Wrath: A Sinful Secrets Romance, page 39
Ten
Ezra
I have to hang in till the semester’s over.
Practice is good. I sat out the day after taking all Xannies, but the other days—no fucking problem.
I’ve stopped jerking off since nothing gets me there except for thinking of my stepbrother sucking my balls. Pushing a finger into my hole. Taking my dick deep into his throat.
He’s dating someone. Someone who leaves black lipstick kiss marks on his freckled cheeks. Maybe it’s the guy from Tuscaloosa. I don’t know who. I deleted Snapchat and Instagram.
I should meet someone. Can't come out, though. People at this school would fucking crucify me. I would lose the starting job—that’s for sure.
One night when I can’t sleep, I look up that pastor. Luke McDowell. Is he really gay? There’s this video—some secret viral video—of him with his boyfriend. I watch the two of them together, and it gives me the tight, clawing feeling in my chest. There’s no more Xanax to take.
I add Snapchat and Instagram back, mostly just to torture myself.
The only thing I can choke down besides milkshakes is pizza. At least I’m eating the kind Josh likes.
That thought comes to me when I’m in the booth at Mama Ravioli’s one afternoon after practice, eating a medium pizza alone. As soon as my brain processes it, I start freaking out—like fucking losing it and shaking.
There in the booth, I check my phone’s archive of his stories and snaps. Does it say he likes ham and pineapple? Do I know that from his socials?
But it doesn’t say.
So I ask. I ask him on Snapchat. ‘What’s your fave pizza?’
He replies to me—within five minutes. He says ham and pineapple and asks why I’m asking.
I can barely make it home without losing my mind again. I get a bath and cry in the steam. That’s something college guys do, right?
Maybe we were friends, and maybe I’m remembering. But I can't ask him. Maybe I should talk to my dad.
I don't know.
I don't feel hungry after that.
There’s only one more practice before we have four days off.
I start planning, but there’s nothing I can commit to. The thought of smashing into the ground from way up high has started scaring me. I don’t like guns, either.
Josh is joining a fraternity.
It’s almost August.
I have dreams about the shock stick. I think of those cool hands on my legs, all those hands on other parts of me.
* * *
I could have done a lot of things, but I got on a bus. This is what they want me to do. Everybody good who loves me.
If somebody loves me.
No one kills themself on a bus.
There are all the hairspray smells. The talking about nephews. Birthday presents. I’m just one of many.
He’s staying in this weekend. He’s reading a book. I haven’t seen the spine yet.
I bought some pills from someone in Cottondale, but I’m not using them.
That’s not what people like me do.
People like me.
Everything feels like a joke, but I’m not laughing. I can’t sleep. I only have two bottles of water.
It’s a long ride. Longer than I thought it would be. Sometimes when we stop I want to get off and walk away, but I’m too scared of walking when I don’t know where I’m going.
Every road leads to the old, pale prison. Every road leads to those woods.
I brought my journal, one I bought at work, but I can’t write in it.
I’m hungry, so I decide to take the pills.
Pills are just a euphemism.
By the time we get to San Francisco, I don’t remember writing that.
* * *
I get a taxi to the church, but it’s too busy. I can’t get close. I ask the driver where the McDowell house is, and he takes me by it. I write down the address. Then I have him let me off at a park. I check the internet and he was right, my driver.
Why’s this pastor’s house so public?
Anyone could get in.
It was very stupid not to bring food.
I feel like I might pass out as I walk.
I’m at the gates of the place, feeling scared and stupid.
I’m not crying, though. I don’t have anywhere to go, and I’m a football player.
I’m so hungry.
Maybe they like football.
The boyfriend looked nice, and his name sounds poetic. All the forums said his name is Vance Rayne.
Should have stayed in Alabama. Someone drives through the gates right in front of me. I follow the car in and walk up the long driveway. I don’t feel well. Don’t they have security?
I see Miller from the bottom. My head in his lap.
I see these fantasies. Not for stepbrothers.
