Page 14

chapter fourteen

When I was little, Miles Brooks took my hand and led me past the church’s platform, through a door behind red curtains, up the stairwell, and toward a small pool of water. His father was with us, but the entire time the former Pastor Brooks was talking, all I saw was Miles. He was staring at me with so much pride it felt like I might pop. His father guided me into the small tub and asked if I believed Jesus died for my sins. I was only six, so I didn’t even know what a sin was, but when I looked at Miles, I knew what he wanted. I looked up at the late Pastor Brooks and nodded my head proudly, telling him I did. Telling him Jesus was my king, but it was a lie then, and it’s definitely a lie now. That title belongs to Miles. Always has, always will.

People don’t give him enough credit. I hear the things they say about him behind his back. That he’s light in his loafers. How he’s fruitier than Toucan Sam, whoever the hell that is. That he has no place preaching the gospel. He defies them all, just like he always has. When he preaches, it’s with conviction and power, and a lot of stolen glances at me, seeking me out in the crowd when he needs a morale boost. There have been times when Miles’ sermons have moved me to tears. There have also been moments where I wanted to sink under the pews to hide my cringe. Today is one of those days.

“Hear me when I say, the Lord sees all. He knows your body by heart. He doesn’t want to have to see your bits and bobbles each time you snap an adult-themed selfie.” He points at an elderly man, perhaps one-hundred years of age, and scoffs. “Do you think Jesus wants to see your erection, Brother Henderson? Don’t go pointing your phone at your penis, sir. God will not be mocked.”

Beside me, Mal lets out a sigh. Girl, same. “Here he goes.”

I’ve sat beside Mal all my life, because he was always at her side. I don’t know why we still sit together. There’s no reason for it when half the pews are empty, but for some reason, four times a week, I’m at her side, cringing at the same jokes she cringes at. Snickering together each time Father Daddy throws shade at members of the congregation. She’s familiar to me. This is familiar, and I think I enjoy the familiarity. I mean, I’m still going to steal her husband, but she doesn’t want him anyway.

“I’m ninety-six, son,” the elderly man says. “I haven’t achieved or maintained an erection in over two decades.”

“Amen,” Miles shouts as the room stays quiet. Color races across his cheeks as he squeaks out, “He has overcome.”

For some reason, Miles walks to the lectern where he keeps his sermon notes and grabs a hammer. Why the hell does he have a hammer? Fuck knows, and fuck knows why he carries it toward the steps leading down to the aisle and places it on the edge of the platform.

As he’s doing this, Brother Henderson is talking shit, essentially begging to get hit by me when service is over. “Overcome? Sonny, I ain’t got nothing to overcome.” He pauses before mumbling, “Unlike you,” but Miles must not hear it, because he doesn’t call the man out like he usually would. “It ain’t like I’m looking at porn. I only use it to make phone calls and keep up with my grandchildren on Facebook.”

Miles’ eyes narrow as he stands and faces Brother Hernderson. “You don’t need Facebook when you’ve got the Good Book.” He cranes his neck, looking into the small crowd. “Can I get an Amen?”

A few members of our church mumble out their agreement with a lackluster round of “Amen,” but for the most part, the congregation just seems extremely confused. Their indifference to his excellence makes me a little stab-happy, if I’m being honest. It makes me wanna pry their eyelids open like they did in that Clockwork Orange movie, and drop eyedrops in their eyes for hours, just so they can’t look away from Miles’ beauty. Granted, if I see any erections forming, I’ll cut them off at the root, but that’s a given. No one eye-fucks Miles Brooks but me. No-fucking-one.

Well, that’s not entirely true, because when a man and woman start bickering behind me, I turn to find a young man sitting with his parents, eye-effing Father Daddy like he’s the last man on Earth. Kinda want to punch his face in. I probably would if I didn’t know the guy.

Austin Snowden.

