The Anti-Hero (The Goode Brothers, #1)(51)

“And where exactly are we going to film this video?” I ask.

Adam appears far too cocky about this and I’m slightly concerned that the wheels are coming off the tracks of this plan. As if his anger at his father is clouding his judgment.

“I have an idea…”

He opens his driver’s side door and hops out. Meanwhile, I take a long, heavy breath before following him. As we walk up to the back entrance of the church, I scurry along to keep up with him.

“Please tell me we’re not doing it on the altar during Sunday morning service,” I say.

He scans his card on the door lock and it unlocks with a click before he pulls it open.

“It’s called a pulpit, and no. I wish,” he replies with a laugh.

The inside of the church, from this perspective, seems more like an office building with doors on either side that are labeled Marketing Director, Treasurer, Outreach. The ceilings are enormous, giving the entry space alone a grand, larger-than-life sort of vibe.

It makes me instantly uncomfortable.

So far, there are no other people around, but I hear chatter in the distance. When we turn a corner at the end, I spot a group of people with headsets on who are dressed up for church but seem to be frantically speaking about something I can’t make out.

Adam grabs my hand and pulls me in the opposite direction.

Before long, we hear a “Mr. Goode!” in a woman’s surprised-sounding voice.

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 what you think, 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 people hate me, 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 ever commanded me like that, and I think it might be the first time I’ve ever obeyed anyone.

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 I really don’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.

Oh fuck.

My hand squeezes Adam’s as he pulls a set of keys out of his pocket, scanning the hallway one last time before shoving the key in the door and twisting it to unlock.