In the garage, I lie down to feel the cool cement on my skin. My mind whirs like a dishwasher. Promised land. And mentally ill. Keywords.
I pat my pocket for my phone before I pass out.
It’s cold in their garage, but I’m still thirsty. Can’t find water.
I can’t get my phone to work. My hands are shaking.
Stupid, stupid Christopher.
“It’s so disappointing, pastor. I had no idea that he was tempted by boys until his freshman year. Although there were signs.”
The cement floor is cool. My shoulder digs into it, hurting.
“Just be grateful we can pay for this place, Christopher. Other people like you have no help.”
I lie there till my throat feels like a rope’s winding around it. I can barely breathe, my tongue is so dry. My head aches so badly.
It reminds me of a time in that armchair, sitting up and Josh with a wet rag.
I’m thinking nonsense. Someone leaves out the back door. My heart’s beating weird. I wait as long as I can, and then I drag my body over to it. Rise up on my knees and turn the handle.
I hope they’re nice. I hope the Rayne one is here.
I try to get up and walk in, but my legs won’t let me. The last thought I have before the floor rises to meet me.
There’s spots in my vision. There’s this guy and baby. Not long hair, but he looks like the nice one. I inhale and hear myself ask, “Are you…Vance?”
"Who's asking?" The guy mean-eyes me. "We don't like to get surprise guests at our house. You need to start explaining or security will come down the stairs. Hold off for now, Steven," he calls, and my heart misses a few beats.
“I’m sorry.”
I try to get up—I’ve gotta go before this turns bad—but my legs are so weak. I end up grabbing for the wall and fumbling with some big painting, and the guy holding the baby gets more pissed off.
Everything is spinning as I sink back down to the floor.
Next time he talks, his voice is nicer. “What’s wrong, dude? What’s the what here?” I feel him standing over me. I hear the baby’s soft sounds. “You need some help or something?”
I lift my head to look up at him. “Don’t call the cops.” I’m gonna go soon…
He asks how old I am, and if I’ve got a knife or gun. I want to go, but I can’t get up. I don’t feel good.
“You have asthma? Are you hungry?”
He offers me food. Asks if I’m okay with dairy. Almost laugh at that one. Pretty sure he asks if I’m a Texan as the baby fusses and he moves around the kitchen, which is right down this hall.
I don’t think he’s gonna hurt me. I’ve been wrong before, though.
Eleven
Josh
July 29, 2019
I blink down at the frat porch’s dark wood floorboards, squeezing the phone as my mind stutters.
“Ezra what?” My voice sounds squeaky.
“His mother called Carl last night. She told him Ezra’s unaccounted for at college. She came down to visit and he’s not in his dorm. Apparently he doesn’t have a car, and the cell phone he’s using isn’t the number we have for him. He had a falling out with his mom and…I’m not sure. Seems like they haven’t been in contact. But she says he’s missing, that the people on his hall say he’s been gone a few days, and she’s going to file a report. Carl doesn’t think that she can do that, given his age, but—” Mom blows a breath out. “I’m calling you, Josh, only to just see if you know anything. Has he reached out to you? And can you keep an eye on your phone?”
“I don’t understand. The issue is he’s…not in his dorm?”
“Well, for three days. And she—his mother—can’t get in touch with him.”
“Why is that an emergency?”
“I don’t know, Joshua. That’s not the point. I called to let you know. To keep you informed.”
“Because he’s my ex?”
“And your stepbrother. And…” The line goes quiet. “His mom said he’d been back in the hospital. For mental health.”
“What?”
“I knew you’d have that reaction.” Her voice sounds high and strained. “I shouldn’t have mentioned it.”
“When?”
“When did he go to this place? She said it was right after he came to her house.”
“She sent him to inpatient?”
“She told me he asked to go,” my mom says sharply.
Tears fill my eyes.
“He wanted to go. He struggles with his mental health. That’s the concern, Josh. I don’t want to trouble you. I just wanted you to know.”