I could never hit Aussie. I don’t know what the twink is doing here, because for as long as I’ve known him, he’s been a proud atheist. I first met him when he and my friend Tatum began an emotional entanglement. The pair were both bottoms, so they outsourced, looking for a third. They took in two additional twinks, Bennet and Benji, but they’re bottoms, too, so it didn’t really solve their predicament. Eventually, they brought Benito into the mix. Austin was the first to leave the arrangement, confiding in me at the time that he felt like Benito’s behavior was bordering on abuse, and he couldn’t take it anymore. Now that Benito is under Agent Meadows’ thumb as his personal pet, the four of them are free. I see them around town sometimes. Mostly Bennet and Benji, but Aussie and I bump into each other from time to time. After leaving the relationship, he moved home with his mother and stepfather, the man and woman currently sitting next to him. It’s been over a year, but he hasn’t made any effort to find a place of his own. As I watch him watching his stepfather adoringly, I think I know why.

When I look back at Miles, he’s got his jaw clenched and a possessive scowl.

“What?” I mouth.

He darts his eyes at Austin, then at me, and twitches the finger at his side left-right-left, like he’s telling me to stop staring. I have to roll my eyes, because these eyes only go sappy and puppylike when I’m around Miles. No one else has ever caught my eye like he has. I’ve never even entertained the idea of sleeping with anyone else, because I belong to Miles, body and soul.

My lip quirks into a smirk, and I waggle my eyebrows at him before gazing longingly at Austin. Apparently, I’m in my brat era, because I kind of want to see how jealous I can make Daddy. The moment I lick my lips seductively, he growls at me, and not a single person in the crowd asks what the hell he’s growling about. I think they’ve been tuning him out.

Miles is staring at Austin, and Austin is looking at Miles like a deer in headlights. “Do you trust in the Lord, your God, young man?”

The man shrugs noncommittally. “I guess,” trying to end the interaction as soon as possible. Father Daddy has other plans, though.

“Good enough,” he says. “Give me your phone.”

Austin gapes at him. “I’d really rather not.”

Miles rolls his eyes. “Son, this is the house of God, and you are being called by Him. He will not be ignored.”

The man beside Austin—his stepdad, Dallas—knocks their shoulders together.

“I will not be ignored, Dan,” he says, making Austin snort a laugh at an inside joke. I’m not sure why Fatal Attraction starring the illustrious Glenn Andrew Close is something a big macho man like Dallas would watch and lowkey fanboy, but there they are, cutting up in the middle of Sunday service. Another thing I’m unsure of is if Andrew really is Glenn Close’s middle name. Probably not, but it’s quirky and cute, so that’s what I’m going with.

“Boiled bunnies,” Austin says in a ridiculous voice, lifting one hand and forming a fist, his thumb poking out between two fingers, forming what I’m assuming is a nose. He uses his other hand to form two ears behind the bunny’s head. His stepfather follows suit, making his own idiotic bunny, but then the cutest thing happens. Dallas puts his bunny’s “nose” right against Austin’s and rubs it back and forth. Okay, that’s absolutely adorable. My life may not be one of the romance novels Miles writes, but if it were, I’m pretty sure this is where he would introduce the characters from the next book in his series. Since Dallas is Austin’s stepdad, I’m pretty sure that’s a bit too taboo for Miles to write, but I’m kind of fucking feasting on it. Kinda wanna see them go to town on each other while I cuddle up close in Daddy’s lap and watch. Obviously, I don’t want to do anything with anyone aside from Miles, but I wouldn’t mind watching. Miles probably—no, Miles definitely would—take issue with it, so I guess that’s a dream that’s meant to die. Oh well, Daddy’s worth giving it up.

“I’m not sure what’s happening right now,” Miles announces to no one in particular. “But can it wait until service is over? The Lord is here, son. Don’t leave him hanging in the waiting room.”

Austin groans, then reaches into his pocket and pulls out his iPhone. Handing it over, adds, “I’m not telling you my password.”

There’s another growl, but this time it comes from Austin’s stepdad. “You put a password on it again?”

Austin’s eyes bulge, and he quickly tries to calm his stepdad. “It’s not what you think, sir.”

Dallas’ jaw grinds back and forth like he’s crushing glass to powder with his teeth. “Is that so?”

“Yes, sir,” he whispers, but it’s pretty clear he’s lying. Color me intrigued by this entire interaction.

“You’re on that dang site again, ain’t you, boy?” Dallas asks as Austin tugs his bottom lip between his teeth. “Have you been stroking it for strangers on the internet again, young man? We’ve talked about this. I will not tell you again, Austin. Keep your penis to yourself.”

