by Ella James
I run my hands over him. “I need you. Before I have to go to the board. And go out…and deal with people…knowing…judging. I want to be with you.”
“Well shit, that’s not compelling.” He shakes his head. “You’ve got that nurse coming in fifteen minutes.” He tucks his erection back into his boxer-briefs.
I rub my own. “After.”
“If you still feel like it.” He touches his forehead to mine. “Luke. I want you to really be sure. I can’t do the back and forth stuff. Not even for you.”
“I’m sure. Of you,” I whisper. “What I’m less sure of is my work.”
“Really?” I can’t tell what he thinks, so I shut my eyes. I don’t want see his face, know his opinion right now.
I nod. “I’m just…really tired. I have a showbiz smile,” I whisper, thinking back to what Pearl says.
“You mean like your public smile, the one you do when you’re out places?”
I nod.
“I’ve got one of those, too. Yours is just a fuck lot better than the rest of ours.”
I smile a little. “I just want to live a real life. I don’t want to compromise it.”
“Yeah, but this is your work.”
“Maybe I could change it somehow.”
“Why should you have to? Because of who you love?”
I shut my eyes again. “Doesn’t matter. ‘Why should.’ It just is—or isn’t. Anyway,” I whisper. “May not get an option.”
“If they wanted to, could the elders ask you to go?”
“Yes.”
“Do you think that’s likely?”
I shrug. I don’t want to speculate. It’s painful in a way I feel too tired to explain right now. “Every person on the board…knows me.”
“So they should come at it from that angle.”
I take a long, slow breath to stop my spinning head. “I don’t know.”
His lips brush my forehead. “Are you hungry? I went out into the den a little earlier, and Pearl was making pancakes.”
The nurse comes in then, interrupting us. She checks the spot under the bandage at my neck, the one at my groin, then gets my other vitals while Vance disappears into the bathroom. She helps me into the chair—using that nurse magic where they know how to help you move with minimal energy.
“How do you feel, young man?” Her kindly grandma eyes are on mine.
I feel honest. “Not so young.”
“You’ll be old one day, and that will seem a silly sentiment.”
My eyes ache. I will be old. I want to be old with Vance.
She leaves with a few kind words, and Vance comes out.
“What did the nurse say?”
“All good—with my body, anyway. When I left the hospital, they said walk a lot.”
He helps me up. “Let’s walk, then.”
VANCE
We walk out into an empty house. There’s a note from Pearl on the counter beside a plate piled high with pancakes and covered with tinfoil.
Arman and I will be back to check on you boys soon. She drew an arrow pointing at the plate. Pancakes!!
“You boys.” I grin. “Do you think she knew, Luke?”
He smiles. “Oh, I know she did. I was doctoring the footage of me coming through your atrium and out into the garden. But a few times when I went to do it, someone else had.”
“She’s a good friend. Really cares about you.”
“I care about her, too.” Luke reaches for my jaw and strokes it. “Tell you something. Not to make you feel bad. She kind of planned the Spain thing when we were up in Ottawa…and said I couldn’t go…mostly so I could figure out this with you.”
“Damn. You said you couldn’t go?”
He shoves me. “I was only going to officiate. Only four of their friends went.”
“I guess that’s better.” I kiss his head. Then I let my gaze run down his body. “How’re you feeling, Sky? You really okay?”
“Yeah.”
We eat our pancakes on the couch, and he looks tired.
“What happened? You just got sicker and…”
He stares out at the wall in front of us. Swallows and shuts his eyes. And he says, “I don’t want to tell you.”
“So you won’t. Unless you change your mind.”
He takes my hand and tugs me so I’m lying up against him. “How did I get lucky like this?”
I kiss his head. “Why don’t you sleep on it? See if the answer comes to you in dreams.”
I pull a blanket over us, and there we sleep.
