“Hey,” he says, his voice a little loud over the rain. He had the sense to wear a heavy, waterproof coat over his hoodie, but the hood is soaked and rain drips down his cheeks. Okay, maybe the dark and rain make it more like a horror movie than a romantic comedy, BUT STILL. His shadowed figure lopes across the grass. I turn, and it’s like I’m in a chick flick. Then Texy woofs and bounces on her front paws.

Only a complete moron would go meet in the rain. Brigid Kemmerer is the author of the New York Times bestseller Defy the Night, the New York Times bestselling Cursebreaker series, which includes A Curse So Dark and Lonely, A Heart So Fierce and Broken, and A Vow So Bold and Deadly, and Forging Silver into Stars. I get to the spot where we sat for the last two nights. It’s pouring so hard that a haze has formed around the streetlight, and I can barely see anything through the darkness. I threw Mom’s pullover windbreaker over my sweatshirt before leaving the house, thinking it would be waterproof, but I am so wrong.īy the time I make the final turn for the church, I wonder if I’m stupid for being out here. My glasses are so wet I need to shove them in a pocket. My cheeks are freezing by the time we go two blocks, my hair has a sodden weight on my shoulder. “The rain is colder than I expect-which is ridiculous, since it’s March. It’s so clear.ĭeclan pulls his pillow away from the wall, fluffs it up, and lies back down. As many times as I’ve read that parable, I’ve never considered a third perspective. If you’re anyone, you’re the man who watched his kids act like total dicks, only to stand there with open arms and forgive them.” “No, you don’t! You moron, there are three people in the story.” “Don’t you understand? I have to be one or the other.” You don’t resent anyone, even the one person you should.”

You wouldn’t be the son who asks for his money and leaves. Is that what you need me to say? You’re neither son. “Are you listening to yourself right now?” “But is that saying that if I went back to him, he’d welcome me with open arms? Am I supposed to be that son?” When I’m done, he says, “What does that have to do with anything?” “Do you know the story of the Prodigal Son?”

More than we can tell brigid kemmerer