“Amen,” Miles shouts, looking a little flushed in the cheeks. “That was my whole point. The Lord doesn’t want to see this young man—”

“Reverend?” Dallas says with a twinge of fire in his voice.

“It’s Pastor, actually—”

“I’ll call you what I want to call you.” He points an accusatory finger at Miles. “This ain’t about you or your sermon. This is about me and my boy, and the promise he’s broken by whipping it out for strangers again.”

Austin’s mom snorts a laugh. “No one would pay to see that.”

Austin glares at her. I know they’ve had a troubled past, what with his mother’s rampant methamphetamine addiction, but I see zero love in his eyes for her. He’s staring like her very existence is an affront to him.

“It’s paying my tuition. I made forty-thousand dollars last year. What did you make? Enough for a few shards of crystal methamphetamine?”

“Forty thousand?” she asks, her eyes widening, a glint of opportunism swirling in them as she ignores the accusation of feeding an unruly drug addiction. “We need to talk about increasing your rent.”

“We can do that.” Austin sounds unbothered at first, but then he adds, “Or I could just move out.” He pauses, smiling wider. “Again.” He casually looks at Dallas, then turns back to his mom with a smirk on his face. “I can be out of the house tonight.”

“No!” she shouts frantically. “There’s no need for all that.” Her eyes find Dallas’ and she shakes her head rapidly. “I won’t. I promise. I was only pulling his leg.” Honestly, the way Dallas glares at her, I don’t think he really cares one way or another. Austin does, though, because he places his hand on Dallas’ knee and smiles at her.

I know when Austin moved out to live with Tatum, Dallas left too. In cities as small as Tallulah, everyone knows everyone’s business, so when Austin returned from school and moved back home, it was the talk of the town. Not many Tallulahns manage to escape. I did, but most don’t. Wrapped around those whispers were questions. Why did he come home? Why did his stepfather move back the day Austin returned, after years of estrangement from his wife.

Why, indeed?

Clearly done with this temporary distraction, Miles grabs the phone and carries it to the platform up front. Once he’s standing by the lectern, he fumbles with something in one of the wooden cubby holes on the other side. If he thinks he’s being sneaky, he’s very much mistaken. Austin’s phone thuds when Miles places it in the cubby, and when his hand comes into view, he’s holding up an old, first generation iPhone. Metal backing and all.

“Ah, Christ,” Mal and I say in unison. We turn to each other, small smiles on our faces.

“I hate you,” I whisper. “But that was kind of neat.”

She chuckles. “I hate you just as much. And yeah, it kind of was.” To my surprise, she places her hand on top of mine and smiles. A real one. She’s never really given me one of those before, so it takes me aback.

There are footsteps thudding across the platform, and Mal and I turn our attention back to him. Miles is walking to the end of the stage, and once he gets there, he plops down at the edge, letting his legs dangle over the side. His eyes are closed, and he lifts his hands in praise. He does this sometimes. Sits silently, mumbling an unspoken prayer. Every time he does it, I spot my name formed on his lips. I don’t know what he prays about on my behalf but knowing I’m on his mind in the middle of his sermon always makes my heart flutter.

When his prayer is done, the pianist tinkers behind him, playing “Jesus Loves Me” for reasons I don’t understand.

“Daddy loves me, this I know,” I sing in a whisper, alongside the church piano. “Because Daddy told me so.”

As soon as the words are out, I cringe, because I momentarily forgot my place. I’m sitting right next to his damn wife, for God’s sake, and I’m nearly silently serenading her husband. Un-fucking-hinged.

She cocks an eyebrow at me.

“Shut up.”

“Daddy loves—”

“Shut—up—Mallory Brooks,” I growl, my cheeks burning.

She snorts a laugh, earning a stern glare from Father Daddy. I smile proudly at him, pretending I’ve been behaving this whole time. He tosses a wink my way which makes me blush. Turning my head, I stick my tongue out at her, and in retaliation, she pinches my thigh.

“I’ll get you back for that,” she warns, but I shrug, because I can take whatever she’s got.

Miles has his eyes closed again, and as he rocks back and forth, he looks a little lost. There’s something on the tip of his tongue, but his tongue isn’t moving. I know him by heart, so I know when something gets stuck inside his head, and I know how to get him unstuck. I want him to open his eyes so he can see me, because I can be his lighthouse anytime he needs. I’m happy to do it. To guide him back from whatever treacherous seas he’s sailing on.

