Page 7

chapter seven

When I wake, it’s still dark outside, and I squint my eyes as I try to read the numbers on my clock. It’s just after twelve, and unless the sun has decided to take the day off, I’m guessing that means it’s midnight. Flipping on my bedside lamp, I sit up and grab my phone. Like always, I don’t have a single missed call or unread text message. As our church numbers dwindle, the lack of outreach with my parishioners feels like another way I’ve let my father down. Growing up, our kitchen phone was in constant use. More often than not, when I walked into the kitchen, Dad would be standing by the phone, the receiver wedged between his ear and shoulder, both hands lifted to the sky, praising God and begging for Him to show Dad’s wayward flock His favor. I get three calls a week at best. They may have been his flock once, but they’ve never felt like mine. After so many years, it stings. I was never their choice. I’m a shepherd without a lamb. Well, that’s not entirely true. I do have one lost little lamb. Who needs a flock when you’ve got someone who looks at you like he’s staring at God himself?

With a sigh, I stare at the picture of my boy.

My boy? Where the heck did that thought come from?

There’s a strange, dull pain spreading across my forehead, and I pinch the bridge of my nose like that’ll somehow help. To my surprise, it actually does. Most of the pain fades, and I’m left with the same groggy hangover I always get when I take these sleeping pills. It usually takes half an hour for me to feel like myself again, and I’m half-tempted to just lie back down and try to get a little more sleep. Then I hear floorboards creaking above me.

I remember being in the attic earlier, but I can’t remember why. Chalking the sound up to a meddlesome mouse, I kick back in bed and stare at the picture of Darren on my phone.

“Dare-bear,” I whisper, smiling sleepily at him. Gosh, I wish he was here right now. He always knows how to put my mind at ease, and my mind is all over the place.

Ahead of me, there’s the sound of a doorknob turning, but I can’t make myself look away from the picture. From his pale skin to those big, beautifully brown eyes. How his lip is twitched into a loving grin, aimed right at me. My sweet, sweet Dare.

“Hi, Daddy,” someone says, but I don’t startle. I don’t jolt up in bed at the unexpected visitor, because I feel an overwhelming sense of safety that I can’t explain. Like his showing up in my bedroom unannounced is inevitable. Like it was ordained, though that can’t be true, because what reason would God have for sending a man to my bedroom in the middle of the night?

I look up, and there he is.

“Darren? Why . . .” I look past him at the open closet door and furrow my brow, trying to make it all make sense. I remember lifting boards earlier, but can’t remember if it happened in the attic. He smiles as he steps forward, pausing instantly when I ask, “Did you just come out of the closet?”

“I came out of the closet a long time ago.” His eyes are on me, searching for something, but I don’t know what for. He swallows, his throat bobbing as color floods his cheeks. He approaches, his eyes on mine. “Are you awake?” And I don’t know if I’ve ever heard a more ridiculous question in my life. Obviously, I am. I’m talking to him, for gosh’s sake. He sits beside my leg and places a hand on my ankle, brushing his thumb back and forth. His eyes search mine, and the gaze is intense. I hate seeing him like this. Wound-up in worry. Drenched in apprehension. I don’t know what else to do to soothe him, so I open my arms and offer a hug. A blush rushes across his cheeks, and then his worry is gone within seconds.

I did that. I made him better.

Darren dives forward, landing on top of me and pinning me to the bed as he wraps his arms around me. He buries his face in my neck and inhales deeply, making my whole body tremble. He’s hugging me fiercely, harder than he ever has before.

“Missed you,” he says.

“I missed you too,” The admission catches me off guard, because I realize how true it is. Isn’t that strange? I saw him earlier today, and I’m already missing him. I miss having him here, wrapping me up like Jesus’ shroud. And the hug doesn’t end. It just keeps going and going, his breath ghosting against my neck with each exhale. My hands find their way to him, one resting at the small of his back, the other gently rubbing his shoulder. I think I might still be sobering up from the sleeping pill, because in my head, I know I shouldn’t be doing this. I don’t remember any scripture saying a man can’t hold another man the way I’m holding Darren, but anything that feels this good has to be a sin.

