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Adam turns around and waves toward them. “Morning, Beverly. Good luck with the service today.”
She hesitates, and I don’t need to turn around to know it’s me she’s looking at. What are the odds any of these people here have seen the videos of us going viral at the moment?
“Uh, thanks,” she calls out.
My hand squeezes Adam’s. I hate this. I want to leave right now.
He glances down at his watch and then back at me. He does a double take—and then he stops.
“What’s wrong?”
"What’s wrong?” I shriek just above a whisper. “I don’t belong here, Adam. I feel like a freak, and I don’t like it.”
His expression softens as he pulls me down a hallway, pushing me toward the wall and stepping so close it makes it hard to breathe.
“It’s a church, Sage. Of course, you belong. Everyone does.”
“That’s whatyouthink, Adam. You were practically born here. Not everyone feels the same sense of comfort in this place that you do.”
“Do you really not feel comfortable here?” he asks, like there’s something wrong with me. My temper rises.
“No. These peoplehateme, and I know, I know…that was sort of the point. But it doesn’t feel good to see the way they look at me.”
When he steps a little closer, he draws my attention out of my own head and onto him. I’m focusing on the planes of his chest in that tight shirt and the feel of his hands on my arms.
“Why do you give a fuck what these people think about you?” he asks.
“I don’t,” I stammer, looking down to avoid eye contact.
He puts a finger under my chin and lifts it until I’m staring into his eyes. Then he opens his mouth as if he’s about to say something, but nothing comes out. His eyes search mine for a moment, and I’m waiting on bated breath for something,anything.
Finally, he quietly utters, “Take a deep breath.”
And I try to obey, pulling air into my lungs, although it feels heavy and difficult. When he sees me struggling, he says it again, this time with a deep, authoritative tone.
“Take a deep breath, Sage.”
I freeze, staring up at him with surprise. Suddenly, I’m able to pull long, slow breaths into my chest, and my panic slowly subsides.
It’s the first time Adam has evercommandedme like that, and I think it might be the first time I’ve ever obeyedanyone. But there was just something soothing and safe in his tone that made it almost impossible not to obey.
When he notices me starting to settle down, he leans closer and softly whispers, “I don’t think you’re a freak.”
“Yes, you do,” I reply with a laugh. “But Ireallydon’t care what you think.”
As I smile up at him, he doesn’t return the expression. Then I regret saying it.
“You are not a freak,” he says, this time using that cool authority again. And like a fool, I start to believe it.
“Okay,” I reply, just to please him, hoping it means he’ll take the intensity of his gaze off my face.
“If you want to leave, we can.”
“No,” I reply. “Let’s get the shot you want to get.”
After a moment of hesitation, he grabs my hand and pulls me down the hall. There’s a murmur of voices in the distance, like a crowd of people creating a low hum of energy. We stop at an intersection of hallways, and Adam glances anxiously around before continuing straight ahead. As we reach a heavy wooden door, my stomach drops as I notice the name on the golden plaque above it.
Reverend Truett Goode.