When his eyes open, they catch mine, and a gentle smile touches his lips. “I wanted to do a sermon about worldly desires, but the Spirit is here.” He lifts his hand and touches his heart. “And it’s singing louder than I’ve ever heard. Do you ever get that feeling? A warm tingling inside in your soul. Like a summer shower dripping on your skin. I believe that’s what God is. Warmth. A warmth that spreads and settles, leaving no part untouched. Leaving no section unclean. Jesus calls us to love our God with all our heart. He calls us to love our neighbors as ourselves. That’s hard sometimes.”

“Amen,” someone shouts from the back, and there’s a soft chuckle that spreads through the room.

“Amen,” Miles agrees, eyeing my dad. “Especially when all your neighbors do is cuss and fuss at the top of their lungs, day in, day out.” As Dad huffs in his pew at the back of the church, I focus on Miles. The hint of stubble forming along his jawline. It makes me want to rub my face against his cheek until I get rug burn. “Loving thy neighbor is perhaps one of the most challenging commandments we’ve been given. It’s hard to love people who hurt us. Harder still to forgive those who haven’t sought forgiveness. Sometimes, it’s hard as heck to forgive someone for being so all-around horrible.”

“Amen,” Mal says with a laugh, looking right at me.

“Die,” I whisper, but she just pinches my leg again.

Miles points at Austin, holding the decoy phone high with his hand. “Would you forgive me if I smashed your phone, son?” The whole congregation turns to look at Austin.

“That’s not my phone,” he says.

“Would you forgive me?” Miles repeats. “Even if I don’t ask for your forgiveness.”

“You wouldn’t need my forgiveness, because— again —that isn’t my phone.” He pauses, cocking his head to the side like he’s trying to put a puzzle together in his mind. The longer he sits there not answering Miles, the angrier I get.

Don’t ask me why I do it, because I don’t have an answer other than Daddy asked a question, and Aussie’s being mean to him. “Answer him!”

Austin just blinks at me. He stares at Miles for a second, and then his eyes widen like he’s pieced his puzzle together. After a beat, he opens his mouth, but there’s a loud crash ahead of us, and I turn back toward Miles, finding him holding a hammer above the newly cracked repurposed phone. So, that’s what the hammer was for, I guess. There are groans from the crowd, but I’m smiling widely, because he looks fucking feral right now; teeth bared, that vein in his forehead twitching like a son of a bitch, his cheeks burning scarlet.

“The lord asks us to forgive,” he continues. “I forgive you for interrupting my church sermon by bringing up your OnlyFans profile, son. Do you forgive me for smashing your phone?”

“I never said it was OnlyFans.” He cocks his head to the side, deep in thought. Whatever he’s thinking of, it must make sense, because he stands and points at Miles. “Oh, my God! It’s you! From OnlyFans and from Grindr. My lurking stalker. You’re DaddyLongDick6969, aren’t you?”

He fucking better not be!

Miles’ jaw hits the floor. “I don’t know what the heck that means, but this is a church, and I won’t let you desecrate it with language like that.”

“Well, someone’s been stalking my profile for months. If it wasn’t you, who is it?”

Dallas’ cheeks darken and he quickly looks down at his lap. Luckily, Austin doesn’t catch him. He’s too busy arguing with Miles. After a few more minutes of back and forth, Dallas puts his hand on Austin’s shoulder.

“That’s enough, son.”

Austin stands from his seat and pokes Dallas in the forehead. “No I’m absolutely livid with you already. Don’t make me even angrier.”

“What the heck did I do?” Dallas asks, sounding perplexed.

“You told me we were trying to find a church to make us all a family again, but family doesn’t let asshole priests—”

“I’m a pastor,” Miles reminds him. “There’s a difference. We’re all Christians, but the denominations are vastly different.”

Austin flings his hand dismissively. “You’re a closeted homosexual who probably preaches that gay people are freaks. Honestly, I should have known better than to come here today.” He flicks his hand up and down, motioning at Miles. “You messaged me on Grindr. I’m sorry, I’m not going to let you sit here and pretend you’re some upstanding, moral beacon.”

He did fucking what?

“I most certainly did not,” Miles objects, cocking his hip to the side and putting a hand on it, not helping his image as the community’s heterosexual spiritual lighthouse.

