Page 20 of His Elder

And he was still laying there, looking at me like I wasn't broken. Like I wasn't a disappointment. Like I was just... tired.

"It doesn't make you bad," Vance said softly. "Whatever you're afraid of. Whatever you think you are or aren't. It doesn't make you bad."

I wanted to believe him. Wanted it with a desperation that felt like its own kind of sin.

But I'd spent too many years in seminary classes and testimony meetings, absorbing the doctrine about eternal families and the plan of salvation and the absolute necessity of temple marriage. Had heard too many general conference talks about the sanctity of marriage between man and woman. Had sat through too many lessons about resisting temptation and keeping yourself pure for the person you'd marry in the temple.

How could it not make me bad when everything I'd been taught said this feeling was a test? A trial to overcome? A weakness to be purged through faith?

"The church—" I started.

"I know what the church says," Vance interrupted gently. "I also know it's bullshit."

The casual profanity should have shocked me. Should have prompted a correction about language befitting a missionary.

Instead, I just felt exhausted.

"You don't believe that," Vance continued. "Deep down, you don't actually believe there's something wrong with you. You've just been told there is for so long that you can't tell the difference anymore."

"You don't know what I believe."

"Maybe not." He shrugged. "But I know what it looks like when someone's trying to twist themselves into a shapethat doesn't fit. I know what it looks like when someone's drowning."

And just like that, the wall between us cracked.

We sat there in the darkness, the silence stretching between us, and for the first time since he'd arrived, it didn't feel hostile. Just… sad. Tired. Two people carrying burdens too heavy to bear alone.

"My mom—" Vance's voice cracked. He swallowed hard, tried again. "My mom begged me to go on a mission. She'd just come back to the church, all this desperate, manic energy like if she could just be faithful enough, righteous enough, maybe my dad would stay. Maybe our family wouldn't implode. And I—I couldn't say no. Couldn't tell her that I didn't believe, that I'd already wrestled with the church's history and doctrines and found them wanting. Because she needed this. Needed to believe I was one of the good ones."

"You are good," I said.

"No." He shook his head. "I'm just really good at pretending."

I thought about the Maria discussion. The way Vance had agreed with her criticisms of the church's conditional love. The way he'd offered her an out, a chance to walk away without pressure.

The way I'd been furious with him for it.

"I lied for you," I said. "To Kempton. About the sketching."

"I know." Vance looked at me. "Why?"

I didn't have a good answer. Didn't know how to explain that watching Kempton berate him had sparked something protective in my chest, some instinct I didn't recognize and didn't want to examine too closely.

"You're my companion," I said finally. "We're supposed to look outfor each other."

"Pretty sure the handbook says we're supposed to report each other's transgressions."

"Yeah, well." I managed a weak smile. "Maybe I'm not as golden as everyone thinks."

Vance huffed—not quite a laugh, but close. "Don't let it get around. You'll ruin your reputation."

The moment hung between us, fragile and strange. I should have stood up. Gone back to my own bed. Reestablished the boundaries that were already dangerously blurred.

Instead, I stayed.

"Do you want to talk about it?" I asked. "Your dad?"

"No." But then, after a pause: "He's been cheating on her for months. That's what the email said. Some woman from his work. My mom found out because the woman's husband showed up at our house." He laughed again, that same broken sound. "Very Latter-day Saint of him, right? I'm sure the Brethren would be so proud."