30
Luke
The Board of Elders meeting is scheduled three nights after I found out about the video’s existence. Early in the day, before the meeting, I issue a statement about the video. I do it that way on purpose, so the board can see, before our meeting, that I’m doing this part—the personal part of all this—my way. If they don’t like that, they can ask me to go.
“There is a video of myself and another man circulating online and in tabloids. It was filmed through the curtains of a sick bay in an ER, where I was being treated for a serious health issue. The man shown comforting me is my partner. While I would, like everyone, prefer my private life stay private, I realize it often will not. I am a public figure with a very public ministry. I’ve long understood a consequence of that is scrutiny and commentary. I’m a minister, and I am gay. To me, these two facts are compatible. I avoided coming out for too long due to fear and shame. Not the fear that God did not make me in His likeness, but that others may condemn or disassociate with me. I am thankful for this video, because it helped me be more honest about my truths. I appreciate the support of loved ones during this time. I appreciate the patience of my partner. I appreciate your kindness and your understanding in the future, as I work through the challenges and enjoy the pleasures that I know will come with being out. Sincerely, Luke McDowell”
Vance and I have been fake jousting with the Star Wars light sabers—and with our own—for the last two days. I’m stronger. Not too weak to stand and speak, no longer dizzy. But…it’s new, this feeling—being out. I feel like a turtle with no shell.
“It should get easier,” Vance tells me. “You know that, though.”
I nod, and squeeze his hand.
It’s 4:40 PM, and he’s driving the Tesla. He park in the garage and we get out together. Vance takes my hand.
“Do you like this?” he asks. “You want me to let go?”
“Don’t let go.”
“I wish I could go in there with you.”
“I wish you could too. But it’ll be okay.”
We make the trek toward my office together. His thumb strokes the top of my hand as we pass his atrium and head up the stairs. I have to stop and rest, and Vance looks worried. “Maybe we should have taken the elevator.”
“It’s good for me.”
His lips press against mine. “I love you. You can handle this.”
My heart pounds as he pushes the stairwell doorway open for me. He holds it, and I step out—and almost pass out. I thought I was pretty steady, but my knees nearly buckle. Vance is by me, and he’s got his arm around me. He holds me against him as I look around the pastor’s suite through eyes that smear and sparkle.
I’m so overwhelmed, I start to do my breathing thing, and Vance turns me away from the crowd.
“I didn’t know about this,” he says. “Fuck. I think it’s good, though. You okay?”
I nod, and we turn slowly back around.
I spot Pearl in front, holding a microphone. “I’m sorry, PL. Are we too much?”
The room laughs. “Listen, this is a little bit unorthodox. I know,” she says. “And we debated if it might not be a great idea.”
That makes me laugh. “So do it, right?”
She grins. “So do it. C’mon, breathe, PL.” I breathe, and Pearl wipes her eyes. “This is kind of like that show Love It or Leave It—Evermore edition. And you know we’re gonna love you, right, PL?”
Vance
’s grip on my waist tightens.
Someone else steps forward. It’s Casey Blevins from the board of elders. Pearl passes the mic to her. “I’m so glad to see you well, Luke. We’ve discussed this, and the board would be most pleased if you would stay on in your role. You can carry on as usual from now forward, if you’d like to. But we’d like to offer—maybe encourage,” she says, and it looks like her eyes move to Vance then— “you to take a week or two away. Take some time and give yourself time to heal.”
I don’t really mean to speak aloud. I meet her eyes as I half whisper, “Everyone?”
She smiles. “We elders aren’t always sure how to interpret theology. Sometimes we may even get a little too caught up in matters of rightness and wrongness. But we support you. It’s a common ground.”
I wipe my eyes. A lot of tears are running down my cheeks. Vance wipes some for me.
“Vance,” Casey adds, “we’re honored by your work here, and we look forward to getting to know you more. Okay—” she smiles— “with no further ado, let’s get the Get Well Party started.”