“Why are you here?” I finally ask, not letting go.

“Because it’s where I belong.” He pulls his face away from my neck and I have to fight the urge to pull him back to me. His nose brushes against mine, and his eyes have this softness in them I’ve never seen before. He’s never looked more at peace than he does right now, and it feels like I’m seeing him for the first time.

No.

No, because that’s not entirely true. I’ve seen him this way before. When he first came home from college. When Darren was younger, he was always timid and shy. He opened up around me, but he never let his flame burn bright. He kept it hidden because he was scared of disappointing me. Then he left for college, and when he came home, he wasn’t hiding a thing. Darren was a proud gay man, and even I can’t deny he had a stunning glow to him. For three hours, I waited by the window, anxious to see my boy for the first time in forever. When I saw his car pull up, I rushed outside, stopping dead in my tracks as he stepped out of the car. The boy I knew was gone, replaced by a man who knew himself. A twenty-something twink with sass and sparkle and a Daddy’s Boy crop top. I remember standing in the middle of the street, staring in awe like I was watching the Second Coming of Christ.

He was magnificent.

And then he was gone. Tucked away, out of sight and into the closet. Because of me. Because I asked him to hide. Because I sat him down and begged to fix that part of him. To take away that single flaw, so he would be absolutely perfect. My sweet boy, just like he’d always been. But he’s not my sweet boy anymore. I see that now. He hasn’t been my boy in years. When he left, I lost that part of him. I lost the boy I knew.

But look at the man he’s become.

Our noses touch repeatedly as he brushes his back and forth, and the silly nature sends the corners of my lips twitching into a smile. He’s so innocent like this. Carefree, like nothing can touch him as long as he’s here with me. “I’m sorry I’m late. Dad was watching cable news all night, foaming at the mouth about liberals. I had to wait for him to go to sleep before I could sneak out.”

The way he’s acting like we have some standing appointment that he’s tardy for confuses me, but with his face only inches from mine, staring into his eyes, my mouth won’t work. It’s like he’s Medusa, turning me to stone. The way he’s pressed against me feels foreign, but so very familiar like we’ve done this before.

I can tell something’s upsetting him, but he’s trying to put on a brave face, the same way he did when I taught him to roller skate when he was little. He was so scared of falling, but I told him he didn’t have to be, because I’ll always catch him. When he stumbles, it’s my job to pick him back up.

“What’s wrong?” I ask him.

“Nothing.” He rolls over until he’s on his back, and his hand finds mine. I can’t deny how good this feels. It’s like our hands were meant to go together. Like God made each with the other in mind. It reminds me of how I used to hold it during church whenever I knew he needed a strong shoulder to lean on. With Johnny Matthews as his father, Darren needed to be held a lot.

“Don’t lie to me,” I say, my voice taking a passionate, possessive tone. “Did he say something to you again? Was he calling you names?”

He shakes his head. “No. It’s not about Dad. It’s you.” My heart sinks, because if I’ve done something to hurt my boy, I’ll never forgive myself.

“I’m sorry. If I hurt you—”

Darren quickly shakes his head. “You didn’t do anything.” There’s a tear trickling down his cheek, so I know his words can’t be true. I’ve hurt him. Maybe even crushed him. “You’re gay. You’re gay and you never told me.” He rolls onto his side so he’s facing me, and a whiff of vanilla and cotton candy invades my senses. It must be his body spray, and it’s a realization that takes me by surprise, because it’s the same scent I smelled on my sheets this morning. The same scent I smell every morning. When Mal mentioned it earlier, I brushed it off as her imagination getting carried away, but then I found proof. Circumstantial evidence at best, but with Darren right beside me on a bed with sheets that still smell like him, I know it has to be true. I should just ask him. He wouldn’t lie to me if I flat-out ask. I know Darren better than I know myself. I open my mouth, but close it just as quickly when I see another tear fall down his cheek. I can’t stand to see him like this.

