by Ella James
I grin. "Right. I guess so."
I watch as Sky picks her up again and cradles her like he knows what he's doing.
"Damn, I didn't realize you were such an expert, McD. If we have babies, they're gonna be in the hands of a pro."
"Don't you mean ‘when’?" he asks.
My face burns. "Yeah," I manage.
"You got second thoughts, Rayne?"
"No. As long as you don't.”
"No way,” Luke says. “I want plenty of these tiny sultans." He smiles. "That's what Pearl calls babies. She says they all look like tiny sultans, and I can't disagree."
I notice that Sky’s holding her with his hand behind her head and wonder if I thought to do that when I was holding her. I hope I did. I think so?
He walks over to the chair and sits down, and I feel briefly disappointed, like maybe he thinks I wasn’t doing a good job with her. Which, honestly, is probably true. I've never really been around babies.
I watch as he puts the bottle’s tip gently against her lower lip, and she starts screaming again. Okay, so at least it’s not just me.
I crouch down beside the rocking chair, leaning over her. "What's the matter, cupcake? What can we do for you?"
"She's sucking her hand, so she's gotta be hungry,” Sky says, looking puzzled.
"Maybe like...tease her mouth more with the bottle's tip? That seemed like a smart move. Could she not know what it is? What if the mom didn't use a bottle?"
"That's a good point." Sky starts to rub the baby's cheek with the tip of the bottle, but baby flails and nearly slaps it out of his hand. He lets out a long breath, and I notice he looks tired.
"You want me to try again? I know I'm not an expert but—"
"Sure. You want to?" He smiles down at the baby, and she stops flailing.
"Try the bottle again," I murmur, and her eyes move to me.
"Why don't you,” he whispers, “and I'll talk to her."
I grin, and he smiles up at me. He hands me the bottle and I decide to go all out. Why the fuck not? I take the thing and bring it near my mouth and make some "mm-mm good" type noises. Then I fly it around over her.
"You know what we want you to do, mm? I want you to eat this thing. Just open up your mouth and take this bottle and drink all the milk.” I squeeze the bottle's tip near its base, until there's something on the tip, and then I rub it on the baby's lip.
Sky and I are both still as we watch her lick it off. And then she opens her mouth, juts her chin up, and closes her mouth around it like a little baby gator. Her eyes close, and she starts snarfing it down.
Luke
I'm watching Vance. I was watching him the whole time, but especially after he said "if we have kids." In the past, he's seemed so interested in children. I didn't worry that he wouldn't want them. If I only listened to him, maybe I would worry now. But watching his face as he interacts with our mysterious stork delivery, seeing how he smiles and how happy he seems when she latches onto the bottle—I can see he'd be a natural father. Will be. Because we're going to have children. Lots and lots, just like we talked about.
We're going to get married, and we're going to have children, and we're going to be happy. I will transform this church so that it suits us—so it supports our life rather than rips at it—and if I can't make that happen, we’ll just go. And I'll feel nothing but peace. Coming back here after our time away was difficult. I got too nervous—that someone would lash out or...I don't know…I guess try to hurt one of us.
It's a weird feeling to know that anyone I pass by on the street might think this fundamental part of who I am is invalid at best. Being such a lightning rod, so visible—that makes it even harder. And this scrutiny, it's mine. I asked for it. I wanted it. I thrive in it. Living my life in the open—especially the spiritual parts of it—is not something that's ever bothered me before.
Now, everything is different. All I want is Vance, to make him happy.
I look into his eyes and we both smile. "Nice job, Zaddy."
He laughs, extra softly, so the baby doesn't falter in her suckling. "If someone's gonna be a zaddy, I think we both know it's you, Sky."
"Is it such a sure thing?"
"Oh, c'mon. You're older, more established. You've got the better body—"
"Rayne. Don't be ridiculous. Everything about you is perfection."
He snorts. "You turn heads everywhere we go, McD. Don't think I don't know about those calls you're getting to be on the cover of magazines."