It’s a weird experience, to put it mildly. People I’ve known for years, and know well, coming up and hugging me and introducing themselves to Vance. The back pats, arm squeezes, and kind words roll over both of us like waves at high tide. After more than an hour of non-stop talking, joking, and greeting, my stomach feels hollow, my legs a little bit unsteady. Pearl gets my office chair and parks me by the cake.
Vance sits by me as we talk to donors, elders, church staff, and some of the members who serve in layman’s roles.
The only elder I don’t see is Howard Lindley. I ask Pearl, and she says, “Later.” I look at my phone a little while later and see a text from her. Howard left the board. But not the church. He said he emailed you.
I read the email in my en suite office bathroom when Vance and I sneak off to get a moment.
Pastor Luke,
I congratulate you on your improving health and on your ability to foster such a loyal group of elders. I will no longer be one of them, but I will remain a proud member of Evermore United Church. As you know, I’m one of those with theological uncertainties. I wish you and your artist friend nothing but gladness nonetheless.
Sincerely,
H. Lindley
I laugh. “Wow. That guy’s the most anti-rainbow-flag-flying member of the entire board.”
“Was.” Vance winks.
“That’s crazy. It’s a decently nice letter.” I shake my head and pull Vance against me. “How’d I get so freaking lucky with this?”
He grins. “Did you just say freaking?”
I whisper against his cheek. “I’m allowed to say freaking.”
“Freaking Luke.”
We kiss until we’re breathless—okay, more just I am—and then lean against my desk together, looking out over the campus.
“Do you think the church at large knows about this—that the elders want you to stay?”
I shake my head. “Pearl told me earlier that only senior staff and other leadership got the memo about tonight. Only those who could be supportive were supposed to come. She invited 130 and said there were 106 who came. And no angry emails.”
“If there are, I hope someone who’s not you will get them.”
I nod. “Ansley.”
“What do you think about what they said?” Vance asks. “Do you want to take some time off?”
“If you do.”
“Do you want to?”
“I don’t know. I feel like if I do, people—like church members—might see it as me stepping aside. But maybe that’s a good thing. I could see how they react. If a lot of them don’t want a gay church leader, I’m not sure I want to be theirs.”
He hugs me close. “Bravest dude.” He kisses my hair. “Don’t forget it. Ever.”
We stay at the party just a few more minutes. Then we walk toward the garage. Vance stops as we near his atrium.
“Hey, you want to go outside and see the flags they talked about?” Everyone stuck rainbow flags on the front lawn, or so we were told.
“Yeah. I think I do.”
We step outside and find the whole lawn covered.
“Wow.”
Vance drapes an arm around me. I’m a mess. I wipe my eyes.
We take the path that leads to the sidewalk in front of the church and stroll for a minute. “Could you ever live here?” I ask, turning toward him. “Anywhere around here?”
Vance snorts. “Could I live in one of the best places in the country? If I decided that I should so I could be near you? That’s an easy one.”
With my back to the road beside us, I take both of his hands. “Vance Rayne, I don’t know what I’d do—”
I stop because his face is stretching into the Vance version of The Scream. There’s a low roar—a rev—and then I’m shoved so hard, I topple face first toward the sea of flags.
By the time I get up, it’s already after.
Vance is on his back in the grass between street and sidewalk, his eyes blinking quickly at the dark sky, his mouth opening and closing. I notice his arm is bent behind him weirdly. I hear shouting. There’s a car parked just a little bit in front of us. Someone’s shouting at us through its window. I’m so focused on Vance, I don’t even process that.
I drop down beside him in the grass, my whole body tossed into some transcendental realm—my hands shaking so much I can barely get them to reach for him—my soul racked by the most primal terror.
“Vance?”
His eyes are wide and dazed. His mouth is bloody.
My hand touches his forehead. “Vance? Are you okay?”
He tries to answer me, I guess. That’s how he ends up choking on a mouthful of his own blood. I push my hand back into his hair, draw it back because it’s warm and sticky.