Austin rolls his eyes. Standing, he walks past Miles, up the steps leading to the lectern, and grabs his phone. “That’s basically theft,” he says to Miles. “That’s a sin. Rude.” Making his way back down to the aisle, he returns to his stepfather’s side and plops down in the seat, tinkering with his phone screen. I look at Miles, an unasked question formed on my lips, but he answers it with a shake of his head. We share an unspoken conversation, him pleading for me to give him a chance to explain. Me agreeing, because I trust him implicitly. That trust comes into question when Austin holds his phone in the air, displaying an image of Miles’ sleepy face. I know that face. I know his sleepy, hazy eyes. In the picture, he’s under the influence of his sleeping pill. Was he flirting with other men when I wasn’t online?

“I didn’t realize it was you until a few minutes ago when you had that stupid dazed expression on your face.”

“I . . .” Miles’ hand falls from his hip, and he takes a stumbling step back, catching himself before falling.

Austin nods proudly as he stares down at Dallas like a kid tattling on his sibling. “A couple of months ago, he kept messaging me, telling me to come over and pray. Neither of us had a face picture, and when I asked for one, he sent this.” He flashes the phone at Dallas. “Then, because he was kind of cute, and I needed to come, I sent him a picture back.”

Dallas grabs Austin’s hand possessively. “Delete it. Delete that app now.”

Austin rolls his eyes. “Hush it and shush it, I’m telling an unnecessary lengthy villain origins story.” He glares at Miles. “Then, the second I sent him a selfie, the bastard told me ‘You’re not my dairy-bear,’ whatever the hell that means, and stopped replying. You didn’t even have the decency to block me. You just left me on read. Jerk.”

Dairy-bear? I’m assuming that was an autocorrect fail, but I don’t have much time for assumptions, because Miles looks like he’s about to pass out. No one, aside from Mal, my father, and me, has ever addressed the rainbow-colored elephant in the room. Sure, there have been whispers, but no one has flat-out accused him of being gay. I can tell he’s panicking, and I try to calm him, mouthing that it’s okay and no one else knows, but he won’t focus on me long enough to read my lips.

“I . . .” Miles stares straight ahead, his eyes not focused on anyone in particular. He’s got this shell-shocked look on his face like the way he looked when his mother died. I consoled him for hours that day, and I’m pretty sure I’ll be consoling him tonight. Nothing puts him at ease like my hugs. That’s what he’s always told me, and every time, it’s proven true the moment my arms wrap around him. Now, he’s floundering, and no one is doing anything to help him. I look over at Mal, unsure what to do, but she seems resigned, like she’s always known this day would come. “I’m not . . .”

“Holy shit,” Austin says, his eyes widening. “I was honestly just fucking with you.”

“Language,” Miles whispers like he’s ashamed to speak any louder. “This is the house of God.” Tears pool in his eyes, and I am fucking done with this. Done letting people hurt my Miles. Done listening to the abuse they spew behind his back.

I stand and march toward Austin, my hand clenched into a fist. He must see how white my knuckles are, because he’s staring down at my hand as he backs away.

“I didn’t mean it,” he says, but that doesn’t stop my march down the aisle. As soon as I’m in front of him, I don’t think, just act, rearing back my hand and slapping him across the face. He lifts his hand and places it where I just connected, staring at me in shock. “You hit me,”

“And I’ll do it again if I need to.” I grab him by the arm and pull him out of the sanctuary and into the foyer. Once the door is closed, I shove him against the wall and poke a finger into his chest. “Do you just go around outing people on the fly, or are you simply feeling particularly prickish today?”

He’s still cupping cheek, staring at me, stunned. “You hit me.”

“Oh for God’s sake.” I’ve still got a lot of emotions running through me, and his other cheek is right there, the perfect target. So, that’s what I do. I slap him right across the face. “Pull yourself together. You’re not the victim here. That man is the sweetest, kindest man I’ve ever met. His heart is so fucking big it could beat for every man, woman, and nonbinary person, and child in Tallulah, Texas.” I poke him in the chest again, enjoying the way he winces. I move in closer until our noses are almost touching. “I’m going to let you in on a little secret.”

He swallows. “What?”