"What?" I feign ignorance.
He rolls his eyes. "I've got eyes and ears all in this church," he jokes, although I think maybe he really does.
"You didn't mention that you knew,” I tell him.
"Well, yeah. It's not my business, is it?"
"Actually it is," I tell him. "I was going to ask. What your preference was. Or is. About press coverage."
Rayne waggles his brows, and I know him well enough to know he's trying to look nonchalant even though he doesn't feel it.
I reach over the baby to give his shoulder a squeeze; he's still crouched down beside us, holding the bottle for her. "What do you think?” I ask. “Did she tell you which ones were asking?"
He smiles, acknowledging it was Pearl who squealed. "Nah. She just said people were calling. And seemed 'excited.'"
I try not to let my laugh sound too jaded. "Oh yes, they are so excited about selling magazines."
"Still better than the old times."
"Yes," I agree. "I guess it is."
I can't help thinking that twenty years ago—maybe even ten—I might have spent my whole life in the closet. Married to a woman like Megan. Fathering children. Pretending.
"Whatcha thinking, McD?" V asks softly.
I give him a look and watch his face bend sympathetically, and then I laugh because I think we just talked without words.
He leans his head toward mine, like he wants to nuzzle me but doesn't dare to move and cause our picky miss to be thrown off course.
"Holy hell, she's gonna drain this dry," Rayne says with a laugh.
"Yeah, she might. You want to hand it off to me and run go make another one?"
He smiles down at the baby. "Yeah, I guess I can do that."
I take the bottle from V, and he gets up. Missy doesn't falter. I smile as I watch him rush to the counter and start the preparation. "Fuck, do I remember how to do this?" I hear him murmur.
"You do," I murmur back. And—oh no—the baby looks up at me, halting in her drinking. C’mon, cupcake. Keep on going. She goes right back to it.
"I do," he says. "I do."
I let my gaze wander up and down the curve of his ass. Mine. I should take him to the courthouse and get married after we leave work. Maybe that's not good enough, though. Also, what if it's a spectacle, or someone says something negative to us? Maybe we could just apply for some kind of paperwork? But if we do that, will Vance think I didn't want to do it in person?
I blow a slow breath out and look up to find him looking at me, leaning his hip against the counter as the microwave heats water for the bottle.
Hi, I tell him, winking.
He grins, looking down as if he's feeling shy.
Don't be shy, my Rayne babe.
He looks up at me, and yeah, my boy is definitely shy right now. He whirls toward the microwave, catching it before it makes the "ding" sound. I can't help grinning, down at the baby and then out at him again, as he mixes the formula into the water and walks back over to us, looking bright-eyed and bushy-tailed.
He smiles down at the baby.
"Almost to the bottom of the bottle, so you’re just in time," I murmur.
He squeezes some out of the formula out in his hand, and with a frown that quickly turns into a self-pleased look, he holds it down for her. I ease the empty bottle out of her mouth, and he offers her the other, which she takes and starts to gulp down even more forcefully than the first.
"Damn, she's fucking thirsty. Hungry. Is it both?" he asks.<
br />
I'm smiling. "I think it's both, yeah. When they're this little."
His brows narrow a bit. "I think she's going to have dark hair."
"Because of her eyebrows?"
"And her skin." He nods.
The baby's skin is a shade darker than ours, and we're tanned from our time on the yacht.
"She's so beautiful," he says, sounding almost wistful. "Why would someone leave her?"
I can see it bothers him because he swallows right after he asks, and then he looks away briefly.
I look up into his eyes. "Not everyone knows beauty when they see it, Vanny. They don't know what they have even when it's standing right in front of them.” I reach my foot out, nuzzling his leg, and he smiles before he bites down on the inside of his cheek. Sensitive Rayne.
"Remember this, though: value isn't determined by the viewer,” I tell him. “It's not in the eye of the beholder. Not when it comes to people. We all have inherent worth, just for existing."
