Page 29 of Captivated (Salvation #3)

Chapter Twenty-Six

Nate hung his towel over the porch railing. “Today feels as if it’s been forty-eight hours long.”

Zeeb chuckled. “That’s ’cause you packed a lot into it. An’ I’m not talkin’ ’bout activities. Emotions can wipe you out too.” He paused. “Where do you want your supper—here or at the bunkhouse?”

Nate bit his lip. “There are eggs in the fridge, ham, cheese… Would you make us one of those omelets you talked about?” He smiled. “I mean, you talked them up, so now I have to see if reality matches up to the hype.”

Zeeb hooted. “Oh, I see. Like that, is it? Well, step aside, Mr. Caldwell, an’ let me deliver a masterclass in omelet-making.”

He laughed. “That good? This I have to see.” Despite his emotions taking a toll on him, Nate couldn’t deny it had been a good day.

He hadn’t taken merely a step out of his comfort zone—it had been a huge flying leap, made easier because Zeeb had been there to catch him.

To keep him from shattering into a million tiny pieces.

Zeeb went inside, and Nate followed. Zeeb opened the fridge and began removing ingredients. “Can I ask you something?”

Nate didn’t even flinch. “Ask away.” He’d already relived what was probably the worst session he’d experienced at the camp.

I’m not going to fall apart. Not now.

Zeeb was right. For the first time, it felt as though he was truly making progress.

“Your family… you’ve never tried to look ’em up? See if you’re an uncle? It’s possible, right? Assuming you have brothers ‘n’ sisters.”

Nate perched on the arm of the couch. “I have two sisters, Belinda and Naomi.” And when was the last time I thought about them? “I haven’t seen either of them since I was a teenager.”

Zeeb waved an onion at him. “Hey, it goes both ways, y’know. They haven’t tried to find you, have they?”

“And how would they do that?”

He rolled his eyes. “They’re called private investigators. And if they’re worth their salt, they can find anyone.” He frowned. “My dad was the same. I ain’t heard from him since I left.”

“Me neither, but you know what? That just reinforces what I already know.” Nate let out a heavy sigh. “Caleb Streeting wants nothing to do with me.”

“Your dad?”

“Yup.”

Zeeb blinked. “That your real name? Streeting?”

Nate smiled. “No, my real name is Caldwell. I changed it, legally. They can keep their name. I want no part of it.” He pointed to the box of eggs. “You want me to beat those up?”

Zeeb nodded. “You don’t mind onions in your omelet? I try to make it as healthy as I can, you know, throwin’ in some veggies.”

Nate bit back a smile. “And then you eat your own weight in Matt’s home fries every morning.”

Zeeb gave him a mock glare. “Sure, but I work it all off during the day.” He patted his stomach. “You feel that. Not flabby. Firm.”

For the briefest of moments, Nate wanted to do just that.

Except feeling Zeeb’s flat stomach would’ve felt…

Weird? Too intimate?

The thought didn’t stop his heartbeat from quickening, however.

Zeeb resumed his task of chopping onions, slicing ham, and grating cheese, while Nate broke four eggs into a bowl and whisked them with a fork. It was a tiny kitchen area below the mezzanine where his bed sat, and their shoulders touched as they worked.

Nate didn’t mind that for a minute.

“How old are your sisters?”

Nate had to think. “Belinda will be almost thirty. She could even have married Josh Lowell by now. They’d dated all through high school.” He huffed. “And you’re right. I could be an uncle. Naomi is almost thirty-four.”

Zeeb cackled. “Man, growin’ up with two sisters. I don’t envy you.” He set the frying pan on the stove. “Something you said yesterday. What the fuck is a shame-based group confession?”

“What it sounds like.” Nate’s stomach clenched. “They’d sit a group of us in a circle, facing each other. And then Mr. Thomas would begin.”

“Who was he?”

“A minister.” Nate shuddered. “He always began each session with the same phrase. ‘It’s time for confession, everyone. Let the light of truth burn away the sin that clings to you.’”

Even the memory of the words sent a shiver through him.

Zeeb scowled. “Yeah, that sounds like it was a real fun session. Confessing to what?”

“Lustful thoughts about someone from our past or at the camp, attraction toward a roommate… And once you confessed, no one would look at you, like you were unclean or something. Which is how they wanted you to feel, of course.”

Zeeb regarded him thoughtfully. “Did you ever confess to feelin’ something for a boy?”

Nate hesitated for a moment before replying. He nodded. “Mr. Thomas would go around the circle, staring at us.” He swallowed. “And when he looked at me, the weight of his eyes felt like a thousand pounds. I told him I hadn’t done anything wrong.”

“I’m guessing he didn’t buy that.”