“To know what? That he’s not safe and no one knows where he is? That his dumb fuck mother couldn’t even keep a cell phone on him that she can track from her phone?”
“Joshua.”
“Well, she is a dumb fuck! If she can’t do that. How the hell will they find him now?”
“We’re—” I hang the phone up. Look over my shoulder. The pledge meeting is still going, but I can’t stay here. I slide my phone into my pocket and jog up the house’s tree-lined driveway.
* * *
Ezra
July 30, 2019
He’s nice and it’s okay.
Everything is jumbled in my mind.
I can go to sleep—just for a little bit.
I’m in a chair in a bedroom in their house. I’m here inside. The guy didn’t kick me out. Vance Rayne. He has a baby.
He told me he loves Luke McDowell. And also that he isn’t into hurting people.
How’d he know to say the part about he didn’t want to hurt me?
I fall sideways into the roar of my thoughts, like pitching on a carnival ride. Thoughts turn into dreams.
I’m on the bed in the clinic room at Alton, not strapped down because I can’t move. There’s a tube in my nose.
Paul is over my bed, smirking, taunting me. I can’t swallow the food. When I can’t eat, he shocks me with the shock stick. I hate how it burns.
Someone’s shaking my arms. Fuck! I try to get them off me, but I can’t. I’m too weak…
I open my eyes to a face I think I know, but I’m not sure where from. Then everything from last night rushes back. I realize I’m crying, and Luke McDowell, the famous TV pastor, is holding my shoulders, looking at me with wide, surprised eyes.
Fuck.
Then Vance is jogging into the room. He’s right beside Luke, and he’s looking at me in this…way…that makes me want to look down. “You okay?” he asks.
I shift how I’m sitting, looking at my lap as I wipe at my eyes. I try to shrug, and Luke McDowell lets go of me and his husband Vance Rayne puts a hand on my back.
“You’re okay,” he says, all quiet and nice, like he’s a family member or a good friend.
He says something to Luke—I think he sends him to check on their baby—and I think the pastor goes. I don’t know for sure because I’m still stuck in the dream. It’s this thing that happens sometimes, where I know I’m not back there but my body doesn’t. My heart’s racing, and I feel all weak and shaky.
“Hey, dude. What’s up? Or down?” Vance asks me.
I feel sick, but I say, “Nothing.”
“You remember last night?”
“Yeah.”
“Looks like you ate some of the chocolate chip cookies,” he says, still standing right by me. “That’s good. Water too?”
I flick my gaze up at him. “Are you my nurse?”
“Nah, man. Just checking in. You have a nightmare?” he asks. “Or you just upset?”
I blow a breath out, looking down at the rug. “Nightmare. I’m not upset.”
I’m a stalker, and my stalkee has a boyfriend. Now I want to hang myself—since Xanax doesn’t work.
“Okay,” he says. “I guess you met Luke.”
“Not really.”
“He’ll probably be back in just a second.”
“I don’t care if he is.” I rub my lips together, feeling dumb and fucking crazy for this. Why’d I come here?
“Yeah?” he asks. “You wanna tell me anything about how you wound up in the hall last night? What sorta things brought you to our house? I don’t know if you noticed, it’s kinda hard to get in.” I can hear the smile in his voice even though I’m looking at my lap.
“Yeah,” I force myself to say. “I noticed.”
“You come to talk to Pastor Luke?” His tone is gentle, like he knows I’m fucked up. I don’t like it. I don’t like anything. I should be dead.
“Sorry to trouble both of you,” I tell him, looking up. “I’m ready to get going now.”
What follows is a long list of the reasons Pastor Luke’s new husband, the poetically named Vance Rayne, thinks I shouldn’t go. He acts like he wants me here, like the two of them have nothing better to do than help me out. Especially if I’m gay—that’s what he says.
Like last night, I get the impression he’s a good guy. Like…a real one. It’s weird as hell to me that he’s got such foul language while being married to a famous pastor. Also that the two of them are really gay. A gay pastor. I try to distract from the train wreck that’s me by ribbing the guy about his love of four-letter words, and he defends himself, grinning the whole time.
