The Preacher's Son

by Lisa Henry

  Jason could have kept his mouth shut.

  He hadn’t.

  “What if I don’t want to get married?”

  Reverend Tull had laughed. “Oh, I think you’ll change your mind in a few years, Jason, when you meet the right young lady.”

  Patronizing fuck.

  “If I ever get married, it wouldn’t be to a woman.”

  Banning out.

  Mic drop.

  Stunned silence in the little hall.

  Jason had stormed out, full of righteous anger. In that moment he’d hated being back in the States, hated Pinehurst, and hated Reverend Timothy Tull most of all. Because Jason’s parents had always told him to be whatever he wanted to be, as long as he was happy. And who the fuck did this Creeping Jesus asshole think he was to try and tell Jason different? To spit on their memories like that? He’d lost his Mom and Dad, and his freedom, and his future, and every fucking thing he’d ever had. Nobody got to take his parents’ acceptance away from him.

  He’d refused to go back to the church after that, and Rose hadn’t pushed.

  “He wants to meet me for coffee. I tried to tell him yesterday that I was sorry, and he—” Jason could hardly say it aloud. “He cried. What am I supposed to say to him?”

  Rose sipped her tea and then set the mug down on the table. “Maybe you don’t have to say anything at all. Maybe you just need to listen.”

  Nate parked half a block down from Carli’s Coffee. It was ten past eleven when he pushed open the door, making the chimes dance, and he half-hoped that Jason had given up and left. But no, there he was sitting at a corner table, reading something on his tablet. He glanced up and met Nate’s gaze—Nate’s heart beat faster—then he nodded and looked down at this tablet again.

  Nate ordered his coffee, and waited to collect it before he went and sat.

  Jason flipped the cover closed on his tablet. “Nate.”

  God. The way Jason said his name; low, quiet, a little gravelly, made a lick of heat uncurl in Nate’s belly. He sucked in a deep breath and held it until the feeling passed. Lust was an unhealthy reaction to this situation, to this man. If there were things about Jason that Nate found attractive, he had to sublimate them. Jason had many admirable qualities; his fearlessness, his intelligence, his zeal. But it was so hard to think objectively about those qualities when suddenly all Nate could remember was the feeling of Jason’s hands and mouth on his skin. The feeling of Jason inside him.

  His hands shook as he stirred sugar into his coffee. “I, um, I wanted to talk to you about yesterday. What happened at the camp. My reaction to seeing you.”

  Jason’s eyes were suddenly full of misery. “I—”

  “Please, let me talk.” Nate didn’t trust himself to lift his cup. He folded his hands in his lap. “I’m sorry you saw me like that. I want you to know that I don’t blame you for what happened between us.”

  Jason shook his head slightly. “Fuck, dude. Nobody’s that selfless.”

  Nate clenched his fingers into fists. “I don’t think you understand what I’m trying to say. I don’t like that you filmed us. I don’t like that the pictures were—are—

  everywhere. But even if you hadn’t done that, the outcome would have been the same. I’d still have slept with you. I’d still have told my father. And I’d still have repented.”

  Would he have? God. Would he?

  He’d intended to be fearless too. Intended to borrow some of Jason’s courage, bolstered by the memory of their perfect night together, and step out into the world as a gay man. Then the scandal had hit. The betrayal and the humiliation. The tears. The sleepless nights. The day he’d taken a razor and—

  And then his father’s love and warmth and comfort. The promise that he didn’t have to feel afraid or ashamed or alone again. Repentance and redemption.

  He saw Jason open his mouth then close it. “I’m listening,” Jason said tightly.

  “I don’t want to...go on like this,” Nate said. “I don’t want to avoid you or, or have a breakdown when I see you. I should have let you apologize yesterday, if that’s what you needed to do, but...”

  “But I challenged you when you said you were happy. I tried to tell you how to feel, just like back at UW.” Going by Jason’s expression, he was as surprised by his words as Nate.

