’m trying to adopt since my life is one giant fiasco…” I give him a wink to try to lighten the thick air between us.

  “Well that’s a bummer,” Jonah says. Out of the corner of my eye, I catch Lucas—the bassist—shaking his head and fiddling with his strings.

  “What’s that?” I ask of Jonah.

  “That your policy is to stay away from guys with guitars,” he says with a grin.

  Oh the warmth. The warmth in my chest that spreads to my cheeks the longer he stares at me.

  He’s flirting with you, you fool. Step up your game!

  “Boys,” I correct him with a smile. “I said boys with guitars.”

  “Ah,” he replies with a nod. “Guess we’re safe, then.”

  I lift my eyebrows and can’t help from licking my lips. “Guess so…”

  Jonah looks down at his guitar for a second, then slowly brings his gaze back to me. “Kennedy,” he starts.

  Here it comes.

  I nod. “Yes,” I reply in response to what he has said and what he’s, hopefully, about to say.

  Lord, don’t fail my flirt signals now.

  He clears his throat and shifts on his feet.

  “Are you okay?” I whisper, suddenly well aware of how public this is. In front of Matt and Eden no less.

  Matt!

  Eden!

  Maybe they’re not eavesdropping.

  Ha!

  He smiles at me, even with his eyes, and says, “I think so.”

  I’m not okay. My throat is so dry I feel like it’s squeezing shut. I’m plagued by all the thoughts I’ve had about Jonah over the last couple of weeks that I’ve kept one hundred percent to myself. I haven’t even told Mollie, or my journal. Because this is nonsense. He’s my best friend’s ex-boyfriend. And, while relationship rules are wildly different in this world, some things never change. Like dating your best friend’s ex-boyfriend.

  Oh, man, though. This is Jonah. Even in my head I say his name in a sigh with birds and butterflies fluttering around it. It’s like he always has a soft-touch haze around him, and I half expect to see woodland animals hanging around him. He’s Prince Charming, is who he is, and now I’m rambling about it in my head as loud as I ever have and I half expect my ears to act as loud speakers to all of those around us—projecting these embarrassing thoughts.

  Breathe.

  “Okay…” I say slowly as he stares at me, tongue-tied.

  “Guys,” Max calls out, causing Jonah and I to jump nearly in synch. “We’ll start in ten. Sorry, we just have to fix a sound thing with the TV crew.”

  “Okay,” I say before nearly leaping off the stage and running to Eden. “Can we talk?”

  She traces a line with her eyes between me and Jonah and back again. “You betchya.” And, like the best friend she is, she shoots up from her seat, grabs my hand, and races up the stairs to the seat in the sanctuary farthest from the band.

  Eden grips my shoulders and her wide eyes match the intensity of her springy curls. “He. Likes. You!” she says like she just came across a social goldmine.

  “Shh!” I beg her, thanking God we’re not mic’d up like those hardcore reality shows. The last thing I’d want is for my romantic life to be broadcasted on TV. I’d take a million biological father reveals any day.

  Eden rolls her eyes, still speaking with a high-pitched whisper. “Oh it’s so obvious. We’re not discussing top-secret info here.”

  “Um! Yes we are! What are you talking about? And he’s your ex-boyfriend for goodness sake!” Now I’m doing the high-pitched whisper. From the corner of my eye, I watch Jonah plunk down in the seat Eden just occupied. Next to Matt.

  “So?” Eden waves her hand. “We weren’t engaged or anything. Yes, I had a crush on him for a long time. But, you know what? We liked the idea of each other more. We just figured since we’d crushed on each other for so long that we ought to give dating a shot.”

  “And?” I ask, needing more information. “Why wouldn’t this be weird for you?”

  She shrugs. “Because he’s not mine, Kennedy. In order to have a clean heart for the man who will someday be my husband, I can’t be emotionally bound to anyone I date, even casually, between now and when I meet him.”

  In five seconds, my entire view on Christian dating has changed. I’m certain Eden doesn’t speak on behalf of all Christians who date, but I know her well enough to know that she’s pretty up on what’s going down in modern evangelical circles. She’s fierce, that girl, and practical.

  “Do you like him?” she asks, sounding hopeful.

