Page 23

Twenty-Two

Jensen

I ’ve never told anyone the story of what happened to me in Eternal Harmony. I think a part of me just didn’t want to accept that it was real or that there was anything wrong with it. I just wanted to move on with my life.

I made it out alive. But in so many ways, I never made it to the living part.

After two amazing weeks, when Isaac and I were hardly separated, he had to leave again for his tour. His first stop is in Little Rock, but I have too many things at work I need to catch up on to go to that one.

The urge to climb onto that tour bus with him was so strong. But if we’re trying to keep a low profile, that’s probably not the way to do it.

So I’m meeting him in Nashville in six days. My bed is so lonely and cold compared to his when we can sleep together. Rolling over every night without having his body pressed up against mine is just downright depressing.

I haven’t told him yet, but I’m fairly certain I love him. It was a hard emotion to grasp at first, mostly because a part of me has always loved Isaac. When he was just a celebrity to me, Theo Virgil, my favorite singer and songwriter, I loved him in a different way.

But now I know his heart, and I feel the way it beats with mine. He is the melody I’ve been waiting for my entire life. And for the first time, I believe that change really is possible. Isaac changes me. He changes the fear and shame into faith and pride. He’s giving me back what was taken so long ago.

He’s making me the man fifteen-year-old Jensen needed.

Sitting at my desk in the church, I stare down at my notes for Sunday’s sermon. I’ve noticed the way my messages have changed over the last four weeks. I notice the subtle shift in myself, providing messages of hope, community and acceptance. I refuse to preach hate or judgment. I never did. But…could I do more?

Eternal Harmony still exists. They email me all the time, inviting me back.

The thought of them getting to my congregation makes me bristle with anger. I’ve let so many down before, but I won’t let them down again.

With that, I erase the last line of what I have written. And I write a new one.

“God’s love is unconditional. And if anyone tries to tell you differently, then they don’t speak for him. They speak for themselves. And I know God’s love is unconditional because I feel it. And I am a sinner, just like you.”

It’s a bit intense. And it might ruffle a few feathers, but I like it.

My phone starts ringing on the desk beside my paper. Isaac’s name is displayed on the screen. With a smile, I pick it up.

“Hello,” I say softly.

“Fuck, I miss you,” he says with a groan.

“Then why aren’t you video calling me naked?” I ask, keeping my voice down although my door is closed, and I know the place is mostly empty today.

“Because I’m at the venue. We had our dress rehearsal today.”

“You sound tired,” I reply.

“I’m exhausted. I could hardly sleep without you.”

I chuckle in response. “Don’t be dramatic.”

“I have to be. I’m hoping if you hear how pathetic I sound without you, you’ll fly out early to see me. I’m so pathetic, Jensen. Please. Save me.”

Dammit, he’s so cute.

“You do sound pathetic,” I reply, leaning back in my office chair.

“I need my big, sexy daddy to come on tour with me.”

My chair bolts upright as my eyes widen. Blood courses through my veins and straight to my cock at the sound of that word. I have never been called… that before because I never thought I’d like it, but holy shit…

I think I do.

“Too much?” he asks after a moment of silence. “It was a joke, Jens. I’m not going to actually call you that.”

I clear my throat.

“I mean…unless you want me to,” he adds.

“I hope you’re alone,” I say, my voice tight and deep.

“Well, Lola is with me, but she’s used to it. She just made a vomit face, though, so I don’t think she enjoyed that.”

I can’t help but laugh again. I still can’t properly form words after he said that , though. It’s only been two days since I last had him naked, but maybe it’s the withdrawals that have me reacting this way.

“I miss you,” I mumble. “Only six more days.”

“Book a one-way instead of a round trip and just come with me for the rest of the tour. I’ll keep you hidden. I promise.”

“I wish I could,” I reply sadly.

“I know you do.”

There are sounds in the background and voices telling me he’s no longer alone.

“I gotta go,” he says despondently. “We have some press interview to do.”

“Okay. Call me later then,” I reply.

“I will.”

The line hangs in silence as unspoken words linger between us. Words normally used at the end of a phone conversation between two people who care very much for each other.

But we haven’t said it yet and I’m not about to say it first over a phone line.

“Bye, Jensen,” he mumbles after a moment.

“Isaac, wait,” I call. He pauses, so I quickly add, “I did like it.”

With that, I hang up.

Smiling, I wait, staring down at my phone. Then, just as expected, a moment later, I get a text from him.

That was so hot.

It makes me laugh as I turn my attention back to the sermon I was writing.

“Have a good night, guys,” I say as I walk down the hallway from my office to the door. There are still people working, but I’ve finished my sermon, signed all the forms I have to sign, and replied to all the emails I need to.

But there’s a lot that goes on behind the scenes that keeps others here far later than me. Community outreach, Bible studies, charity organizations, and so on, and so on. There’s a sense of pride when I leave the office each night, knowing that we’re a part of something good . That’s what got me into this. Maybe it was an atonement for what I’d done with Eternal Harmony. Maybe it was trying to fix my own relationship with the church, but being here and making this place something amazing fills my soul with a richness I can’t get anywhere else.

“Jensen, wait,” a voice calls from behind me as I reach the door to the employee parking lot. I pause and turn to find Pete, one of the band members, jogging down the hall toward me.