“We’re all here to get rid of the sin that’s inside us, Nathaniel. We can’t hide. You’ve been here long enough to know what this is about. If you’ve got no confession to make, then you’re lying to yourself.”

“No sir, he did not.” His gaze had cut into Nate with all the precision of a chisel cutting through stone.

“If you refuse to confess, we’ll have to make you face the truth. You’re hiding something. You know what you’ve done. Confess it.”

Zeeb added the onions to the sizzling pan, moving them around it constantly. “So what did you tell him?”

The everyday sounds of cooking provided a grounding Nate needed in that moment, and he focused on them. “What he wanted to hear. I said I’d been thinking about boys.”

He could still hear the collective intake of breath from the group, and his chest had constricted, as though every person in the room had stepped on it. His face had burned with humiliation. His eyes had stung with the unshed tears he’d been holding back.

“I told him I didn’t want those thoughts, that I wanted it to stop.”

Mr. Thomas’s cool gaze chilling his skin. The eyes of everyone focused on him.

“There it is. And now you’ll make it right. You’ll do what’s necessary. You’ll repent, Nathaniel. And you’ll never think that way again. Understand?”

It had felt as though the room was swallowing him up. He couldn’t bear the stares of the other patients. The lie he’d confessed gnawed him to the bone.

“They made me feel so freaking guilty, and yet I’d done nothing to feel guilty about.

I felt compelled to confess, like I had no control over my own emotions.

” His stomach hardened. “That bastard forced me to take what were the innocent feelings of a fourteen-year-old boy, and internalize them as ‘sin’,” he air-quoted.

“Hell, he made me question every thought and feeling that went through my head. I was confused, and there were times when self-doubt threatened to smother me. And there he was, creating guilt where none existed, amplifying that guilt through peer pressure, through manipulation, and let’s not forget the biggie, with the threat of eternal damnation. ”

“But once you’d confessed, they left you alone?”

Nate snorted. “If only.”

Zeeb tipped the ham into the pan. “How about we end this particular conversation? ’Cause the way we’re going, neither of us will have any appetite. We didn’t do Matt’s cooking justice last night, and if we repeat that, I might as well toss this straight into the trash.”

Nate took a deep breath. “Works for me.” He went over to the fridge. “There are still beers in here. Want one?”

Zeeb chuckled. “I’d say yes, but I still have to drive back to the bunkhouse. Not that Teague’s gonna write me up for bein’ drunk in charge of a truck.”

“One beer.” Nate’s heartbeat slipped into a higher gear. “And I was thinking… Would… would you stay here again tonight?”

Please say yes.

Zeeb cocked his head. “Your couch is comfy but it ain’t that comfy.”

“Then don’t sleep on it,” Nate blurted. “We can do what we did last night. Me in the bed, you on top of it. Not that you’ll want to be under anything tonight, it’s so hot.

” Zeeb stared at him, and Nate hastened to explain.

“It’s just that… well….” He sighed. “Last night was the best I’ve slept in a long time. ”

“And you’re hopin’ to repeat the experience,” Zeeb concluded.

Nate nodded, his pulse racing.

Zeeb studied him for a few seconds. “Well, who am I to deprive a man of a good night’s sleep?” He smiled. “Sure.” Then his eyes twinkled. “But I’ll take two beers if you’ve got ’em.”

Nate beamed. “Deal.” He glanced at the frying pan. “Don’t look now, but your masterpiece of an omelet is about to cremate itself.”

“Aw fuck.” Zeeb scraped the ham and onions off the bottom of the pan.

“Pile on the cheese and we won’t even notice,” Nate told him.

Zeeb let out a huff. “ I’ll notice.” He poured the eggs over the slightly charred contents. “Oh well. I guess it all adds to the flavor.” He pointed to the fridge. “Grab the beers.” He snickered. “They might make the food taste better.”

“Or get us too buzzed to notice.”

Nate breathed a little easier.

He’s staying.

Zeeb was glad he’d left his toothbrush in Nate’s bathroom. He brushed quickly, then changed into the shorts he wore to sleep in. By the time he put out the lights in the living room and climbed the stairs, Nate was already under the sheet, lying on one side of the bed, staring at the ceiling.

Zeeb perched on the edge of the mattress. “If I snore, it’s your fault.”

Nate blinked. “How do you work that out?”

“The beer was your idea, and I snore now and then when I’ve had a couple.”

“Good to know.” Nate rolled onto his side facing the wall, and Zeeb climbed onto the bed, facing Nate’s back. He gazed at the smooth bare flesh in front of him. Relief flooded through him to find no scars.

Thank God. He didn’t think he could bear it if he thought they’d beaten Nate badly enough to leave reminders etched into his skin.

Then he reasoned they’d done enough damage just with their words.

Nate snapped off the light, and moonlight penetrated the dark space, falling in shafts of blue on the white sheet.