  I open my mouth to answer, and find my eyes stinging with self-conscious tears. “I can’t,” I admit. “It’s Jonah. He’s… the son of a preacher man,” I say with just enough sarcasm to keep me from crying. “I’m not his… material.”

  Eden’s face darkens. It’s never been dark as long as I’ve known her. Her eyebrows shift downward and her lips form a tight, thin line before she speaks. “Wow,” she whispers. “Sounds like someone’s been spending a little too much time around Matt. You’re stealing his lines.”

  I swallow hard against the rough reality of her words. When Matt said those words to me, when he told me he wasn’t good enough for me, I internalized that and thought it was more about me than him. Now with my turn in the hot seat, it crosses my mind that Matt might actually feel like he’s not good enough for me. I know his “reasons” why, but since we come from different dating worlds, they’re not good enough for me. Well, weren’t good enough. I’m thrilled to no longer have those back and forth conversations with Matt now that our relationship is signed and sealed as friends.

  “Do you like him?” she asks again as if the last few seconds never happened.

  All I can do is nod.

  Breathing out a small sigh, Eden moves a hand to my shoulder. “You deserve happiness, you know. Don’t punish yourself for who you think you are. Love yourself for who you are. Haven’t you been telling all of your friends back home about how not different we are from them in some ways? Don’t you see how twitchy and weird Jonah gets sometimes around you? Even him, Mr. Confidence. Don’t you think he’s hesitated to ask you out because of what he thought you might say? The reasons you might say no?”

  Grinning, I point at her accusingly. “He’s talked to you about this already. You’ve known about this?”

  Eden lifts her chin like a queen in her castle. “I don’t gossip,” she states as regally as possible. “But I also don’t lie… so… let’s just say someone has asked me if they should even bother to ask someone else out.”

  “Even bother?”

  She smiles. “We’ve all got insecurities, no matter how we grew up. Just think about it, okay?”

  I nod as Max thumps the bass drum a number of times to get our attention, calling us back from the break. I’m careful on my way back to the stage because my nerves feel like rubber bands, and the last thing I want to do is a somersault down the stairs and land at Jonah’s feet.

  Max counts us in to our first song right away, leaving little time for Jonah and me to say much more than “hi” to each other before we head into twenty minutes of nearly nonstop worship music. The band is
flawless, if I do say so myself. The songs are primarily set in keys attainable to even the most tone-deaf of worshippers. That’s the idea, and it makes total sense. You want people singing along with you and feeling like they can. One thing I do love about this life is the worship music. I find myself humming or singing the words to these songs all week, and I can’t for the life of me remember a single hymn from my more formal churchgoing days. Except the big holiday ones.

  I think this is the first time Matt and Eden have heard me sing with the band, and they both look pleased throughout the whole set. Matt even tosses me a thumbs up after we belt out a rendition of Matt Redman’s “10,000 Reasons.” I try to keep my thoughts on the songs, but find a very tangible energy coming from my left, where Jonah stands. I want him to ask me out, I do. But I don’t want him to do it here.

  After the set is finished, I check my phone and realize I’ve got just enough time to beg Roland to drive me to work or lend me his car.

  “Hey Kennedy?” Jonah asks as we shift things around on the stage to be exactly where we need them in the morning.

  “Yeah?”

  “Can we talk for a sec?”

  My heart swan dives into my stomach. “Work,” I blurt out.

  His face twists up in confusion. “What?”

  Now mine is beet-red. I can feel it. “Ha,” I chuckle nervously. “I mean I have to work. In like fifteen minutes, so I have to run. Literally. I’m on till ten, though, so come down and see me?”

  Also, the cameras won’t be there thanks to Asher barring all production at his establishment. I don’t even care why, I’ll take it.

  Jonah smiles an uncertain smile and picks up his backpack. “Of course. I’m going to head to the library for a while to work on my chemistry homework.”

  I nod and he turns toward the door, looking back once to give me a wave. I wave back and then Matt’s suddenly at my side.

  “Well, that was awkward,” he says with a charming grin.

  I smack his shoulder. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. And, I’m gonna be late.”

  “I’ll walk you to your dads,” he says, following me.