Sixty Nine (Payne Brothers Romance Book 4)

by Sosie Frost

  And that was all I could say. No other instructions to give, prayers to be answered, or alpacas to fit with a modified pillow hump.

  The church would actually make money off of this monstrosity.

  The cast and crew cheered before scattering a dozen different directions. Costumes stripped and props clattered to the stage.

  I ducked as hats, scarves, and tunics were tossed over my head.

  “I need everyone here bright and early tomorrow for make-up—no excuses!” I raised my voice. “And if anyone breathes a word about the snowstorm…”

  My fingers stayed crossed. I’d tried to undermine the most important holiday in Christendom, but I needed extra help. No one wanted to believe it, but the air smelled a little crisper, the winds had shifted, and Barlow’s Market was out of bread and milk.

  Snow was coming. A lot of it.

  The B word was forbidden on set, but I’d kept Let it Snow on loop since the weather report whispered about a possible storm. Butterpond hadn’t been hit by a blizzard in twenty years, but the town was torn.

  “It’ll just rain…” Sherriff Samson kept Santa’s beard even as he returned to his badge and uniform.

  The man playing the front half of Rudolph disagreed. “Just a little coverage. It’ll blow over.”

  The cast quieted as the widow Barlow thunked her cane and migrated toward the exit.

  “My knees are aching.” She pursed her lips into a frown. “Terrible weather tomorrow. We’ll be snowed in before intermission. You’ll see.”

  The warning cast a pallor over the cast and crew, but even as they murmured in worry off the stage and into the chapel, not a single person caused any chaos.

  Was it too much to hope for one cigarette burn? Maybe a snowman missing a carrot.

  What did a girl need to do to slip a diabetic into a coma? I tossed Quint the candy bar stashed in my purse as a last-ditch effort.

  The storage closets were stuffed to the brim with people, costumes, and set pieces. I shuffled to the door, unable to twist the knob with my daughter, ten angel and wise men outfits, and a baggie of Cheerios in my arms. I pressed against the frame just as the voices inside lowered, dripping with juicy secrets.

  “I couldn’t believe it when I heard it.”

  I peeked inside, disappointed that one of angels dared to gossip while wearing her halo. I didn’t need to ask what Jesus would do. He eagerly listened.

  “All of Pastor V’s brothers got arrested at a strip club,” she said. “Can you imagine?”

  Jesus snickered. “It’s the Paynes. Surprised they weren’t the ones on stage.”

  The angel leaned in closer. “Well, that’s the best part. Bethany said the Paynes weren’t the only ones at the strip club.”

  Jesus arched his eyebrows. “I heard that too.”

  “Do you think it’s true?”

  “No idea. Can we trust the picture?”

  The angel sighed. “Mayor Desmond is out of his mind, trailing another mayoral candidate with a private investigator.”

  “Nothing is sacred.”

  “But…it was a clear picture.”

  Jesus practically salivated. “I asked for a copy.”

  She slapped his shoulder. “Do you really think Pastor V would date a stripper?”

  “Who knows? He hasn’t really been himself since the tornado,” he said. “He’s not at the church.”

  “Doesn’t want to preach.”

  “Didn’t even care until she showed up.”

  The angel frowned. “Just like a man to think with his d-i-c-k. Thought a preacher would be different.”

  Jesus shrugged. “Take it from the Messiah…a woman who looks that good is worth the sin.”

  Great.

  The rumors were out of control. Six variations of the story passed through Butterpond, and each of the iterations grew more scandalous. The fight had shifted from a strip club brawl to a back-alley shanking, from quick and rough fist-fight to premeditated attempted murder.

  And, in each of the rumors…I’d been a star.

  First a stripper, then an accomplice, and now most of the pageant assumed I was a hooker.

  Denials only went so far. The fight had been captured on camera, courtesy of Mayor Desmond’s hired goon, sent to investigate Marius Payne for any potential scandal he could leverage for the upcoming election. And boy, did he find a scintillating scoop.

