Chapter 73
CHAPTER SEVENTY-THREE
Tuesday run time. Austin bumps my hip again, all innocence and fake surprise.
I can’t run very fast laughing like this. “If you keep doing that, I’ll jump on your back and you’ll have to run for both of us.”
“Mmm. Promise?”
I shove his arm.
“Ready for Gotcha Week?” he asks.
The annual Mayberry-wide game of last student standing—Nerf-style. My girls and I raided Target yesterday for our blasters.
“My gun’s bigger than your gun,” I sing-song.
He laughs, poking my side. “Maybe so, but mine’s built for stealth.”
“Oh, stealth, huh?” I jab him back. “My strategy is to hide behind my ripped human neon sign of a boyfriend until the last minute. And then I’ll jump out and dazzle everyone with my speed and accuracy.”
“Dazzling is your middle name.” And then he gasps. “Soph. Please wear that stretchy black dress thing.”
“Which one?” I tease.
“You know which one. The one that makes you look like a panther.”
“The Black Panther?”
He grins. “Not exactly. Ooh. Do I get to fire off rounds to protect you? Like we’re in an action movie?”
“Too swoony,” I whine. “You’d have a movie deal within the week.”
“C’mon, I’d feel so manly. And it’d be great practice for that zombie apocalypse.”
“Okay, fine. You can be Gale if I can be Katniss.”
He eyes me. “Are we changing the ending?”
I clap and grin. “Absolutely. And I love that you know the ending. I have Janie to thank, I assume? When can we get her to campus?”
At that, his face softens in pure gratitude. Food and family—his constants.
“The second you offer, she’ll come screaming around the corner in the pickup,” he says.
“Ayumi’s extra mattress! Sleepover in the lounge! What if I convince her to bring your mom’s cooking?”
“Sophie,” he murmurs.
His eyes blaze, and The Farm shifts in my mind—not just the place we fell apart, but maybe the place I can make it right.
I’m composing a text to Janie in my head when crisp white poster boards steal my attention. Two rows of them stretch across the windows of Albert Hall, a giant 2 already filling one of the spaces.
He eyes me with mischief, quirks a smile. “What?”
“Austin.”
“Wonder what it says.”
“I have to wait like everyone else? You have to tell me!”
“Sure about that? Might be for you.”
I groan, nearly bursting. “Fiiine. I’ll wait.”
“Good. Time to pray?” he asks.
“Yeah.”
Maybe I should be nervous to open up again.
Two days back together isn’t much. But this—us—already feels different.
The spark is still there, buzzing and zapping, but now it’s laced with peace.
With this quiet knowing that wasn’t there before.
And under it all, the kind of freedom only Jesus could pull off.
I don’t have to hold my breath anymore. I don’t have to prepare for the worst. Because if it comes, he’ll be there.
Thank you. All the thank-yous.
“Hi, God. I’m so—I’m so thankful,” he starts, voice deep and husky.
I watch the buildings we pass to give him privacy.
“You gave me a second chance with Sophie. You keep chasing after me, giving me good things I don’t deserve. You took me back, and I just love you so much for it. Help us do this thing. Show us how to do it better.”
My wide eyes slide to his and meet the same startled expression.
“Right? Dangerous prayer,” he agrees, then sobers. “Keep working with me, teaching me. I need it. I need you. Keep helping Sophie, and open her mom’s heart to love you and to love her better. Amen.”
I squeeze his lightly pumping arm in thanks.
Silence and a mini-smile signal my turn.
“Hi, Jesus. I’m thinking about Mom a lot too.
She seems more open now. Please plan everything just right—show me when to call and what to say and when to hang up.
Give me a chance to tell her more about you when she’s ready.
Please work in every part of her life so that she can hear the truth and believe it.
Just like you did for me. And … I’ve been thinking about Jenny a lot.
Is that you? Should I track her down? Take care of Austin.
Show me how I can be there for him. Show him how to keep from getting so tired again.
I want to be a …” My throat tightens without warning.
“A rejuvenating place for him. Teach me how.”
“Soph. You are.” He halts mid-step and yanks me into a hug so tight I squeak. Angles to kiss me—and jerks back like he touched a stove. “Sorry.”
