Chapter 11

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.

Ezr a

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.

I know it means my gut was right from last night, that he really is a nice person, but I can’t say I like it.

I try to evade his carefully casual questions. I’m sure he notices, but he’s not pressing. Neither is Pastor McDowell. He’s gazing down at his baby, and I start re-thinking my perceptions of a woman’s mothering instinct. These two seem like they’re doing okay.

I wonder if I could, too . The thought is out of my head before I can shove it back in. I drum my fingers on the table. Then I notice the baby’s sorta stopped drinking. She looks more sprawled out on the pastor’s arm, like she’s falling asleep. That’s funny. Luke hands her off to Vance, who snuggles her against his chest, looking smitten as he peers down at her.

Luke sits down across from me. There’s more shooting the shit. I tell them that my name is Miller, and I start to get the clawing feeling again. Like something’s ripping at the inside of my chest behind my pecs.

Finally, when I get the chance, when I feel brave—just for a second—I say what I came here to say. “I want to ask you something.”

Luke McDowell looks surprised and actually says, “Me?”

I almost ask him if he’s sure he’s a real pastor. Lots of them seem perfectly happy to become the sole authority on everything. The more I’m in the room with him, the more I think this guy is a blond Nordstrom model with a classically attractive face and hipster glasses.

I don’t know if I can talk about this at all…but if I do, I can’t handle Vance Rayne’s nice eyes on me. And anyway, the question I have is more for a pastor.

My heart pounds as I say, “Can I ask the question in private?”