  Problem was, I’d been captured in the photos as well. Or…parts of me were photographed—the best ones that I would have otherwise charged per view.

  It was only a matter of time before all of Butterpond assumed the worst and destroyed Varius for his judgement. They’d been patient with him and his struggling faith, but they wouldn’t forgive that sort of sin.

  This wouldn’t just ruin lives.

  It’d collapse his ministry.

  If he’d ever return.

  I knocked before entering the closet, and both Jesus and his angel scurried away, casting one last glance and giggle over their shoulders.

  I might have been a stripper, might’ve taken my clothes off for money and grinding on strangers’ laps.

  But no one had ever laughed at me.

  I dropped the costumes, offered my daughter her cereal, and banished the rest of the cast and crew from the very expensive lighting equipment that shined a single spotlight over the lone figure in the pews. Varius signed a last-minute invoice and slapped the checkbook in his hand. His expression cut with worry.

  I set Lulu on the pew beside him and ignored the hushed whispers.

  “You look tense,” I said.

  An understatement. The man hadn’t smiled for three days. He rubbed the tension from his jaw, but his voice seemed distant, hollow.

  “This better work out.” He didn’t pray. He demanded. “This pageant could bankrupt the church.”

  “Nothing to worry about.” I frowned. “Apparently, it’s fantastic now.”

  “I don’t leave anything to chance.”

  I hummed. “What about leaving it to God?”

  “That’s even worse.” His voice shattered with broken rage.

  I hated hearing him speak like that. As if he hardly believed the words out of his mouth, but he spoke them anyway.

  Why?

  I checked over my shoulder. Stares, but no one in earshot. Still, I kept my voice low.

  “You didn’t come over last night,” I said.

  Or the night before.

  Varius averted his gaze, but he had nowhere else in the church to look. It was a curse of his own making. He could either focus on me or be forced to confront the cross. Didn’t matter—we both asked the same questions.

  “Couldn’t make it last night,” he murmured. I hardly recognized the edge to his words. “So many people watching. What would they think?”

  Not like he cared about himself or his reputation. “We never got to discuss…” The fight, the club, the problems left unsaid. “It.”

  He scowled. “What’s there to talk about? We did what we had to do. All that matters is that you took care of your business.”

  I stiffened. Where the hell was that judgement coming from? “I managed to get us lights and an engineer on the cheap. Figured you’d be glad.”

  “I don’t give a damn about the lights.” He stared at Lulu but couldn’t return her smile. “I’m talking about him.”

  Andre.

  I’d wasted enough time, energy, and blood on that asshole.

  “He was arrested,” I said. “Gave my statement to the police.”

  “And?”

  Did he think I needed the law to fight my battles? “I took care of it.”

  “Glory.”

  What the hell did he want from me? Too many people wandered around the church for me to talk about my life, my safety, my bad decisions.

  “I filed for a restraining order,” I said. “But Andre was dealing. Figure the stash in his pocket will be enough to keep him busy for a couple years.”

  “Don’t leav
e it to chance. Should have filed a long time ago.”

  “Let he who is without sin…”

  “Did you know he was going to be there?” Varius asked.

  I was smarter than that. “You really think I’d have gone if I knew?”

  “I don’t know.” The sorrow in his voice slayed me. “There’s a lot I don’t know about you, Glory.”

  “That’s bullshit.”

  “Is it?”

  “You said you liked the mystery.”

  “Only if you let me discover those secrets…if you’d let me take care of you.”

  Wrong thing to say. “V, I don’t need anyone taking care of me.”

  “Everyone needs help,” he said.

  “Including you?”

  “You offering?”

  “Would you even accept it?”

  “Wouldn’t matter.” He pocketed the checkbook and tossed the pageant paperwork over a stack of Bibles. Christ, he couldn’t even look at the books. “You could try, but there’s no help for me anywhere.”

  “Maybe not on Earth.”