“Vance?” My eyes fly from his gray face to the screaming moron, who jumps back into his car. The car that hit Vance. A wave of helpless fury fills me—so much so that I don’t look back down until my Vance’s eyes are closing.
“Vance! OPEN YOUR EYES!” I shake him, and he starts to choke again. I stand up, fall down to my knees. I don’t know what to do! “Please! Vance please Vance please Vance please...” His eyes squeeze more tightly shut. A tear slips out. “Vance! You gotta look at me! I love you.” At that, his eyelids flutter.
There are people running up behind us.
“Do you see those tire tracks?”
“—heard that loud rev—”
“—someone sped off—”
“Pastor!”
“Vance!” I shake him hard, and—nothing. “Vance, please!”
I grab onto his shoulders and drag him into my lap. “Oh Vance, no. Please, please…no, no, no.” Someone is sobbing. Then someone is screaming.
31
Luke
“Luke?” Something soft and warm rubs my back. I recoil from the touch, lift my head from the bed.
“Hey.” It’s Pearl again. Her palm traces a circle on my shoulder, and I grit my teeth to keep from screaming. “I brought soup. And more clothes. Just in case you want to shower? Or have something to eat? The soup is good. It’s more—”
“No.”
I can’t see her—she’s in the plastic chair that’s slightly behind mine—but I can see her face in my imagination. Wide eyes, parted lips. Oh. So surprised.
“Thank you Pearl.” I let my breath out slowly. Inhale through my nose, holding the air in my lungs for a second before slowly releasing. I shut my eyes and try to sound more human. “Thank you. You can go now.”
“Luke, it’s been two days and—”
“You can go now.”
“You smell like a wild boar.”
My lips twitch before I press them flat. “Later.”
“There’s still blood on your shirt.”
“And his hair.” I don’t mean to say those words aloud, but I do, and Pearl sees them for what they are—a crack in my fortress.
“I don’t think
he much cares. He would wash it out if he could. He would tell your wild boar self to get a freaking shower.”
I rearrange my arms on the side of his bed and push my face into them, the warm skin of my forehead seeming hotter than it really is when pressed against the cool skin of my bicep.
“Just be honest, why don’t you? If Vance could see you right now, he would hate it.”
Beeps and whooshes, clicks and snuffs and squeaks and hums fill up the silence in between us. Music of the ICU. The silent drips of IV medication into tubes that disappear into his body give me something to watch when I can’t stand to rest my eyes on his face, on his gauze-wrapped head and taped, half-open mouth and tube- and on his gorgeous body, propped in such an odd position, held at the right angle by pillows and rolled up towels.
It’s been closer to three days—Pearl was wrong when she said two. Fifty-six hours, thirty-one minutes, and a handful of seconds since I chased his stretcher through the doors of UCSF Medical Center and raised holy hell when someone tried to keep me from his side.
It didn’t matter, as it happened. Unlike me, when I arrived aching with sepsis, Vance had no clue what went on around him. No one could stay with him as they wheeled him into surgery to put pins in his mangled arm and stitch his busted head and punch a tube into his chest to drain the blood that was filling his chest.
When the car plowed over him, it was going thirty miles an hour, and the impact damaged his lungs, crushed his arm, snapped two of his ribs. When he hit the pavement, the impact cracked his skull.
Just a hairline fracture. I’ve heard that a thousand times. No brain damage—but because of how his lungs were messed up by the impact, he’s been put into a coma-like state, hooked up to a ventilator since we got here. “Letting him just settle down,” as one of the nurses repeats eighty-seven times a day.
I look at his IV bags. I know what every one of them holds. What his dose is. Why, and how long they think he’ll be getting it. I know it’s helping him get better, but I hate it anyway.
I hate how he’s got black eyes, and how someone had to stitch his cheek—because somehow, as he flew through the air, one of the bushes from the church lawn scratched so deep, it scraped his cheekbone.
