Page 190 of Wrath

He says something to Luke—I think he sends him to check on their baby—and I think the pastor goes. I don’t know for sure because I’m still stuck in the dream. It’s this thing that happens sometimes, where I know I’m not back there but my body doesn’t. My heart’s racing, and I feel all weak and shaky.

“Hey, dude. What’s up? Or down?” Vance asks me.

I feel sick, but I say, “Nothing.”

“You remember last night?”

“Yeah.”

“Looks like you ate some of the chocolate chip cookies,” he says, still standing right by me. “That’s good. Water too?”

I flick my gaze up at him. “Are you my nurse?”

“Nah, man. Just checking in. You have a nightmare?” he asks. “Or you just upset?”

I blow a breath out, looking down at the rug. “Nightmare. I’m not upset.”

I’m a stalker, and my stalkee has a boyfriend. Now I want to hang myself—since Xanax doesn’t work.

“Okay,” he says. “I guess you met Luke.”

“Not really.”

“He’ll probably be back in just a second.”

“I don’t care if he is.” I rub my lips together, feeling dumb and fucking crazy for this. Why’d I come here?

“Yeah?” he asks. “You wanna tell me anything about how you wound up in the hall last night? What sorta things brought you to our house? I don’t know if you noticed, it’s kinda hard to get in.” I can hear the smile in his voice even though I’m looking at my lap.

“Yeah,” I force myself to say. “I noticed.”

“You come to talk to Pastor Luke?” His tone is gentle, like he knows I’m fucked up. I don’t like it. I don’t like anything. I should be dead.

“Sorry to trouble both of you,” I tell him, looking up. “I’m ready to get going now.”

What follows is a long list of the reasons Pastor Luke’s new husband, the poetically named Vance Rayne, thinks I shouldn’t go. He acts like he wants me here, like the two of them have nothing better to do than help me out. Especially if I’m gay—that’s what he says.

Like last night, I get the impression he’s a good guy. Like…a real one. It’s weird as hell to me that he’s got such foul language while being married to a famous pastor. Also that the two of them are really gay. A gaypastor. I try to distract from the train wreck that’s me by ribbing the guy about his love of four-letter words, and he defends himself, grinning the whole time.

He seems…happy. I realize that’s what it is. Maybe happy is the wrong word. He seems content. Like he’s so comfortable in his skin. I can’t help wondering what he’d think about me if he knew all my shit. Would he still be comfortable and nice, with kind eyes and that reassuring manner? Or would it freak him out, be way above his paygrade? What about his husband? How would the pastor feel if I asked him what I came here to ask?

Such a dumb fuck, I tell myself, rubbing a hand over my hair.

“Listen, dude. Nobody’s gonna keep you here if you don’t wanna stay, but chew on it. And let’s go to the den and watch some boob tube and get more food for ya.”

I snort at him saying boob tube. “That’s what my Mom’s dad used to call it.”

He does little guns with his fingers, pointing at me and saying, “I’m not your mom’s dad” with a twinkle in his eye.

“But you areadad.” I’m smirking as I push off the chair’s arms and to my feet.

“I am a dad,” he says, opening the bedroom door to the hall. “Can you believe they just give little wiggly babies to novices?”

“Well, they’re born from a mother,” I point out. “Are the moms really novices?” I can’t help another big smirk.

He gives me stink eye over his shoulder as we move through the hall. “Honestly?” he says, sounding more serious, “I sort of think they are.”

“What about instincts?” I ask.

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