Page 27 of My Vows Are Sealed

Oh, I had more than one thing on my mind. But my brain was such a jumbled mess of emotions and questions that I didn’t even know where to start.

“Can I take a wild guess and say that today’s sermon made you uncomfortable?” he tried.

Well, there was no use in denying it.

“Yeah, it did,” I admitted. “I’m worried. About Darla.”

He gave me a sad smile. “You’re a good friend to her. I can tell you care a lot about her.”

“More than I should,” I said without even thinking.

Shit. What in the hell had I just said? And to someone who, for all I knew, could go right back to Darla’s father and tell him about it? I was such an idiot. If I was the cause of any harm coming to Darla, I’d never forgive myself.

But instead of looking at me like I had three heads – or, worse, like I was a horrible person for voicing the feelings I was so ashamed of – Peter just let out a quiet chuckle and put a hand on my shoulder.

“Brendan, do you know how old Marie and I were when we met?”

I looked over at him, confused. What did that have to do with anything?

“She was ten and I was thirteen. We started dating three years later, when I was your age. That’s not so different from the age difference between you and Darla.”

“Still. There’s a lot of reasons why I can’t think about her like that,” I sighed.

Like being afraid that her father was hurting her and that I’d make it even worse for her if I tried to take things any further between us. Oh, and then there was the not-so-thinly-veiled threat he’d given me on Wednesday night. Couldn’t forget about that, now, could I?

“That’s your decision to make, and if all you feel you can give her right now is friendship, then she’s lucky to have you in her life,” he told me. “But there’s nothing wrong with starting to notice girls in another light either. Darla might not be a woman yet, but she’s not a child either. She’s old enough to make her own decisions too. Remember that the Lord created us to love and be loved. And I believe He has someone special chosen for each of us, and when that person comes into our life, He finds ways to let us know. Just something to keep in mind. And if you ever need to talk, I’m here. I won’t judge and I won’t tell anyone what you share with me in confidence.”

I cracked a smile. “Thanks. I appreciate it.”

With another squeeze on my shoulder, Peter stood up and went to get a donut. And I was left there with my head spinning as I tried to process what he’d just said to me.

Was he actually encouraging me to pursue the pastor’s daughter? Was the war that had been waging in my mind for the past couple of weeks that obvious to everyone? Or was it just because he was trained to work with teenagers that he’d picked up on it?

And why, after he’d framed it like that, did itnotseem so wrong to have feelings for her now?

Chapter 8

Darla

Shifting Sand

“How’s everything going, Darla?” Marie asked me as soon as Brendan was out of earshot.

I shrugged. “Okay, I guess. I can’t participate in the kids’ services for the next couple of weeks, though. Sorry. I can give you the stuff I was going to do for crafts if you want.”

“I know,” she said with a soft smile. “Your dad told me. It’s okay. You can do those crafts in a few weeks when you come back. But that’s not really why I wanted to talk to you alone. Your dad…um, he told me a little about why he wanted you in the main service for the next couple of weeks. Is there anything you want to talk to me about, sweetheart?”

I snorted softly. Yeah, there was no way I was about to tell her anything about what was happening behind the closed doors of her husband’s boss’s house. Not to mention, she was a licensed mental health counselor. My dad had brought me to plenty of therapists before. And then when I’d tried to talk to them about what was going on, they’d try to have a joint session with him.

That was always the point at which he would pull me out of therapy, because I was “making up my stories again” and therapy apparently wouldn’t work if I didn’t tell the truth. Well,hisversion of the truth. The version where I was an out-of-control kid. A pathological liar who just made up stories to get attention. Not the version where he kept me on a leash so tight that it suffocated me and never even gave me a chance to prove myself to him because, according to him, I was rebellious and couldn’t be trusted.

“Nope,” I muttered. “I’m fine.”

“Okay,” she said, rubbing my shoulder. “If you change your mind, you have my phone number, right?”

I nodded.

“You can call anytime. We can go grab some lunch or ice cream or something and talk. You know I’m a therapist, so if you tell me something, I can’t tell anyone else unless I think you’re in trouble. If you tell me something that makes me think you need help, I have to get you help, but besides that, I can’t repeat anything you say to me.”

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