Page 22

Twenty-One

Isaac

R esting on Jensen’s chest, I stare at his face as he takes a deep breath, clearly trying to garner the courage to do this. Whatever it is, I know my feelings for him won’t change. They’re too strong, ingrained in who I am, even after only a few weeks. He’s become a part of me.

What I fear is learning something horrible about him and knowing what he’s gone through. The idea of him hurting already sounds unbearable to me.

He stares up at the ceiling, an arm resting on the top of his forehead. “I’ve never come out to my parents or any of my friends. I’m forty years old, for fuck’s sake.”

“Why not?” I ask.

“Because I grew up thinking I could be changed, Isaac. I was taught that I was born with a defect. Brainwashed.”

My brow furrows as I move to my elbow and stare at him. “Your parents taught you that?” And I thought Truett was bad. The worst he did was call me a sinner, which, okay, now that I think about it, is bad too. But a defect? What the fuck?

“No,” he says, shaking his head. “My parents never spoke about it. Deep down, they knew, but it wasn’t them who told me that.”

“Then who did?”

“It was a program called Eternal Harmony. They masked their practices by calling it a youth church group. My mother encouraged me to try it without telling me what it was. And at first, it was fine. They selected specific kids and made us feel special—like we were destined for greatness.

“First, they made us feel like we were a part of something virtuous. We were a community. I made my best friendships there. We met nearly every day after school and sometimes did trips out of town. They preached about family values and God’s will.”

He pauses, staring blankly in the distance as if he’s lost in a memory. My heart aches, seeing the pain in his eyes. I already hate where this is going.

“As the years went by, I almost missed how subtle they were with their brainwashing. It took me nearly three years to realize they were targeting queer kids specifically. They built a hierarchy within the dynamics of the group, so before long, it was like they had tasked us with brainwashing each other.”

Tears prick behind my eyes when I imagine the damage this place has done, not only to him but to so many others. It’s not fucking fair. I want to beat the shit out of every single one of them.

“There was a specific pastor. His name was Derek, and he was young. He created these…mantras for us to use whenever something tempted us. Like little codes for our brains that never fucking go away. ‘With God, change is possible. I don’t have to be broken anymore. Together, we can be healed.’”

“Fuck,” I mutter as my nostrils flare. I hate this. I hate it so fucking much.

“When I got older, Derek had these…tests.”

I press my face into Jensen’s chest. It’s too much. I can’t hear anymore.

“I failed them every time,” he whispers with a quivering voice, and I don’t have to look up to see that he’s crying.

“He’d push me to drink with him. Ask me to kiss him. Ask me to touch him. So I did. Then, a day later…he’d punish me for it.”

“Jesus, Jensen,” I cry into his chest. The courage in his voice nearly kills me. My hands grip him so tightly, I’m sure it hurts, but he doesn’t stop me.

Deep down, part of me knows…

If I hadn’t run away, is this what my dad would have done to me? Would he have sent me away to a place like this? Hoping to “cure” me?

“Around the time I turned twenty-one, I had reached almost the highest rank within the program. I had so many kids under me. I even helped recruit them. I knew…” He takes a break to swallow and wipe his eyes. “I knew what we were doing.”

His voice breaks as he sobs. Covering his face with his hands, he cries. There is anger in those tears and I feel it, too. How does he not just live his life with rage every day? How is he not fuming with hatred every moment of his life?

“It’s not your fault,” I whisper, pressing my lips to his cheek. “You were the victim, Jensen. You were just a kid.”

He sobs a little longer, nodding along with my words but unable to show his face. When his tears subside, he wipes them away.

“I always knew it was bullshit,” he says. “Deep down, I knew it was lies. But the longer I was there, the deeper I fell into their hole. I couldn’t get out. They controlled everything in my life. My dating. My job. My family.”

He lets out a fresh exhale.

“Then, one day, my dad made the local news. He was working a pride event that was attacked. He was a hero. But after Derek saw it, he tried to keep me from seeing him, my own dad. That was the final straw. I was twenty-five.”

Holy shit .

“I was in a conversion program for nearly ten years, and everyone knew it. To this day, I hear their voices in my head. They still tell me that I’m a sinner. Not only that I can change, but that I should . That it’s my fault. In a way, I never left.”

Pressing my lips to his chest, I hold him as close as I can. “But you left, Jensen. You were smarter than them. They thought they had you, but they didn’t. You made it out.”

He doesn’t look convinced, and it worries me. Did they really do so much mental damage to him he’ll never truly recover? Will he ever be able to accept himself and truly love himself with the harm they’ve caused?

“You know the worst part?” he whispers, still not able to look at me. His face is wet and his eyes bloodshot.

“What?”

“They tried to ruin my relationship with God. They made me believe he would never love me. Don’t we deserve God’s love, too?”

I force his face toward me so he has to look me in the eye. “Yes, we do.”

Suddenly, I see more vulnerability than I’ve seen before. It’s like seeing the full-color picture of Jensen for the first time. He’s taken down the walls between us. Bared his soul and cut himself open just for me.

Holding his face, I pull him close for a kiss. It’s not passionate or heated. It’s a kiss of love.

I rest my forehead against his as I murmur, “Thank you for sharing that with me. I’m so sorry that happened to you. It’s not fair, but Jensen…” I say with emphasis. “They did not ruin you. Don’t give them that much power. You can still heal and have a happy life, even with those memories.”

