Page 11 of Preacher Man (Divine Temptations #1)

Chapter Eleven

Ethan

T he cabin they gave me at Sweetwater Ridge Youth Camp was nicer than anything I’d lived in since the seminary. Pine-paneled walls, a real mattress that didn’t squeak every time you turned over, a little writing desk by the window that looked out over a trailhead lined with wildflowers.

If it had been any other time in my life, I might’ve been grateful.

I might’ve sat on the porch in the evenings with a cup of tea and watched the sun dip behind the pines, thinking holy thoughts about God’s creation and counting my blessings.

But all I could think about was him.

Jake.

His voice. His laugh. The way he always leaned back on two legs of a chair like it wasn’t reckless and infuriating. The way his eyes got all heavy-lidded and hungry when he looked at me, like I was something he wanted, not something he pitied.

I should’ve been focused on the kids.

They were good kids, too. Sweet. Curious. Unburdened by the guilt that weighed me down every second of every damn day. They asked about everything—prayer, sin, whether Jesus had a dog (I said probably), if God was really a man or something more (I didn’t know how to answer that one).

They reminded me of what faith looked like before it got twisted by shame.

But it didn’t matter.

Because at night, I went back to the cabin. Alone. And thought of him.

This morning, I sat at the little desk in a clean T-shirt, damp boxers still bunched around my thighs, a journal open in front of me. The page was smeared where my hand had dragged across it while I wrote, sweaty and unfocused.

I keep trying to tell myself it’s just temptation. That this is Satan’s whisper. But if it’s evil… why does it feel like love? Why does it make me feel whole?

I set the pen down and scrubbed my hands over my face.

Last night I’d been journaling in bed, trying to untangle this mess between God and Jake and everything in between. But the ache in my chest had pulled me under. Then I’d fallen asleep.

And that’s when the dream came.

It was like my brain had cracked open and poured out every filthy thought I’d tried to push away since the day I met him.

We were in my office again. The door locked, sunlight slanting through the blinds in golden stripes across Jake’s naked back as I bent him over the desk.

He was moaning my name, hands gripping the edge of the desk, knuckles white. I’d never heard anyone sound so needy, so wrecked. His body moved with mine, hips meeting every thrust like he was starving for it. For me.

“Harder,” he panted. “Please, Ethan. I need to feel you.”

And I gave it to him.

Every inch, every thrust, claiming him like it was the last thing I’d ever do. My hands gripped his hips, my mouth on his shoulder, biting, licking, worshipping.

He cried out as I pushed deeper, muscles clenching around me, and I told him I loved him. Again and again, like it was scripture.

When I came inside him, deep and hard, the orgasm crashing through me like holy fire…

I woke up.

Panting. Sweating.

And soaked.

I groaned and threw an arm over my eyes, heat crawling up my neck as I realized what had happened.

“Seriously?” I muttered to the ceiling. “A wet dream? What am I, thirteen?”

But the stickiness in my boxers said otherwise.

It wasn’t just hormones. It wasn’t just lust.

It was Jake.

I still felt him. The curve of his spine under my hand, and the way his voice cracked when he begged. The tears in his eyes the last time we were together.

I sat up in bed, peeled off my boxers, and tossed them in the hamper like they were evidence. Like I was still hoping I could hide the truth.

But I couldn’t. Not anymore.

I looked out the window, toward the ridge where the kids would be gathering soon for morning worship.

My heart ached in my chest.

“Damn it, God,” I whispered, voice shaking. “Give me a sign.”

My throat tightened.

“What am I supposed to do?”

Stay faithful to a church that tells me this is sin? That Jake is sin?

Or walk away from everything I’ve ever known… just so I can love him in the light?

Because God help me…

What if Jake is the only place I’ve ever truly felt holy?

* * *

The morning air was thick with the scent of pine needles and breakfast, and the distant hum of mosquitoes fighting for dominance in the trees.

I ambled down the dirt path toward the big white canvas tent pitched at the edge of the ridge, Bible tucked under my arm, heart thudding like I was heading into battle instead of Bible study.

Kids’ laughter floated through the air ahead of me. Light, innocent, untouched by the guilt I couldn’t seem to shake.

The tent was already buzzing with voices when I ducked inside. Half the kids were cross-legged in the grass, shoes kicked off, their little faces glowing with sleep-deprived joy and way too much sugar from breakfast. Someone had brought Skittles.

They greeted me like I was a celebrity, a chorus of “Hi, Brother Ethan!” and “You’re late!” ringing out as I moved to the front.

And then she was there.

Dixie.

Seven years old. Red pigtails. A polka-dot headband and a tooth missing right in the front that made her smile crooked in the most adorable way.

She plopped down beside me on the grass without being asked, tugged on my sleeve, and whispered with complete sincerity, “You forgot to comb your hair again.”

I smiled for the first time that morning.

“I like it this way,” I whispered back.

She shrugged like I was hopeless and leaned against my side, already pulling her little pink notebook out of her backpack like she was prepping for a theology exam.