The ache of almost twists, but we promised to wait. To pray about it.
“Old habits. It’s okay. You can trust me.”
He squeezes my hand. Pointing his head, he begins again at our previous pace. “So … I think God answered me while you were praying. But I don’t wanna boss you around. You can pray about whether it’s for you too.”
“Austin, you never boss me around. Spill.”
“I think God wants me to insist on a full twenty-four hours of rest and worship. It sounds impossible with my schedule, but my Archie book makes me think it would change everything. Like Mia’s mom’s donut thing—pulling the line back because I know this is a problem for me.”
“Austin making boundaries?” I drag my eyes over him and give a theatrical shiver. But it’s not all an act—my heart’s about to melt through my ribs.
He falters mid-step, gaze gone molten. Fingers skim my arm—so tender my chest aches. “Uh. Where was I?” He rakes his curls, dazed.
I push his chest. “Running. And Sabbath.”
“Right.” He clears his throat, picks up the pace. “So, I know your idea of rest is different from mine, and I don’t want to—”
“I know. You don’t want to boss me around. I want to try it with you, okay?”
Mia’s “force multiplier” line flickers through my head—how rare, two people chasing Jesus better together than alone.
Look what you made.
“Which twenty-four hours?” I ask.
Quiet. Rest. I feel my old defenses building an escape hatch, but I double down. It’s a safe place, sitting with Jesus.
“Sunday morning to Monday morning. That way I can finish all my homework in advance. And since I’m quitting football, except for intramurals—”
My stomach drops. “Wait. Rewind.”
He tells me about his offer from UT. That he turned it down on the drive from the mountain. That it was God’s call, not mine to shoulder.
I loosen my arms, as if I can fling off the memory of his dad’s horrified voice.
It’s your call. I just want to be the right kind of help.
“I feel good about it, Soph. It was too much to take on Dad’s dream. High school football was amazing—state championship, scouts, all of it. I loved it.” He’s so … at peace. “But I’m ready for new dreams.” He meets my gaze with meaning.
“Okay. But …”
He tickles my side until I agree. Then he tells me he’d really like to coach G1’s last few games.
I’m on a tilt-a-whirl.
A ding on my watch. And with it, the feeling Jesus has another adventure for me.
Jenny
You free later?
Thank you.
“So I’d better take Friday afternoons and Saturday mornings for homework,” Austin says. “I … have a lot to do with these classes.” A guilty grimace. “And more all the time.”
“Austin, stop it. I want you to have time to get your work done without feeling bad.”
“Good, ’cause there’s more.”
“Okay, shoot.”
“I can do easy homework with you, but I’ll have to hide in my room for the rest.”
“Why?”
“Well …” He flashes me a look so loaded it spikes my body temperature.
“Oh. Really?”
“Really. You’re just gorgeous, Soph.”
“Hm.”
“Pretty sure I’ve told you that once or twice,” he teases. “I can’t concentrate on much else when you’re around.”
“Whatever you need.”
“I’ll have it all done by Saturday afternoon—our weekly adventures aren’t going anywhere.”
“Really? Are you sure?”
“Yeah, I’m sure. But they might not always be …”
“As extra as a Disney firework finale? I love you already, you know.”
He tugs my ponytail. “You deserve extra.”
“You’re my favorite kind of extra, mister.” Then a thought. “I used to plan everything. Remember?”
“Course.”
“I liked it. What if I help? Take that off your plate?”
He nods slowly. “Okay. But only sometimes. And not this Saturday.”
“What happens Saturday?”
“It’s a surprise. Duh.”
I squeal and clap. “More surprises! You’re the best. So how else can I help?”
“You can keep me in line if I don’t follow through. I need you to be feisty, okay?”
I salute, then break into “Start of Something New.”
He grabs my hand, kisses it. Warmth sinks deep. “Just, thank you for another chance, Soph. I missed you something awful.” And then, with a sly grin, he speeds up and veers across the street.
With him? Anywhere.
Austin
Song of the day
“Made” by Spencer Crandall
And that hangman message?
TO 2ND
CHANCES