Page 8

chapter eight

I don’t know if I’ve ever slept so well in all my life. I’m cuddled up close to my wife, my arms around her slender waist, the scent of vanilla and cotton candy lingering on her skin, even though I don’t remember a single time she’s worn the scent. Either way, she smells good enough to eat, so that’s what I do. I open my mouth and lay claim to her shoulder, expecting to feel the same familiar pang of non-arousal that usually hits when I initiate sexual activity, but it isn’t there. If anything, my erection is aching, begging for much-needed release. I try to move my arms, but it’s like something is holding me in place. I suck in a sharp breath, because maybe it’s finally working. Maybe God has finally responded to all my unanswered prayers. Straight is great. God, please, let it be great this time.

When I open my eyes, I gape at the person in front of me, because it isn’t Mallory. It’s Darren. My buddy. What the heck is he doing here? He looks like he’s got the weight of the world on his shoulders, and I want to take some of that weight to help ease the load, but I can’t seem to move my arms. I vaguely remember something about the attic. It’s a surprise, because I don’t normally remember anything after I’ve taken my pill.

Darren is lying beside me, his head on my shoulder. Judging by the wet spot on his face, I’m pretty sure I’ve been kissing his cheek. Sucking the skin until it left red marks. I did that to him, but he’s staring back at me with a stoic expression I’ve never seen before. His face radiates determination, but I can’t think of a single thing he’s determined to do, or why it needs to take place in my bed. I want to hug him. The urge is strong, but my arms aren’t moving. I look up and scoff. Why are my arms tied to the bedpost?

“I’ve been waiting for you to wake up for hours,” he says matter-of-factly.

I blink, trying to make sense of what he’s saying. Hours? “Why?”

He’s got this awful expression on his face. Resignation and devastation dancing in concert for dominance. “Because I’m about to break your heart, and I wanted to spend a little time remembering you this way.” With a heavy sigh, he rolls over, reaching for something on the nightstand. The blanket shifts with his movement, and I’m greeted with the sight of . . .

God in Heaven, why is he in his underwear? Why is he wearing a tiny pink strip of fabric that hides absolutely nothing? And in my bed, no less. With me wrapped around him. Oh my God, why am I still wrapped around him? Our legs are tangled, and I’m not even trying to pull away. I physically can’t take my bare skin away from his. It’s like I’m glued to him.

When he turns around, he’s fiddling with his phone, then he brings up his photo gallery, and my breath catches in my chest, because there has to be at least thirty thumbnails of our smiling faces together on his screen, and we’re wearing different clothes in all of them. I open my mouth to speak, but nothing comes out.

“I know,” he soothes, leaning down and kissing my forehead. “I know you’re confused right now, and you’re probably scared, but it’s just us right now.” He rests his palm over my racing heart. “Breathe.” I close my eyes and nod, breathing deeply. I take a few more breaths before opening my eyes again. “Do you remember anything about last night?”

I try to think back, but my head is still a blur. “You, I think. You in my bed.” I squint, trying to piece together reality. “Why are you in my bed?”

“Because this is where I belong.” He leans closer and kisses my forehead, making my skin feel tingly. “For the last two months, we’ve spent every night together in this bed.”

I shake my head, because that can’t be true. “No, we haven’t.”

“We have. You just don’t remember.” He sighs. “Your pills. The ones that make you sleepwalk. I didn’t know you were taking them at first. I thought . . . Miles, I thought we—” He bites his lip, probably to keep his jaw from trembling, but it doesn’t work. The sight of him upset makes me act on instinct, jerking my arm to break the binding so I can console him. The straps are too tight, so I just end up embarrassing myself. “You saw I was on Grindr one night and told me to come over. You’d already taken your pill, but you were awake when I—”

“Wait,” I interrupt. “Grindr?” Whatever story he’s trying to spin about sleeping pills and late-night visits takes a backseat, because he knows he’s not allowed on Grindr. I’ve told him more times than I can remember. He knows I go on there to make sure he ain’t backsliding. Why would he risk being caught? “I told you to stay off that dang app. People get raped, robbed, and killed all the time. I’ve sent you the articles. They were very thorough! Is that what you want? Are you going to be happy when you show up to be some stranger’s cumdump only to wake up dead?”

