Page 11

chapter eleven

Miles drops me off shortly after six. There’s a fancy blue car in our driveway that I’ve never seen before. When I make it inside, there’s a short man with a red face and a super-sweaty forehead. He’s got one of the tissues from the coffee table in his hand, and he’s using it to dab his sweat away. Unfortunately, my father is a cheap bastard, and he only lets Mom buy off-brand to save money, so after the second swipe, the tissue is crumbling in his hand, leaving little tufts of paper across his upper face. The man stands and extends his hand, and I kind of want to refuse to shake it, because it’s just as sweaty as his head. The glare Dad gives me tells me resistance is not an option, so I soldier on, placing my perfectly dry hand in his slick palm. My only consolation is seeing the black eye my father is sporting. There’s even busted blood vessels in his eyes, making them look like they’re covered in red spiderwebs. Good. Hope it hurt. Hope Miles hurts him again.

“You must be Darren,” the pasty man says. “I’m Pastor Collins. I lead the flock at West Clark Apostolic.” He places his other hand on top of mine, sandwiching me between his palms, his sweat sticking to me like adhesive, bonding us together. Fucking gag.

“It’s nice to meet you, Pastor Collins,” I say, as expected by my parents. Dad is nodding semi-proudly at me, but Mom’s beaming ear to ear.

“He’s going to lead you to the light, sugar,” she says, speaking absolute gibberish as far as I’m concerned.

“Pardon?”

“You may beg,” Pastor McSweatStain informs me, “but only God can issue your pardon. He’s ready to offer absolution, son. Do you want to be redeemed?”

What I want is for this greasy-looking motherfucker to let go of my hand, but God knows that’s a losing battle. Jesus, it’s like he’s fucking me with his eyes. His gaze is intense. Strong and strange, leaving me feeling queasy.

“I’m already in the midst of an awakening,” I lie. “Pastor Brooks has been leading me back to the light, sir. I appreciate the offer, but—”

Dad claps a hand against my back, giving the room a playful smile. There’s nothing playful in his touch, though. His nails are digging into my shoulder, out of Pastor Collins’ sight. “I no longer believe Pastor Brooks has your best interests at heart, Darren.”

“What does that mean?”

Dad’s eyes narrow. “You know exactly what it means. I will not stand idly by and allow him to throw your world into chaos, thrusting you deeper and deeper into sin.”

“Dad, I—”

He shakes his head. “He’s leading you in and out, son. In and out of sin. In and out of redemption’s grasp. In and out.” He pauses like he’s trying to make a point, then adds, “In and out, Darren.”

Okay, now he’s just being fucking creepy. I turn my attention back to the pastor. “I’m sorry they’ve wasted your time. I’m nearing redemption already, sir. The straight and narrow is in my trajectory.”

“Hogwash,” Dad says, flicking his hands forward dismissively. He takes a seat on the sofa and crosses his arms, staring up at me. “You’re going to let this man help you. God help me, I’m not having this debauchery in my home. This is a God-fearing house, but the only thing you seem to fear is upsetting the queer across the street.”

Pastor Collins shoots my dad a stern glare, and Dad closes his mouth really quick, probably scared of getting his ass kicked twice in one day.

“Brother Matthews, I asked you to let me handle this,” the pastor says, and Dad swallows nervously, staring down at his hands in his lap. Turning his focus back to me, the pastor stretches his smile even wider. I’m pretty sure if he opens his mouth any bigger, I’ll be able to see his wisdom teeth. “I have a brother like you, son. He’s lost to degeneracy, needing salvation. He refuses to answer God’s call, but I can tell you’re different.”

“You can?”

“I can. You want this. I can feel it in my bones. Your face is practically radiating redemption.” Uninvitedly, he places a hand on each of my shoulders, staring intimidatingly. “God speaks through me, son, and says He loves you. He loves you so much, and He just wants you to be better. Don’t you want to make God happy?”

“Yes, sir,” I lie, looking away because his gaze makes me feel gross. His finger touches my chin, and then he tugs until we’re eye to eye again.

“I want you to go to your room and spend the evening in prayer. Ask Him to show His light to you. Ask Him to make you worthy, and you shall receive.”

The only thing I want to receive is Miles Brooks’ cock, but, again, I can’t say that. Ugh. I don’t want to talk to this man. I don’t want to listen to his stupid conversion therapy spiel. I just want Miles. I need Father Daddy. Need him to drag me away from this horrible, hideous man and his horrible, hideous words.

“An awakening is at hand,” he says, looking a bit crazed, but holding the craziness back, probably not wanting to frighten me off. I wouldn’t be surprised if he started speaking in tongues. Thankfully, he doesn’t. He just pats me on my shoulder and sends me on my way upstairs, telling me we’ll see each other again soon.

Not if I can help it.

Later, once Mom and Dad are asleep, I sneak out my bedroom window, cross the street, then crawl into Miles’ attic. I could probably just knock since Mal knows about us now, but I kind of enjoy the drama.

Once I’m in his bedroom closet, I press my eyes against the peepholes and gasp when I see what’s on the other side of the wall. Miles Brooks. Father Daddy. The man I love, sitting on top of his blanket, wearing only a pair of white boxer-briefs and a skin-tight shirt, his legs spread, displaying a rather large bulge.

