Total pages in book: 116
Estimated words: 110458 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 552(@200wpm)___ 442(@250wpm)___ 368(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 110458 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 552(@200wpm)___ 442(@250wpm)___ 368(@300wpm)
I blow out the breath I’m holding. “Maybe we should take him to a doctor.”
“No.” Rayne’s voice is so firm that I flinch. “He says absolutely no doctors. He doesn’t want to see a doctor. Not even at our house. He said there’s nothing wrong with him. But dude, I think he’s scared or something.”
“That makes sense,” I say slowly. I puff another breath out, just because my chest feels so tight.
“Anyway, he got a bunch of stuff and now he’s in the dressing room at Nordstrom. Edey and I are out here, and I’ve got a big-ass hat on.” He laughs softly.
“Thank you, Rayne.”
“Don’t be thanking me. You’re not the only nice guy with the surname McDowell.” I can tell Rayne’s teasing. I wrap an arm around myself and wish V was with me.
“No, you are,” I say.
“We both are. I miss you,” he adds. “When ya coming home?”
“Within the hour. It’s been a long day without you, but a lot got done.” I tell Rayne all about the plans in the works for what we’re calling The Rainbow Initiative, and somehow he has the energy to be here with me, present, sounding genuinely proud and happy.
“You didn’t get any sleep last night, did you?” I ask.
“He’s out of the fitting room. I’ll call ya back.” Rayne’s voice is husky. I’m not sure I’ve ever wanted him as much as I do right now.
‘Just so GOOD,’ I text him. Then I smile as I send a puckered lips emoji.
‘U are,’ he texts back within the next few minutes.
‘U getting him some stuff?’
‘Yup. Hate to force him to wear lame uncle V’s clothes.’
‘As if you could ever be lame.’
‘We’re old in his eyes, Sky. I can tell he’s thinking of us as old.’
‘The audacity.’ I throw in an upside down smilie.
‘Lol’
‘Get him a lot of stuff. And airport luggage,’ I tell Vance.
‘This is so weird’
‘I know, right? Stranger to family in a few hours. Welcome to pastor life, Vance.’
Welcome to pastor life. It’s the last text we exchange for a while, so it’s hanging in my mind as I drive toward the house after I leave work.
Welcome to pastor life. Is that what this is? I’m still living pastor life. I’m a gay pastor?
“I’m an out, gay pastor.” I laugh. Once it starts, I can’t stop grinning. “I’m an out, gay pastor. I’m the head pastor at Evermore! And…I’ve got a husband.”
I smile like a giddy kid through half a dozen red lights. Then I turn the music up and crack my car window and rub a hand back through my dark hair.
I’m gay. Sitting here in my car, thinking about my husband and our baby. Our baby whose birth mom wants to sit down with us tomorrow for a meeting. A very lawyerly meeting, that could end with us securing custody.
“I’m a gay man with a family. And a drop-by visitor.” I laugh, catching my own eyes in the rear-view.
I look happy.
I look really freaking happy.
Vance Rayne is my husband. We’ve got our own baby. And I’ve got a church to run. Also, people to help. I’m thinking of Miller as I pull into the driveway and I see an Escalade with New York plates.
Vance
I got Miller a whole bunch of shit at Nordstrom—everything from socks to two good suitcases. He tried to protest, but the poor guy’s in such rough shape, I don’t think he had the energy to fight back.
I ask how he feels about soft serve, and when he tells me he’s okay with it, we swing by a soft-serve drive thru that’s got a bunch of bizarre flavors. He gets cotton candy and I get peanut butter chocolate. When little Eden fusses while I pay at the window, Miller bounces her car seat the way I tell him to—because he’s already back there with her.
“Giving her some company,” he said nonchalantly when we first left the house.
I can tell he’s a good guy. And also really fucking broken. I’m not sure I’ve ever spent time with another person who seemed so vulnerable. Even though he doesn’t draw attention to himself, it’s like he just bleeds sadness.
I’m trying out my church-themed knock-knock jokes on him as I turn the McDowell household’s “spare” Escalade into the driveway. I press the button and the gate starts opening. I gas us up the little hill, and I squint.
Is that another black Escalade?
My stomach bottoms out when I notice the New York plates.
“Shit,” I whisper, pulling into the garage. Why does every time I come home have to bring some new fucking surprise?
“What’s wrong?” From behind me, Miller sounds nervous.
I put the car in park and turn to him. “Are you from New York state?”
“No. I’m from Virginia.”
I file that detail away. “I guess it could be another member of the cleaning staff or something. Catering.” Sky could have ordered food for us, I guess. That wouldn’t be too abnormal.