He gapes at me. “How the hell do you know what a cumdump is? You’re an evangelical pastor, for God’s sake.” My cheeks must be as red as that ugly dress Darren’s momma wears to church most Sundays, because he’s got this goofy little grin on his face as he mutters, “Wake up dead?” almost as an afterthought.

“I have my ways,” I answer, quickly looking away. “That ain’t the point, though. Why the heck were you on Grindr again? The articles I sent you—”

“I know,” he interrupts. “I just get lonely sometimes.”

“You’re not lonely. You’ve got me.” I twist my wrists, trying to break the hold the bindings have on them, but I can’t break free. “Dang it, Darren. Would you untie me already?” When he makes no attempt to move, I groan. My mind lingers on his admission of using that dang app again. “If you’ve been on Grindr while we’ve been praying for your soul, then you were obviously looking for sex.” The words taste vile on my tongue. “Have you had sexual relations while we’ve been doing our reparative therapy sessions? Because that goes against everything you agreed to when we started this.”

“The only person I’ve ever had any form of sexual relations with is you.”

Stupid me for choosing that exact moment to swallow my pooling saliva, because it goes down the wrong pipe, and I end up hacking and coughing directly into his face, spraying spittle all over him. He doesn’t even try to wipe it away, just sits there, letting it slowly dribble down his cheeks.

“What do you mean?”

“If you would allow me to finish a coherent thought before interrupting me, I could tell you.” He closes his eyes and breathes deeply, holding it in. He’s heading for a meltdown. I can see it coming from a mile off. I used to have to calm him down in church all the time. I was the only one he’d listen to, and I need him to listen to me now. He’s under too much pressure. He needs . . .

“Breathe, baby,” I soothe. His chest rises and falls, one breath after another. “That’s it. You’re doing so good.”

His eyes are practically welded shut, but if he’d just open them for a second, he’d see he doesn’t have anything to be afraid of. “That first night when you saw me on Grindr, you told me to come over. I thought you were keeping tabs on me and wanted to pray for me.” The softest smile touches the corners of his mouth, and his eyebrows rise. “I’ve waited all my life to kiss you, and you opened your door and kissed me like it was the most normal thing in the world.”

“I kissed you?” I ask, feeling dizzy. “Just a kiss?”

He opens his eyes, his cheeks flushed a furious shade of red, but he doesn’t look away from me. Part of me wants to praise him for being so brave by maintaining eye contact when he’s clearly scared, but the majority of my parts want to know why the heck he’s got me tied to the bedposts. What the hell does he want from me? “You did things to me. Things I’ve wanted you to do for years.” He sniffles, wiping a rogue teardrop from his cheek. “I’ve always loved you, and I thought you finally loved me back.”

My heart slams in my chest. Love? He loves me?

“Darren, I need you to untie me.”

“I can’t. I’m scared you’ll hurt me when you hear the rest.”

“There’s more?”

“A lot more.” His voice is apologetic, and he’s still got that same scared look on his face. “Please don’t hate me.”

“Never,” I answer without a second thought, trying to process what he’s telling me. “Keep going. It’s okay, Dare.”

“We made love. You gave me the world, and then the next day you took it away. You pretended like nothing was different. I thought you regretted it, but texted me later that night, telling me to come over. Every night for two weeks. Every night, I would come over, you would comfort me, and in the morning, you treated me like nothing had changed. It was like emotional whiplash. After a few weeks, you asked me to stay the night, and then you didn’t remember me in the morning. You forgot me.” I’ve never seen him this distraught, and I can’t do a dang thing to make it better with my arms tied to the bedpost. I should be laying hands on his forehead and praying for God’s forgiveness on his behalf. On both our behalf. “How—” His voice cracks. “How could you forget me?”

“I’m sorry,” I say, because I am. I’m sorry he’s hurting. Sorry his heart is breaking right in front of me. Sorry I can’t remember a single second of what he’s telling me.

He sniffles and shakes his head. “Then Meadows told me about the pills.”

“You spoke with Brother Meadows about my sleeping medication?”