  He snorted. “Less anyone above could do.”

  It wasn’t true. Nothing he said was true anymore.

  But he still believed it.

  God, I hated this. Hated more what it did to us. Every night I went to bed tangled in his arms only to knot myself in fear and denial, frustration, and desire.

  All we needed was to admit those three words.

  Once the real truth was spoken, maybe we’d understand each other more. That the pressures and arguments were born of adoration and necessity, not anger and distrust.

  Was a little hope so bad? Just the flicker of possibility would show him that the world had so much more to offer yet, beyond that grief, depression, and rage.

  But he couldn’t say it. Wouldn’t admit it.

  And not because he wouldn’t believe me.

  But because he believed he no longer had the capacity to return those beautiful words.

  And in a way, I was grateful. I’d lived a hard life already, did so many things I’d wished I could undo. Men didn’t respect me. They used me, hurt me, hated me. I could handle it—didn’t have a choice. But if Varius couldn’t say those words?

  Not a woman alive was strong enough to survive that heartbreak.

  Lulu squealed, waving to a couple slowly walking through the church. A beautiful woman smiled so sadly at my daughter, returning her wave as if the motion would crush what remained of her. Her husband stared upward, studying the new roof, the walls, the repairs that had completely remodeled the chapel.

  The woman took her husband’s hand, slowly approaching. Her eyes fixed on Varius.

  “Reverend?”

  The title was too formal for Butterpond, but reflexively, Varius turned. That minister wasn’t lost inside of him, but he paled. His face turned a sickly, ashen color. He gripped the back of the pew, fingers shaking and white.

  The husband and wife terrified him.

  His eyes darkened to that haunted, stormy green once more, but he didn’t lose his composure. Never did, even when he stared into the eyes of ghosts never forgotten.

  The smooth baritone of his voice bathed his words in comfort and purpose. “Samantha, Chuck…what are you doing here?”

  The woman grinned at him, overcome with joy. She hugged him close and kept his palm inside both of her hands.

  “We were visiting Butterpond for the holidays, Reverend,” Samantha said. “Checking in on some family. We heard the pageant was…something to see this year, and we wanted to stop by…and see you, of course.” Her voice strained. “How are you?”

  And then I knew.

  Samantha and Charles Yates.

  The parents of the little girl who’d been killed.

  Varius never slouched, even when he bore the weight of the Heavens on his shoulders. “I’m fine. Never mind me. How are you? How have you been…”

  Samantha released his hand to take her husband’s. “Coping? One day at a time, like you said. Some days are easier than others. And some days…”

  He seemed to understand. “I know.”

  Samantha cleared her throat, adjusting her coat over a swelling belly. Varius saw, but even he knew better than to ask. She nodded, a gentle smile on her lips.

  “We were ready…” She patted her tummy. “We’d always wanted a big family. And no one can ever replace…”

  Varius swallowed. “Of course.”

  “But we’re very excited.”

  His smile was genuine. “That’s…great news. It really is.”

  Samantha’s gaze surveyed the chaos of the chapel. “We heard you were helping with the pageant, but we didn’t see your name on the directory?”

  He shifted, but he’d never hidden behind the truth before. “I did. I’m only here until the pageant is over. Should be a good show.”

  “Oh, no doubt, with you in charge.”

  It wasn’t what either wanted to talk about, and yet, it seemed the safest topic. Charles scratched his hand through his ginger hair and frowned.

  “Don’t know why you gave it up,” he said.

  Samantha shushed him. “Chuck, please.”

  “You’re the best goddamned preacher Butterpond’s ever had. Just saying. Shame to leave it.”

  Varius would never take the compliment. I doubted if he even believed it. “I didn’t think I could come back. Not after…”

  Samantha said her name for him. “Emily.”

  “Emily.” Pain shadowed his voice, but he nodded. “It wasn’t right to keep preaching, not after I lost my faith.”

  She sighed. “Ours is stronger than ever.”