He seems…happy. I realize that’s what it is. Maybe happy is the wrong word. He seems content. Like he’s so comfortable in his skin. I can’t help wondering what he’d think about me if he knew all my shit. Would he still be comfortable and nice, with kind eyes and that reassuring manner? Or would it freak him out, be way above his paygrade? What about his husband? How would the pastor feel if I asked him what I came here to ask?
Such a dumb fuck, I tell myself, rubbing a hand over my hair.
“Listen, dude. Nobody’s gonna keep you here if you don’t wanna stay, but chew on it. And let’s go to the den and watch some boob tube and get more food for ya.”
I snort at him saying boob tube. “That’s what my Mom’s dad used to call it.”
He does little guns with his fingers, pointing at me and saying, “I’m not your mom’s dad” with a twinkle in his eye.
“But you are a dad.” I’m smirking as I push off the chair’s arms and to my feet.
“I am a dad,” he says, opening the bedroom door to the hall. “Can you believe they just give little wiggly babies to novices?”
“Well, they’re born from a mother,” I point out. “Are the moms really novices?” I can’t help another big smirk.
He gives me stink eye over his shoulder as we move through the hall. “Honestly?” he says, sounding more serious, “I sort of think they are.”
“What about instincts?” I ask.
“Mothering instincts?” he says. “Can’t speak on that. All I know is my instinct is to hold her like a doll and never put her down. Also, you know…all moms don’t have instincts. Unfortunately.”
That hits me right in the chest.
I feel sick remembering my dream and thinking of my mother as I follow Vance through the living area and toward the kitchen. Does she have no instincts, or is it just me? I really think it’s just her feelings about me—because when I was little and she didn’t know the real me, she was so much nicer. More like a mom.
“Sit down right there, Padawan,” Vance says, pointing to a glass-topped, round table in the kitchen area.
“Star Wars?” I ask.
“Hell to the yeah,” he says, opening a kitchen cabinet. Then Luke McDowell comes in with their baby, and the baby’s fussing.
“Oh snap. Look at you,” Vance coos to the baby. “Someone needs a bottle.” I watch as he looks down at her, as his face softens and his mouth curves, and he looks into the pastor’s eyes and they share this…look. It makes my chest feel hot and tight. It makes my throat ache.
I look at the table, and then Luke McDowell is standing near me. I can smell him. Some kind of cologne, I guess. There’s a long moment of silence, as Vance preps a bottle for the baby. Then Luke says, “We’re glad you stopped by.”
I look up at him like wuttt, and he gives me a funny little smile. “I mean it,” he says, his eyes doing the twinkle thing like Vance’s do. Like everything in life is so amusing. “You’re our first real house guest since we hitched our carts together.”
“Where’d you come to us from, Padawan? If you don’t mind,” Vance says.
“Endor,” I say, reaching. I’m not sure they’ll get it, but the pastor’s face lights up, then stretches with a big grin, and Vance gives a low whistle as he puts a bottle into some kind of small, round machine.
“The boy knows his Star Wars,” Luke says, clearly approving.
“Pastor McDowell here has got a real light saber,” Vance says. “From one of the sets. We’ll have to show you.”
“Really?” I ask.
The pastor’s eyes move over my face as he nods. “That’s right. Vance’s favorite thing about me.”
Vance snorts, and Luke gives him a smirky little look as he starts to bounce the baby more.
Finally, the bottle’s ready. Luke starts feeding the baby and Vance takes a seat at the table, where he chats my fucking ear off. I gotta give it to him—dude is personable. Pastor Luke has got that whole chill, older dude vibe going. He seems nice, a little serious or shy, maybe. Thoughtful, I guess. Vance seems thoughtful, too, but really friendly. It’s like…his husband is more of a closed door—half closed, anyway—but Vance Rayne puts it all out on the table. When he talks to me or asks a question, I feel like he’s focusing on me with all his focus powers.