He presses his forehead to mine and closes his eyes. “Brother Meadows isn’t really a brother in Christ. He works for the same agency I do.”

“Agency?” I ask, bewildered. “You don’t work at an agency, You stock shelves down at the Walmart.”

He shakes his head. “Before I came back from college, I was planning on going to California. I thought I’d try my hand at acting, but each time I tried to make a plan, I felt like I was going to be sick. I kept thinking about what would happen to you if I left you here on your own.” His lips brush against mine, soft and sweet, and although I know it’s what’s expected, I can’t bring myself to pull away. “I missed you so much I couldn’t sleep some nights. Five years and it never eased. Losing you was unbearable. Nowhere I go will feel like home if you’re not there with me. So, when my friend Tatum told me his husband used to work at a hitman agency down here, and that they were looking for a new secretary, I jumped at the opportunity. The money was good. The hours were good.” He smiles proudly. “I’m good. Miles, I’m so freaking good at my job. You’d be so proud of me. I’ve gotten Employee of the Month three times.”

“Did . . . did you just say hitman?”

“Yes, but,” he says, holding a finger in the air like he’s making a point, “I don’t actually kill people.”

“You just answer phones for the people who do actually kill people?” I close my eyes and sigh. “For goodness’ sake, Dare. You’re complicit in murder. Haven’t you listened to any of my sermons? Murder’s a sin. It’s one of the big ones.”

“Do you wanna know a secret?” he asks with a smirk that tells me I don’t want to know whatever the heck his secret is at all. “I don’t pay a whole lot of attention to your sermons.” Heat pools in his cheek and he finally breaks eye contact with me. “I usually just look at your butt. Or your bulge. Sometimes your face, because it’s so pretty, but usually, it’s the ass or the bulge.”

“My Lord,” I whisper, stunned.

“Yeah. That’s what you’re usually saying in my head while I’m looking.” He cocks an eyebrow at me. “My Lord, what a magnificent member. My Lord, what a delectable derriere.”

“Good heavens,” I say hoarsely. I close my eyes in an effort to steady my breathing, refusing to entertain him when he’s like this. I don’t know this version of Darren. He isn’t my Dare-bear. He’s behaving like a wanton slut. The worst part is, I think I like this version of him. I think I like him a lot.

“So, I worked my butt off until I was promoted to the investigation squad. In fairness, it’s not a very big squad. Just me and Lurlene Fletcher, and she plans on retiring soon. Meadows gave me the job after I told him how I used to cyber stalk you when I was at college. But you can’t blame me for it, okay? I was just missing you so bad and you were always so busy. So, if you wanna be mad at someone because I hacked all your email accounts and read all your Facebook messages, you can be mad at yourself.”

I gape at him. “You can’t be serious.”

He blushes. “I like to read all your text messages as soon as they hit the cloud. I used to read them like romance novels, not that there was any romance in them whatsoever.” He scowls at me. “You couldn’t have thrown me a bone every now and then and sent your wife a nude? Oh, I used to get so mad at you about it. It felt like you were hiding them from me, even if you didn’t know I was looking.”

“What the hell?” I shout, making him recoil like I’ve slapped him. The funny thing is, even though he’s in the wrong, I feel like the guilty party, because he’s staring at me like I’m an abuser.

“Are you mad at me?”

I want to shout that of course, I’m angry. What he’s admitting to is madness, and he’s acting like he’s explaining a minor lapse in judgment, like accidentally voting Democrat at the polls. He’s paid little concern to how I might feel about such a massive violation of privacy, and thank God, because judging by the state of my ever growing erection, I think I’m kind of into it. I breathe a shaky breath and stare down at my crotch. Sure enough, it’s rising to attention. I’m only wearing a pair of boxers, and the higher the tent grows, the closer it gets to slipping out the hole in front. “No,” I whisper, but it doesn’t stop it from happening. The first sign of pink skin peeks through the hole, and I slam my eyes shut, feeling mortified.

“Oh, God,” I groan. “Please don’t look at my penis.” There’s pressure on my crotch, and I flinch, but when I open my eyes, I realize Darren’s placed a pillow on top of my erection.