I opened my Bible, found the passage, and ran my fingers over the words like they might tell me what to say.

“Today,” I began, loud enough to cut through the chaos, “we’re going to talk about the Sermon on the Mount.”

A chorus of groans.

I held up a hand. “Hey now. This one’s my favorite. And if you listen closely, you’ll see why.”

I started with the Beatitudes.

Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.

As I spoke, the kids quieted. Some leaned forward. A few fidgeted. But Dixie sat still beside me, watching with those wide, thoughtful eyes, like she was trying to memorize every word.

Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted.

Jake mourned.

Even if he never said it out loud, I’d seen it in him. The sorrow and the ache. The way he carried loss like it lived in his bones.

I’d comforted him in the dark, whispering things I didn’t yet understand, and maybe that had been holy.

Blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit the earth.

Jake wasn’t meek in the way people think of it. He was bold, loud, sinful on the surface. But his heart? His heart was gentle. Protective.

Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they shall be satisfied.

I was starving.

I was starving for peace, for truth, for the ability to love him without shame.

And maybe I was done pretending I didn’t deserve that satisfaction.

The kids were still watching me. I didn’t know how long I’d paused.

Then Dixie raised her hand.

“Brother Ethan,” she said, like she’d been waiting her whole life to ask this question, “how come Jesus said all those nice things to sad people?”

I blinked. “Well,” I said slowly, “because He wanted them to know they weren’t forgotten. That God saw them. That even if the world didn’t treat them right, heaven still would.”

She nodded like that tracked. Then she tilted her head. “So that means love is always a good thing, right?”

I froze, and my breath hitched.

Dixie plowed on, oblivious. “Because Jesus talked about love all the time. He said to love your neighbor and your enemies and poor people and even tax guys and that nobody’s too yucky for God. Right?”

The clouds in my mind…

They parted.

Like a curtain had been yanked aside, and light came flooding through.

God was love.

That wasn’t just a phrase, it was the root of everything. Love your neighbor. Love your enemy and love the ones you’re told not to.

So how could this aching, soul-deep love I felt for Jake be a sin?

God didn’t make mistakes.

And God had put Jake in my path.

Not to test me.

But to heal me.

I looked down at Dixie, who was smiling up at me like she’d just cracked the code of the universe with her missing tooth and her polka-dot headband.

I smiled back, and for the first time since I arrived at the camp, it didn’t feel forced.

I looked out at the kids. At their trusting, open faces, and I thought:

What if God doesn’t want me to choose between Him and Jake?

What if He brought us together for a reason?

* * *

The woods were alive with the thick, sticky hum of cicadas. That relentless summer buzz that made everything feel a little too hot, a little too still, like the world was holding its breath.

The camp had gone quiet hours ago. Kids tucked into bunk beds, counselors probably half-passed out in their own cabins, dreaming about bug spray and s’mores.

But I couldn’t sleep.

I was sitting on the edge of my bunk, elbows on my knees, staring out the window at the moonlight slipping between the trees like silver ribbons.

And all I could think about was her.

Dixie.

With her wild red pigtails and her serious little voice. “So that means love is always a good thing, right?”

God, that question had split me wide open.

Why are kids always right?

Maybe because they haven’t been taught to hate yet.

They haven’t learned shame. Haven’t been broken down by years of sermons preaching fear disguised as righteousness. They just feel things. Purely. Honestly.

Love is love for a kid. They don’t care what it looks like.

They just know.

And I think I finally did too.

Jake.

Jake, with his smart mouth and soft heart. The man who held me like I mattered. Who never looked at me like I was broken or shameful or something to be hidden.

He was the only thing I could think about. Every second. Every breath.

And suddenly, I knew.

God didn’t make mistakes.

If He didn’t want Jake in my life, He never would’ve let us crash into each other like that. Never would’ve lit the spark that caught fire and burned away every lie I’d ever been told about who I was supposed to be.

Jake wasn’t temptation.

He was grace.

And I wasn’t wasting another second pretending otherwise.

I stood, heart pounding, and grabbed my bag from the closet. Tossed in my clothes without folding them, muttering under my breath the whole time.

“God put him in my life for a reason.”

“This isn’t sin. It’s love.”

“You don’t make mistakes, Lord. I know that now.”

My toothbrush fell in last. I zipped the bag shut and flung it over my shoulder.

I paused in the doorway just long enough to glance back at the little cabin. It had been nice. Peaceful. But it wasn’t home.

Home was wherever Jake was.

I jogged down the path, gravel crunching under my boots, past the chapel, past the fire pit, past the youth tent still tangled in fairy lights.

And then I was in my car, the engine sputtering to life like even it knew I wasn’t supposed to be here anymore.

I threw it in gear, the tires spitting dust behind me as I sped out of Sweetwater Ridge, windows down, wind in my face, heart pounding so hard I could feel it in my throat.

Jake.

I was coming for him.

And this time, I wasn’t running away.