I reach up and wipe his tears away. “Don’t. Don’t you dare cry. You’re too sweet to be crying.” I grip his hand tighter and scoot a little closer, trying to put him at ease. “I was embarrassed, Dare. It’s my biggest flaw, and now you know it. I don’t ever want you to look at me differently, because I love the way you look at me. You’ve always looked at me like . . .” I pause, shaking my head, unsure where I’m going with the statement, because I don’t have a word to describe how he looks at me. The sparkle in his eyes. The admiration in his smile.

“Like a God,” Darren whispers, touching my chest with his hand, right over my heart. “Because that’s what you are to me. My God. My everything.”

And then he leans closer, and our lips brush together. It doesn’t last long, but it’s long enough that it pulls me back to my senses, startling me and making my eyes bulge. When he pulls away, Darren’s got his eyes closed, and he’s smiling wider than I’ve ever seen.

I kissed a man.

I just kissed my best friend.

He looks up at me with lovesick eyes. I have to close mine, because his gaze is overwhelming. I have to get out of this. I can’t have him looking at me that way. I can’t be in bed with another man. I have to remove the temptation, but not because it’s a sin. There’s an undercurrent of something that feels a lot like hope, and I can’t hope. Hope leads to loss. It leads to an ache so strong you can feel its aftershocks for years, and I’ve had enough of those to last a lifetime.

I keep my eyes closed, feigning sleep, hoping he’ll just go. I need him out of this room, because I’m afraid of what I’ll do if he stays. I’ve worked so hard to overcome, and now, Darren’s practically throwing himself at me. Now, with one kiss, it feels like he’s turned my whole world around, and I find myself wanting more. More moments holding him against me. More of our lips brushing together. I’ve known Darren Matthews all his life, but I haven’t known him this way. I can’t know him this way.

His fingers comb softly through my hair, and he’s humming one of my favorite hymns, then he starts singing. “Daddy loves me, this I know.” He places a kiss on my temple, and I can’t hold back the whimper. “Because Daddy tells me so.” He’s quiet for a moment, and then the bed dips. Once he’s up, the floorboards creak as he makes his way around the bed. His hand touches my face.

“Get some sleep,” he whispers. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Then I’ll see you tomorrow night.” Squinting, I peek at him walking away, watching in wonder as he steps onto three suitcases I’ve got piled up in the closet, and lifting himself back through the gap leading to the attic. When he’s gone, my closet and bedroom lights go out on their own.

Good grief, did he hack my smart lighting app? Why? So he can sneak in and out of my room whenever he wants?

Above, the attic window squeaks as it’s opened, then squeaks again when Darren closes it. I roll onto my back and stare up at the ceiling, trying to process everything. Against my better judgment, I get out of bed and make my way downstairs, because I’m kind of freaking out, and I need to tell someone.

The guest room—well, I guess it’s just Mal’s room now—is open, and she’s sitting up in bed reading one of the first books I wrote.

“He didn’t stay long this time,” she says, inserting her bookmark and placing the book on her bedside table. She pats the empty space beside her, and I shuffle over like a lost puppy.

“Mal,” I say, my voice cracking. “I don’t understand.”

I don’t know what Darren and I get up to at night, but whatever it is, Mal must’ve heard it. She must think I’ve been cheating on her.

She wraps her arms around me and holds me close. I remember how good it felt when Darren buried his face in my neck earlier, so I do it to her, pressing my face right against her, inhaling deeply. She smells good. Dang good, if I’m being honest, but it’s not the same. The perfume she’s wearing is soft and light, floral in nature. It doesn’t leave me dizzied like cotton candy and vanilla. It isn’t sweet and thick, permeating the room, leaving no space untouched. That doesn’t mean her perfume is bad, it just isn’t right. It isn’t meant for me.