“I won’t look again until you allow it. I’ve told you that every night since I found out you were drugged during our visits. I swear. As soon as I found out, I made you stop.”

“ You made me stop?”

“You’re kind of an animal when you’re horny,” he says, sounding a little embarrassed. “You’re a beast in bed.”

That’s not true in the slightest. I’ve slept with my wife five times. Each time has been torture for both of us. She just lies there waiting for it to be over, and I would have to close my eyes and focus on the sensations rather than their source just to maintain an erection, all the while, trying not to remember the girl my dad made me . . .

“I’m a very gentle lover.”

“Not with me. But you’re not ready to hear about that, I’m guessing.”

I stare at him, this stranger in my bed I thought I knew. “What is the end game here, Dare? What do you want from me?”

Darren sighs as he stares at his phone. “I think it would be better coming from you.” He lifts his phone and presses play on a video of us in bed together. I’m wearing the same shirt I’ve got on now, so this must have been taken after I pretended to fall asleep. Crap. Last night, Darren—He loves me and I completely forgot. Oh, hell. Okay, yeah, I’m getting a clearer picture on where this is heading, and I don’t believe I like it, so I focus on what’s tangible. The still image of us in front of me. I don’t really look like myself in it, and I can’t tell what seems different about us. Once he clicks play, we’re talking in the video, but I can’t stop staring at myself on screen. At one point Darren tells the sedated version of me that he loves me, and I say it back. I tell him I love him like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

On screen, Darren cuddles closer to me and asks me to say something to myself on the video. He asks me to tell him where I am and who I’m with. My heart thunders as I wait to hear something I ought to be able to remember.

“I’m where I belong,” I say, smiling drowsily into the camera. “I’m with the man I love.” And then I lean in, and I give Darren a kiss.

When I look up from the screen to judge his headspace, he’s staring at us on the phone like he’s witnessing a miracle. The way he looks in the video is probably the happiest I’ve ever seen him, and there I am, right beside him, smiling twice as wide and twice as bright. It’s only now I realize what seems different about me. In this video, I don’t look like myself, because I’m not. I’m happy. In this precious forty-five-second glimpse into an alternate reality I could once only dream of, I see actual proof that I could be happy. Actual evidence that I won’t be struck down by a lightning bolt should I choose to act on my natural urges.

In the video, he kisses me again, and it’s all I can do to stifle a sob, because this version of me is getting something I never will, and I don’t even have the memory of it to cling to. It isn’t fair. I’ve worked so hard to stay the straight and narrow, only to find I’ve already faltered. Only to find I’ve continuously faltered, and I don’t even get a damn morsel of a memory to revisit later.

He must know.

Dare has to know, because he presses his lips to the corner of my mouth and just lets them sit there. Nothing has ever felt as right as Darren does right now, giving me a gentle kiss. Nothing.

“This is our love story. I’ve lived it without you, but I’m tired of living it alone.” He stares into my eyes like he’s trying to pour himself into my soul. “I love you, Miles. I’m in love with you, and I think if you think long and hard about it, you’ll realize you love me too. I want to help make that happen sooner rather than later. I’ve already crossed nine-thousand boundary lines with the stalking and everything, so what do you say I cross one more?” There isn’t any cruelty in his tone, but his words feel paralyzing. He looks up at me, his gentle, calm face having a residual calming effect on me. The calm doesn’t last long. “From now on, you’re my boyfriend.”

I jerk my head back and gape at him. “Excuse me?” My heart is racing a mile a minute, and no matter how many deep breaths I take, I can’t make it slow down. “You’re blackmailing me into having sex with you?”

“Blackmail?” His jaw pretty much hits the floor, and he jerks away like I’ve struck him. “Never. I thought we could just have a little platonic slow-burn romance.” He leans in and brushes the tips of our noses together. “I want to start sleeping over. I was hoping you’d let me hold your hand. Sometimes, I might want a cuddle. It’s not that different from how we are now, in all honesty. We’ll just have a new name for it. I won’t pressure you into doing anything you’re uncomfortable with.”