“Everything okay?” I ask.

“Yeah,” he mutters uncomfortably. “We were about to start rehearsal, but…there’s a guy sitting in the pews that I think you should see.”

My brow furrows, and I bristle internally as my mind runs through different scenarios and options.

“Is he showing signs of aggression?” I ask.

Pete shakes his head. “No, not at all. It’s just… Come see.”

Walking behind him, I clutch my bag tightly in my hand, squeezing the leather handle and reminding myself to breathe. Pete opens the door, and I stare down the aisle at the back of a gray-haired man’s head. Hesitantly, I walk down toward him.

It’s not often that people pose threats to churches, but it happens. We don’t have security at the door, so it’s not impossible that someone could waltz in here and do serious and tragic damage.

“I’ve got it, Pete. Thank you,” I mumble to the man behind me, gesturing for him to stay back.

As I approach the old man in the seat, I think about Isaac. If I do get hurt, it would devastate him. I have to keep myself safe for him .

“Excuse me, sir. Our next service is Sunday at?—”

“At nine. I know,” he replies gruffly. I pause at the familiarity of his southern drawl. “And again at eleven.”

I take the remaining steps until I’m standing close enough to take in the man’s profile, and I nearly gasp in shock. He looks different than I remember. Gaunt, aged, tired. Nothing like the man who once stood at that pulpit.

He turns to me with a sad sort of smile on his face. “You must be my replacement,” he drawls.

My heart picks up speed, and every breath becomes weighted as I draw air into my lungs. There’s a sense of internal panic that somehow he knows .

But he can’t know about me and Isaac. No one knows.

Regardless, I can’t seem to wrap my mind around the fact that Isaac’s father is sitting in front of me. In a daze, I take the seat across the aisle from him and stare at him in shock.

“I’m Truett?—”

“I know who you are,” I stammer, cutting him off. “Truett Goode.”

His mouth lifts in the corner in an expression of faded pride.

“What are you doing here?” I ask.

His smile fades. “I built this place. I stood up there for over twenty years.”

If I close my eyes, I can see him standing there. Speaking words that brought goose bumps to my skin.

“I just wanted to see it again,” he whispers sadly. I don’t respond, still too struck that he’s sitting here. So, he continues, “I loved being up there. People listened to me. They respected me. I meant something to this community.”

Truett gazes longingly up at the pulpit like it’s a long-lost lover, and I gape at him, trying to understand where it went wrong. How did a man fall so far? How do I avoid the same fate?

“You know…” he mumbles with a smirk on his mouth. “I didn’t talk until I was six years old. And I don’t know if it was because I couldn’t…or because I was afraid to. People who speak up tend to be the first ones knocked down. Being quiet is safer. If nobody notices you, then nobody can hurt you.”

My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I don’t need to pull it out to know it’s Isaac. I draw in a shaky breath as I stare at his father across the aisle.

“My daddy was a mean man, Mr. Miles,” Truett says, and my brows pinch inward in confusion. Is this a moment of senility? What is he talking about?

“He brought us to church every Sunday and beat the tar out of us every Monday. But if I was quiet, he’d skip me. Beat my brother instead.”

I swallow before glancing around to find that I’m alone with this man. He’s talking like a man on the edge, a man about to lose control. But I stay steady, keeping him calm. I’ve heard what he did to Adam’s wife. I know he’s capable of violent rage. And if he knows about me and his son…

“I’m sorry to hear that,” I murmur.

He chuckles to himself. Then he turns to me. “What do you think makes a good man, Mr. Miles?”

The fact that he knows my name without me having to tell him makes my blood run cold. I imagine him in some room somewhere, researching my name. Finding out about me and my family with some vendetta. Would he hurt me because I took the church he lost?

I swallow, and once again, I think of Isaac.

“I think being a good man has nothing to do with God or church. I think being a good man means that every night you can lay your head on that pillow and know that the world is a little better because you’re in it.”

He looks into my eyes, and I notice the hollowness in his. There’s not much left in him.

Then his mouth breaks into a smile again. “I bet you make a good fucking preacher,” he says with a laugh, and I wince before looking up at the cross hanging behind the pulpit. “But not a very good man.”

My body turns frigid as I stare at him. “I think it’s time for you to go, Mr. Goode.”

“Yeah, I think so too,” he mumbles sadly.

Before he stands, I put a hand out. “Can we pray?” I ask, hoping for some way to reconcile this.

He huffs with a shake of his head. “Don’t bother.”

With that, he stands and shuffles up the aisle toward the door. When I hear it close behind him, I take the first deep breath I’ve taken since I walked in here. Dropping my elbows on my knees, I stare straight at the pulpit at the front of the room as the weight of that conversation rolls over me.

Tears prick my eyes for no reason at all. There are so many thoughts and feelings in my mind at once that it’s impossible to grasp just one. Fear, shame, relief, hopelessness, and regret all swirl together like some self-deprecating mental cocktail.

Will I become like Truett Goode?

Am I a fraud for standing where he stood?

Does my position hurt people like me? People like Isaac?

Am I a good man?

Isaac seems to think so, but I’m willing to bet there was a time in his life when he thought Truett Goode was, too.