  “Must have been a better pastor than I thought.”

  “You were the greatest minister, Pastor V,” she said. “I know we didn’t get to speak after the funeral. It was just…too hard to return to the church, to drive by and see the rubble.” She paused, sucking in a deep breath. “I debated calling you…stopping by. I just wanted to tell you…”

  Charles patted her shoulders. “You helped us. Wouldn’t have made it through without you.”

  Varius rubbed his face, but the disbelief remained. “I’m glad, but I didn’t do anything.”

  “You’ve done more than you could ever know,” she said.

  “But…” He hesitated. “I have no answers for you.”

  Samantha smiled. “We didn’t need the answers. We needed the comfort, the knowledge that we weren’t alone in this world. You gave that to us.”

  He didn’t believe her. His voice rasped the question. “But why? Don’t you ever ask why?”

  “We’re not supposed to know why.”

  “And that’s what I refused to accept.”

  “So did many others,” she said. “Maybe one day, we’ll understand why. But we needed more than questions and answers and demands and explanations of the unexplainable. We needed compassion. Kindness.” She put her hand in his again. “I have no doubt you were put on this Earth for every reason the Lord took our little girl. You were meant to console those in pain, to show them that even though the world becomes dark and terrible, there are men like you who will be there to comfort us, guide us, and restore our faith.” Tears gathered in her eyes, but her smile was genuine and gentle. “I pray you learn that.”

  God willing, he would.

  It was the first time he’d come face-to-face with his past. The moment was bittersweet. They shared that loss, the grief, the uncertainty of it all. Nothing could replace what was missing from the world, but maybe…

  It would help him realize the truth.

  What he was missing. The part of him even he didn’t know was gone.

  Varius belonged in the church.

  But he said nothing. He looked away, as if he were ashamed of the very prayer she murmured.

  “It was good to see you again,” he said.

  It wasn’t fair to break a mother’s heart twice.

  Samantha nodded. “We’ll be at the pageant. Got our tickets fo
r opening night.”

  His jaw tensed. “Good. I’ll see you there.”

  “God bless you, Pastor V…” Her words softened. “And I mean it.”

  They turned, greeting a few other cast members with surprised hugs and well-wishes. The diversion gave Varius the opportunity to stride away from the pews, the stage, and echoing voices and songs.

  I hauled Lulu into my arms and chased after him.

  “V…” I followed him to the office and closed the door behind me as best I could. A dozen boxes, costumes, and props cluttered the path. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine.”

  He wasn’t. That much was obvious. He sunk into his chair, holding his temples. His face twisted, darkened with shock and sorrow, grief and rage. Lulu babbled at him, hoping to earn a smile.

  He didn’t even look at her. Seemed as though he couldn’t.

  My heart dropped.

  Varius spoke, but the words weren’t meant for me. “Why were they here? They’d left. They’d moved out of town. I never thought they’d be back.

  Well, he’d hear the truth one way or the other. I let Lulu play with a stack of programs and crossed my fingers.

  “V…I invited them.”

  His eyes lost the stormy green.

  Only darkness remained.

  Slowly, his gaze rose to mine, and the utter betrayal broke my heart.

  “You invited them?”

  “I thought it’d be good if they came.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you needed to see them.”

  His voice growled a broken rasp. “Why would you do such a thing?”

  “Because someone had to do it.”

  I didn’t expect him to slam his desk. The metal reverberated through the room, and I flinched.

  But he never swore, didn’t yell.

  The silence was his worst punishment.

  “You needed to talk to them,” I said. “No matter what people tell you, no matter how many times you hear it, you never listen. You don’t realize how important you are to the community, and you’re losing touch with everything you once were. It’s because of that storm. It’s because of that little girl’s death. You had to confront what happened in your past.”

  His face contorted, trapped between then and now. “Glory, every single moment of my life is in the past. Don’t you understand that? Don’t you see—I’m trying, but I will never escape it.”