He doesn’t immediately argue, which is hopeful. Instead, he stares into my eyes just a few inches away. Sadly, he whispers, “I hope so.”

When I peel my eyes open the next morning, the space on the bed beside me is empty. Reaching over, I touch the pillow and find it still warm. Then I check my phone. It’s nine thirty on a Sunday. He left for service.

The thought sours my stomach. I’m suddenly remembering what he told me last night. The shit he’s been through. The brainwashing. The sexual assault. The shame they embedded into his sense of self. It’s fucked.

How can he continue to work in a church after that? Maybe it’s just me, but the shit my dad said when I came out tainted every bit of faith I had left in me. Why would I show up for God when it was clear He had no tolerance for me? If He can’t love me the way I am, then fuck him.

But deep down, I do miss my faith. I miss the good parts, and there were good parts. I miss my relationship with God. I miss believing in him.

I only wish Jensen had stayed over longer today, but I understand. He has a job?—

The coffee grinder whirs loudly downstairs. My eyes pop open and I climb from the bed. Padding quickly down the steps, I turn to find Jensen standing in my kitchen in nothing but a pair of my jeans.

“What are you doing here?” I ask.

He looks up in surprise. “Oh, I…called in.”

“You called in?”

He smirks. “Yeah. There are other people at the church who can deliver a sermon, Isaac.”

“Did you call in just to spend time with me?” I ask sheepishly as I walk into the kitchen.

“Of course I did,” he replies, tipping his chin up.

I can’t help but smile. Then, my gaze rakes over his body, and I shake my head, appreciating just how good he looks in my clothes.

“What did I tell you about this outfit?” I ask, gesturing to the jeans without socks or a shirt. It should be illegal.

“What, this?” He glances down and I notice that his jeans normally hang loosely from his hips, but mine fit him very snugly.

Stepping up to him, I press our bare chests together as I kiss the side of his neck. “Make your coffee, and then come back to bed,” I mumble against his skin.

“Yes, sir,” he replies with a sexy rasp to his voice.

Leaving him in my kitchen, I head upstairs and climb back into bed. I have to adjust the chubby state of my dick in my briefs as I grab my phone and open it to see if I have any notifications.

There’s another text from Luke, checking on me. After dinner Friday night, which I stuck around for, I went home in a pretty foul mood. I then proceeded to spend the entire day yesterday moping around in a heartbroken state. Luke and Sadie took turns texting me throughout the day to check on me.

I quickly text my brother back now and let him know that Jensen and I have talked and I am feeling better. Then I leave it at that. Luke will be protective, no matter what. He’s sort of a one strike and you’re out kind of guy. Especially when it comes to me.

Then I notice another text. This one is from Caleb.

Since he and I saw each other almost two years ago, after one of my indie shows in Texas, he’s only texted me sporadically and mostly just to share pics of his daughter, Abby. I can tell he doesn’t want to overstep and pull me back into a relationship I’m not ready to be in.

This one is different.

I’m sorry to have to be the one to tell you this. I had no idea it was going to happen like this, but rich men have a lot of power in Texas and there was nothing anyone could do.

I won’t get too legal on you, but the defense in Truett’s case found a flaw with the prosecution, essentially voiding their entire case against him. He’s been exonerated.

Adam doesn’t want to put Sage through hell again, so they’re not going to bother with any appeals.

Everyone is pretty upset.

We’re all thinking about you. And we love you.

This was the news we were expecting, wasn’t it? He’s free. Truett Goode always comes out on top.

Lucas was always worried that Truett would find a way to ruin my career. That he would out me or sabotage me in some way, but right now, I’m not afraid for myself.

I’m afraid for my family.

Ever since I left, it seems they’re falling apart. Caving in on themselves. Dad went off the rails. Then Adam followed suit, naturally. Caleb and Adam were fighting. Then Luke was just pissed at everyone.

I can’t help but feel like all of this is my fault. My running away left my family in shambles.

Rereading Caleb’s message over and over, I notice the last line and read it a little differently. I don’t think Caleb is saying the family is thinking about me in a sympathetic way. I think he means they’re all thinking about me…because they miss me.

Mom, Adam, Caleb, and Lucas are all struggling right now, and they’re thinking about me because I’m missing. And while I know that I owe them nothing and being a part of a family doesn’t really mean shit when it comes to responsibilities and ownership, I still feel a stronger pull than before.

They need me.

“Everything okay?” a voice asks from the doorway. Jensen is standing there with a cup of coffee in his hand, watching me with concern.

Suddenly, it’s like I get instant amnesia and I can’t remember a damn thing about my family. I toss my phone on the nightstand and recline on the pillow with my hands behind my head.

“Actually, everything is perfectly fine.”

“Oh yeah?” he asks, stepping closer and taking a sip. “And why’s that?”

“Because you…” I start, my voice trailing. Quickly, I pick up my phone and open the notepad. “Are perfectly mine.”

Jensen hesitates a moment, waiting for my response. “What are you doing?” he asks.

“Sorry,” I mumble, distracted. “Lyric idea.”

With that, he chuckles. “You did call me your muse.” He sits on the bed next to me with his coffee in hand. His feet cross at the ankles and he tries to sneak a peek at my phone.

I pull it away to hide it. “You can’t see it yet. My manager said I could have some studio time next month while we’re in New York. I want to have some material ready. Including your song.”

“My song,” he says wistfully. Then he presses his lips to my cheek. “I really like the sound of that.”