I pray. I pray for God to speak to me the way my father claimed had happened with him. I pray for Him to take this hurt away, but the hurt just gets stronger and stronger until I’m weeping into her pretty nightgown. She holds me through it, which is more than I deserve. I want it out of me. This ugly, misshapen puzzle piece in my heart. This abomination that’s separated me from God’s love all my life.

Pulling away, I cup my wife’s cheek. She places her hand over mine, holding me against her. I try so damn hard to make my heart feel something it can’t, and it’s still not clicking. Leaning in, I press our lips together, needing to fix this. Needing to love her the way I’m supposed to. The way my daddy raised me up to do. I close my eyes, hoping it might make it hurt less, but all I see are flashes of my father walking me to her front door. The things she did once it was just the two of us. Now, Mal is kissing me back, trying to meet me halfway, but I can’t do this. I physically can’t have her lips against mine, because it’s bringing all that hurt to the surface, and I’ve fought like hell to push the memory down.

She pulls away, and I thank God for it.

“Nothing?” she asks.

“I’m sorry.”

“I’m not. We’ve spent enough time hurting, Miles. We’re almost forty, and we’ve been locked in a lavender marriage for half our lives. Don’t we deserve to finally live the lives we want to live?”

I dry my eyes. “I never wanted to waste so much of your time. I promise. I thought God would fix me. I thought he’d at least make me bisexual.”

She cups my cheek and kisses my forehead. “There’s nothing to fix, because you’ve never been broken.” Yesterday, I would have argued with her about that. Now, I just rest my head on her shoulder and hold her hand.

“How long has he been coming over at night?”

“You were there. You tell me.”

I sigh when I look up at her. “My pills, Mal. Apparently I’ve been sleepwalking through nightly cuddle sessions.”

Her eyes widen. “You’ve been under the influence?” She launches out of bed and walks into the closet. When she returns, she’s got her pink pistol, Daisy, in her hand, and a pair of polka-dotted flip-flops on her feet.

“What the heck are you doing?”

“If he’s touched you while you couldn’t consent, I’m marching across the street, and I’m having a nice, long chat.” As she makes a move toward the door, I rush in front of her, barricading the exit with my body.

“You’re going to put the gun back in its case, and you and I will never speak of this again.” While I appreciate her sentiment, what she’s accusing Darren of . . . Never. He would never. There’s not a single shadow of a doubt in my mind. “He wouldn’t. I don’t know what you’ve been hearing at night, but it isn’t that.” I’m begging mercy on his behalf, because the thought of her touching him—hurting him—feels paralyzing. “Please? Go put the gun up.”

She stares at me for a moment before softening her expression and nodding. As she makes her way to the closet, I crawl back into bed, my heart still racing.

The mattress sags as she climbs in beside me. “You really don’t remember anything?”

“Flashes. Not a lot of them, and not often, but sometimes. I’ll get a mental picture of him in my head from a memory that’s just out of reach. It makes my head hurt if I think about it too long. I thought I was going crazy.”

“Why didn’t you say something to me?”

I slide my hand over hers and squeeze. The touch isn’t true, but it’s true enough. I know her hand by heart. It’s gotten me through some really rough nights, just like mine has for her.

“We haven’t really been in a sharing place,” I whisper, ashamed. Making excuses for myself. Letting her down. Again.

She twists her wrist, and I figure she’s sick of holding my hand, so I let go. She doesn’t. She turns her hand over and weaves our fingers together. “It’s been going on for a little under two months. It started a few nights after I moved into the guest room. At first, you greeted him at the door. Then he created his idiotic secret entrance. I guess he was worried about waking me up. It would be endearing if he wasn’t romancing my husband.”

I sniffle, proud of my boy for being so considerate, but still scandalized by the fact that I’ve been having nightly slumber parties with another man. Slumber parties my wife is aware of, but I’m not. Knowing I’ve shared months at Darren’s side, whispering words I’ll never get back, there’s a strange, curious spark flickering in my chest that I can’t describe.

“None of this makes any sense. I don’t understand why he would go to these lengths.”