"Why?" he whispers, his eyes holding mine. I want to touch him so badly I feel it in my chest. Instead I hold the baby slightly closer.
"That's the way that God intended. Our existence—even if you're not religious, you have to realize it's a miracle on its own. It's statistically so very improbable, V. That even one of us is sentient, that there are two and we can speak, communicate. That we can share experiences, such as someone writing and another person reading, absorbing the message written for them by another being. Watching a film that's written, produced, and acted, and the ability to feel things from it. Human beings are wonderful and fascinating. We humans are good things. We have limitless capacity for love, affection, for good."
"But we're not." He looks almost puzzled.
"You don't think so?"
His eyes move from mine down to the baby, and then back to my face. I can see him swallow again. "I think so," he concedes after a moment.
"We're animals,” I go on. “But one of us can choose to lie awake until the other falls asleep. And learn to wake up when the other needs him." Now I'm the one who's getting all emotional, my voice going hoarse. "One of us can wait for years just hoping for something. And go out on a limb for another. Against logic. Gambling…on a desired future. Don't you think that's love?"
He nods, a small smile on his lips.
"Don't you think that's magic, Vance Rayne?"
He smiles. "I guess it is."
“Let me tell you what I'm going to do, my Vanny.”
He stands by my shoulder, smiling down at Little Miss, and I close my eyes. “I'm about to turn this place into an institution that supports the two of us. And people like us. And everyone. All people. I think that it's going to work. If I do it right, I almost know it will. But if it doesn't? We’ll start something else. Or I will. You don't have to do anything. You can paint the murals or just meet me at the dinner table every night.
“But I want this place to be a resource for every group that needs it. Not just people who need food, money, or medicine, or shelter. Or therapy or community or spiritual fulfillment. But people who are maligned and cast out. Disregarded, like their problem doesn't matter because it's not common enough or worthy enough.
“As long as we're here, this is our place. And I can see now, that's okay. I thought for a long time, who am I to mold this place into what I want it to be?” I tell Vance. “But what do I want, and why is that so wrong? I want it to be gay-friendly? So what? Is that wrong? Would a good God—say ‘no’ to supporting people who are loving who they love? I’ve never believed that. Not really—even when I waffled some. And I don’t believe it now. And I’m the head pastor. I’m in charge here. So I think I need to be in charge. Give it a shot. And if people are so misaligned with me, if they are so…elsewhere…and not where I am…then I can cut ties.”
I feel his hand in my hair, stroking, and I rest my head against the back of the padded rocking chair.
“You want it to work,” he says softly. “I know you do.”
“Yes.” My throat aches at the fierceness of it—at how very much I want this to work.
His lips press against the top of my head. “But you trust that if it doesn’t, things will be okay? Because of God. Right?” He sounds hesitant, which makes me smile.
“Trust in God.” I nod. “Yeah.”
His arm wraps around the chair from behind, his hand stroking my throat, and he kisses my hair again. “Okay, then it’s all good.” His lips brush my temple before he whispers, “Oh, and Sky? I want to help if you want me to. You just have to tell me what to do.”
10
Vance
This baby is a whole lot different now that she's eaten. I'm holding her in the crook of my arm, smiling down at her as we wait in Luke's office for someone from some agency to come and check her out.
Now that she's not hungry, she keeps blinking up at me. Just these little owl blinks. I'm not a baby pro or anything, but I get the feeling that she likes me.
I reach down and stroke a fingertip over her cheek, and she makes a face like she might cry.
"Better be careful there, V. Wouldn't want to rock the boat."
I flash Luke a grin. "Especially not with you on board."
I watch his face as it dawns on him what I'm saying. He looks surprised then abashed. He shakes his head. "Scared me to death."
"If 'scared to death' means trying to inflict death upon an innocent, stranded tourist..."
He snorts. "Don't know about innocent."
I grin remembering that. "I recall somebody up on deck just washing off, drinking the shower water, so damn thirsty." I shake my head, deadpanning it to make him laugh...and to make him feel like a fucking pervert. "Someone else sneaking around in shadows trying to get an eyeful."