“I could have you killed with a thirty-second phone call. You don’t want to fuck with me, Austin Snowden, and you damn sure don’t want to fuck with Miles. I won’t just have them kill you for hurting him, I will make it excruciating.”

“I’m sorry. I promise, I didn’t think he was really gay, I just—”

“Get your damn hands off my boy,” a voice calls out from behind me, and when I look over my shoulder, Dallas is storming toward us. The door to the sanctuary opens as Austin’s mother walks out, and I catch a brief glimpse of Miles through the gap behind her. He’s standing front and center as the church members talk amongst themselves. Miles is staring ahead vacantly like he’s in shock, and any urge to harm Austin leaves me, because he doesn’t matter right now. Miles does. Miles looks like he’s seconds from breaking, and I’m out here doing nothing to help. I let go of the hold I have on Austin and take a step back. Austin takes his chance and runs out of the church, into the parking lot.

“God dammit, Shelly,” Dallas says to Austin’s mom as they storm by. “I swear to God, if he runs off again, I’m gone. I’ve begged you to be nicer to him, but you’re a fucking asshole all the time.” He pauses long enough to glare at me. “If you ever hit my boy again, I’m laying your ass out. You fucking hear me?”

I don’t even bother with a reply, just rush through the doors, toward Father Daddy. I make it halfway up the aisle before he quickly shakes his head, warning me off. It hurts. I won’t lie and say it doesn’t, but I also can’t lie and say I don’t know how scary this is for him. Coming out is a process every person should have the opportunity to do themselves. I won’t take this from him by storming the stage to comfort him.

So, because my daddy’s heart is breaking, I take my seat on the pew next to Mal.

There are hushed whispers traveling across the chapel, but none sound louder than the look Miles gives me. It’s a confusing swarm of emotions I can’t quite pinpoint. Love, for sure, but something else. Something bigger. Fear. Terror.

One of the church’s most longstanding members, Sister Andrews, slowly stands from her seat, gripping the back of the pew ahead of her for support. It takes her a moment, because she’s been on death’s doorstep for as long as I’ve known her. She looks around the church, taking in the sight of our dwindling congregation, and sighs.

“Miles,” she says, her voice frail, but I don’t give a damn how frail it is. He’s not Miles when he’s in this building. He isn’t Miles. “Sugar, I’ve known you all your life. Most of us have. We’ve stood by you because your father was our pastor. He was the backbone of this church, and he left it to you.” Closing her eyes, she slowly shakes her head. “The fact is, that young man was right.”

What little color left on Miles’ face drains, and his mouth opens and closes like he’s trying to say something to save himself but keeps drawing a blank.

“Miles.” It isn’t me speaking. It’s Mallory. She stands and walks down the aisle, making her way to him. Taking her place at his side. No. My place. Because I should be the one comforting him the way she is. It should be my hand reaching for his. It should be me he turns his head to and stares at in terror.

“Our church is dying,” Sister Andrews says, her voice meek and babylike, just like my mom’s. “There have been rumors for years, but we’ve all overlooked them. The fact of the matter is, we can’t keep going on the way we are unless you want your daddy’s legacy to die.” She pauses, taking a deep breath, building herself up for what she’s about to say. “Are you a homosexual, Miles?”

“I . . . I’m not—” He looks at me but quickly turns to Mal, lifts her hand, and kisses it. “If I were,” he adds, his voice measured, each word precisely spoken in his pastorly voice, “it would be news to my wife.”

Mal stares sadly into Miles’ eyes before putting on her pastor’s wife mask and beaming brightly. “Ain’t that the truth.”

And as they force a loving glance, it pacifies the crowd, breaking my heart in the process. I don’t know what this means for us. Is he just scared and buying himself some time? Is he uncommitted to the commitment we share? He looks at me, and for the first time in my life, I can’t gauge his feelings. He stares down at their interwoven fingers and nods.

For a moment—one singular, godforsaken moment—it almost looks like he mouths, “Straight is great,” to himself.

“Miles,” I whisper, and his eyes meet mine, hearing my quiet voice above the crowd. I shake my head, because no. None of that. We’re not backsliding into heterosexuality. He looks away, but I say his name again, and his eyes are back on me. I dart my eyes toward the door leading toward the hallway where his office is.

To my horror, he quickly shakes his head and looks away from me.

Alright. We’ll fucking see about that.