  Nate forced himself to relax. Unclenched his hands. “But I did feel the way you thought,” he said softly. “That night.” Jason waited. Nate had wanted this conversation to be an honest one. But he had to keep in mind that Jason wasn’t trustworthy.

  Still, the truth was worth the risk.

  “I felt free. I felt so…”

  He’d almost said loved.

  Idiot.

  “Like I’d discovered that feeling. Like I ought to tell the rest of the world about it.”

  Jason looked horrified. Hurt.

  “What’s wrong?” Nate frowned. “It was a good thing.”

  “You don’t feel that way now?” Jason asked cautiously.

  Nate shook his head, suddenly warm all over. That was God—reminding him what he’d gained. Keeping him safe. “I’m free in a different way.”

  Jason nodded. “Okay.”

  “Okay?”

  “What else do you want me to say? You’ve made up your mind. You’re happy where you are.” Jason glanced at the wall, at the watercolor of flowering hedges and a bike wheel. “And believe it or not, I always wanted you to be happy. I just chose a really stupid way of showing it.”

  Nate’s throat tightened. That couldn’t be true.

  “I couldn’t be satisfied with just freeing you,” Jason said. “I wanted to free everyone. Every Moving Forward camper.”

  Anger shot through Nate, but collided with something he couldn’t identify. Guilt? Hope? Did some part of him still believe Jason was the hero who’d come to save him? “We aren’t asking for a savior.” He couldn’t look at Jason now. “We have one.”

  “I know.” Jason’s voice was quiet too. “But what about Isaac, Nate? This is hurting him.”

  Nate shook his head. “My father talked to him today. He’ll be fine.”

  But Nate was suddenly afraid. So, so afraid that Jason was right. That Isaac felt the way Nate had as a teenager—confused, self-loathing, rebellious. And more alone every time his father offered him love and kindness. Alone because there was a darkness growing inside him, leaving only the shell of Nathan Tull, burnt out and ragged. Ready to blow away, far away from all he’d grown up with, if only someone would help him. He’d wanted to go somewhere he could grow a new core. Stronger and free and full, not of light, but of color.

  Isaac will learn to move past childish wishes. He’ll struggle, he’ll question, he’ll feel God’s love. And eventually, he’ll be at peace.

  “What are you thinking?” Jason asked, so softly Nate almost didn’t hear him over the bustle of the coffee shop.

  Nate shook his head again. “So are we okay? I forgive you for—for the pictures, the article? And you forgive me for how I treated you when you came to the camp?” Nate looked up just long enough to catch the disappointment in Jason’s expression.

  “I guess so.” Jason stood. Nate hadn’t even touched his coffee yet, but he stood too. “Is there anything else?”

  This wasn’t the way it was supposed to go. Jason wasn’t supposed to leave like this, disappointed, brusque. They were both supposed to part ways feeling better.

  Nate called on the warmth he’d felt moments before. I need strength. He hesitated then opened his arms to Jason. I need to know I can do this.

  Jason looked at Nate like he’d just pulled a gun on him. Warily, he stepped forward. “Good to see you, Jason,” Nate said, embracing him. Jason’s body was warm and hard. Tense. And suddenly that lick of heat in Nate became a fire, roaring up into his brain and drowning out rational thought.

  I need strength.

  If God, answered, Nate couldn’t hear.

  He held Jason tighter, and he felt a violent, careenin
g joy.

  Because we’ve made peace with each other.

  Please let it be because of that.

  But then Jason’s arms moved tentatively around him, and Nate was laughing at something Jason had said in a dimly lit house off campus. He was talking too fast, flushed with the thrill of being able to express his opinions, of having them appreciated, validated.

  “I believe in God, but I don’t think He has to control, like, every aspect of our lives. I don’t think I’m a bad person if I don’t follow the Bible’s teachings to the letter.”

  Jason smiling that huge, warm smile. “I’ve never read the Bible. I don’t think I’m a bad person.”

  Later, by the Russell T. Joy building: “I want to be with you. I mean...sleep with you.” There was no way of saying it that seemed right. If he’d said, I want to make love with you, he’d have sounded like an idiot. If he’d said, I want to fuck you, it would have sounded dirty.