She turns to face me with a raised eyebrow. “You can’t be serious. It’s obvious why he’s doing it.” If it’s so obvious, I wish she’d just spit it out, because none of it is obvious to me. Sighing, she finally says, “He’s in love with you. He always has been. For God’s sake, how can you not see it?”

I gape at her. In my heart, I’m pretty sure I know it’s true, but that doesn’t make it feel okay. If anything, it makes me question every interaction we’ve ever shared. Has he always been holding out hope that I’d fall in love with him too? Because if he has, that means our entire conversion journey has been a lie. I doubt he was even thinking of my drawings when he masturbated as part of his therapy. But if he wasn’t thinking of the drawings, that would mean he was thinking of . . .

Mary, mother of God. Is he thinking of me?

I’ve caught him staring at my backside a few times, and the thought of my Dare thinking of it as he curls his fingers around his shaft and slowly strokes himself makes my heart slam in my chest. I can picture his pleasured expression so clearly, because I’ve seen it so many times. Each time he masturbates in my office—his lower region shielded by a tablecloth—I watch his face, studying the way his body reacts to pleasure. The way he tugs his bottom lip between his teeth when he’s about to come. How he always locks eyes with me when his orgasm hits, as if he’s seeking me out in a crowd. The quiet, whimpered sound he makes as his hand pumps feverishly beneath the tablecloth.

Mal smirks as she stares at my lap. I look down to see my penis standing at full attention.

“Unless you’re wanting a repeat of the other five times we’ve attempted intercourse, I suggest you put that thing away.” I seriously contemplate the idea for all of four seconds before deciding that I don’t have any desire to fall into a mental tailspin at midnight by attempting to sleep with my wife. “So, at the risk of sounding absolutely scandalous, if your little one-man band isn’t stirring for me . . .?”

“Shut up,” I groan, covering my face. “Kill me.”

“Say it,” she goads, poking me in the side. “Say his name.”

“Darren.”

Mal taps the side of my face like she’s just proved her point. “Exactly. Now, the only question is, what are you going to do about it?”

“Why are you so invested in this? It’s weird, Mal. I mean, it’s weird as hell for me, but you seem to be enjoying the ride for whatever reason.”

She rolls her eyes. “Okay, I’ll admit I’m kind of excited at the prospect of dating again. You can’t fault me for that, though.”

I gape at her. I know we’re not exactly selling a love story for the ages with our marriage, but the way she’s so eager to toss our marriage away leaves me a little dizzy.

“No. Of course not,” I agree, taking a step back. “You’re right.”

She nods. “I usually am. I think I’ll join a dating site while you explore. We don’t have to announce anything yet. I’ll be discreet. We can move at whatever speed you’re comfortable with.”

“This is utterly bizarre,” I say, scrubbing my face with my hand. “For God’s sake, I’m your husband, and you’re basically throwing me to the wolves.”

She shakes her head. “I’m throwing you to Darren. Less of a wolf, more of a flailing flamingo.”

“He’s a good boy,” I growl out of reflex.

A smirk tugs at the corner of her mouth. “Well, whatever he is, I hope he makes you happy, because you deserve to be happy. We both do.”

When I make it back to my room, I have to do a double take, because there, sitting in the center of the bed with his hands clasped tightly in his lap, is my Dare. He looks scared.

“Dare?”

He swallows before speaking. “I decided I wasn’t ready to go home. Where were you? I thought you were asleep.” He stands and takes a few staggering steps toward me but stops when there are only inches separating us. “Are you awake?”

He asked me earlier, but I still don’t understand his question. “My eyes are open, aren’t they?” It’s said in a joking tone, but Darren doesn’t look like he’s in the mood for a joke.

“No, Miles. Are you . . .” He pauses, choosing his words carefully by the look of it. “Have you taken your sleeping pill?”

I blink a few times, trying to remember. I’m pretty sure I did. Or, at least, I took part of it. I open my mouth to speak, but then the world goes black around me.