Miles is staring at his phone, his eyes half-lidded, smiling like a goofball. Every night, after the pill hits, he changes his background to a picture of us. He keeps it there like a keepsake, reminding him there’s a big, beautiful life on the other side of the rainbow. One that is his for the taking, should he choose to take it. He changes it back to his religious wallpaper the next morning, but for eight uninterrupted hours, I am his and he is mine.

He hasn’t changed it back in a few days. It gives me hope.

I slip through the closet door and make my way to him. “You’re in your underwear,” I point out.

He nods, finally looking up from the screen. There’s something different about him. Tonight and last night, his eyes haven’t looked the way they usually do. Normally, they’re a bit glassier, like he’s just used eye drops. They look normal. The way they always do. Big, brown, and full of love. He opens his arms to welcome me in, but I can’t shake the feeling that something feels off.

“Baby?” he says like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Like it’s who I’ve always been to him. Whatever confusing war my heart is waging with my head ends abruptly, and I rush to him, diving into his bed, and into his arms.

“Hi, Daddy,” I whisper, pressing my face into the crook of his neck, inhaling his woodsy cologne.

His hands roam up and down my back. “I think I like when you call me that.”

A strange admission, considering he’s the one who asked me to use the title, back when we first started sharing our nights. He was drugged then, and he’s drugged now, so it’s probably no wonder he’s forgotten. All I can do is assure him.

“I’m glad. Because I like saying it.”

I’m sitting right beside him, cuddled close, my chest pressed against his side. As I breathe him in and out, memories from earlier replay in my mind. The way Miles stared at me as he came. How he called me his good boy. Then, everything that happened at home. He seemed so different earlier. Not like my Miles at all. It almost felt like he wanted me just as much as I want him.

“I didn’t take my pill tonight.” He looks down at me, and I realize that’s probably why he looks so different tonight. He doesn’t look nearly as drowsy as he usually does.

“Why?”

He blushes, but he doesn’t look away. He’s staring me right in the eyes, facing whatever his fears currently are, and it makes me so fucking proud. I know this can’t be easy for him.

He bites his lip as he stares at me, pausing. “I don’t want to forget you anymore.”

“Yeah?”

He nods decidedly. “Yeah, Dare.”

I snuggle close to him. “I don’t want you to forget me anymore, either.” I tickle his chest. “Dad’s mad at me again.”

“When is he ever not mad at you? What happened this time?” His eyes narrow. “Did he hurt you?”

“No, nothing like that. There was a man at the house when I got home. He’s a pastor in West Clark. Dad doesn’t think your conversion therapy is working, so he wanted to outsource.”

He lets out a throaty growl as he digs his nails into my hip and pulls me even closer. “Mine.” My heart races at the admission, but it doesn’t stop me from worrying. “No one converts you but me. Do you hear me, Darren? They don’t talk to you. They don’t touch you. They don’t even think about guiding you back onto the straight and narrow. That’s my job.”

“It’s not as if I invited him over. Why are you growling at me like I did something wrong?”

He quickly shakes his head. “Never. You never do anything wrong. I was talking about your father and his friend. They don’t get to undo all our progress.”

I look down at his bare chest, unable to hold his gaze. “Dad says if I don’t do it, he’ll kick me out. I don’t have anywhere else to go.” A lie, because I make damn good money, but I can’t be away from Miles. Ever.

He doesn’t miss a beat. As soon as the words are out, Miles nods. “Then you can stay with me. You can stay right here with me, Dare. I won’t let anyone hurt you, but you can’t see that man again. I forbid it.”

“Forbid? Last I checked, I was a grown man, fully capable of making my own decisions.” I genuinely don’t know why the hell I just said that, because it’s not true at all. I mean, yeah, I’m an adult, and yes, I can make decisions, but Miles’ opinion has always been worth its weight in gold. He’s never let me screw up my life with stupid, childish mistakes. I want to listen to him. I need him to tell me what to do, because he always has, and I like it that way.

“You are, but you won’t be making this decision. I’m sorry, baby. I’m not letting you get hurt again. I want you here with me.” He cups my face, his eyes searching mine. I don’t know what he’s looking for. Courage, perhaps? If so, he finds it pretty quickly.

“Miles?”

“Can I kiss you?” he asks, his voice soft and fragile. He’s never sounded this vulnerable before.

My jaw wobbles a little, and I dip my head up and down in approval. He leans in close, and as his lips touch mine, the world goes still around us. His kiss is tender with an insistent undertone, like he’s wanted to do this all his life. We’re mouth to mouth, but it’s still not close enough, so I pivot into his lap, straddling him, our chests are touching, and his heart is thumping against me. His hands cradle my face, and when he breaks the kiss, the look he gives me almost feels like a promise. Like he’s reassuring me this is real. I trail my fingers up and down his jawline, his rough stubble tickling the tips. When he leans forward and claims me with another kiss, he deepens the connection, and before I can stop it from happening, his tongue slides into my mouth. Tears flood my eyes, because I’ve missed this more than I’ve ever missed anything. The weeks we spent together in this bed—before learning our fairytale romance had only ever been one-sided—were the greatest moments of my life.

I pull back far enough that I can see his eyes, holding the sides of his face with my hands. I press another kiss to his lips, softer this time, a promise of more to come. “I love you, Miles.”

“I know, Dare-bear. I know you do.” He looks like he wants to say more, but whatever that might be goes unsaid. With our foreheads resting against each other, we close our eyes and just breathe, living in this precious moment where it’s him and me and our racing hearts. Then, as if life couldn’t get any better than it already is, he takes my hand and places it on top of his bulge.