  “I want that too.”

  “Can we?” The hardest words he’d ever spoken. Harder than anything he’d had to confess to his father in the aftermath.

  Jason’s hand on his face, so gentle, his eyes dark with—with lust. “Yes. But not tonight, okay? It’s your first night here. And I want to give you time to think about this.”

  “When? I leave Sunday.”

  “If you decide you’re still interested, we can go for coffee tomorrow. Spend some time together.”

  And then he’d kissed Nate. Softly at first, and then harder until he was sucking on Nate’s tongue, and Nate was clawing his back, feeling like he had a death grip on the safety bar of a ride that shot you into the sky, spun you around, tore around curves. All those nerves became happiness, giddy hope, wicked pride. He was kissing a man. He was kissing a man because it was what he wanted, needed. Because Jason made it okay.

  He pulled himself back to the present. Realized he was still hugging Jason. Trembling, his dick hardening—shit, Jason could probably feel that—his breath coming sharp and fast.

  Jason gave him one last squeeze; Nate felt his breath on his neck. Then he stepped away. Without a trace of anger, only weariness and regret, he said: “I feel sorry for you, Nate. I know I shouldn’t. But I do.”

  And he left.

  Rob Hill from high school was an accountant now and, from the way he tugged his tie off at the diner and flung it into the corner of the booth like it had personally offended him, he was hating every minute of it.

  “What happened to your spacer?” Jason asked, tapping his earlobe.

  “Dude,” Rob said around a mouthful of burger, “my dad made me get plastic surgery.”

  “Seriously?”

  “He always said nobody would employ me if I was wearing it, and he was right.”

  “But aren’t you working for his company now?”

  “Yep.” Rob grimaced. “And he refused to give me the job until I got my gauge out.”

  For the first time since getting back to Pinehurst, Jason felt a little better about himself. He and Rob had been close during high school, even though they had been thrown together by default. Both of them had defied categorization in their own way. Because they hadn’t fit into any other clique, they’d made a clique of two. Well, three, counting Aubrey Milchester, who was deaf. Aubrey hadn’t made a choice to be marginalized like Jason and Rob had, with their weird clothes, music and ideas, but he’d been an outcast all the same. Aubrey was living in Seattle now, with his girlfriend.

  “So what’s it like to be back?”

  Jason looked around the diner. It looked exactly the same as when they’d come here in high school. He tried not to think about Nate, and about that hug they’d shared in the coffee shop. He fixed his gaze on the wall behind the counter instead, to where a curl of faded aquamarine paint hung off the wall. “Kind of depressing.”

  “I hear that.”

  “What about you?” Jason dragged a fry through a pool of ketchup. “What’re you still doing here?”

  “I graduated college with loans I had no way of repaying. The job market was shit—it still is—even without a gauge and ink. Where the hell else was I going to go?” Rob made a face. “Of course, I’m not public enemy number one.”

  Jason rolled his eyes. “It’s been four years. I can’t still be that.”

  “Small town, long memories,” Rob said, draining the last of his soda. He lowered his voice. “And you fucked little Nate Tull. That’s like doing filthy things to the Baby Jesus.”

  “He was eighteen.”

  “Dude, it’s the Tulls. People in this town fall over themselves to kiss their asses.” Rob struggled to keep a straight face, failed, and snorted with laughter. “In a manner of speaking.”

  Jason rolled his eyes again. “Dick,” he said.

  “Asshole,” Rob returned.

  And just like that the years melted away and Jason remembered how good it felt to have a friend.

  Free time for the kids meant free time for the counselors. It meant sitting with Marissa in his little room at camp, watching a series of Youtube clips on her phone. Songs she liked, or links people had sent her, or kittens in teacups. Nate felt guilty for not taking the same delight in this that she did. It made him feel like a snob.

  They’d started off sitting shoulder to shoulder on Nate’s bed, backs resting against the pillows stacked on the headboard. Then, somewhere between a street performer wowing a crowd with his acrobatics and a dog falling into mud, Marissa had slipped under Nate’s arm and snuggled close so that her head was resting on his shoulder. She held her phone against his chest so they could both see the screen.