“I’m uncomfortable with the entire prospect of platonically dating you. This is insanity. I’m not in love with you, Dare. How could I be? I’m not gay anymore.” I kind of expect him to call me out, because I think we both know that’s not true. He doesn’t though. He just leans a little closer and kisses my forehead.

“Until you’re ready to join me on the other side of the rainbow, how about I stay here and keep you company?” His eyes study mine for a moment before adding, “If I take off your restraints, you’re not going to hurt me are you? I’m not a fighter, Miles. You’d kill me with a single swing.”

I can’t tell if he’s joking around or being serious. “When have you ever known me to be violent? I would never hurt you. Ever.”

He gnaws his lower lip as he reaches for the restraints. He gets one off, then the other, and we just stay here, staring at each other. I make no move to lower my arms, because I’m worried he’s going to think I’m trying to hit him.

“My arms are sore, so I’m going to lower them now,” I say, trying to assure him. “I’m not going to hurt you.” As my arms come down, he flinches and slams his eyes shut, and it’s a look I can’t stand to see. All scared and helpless, like a lost little lamb. I have to stop him from looking like that, so I do the only thing I can think of. I wrap an arm around his lower back and the other around his shoulder, bringing him to my chest, burying his face in my neck. “I’m sorry you’ve been dealing with this on your own. I know it must have hurt, and I don’t ever want you to hurt like this.” My neck’s a little wet, and at first, I think he’s licking me, but then I hear him sniffle. “You’re okay. We’re okay, Dare. I don’t hate you.”

“Can I stay with you for a while? I don’t want to go home. He’s going to be home all day.”

I feather my fingers through his hair, wanting to give him a little affection at the mere thought of his father. He’s always been so cruel to Darren. It’s the reason I took him under my wing when he was little. Problematic though our platonic pairing might be, I’ve always wanted to keep him safe. It’s the reason this place feels so much like home. Not because it’s where I grew up—because it’s where he did. Right across the street. Always in my line of sight. I can keep an eye on Dare here. Even when he left for college, I could hear updates on his college career by rushing across the street whenever Sister Matthews was working in her garden. I can’t leave this house, because leaving means he has no safety net. No means of escape. Right now, if his father were to spout more cruelty about his son being a bit effeminate, or threaten to kick him out and leave him homeless, Darren would have nowhere to run. But he can run to me. I’ll catch him every time. Now Dare’s hurting because of me. Because of something I’ve allegedly given him. My heart. A heart that isn’t mine to give, because its place is in Heaven. Its home is at His side. So why does Darren feel more like home than God ever has?

“I have one condition. The platonic dating thing—if I agree to it, it’s on the condition that you let me continue to try to cure you.” I say, feeling like it’s the only thing about the situation I can control. “I’ll agree to it, but our therapy sessions aren’t over. I’m going to convert you, Darren. It’s going to happen.” I kiss his scalp. “I hope you bought a one-way ticket when you flew back over the rainbow to save me, because I’m never letting you go back again.” He pulls away and has a look that tells me he doesn’t believe a word I’m saying. I can’t say I blame him, because I don’t believe it all that much either.

“Sure thing, Father Daddy.” As soon as the words are out, his hand flies to his mouth, his eyes bulging. The endearment—if you can call it that—pulls me out of the moment, and I lean back, breaking contact with him.

“Father Daddy?”

“Don’t.”

An unexpected smile spreads across my face as he blushes brightly “Is that what you think of me as? Father Daddy?” He nods, but he still isn’t looking at me. Can’t have that. I place a finger on his chin and tug until our eyes meet. “Say it. Tell me.” I tickle his ribs, feeling almost carefree, like nothing in the world can hurt us here.

Giggling, he rests his face in the crook of my neck. Bashfully, he says, “Yeah. That’s who you are to me. Father Daddy. My conversion therapy king.” There’s a playful tone to his voice, but I can tell he’s just using it to mask his truth. Looking up at me, his lips curl into a smile. His breathing is slow, his body warm and heavy against mine. The longer we rest here, the more my resistance falls and the less bizarre the situation feels. Right now, with him almost in my lap, this doesn’t feel like sin. It feels monumental. It feels truer than any truth I’ve ever known, and that scares the hell out of me.