Sky smirks, looking down at his desk, where he's got his cum-stained planner flipped open and he's tapping a pen against the top page.
"So this person we’re waiting for…who is it?” I ask. “What will they do when they get here?"
He shrugs. "Sometimes they take the babies. Figure out where to place them. Lots of times, we've got someone from Evermore waiting to take the baby home. I guess I should call Pearl. She does it more than I do. And they're going to ask for camera footage of the drop-off if I've got it. Just to rule out anything nefarious."
Sky picks up the phone and calls security. "Sounds good," he says, and I lift a brow.
"They’re going to send the footage over Everchat in a second,” he explains.
"Everchat." The name still makes me smile.
He lifts a shoulder. "You got a better name for it?"
"Nope. What I also don't have is my own fancy chat software like some...moguls."
Luke snorts at that. "Oh yeah, such a mogul here, talking about the Golden Rule and—"
"Flying on a jet," I tease him.
He gives me a warning look.
"I'm kidding, preacher.” I smirk. “I know it's that family money."
"Lots of talk about money. I'm thinking about something that rhymes with cold and bigger."
I let my mouth drop open in mock shock. Then I grin down at the baby. "I can't believe him, little miss babyface. Can you? Your zaddy's calling me a gold digger!"
The baby makes a little face that might be a smile.
“That’s right, little cupcake,” I say. “Be offended!”
The knock surprises me more than it should. I jump, and the baby’s mouth quavers.
“It’s okay,” I whisper.
"Come in," Luke says, stepping around his desk at the same time a Black woman in a tan pants suit comes through the door. Her hair is short, and she's wearing magenta lipstick.
As soon as she sees Luke, they both smile, looking pleased to see each other.
"Carrie. It's so good to see you."
She shakes his hand. "It's good to see you, PL." I can see her profile from where I'm standing near the door, so I see the teasing smile she gives him, and I bet she heard about his nickname from Pearl. "How've y
ou been doing?" she asks.
Right about that time, she turns to me and looks me over, and her eyes grow wider. "This must be the man!"
I'm surprised to find my face heat at her perusal. "Look at him, too,” she drawls. “You've got you a mighty fine one, PL." She looks from me to Luke and snickers like she's embarrassed herself. Sky is shaking his head.
"Carrie, Carrie."
She smiles at me. "We've been friends for a long time now. How long is it, PL?"
"Probably about six or seven years."
"I've known him longer than you have," she teases, and I can see why Luke likes her.
I shake my head, tsk-ing. "I'm just sorry for you."
McD's mouth opens, and I'm beaming from seeing him here in his comfort zone.
"He's a lot to take care of, isn't he?" She casts Sky a look. "I bet he's working all the time. You have to pull him home for dinner?" she asks me.
Oh yeah, I pull him all right.
I nod. "Sometimes."
"He works about as much as I do,” she says of Luke. “Never takes a day off. You're a painter, right?" she asks me.
I nod.
"And let me see this little lady right here..."
This woman is nice, and I like her. She seems warm. And caring. So I don't know why it makes my chest hurt to hand the baby over to her.
"That's my little baby," she coos. "Look at this one. She's a gem." She looks at Luke. "So what's the story with her?"
I grit my teeth, as if it matters which one of us explains things to her. The baby isn’t mine, after all. Still, I'm glad when Luke directs Carrie’s questions to me. The gladness only lasts a second as I watch her bounce on her heels just the same way I did; this woman’s clearly practiced at caring for the needy babies. I feel fucked up as she holds the baby, talks about taking her to the ‘system’ doctor.
"Then I'll call for foster placements. You know anybody within the church? I know the drop offs here, they usually go to someone within Evermore."
Luke looks down briefly. "I'll ask around,” he says impassively.
"I bet I'll have her worked up by tomorrow morning. At this hour, it's just more compassionate for me to take her over to the place we use a lot."