  Nate, his arm draped around her, couldn’t loosen the ball of anxiety in his gut. He worried Marissa was angling for him to be more physically demonstrative. It was a conversation they’d had before, and one Nate knew hadn’t been resolved to Marissa’s liking.

  Not before marriage.

  Nate told himself that it was about the respect he had for Marissa, but the dark part of him knew it was a lie. Marissa didn’t turn him on, and it had nothing to do with the fact that Nate didn’t want to be a slave to his base desires. He’d hugged Jason today. Got an erection from that. He hugged Marissa all the time, and made out with her, and... nothing. What the hell was wrong with him?

  His eyes stung as he watched a cat make a leap at a table, and miss.

  He knew what was wrong.

  His biology was wrong.

  All the prayer and the meditation and the exercises in the world hadn’t stopped him from getting an erection in the coffee shop, and they couldn’t make him get one with Marissa.

  His cross to bear.

  Marissa ran a hand down his shirt, and Nate, surprised, sucked his stomach in.

  “Marissa.”

  “Shh.” She slid her hand under his shirt. Her phone, discarded, slipped into the space between their bodies. “This is nice.”

  Nate swallowed, staring at the top of her head, at her dark hair pulled back into a ponytail. Messy from lying against him, and bunched up around the elastic. Nate wondered wildly if he should push her off him. He wondered even more wildly if he should hold her closer.

  “I could stay over tonight if you wanted.” She shifted her hand lower, resting it against his belt buckle.

  Nate tried to keep his voice light. “No, I’ve got to stay up and keep an eye on the cabins tonight.”

  She sighed, her breath warm against his chest, through the too-thin fabric of his shirt. “Maybe I can come up tomorrow night?”

  Nate’s brain scrambled for an excuse, finding nothing but a panicked screech of static. “Um... I guess.”

  She shifted, and looked up at him. “You guess? You could sound a little more enthusiastic, Nate.”

  “Sorry.” He lifted his hand and smoothed her hair. “I just don’t think we should do too much, you know, before we get married.”

  “Are you proposing to me?” For a second her face was serious, and Nate’s heart froze. Then she laughed. “There’s stuff
we can do, you know, without going the whole way.”

  “I...” His face burned.

  Marissa sat back, and for a moment Nate was relieved. Then she moved suddenly, straddling his thighs. She reached for his hand, and held it against her left breast. Nate stared at her face, terrified that any moment now she’d see the awful truth: Nate wasn’t straight. But if Marissa discovered it, if anyone did, everything that his father had built would crumble into dust.

  Nate suddenly saw his mother’s face. “If the program hasn’t even worked on you, how does he expect it to work for all these kids?”

  Nate squeezed Marissa’s breast gently; too soft, too yielding. He didn’t want flesh. He wanted muscle. Marissa leaned forward, eyes bright, her mouth closing on his. Nate closed his eyes and thought of Jason. A hard, lean body. Short hair and stubble. A dick he wanted to taste.

  Marissa ground against his lap and breathed his name against his lips.

  Nate shifted.

  Something hit the floor.

  “Oh!” Marissa was off his lap in seconds. “My phone!” She held it up, the screen cracked.

  “I’m sorry.” He was, a little, but he was also relieved he’d ruined the mood.

  Later, after Marissa had left, Nate sat alone in the dark.

  He was stumbling. He knew that without any doubt. But he was so tired of trying, always trying, and always failing. How had he never noticed how unhappy he was until Jason had called him on it? Now he could feel the weight of it dragging him down, tangling in his legs and arms like some tentacled creature determined to drown him.

  He ran his thumb along the faint scar on the inside of his left wrist.

  He thought about calling his father and asking for guidance. Setting his feet on that well-trod path again, and hoping that somehow this time it would be different.

  He didn’t, in the end.

  Just stayed awake and watched the clock and wished for abstract things he no longer had the courage to attain.