Page 191 of Wrath

“Mothering instincts?” he says. “Can’t speak on that. All I know is my instinct is to hold her like a doll and never put her down. Also, you know…all moms don’t have instincts. Unfortunately.”

That hits me right in the chest.

I feel sick remembering my dream and thinking of my mother as I follow Vance through the living area and toward the kitchen. Does she have no instincts, or is it just me? I really think it’s just her feelings about me—because when I was little and she didn’t know the real me, she was so much nicer. More like a mom.

“Sit down right there, Padawan,” Vance says, pointing to a glass-topped, round table in the kitchen area.

“Star Wars?”I ask.

“Hell to the yeah,” he says, opening a kitchen cabinet. Then Luke McDowell comes in with their baby, and the baby’s fussing.

“Oh snap. Look at you,” Vance coos to the baby. “Someone needs a bottle.” I watch as he looks down at her, as his face softens and his mouth curves, and he looks into the pastor’s eyes and they share this…look. It makes my chest feel hot and tight. It makes my throat ache.

I look at the table, and then Luke McDowell is standing near me. I can smell him. Some kind of cologne, I guess. There’s a long moment of silence, as Vance preps a bottle for the baby. Then Luke says, “We’re glad you stopped by.”

I look up at him likewuttt, and he gives me a funny little smile. “I mean it,” he says, his eyes doing the twinkle thing like Vance’s do. Like everything in life is so amusing. “You’re our first real house guest since we hitched our carts together.”

“Where’d you come to us from, Padawan? If you don’t mind,” Vance says.

“Endor,” I say, reaching. I’m not sure they’ll get it, but the pastor’s face lights up, then stretches with a big grin, and Vance gives a low whistle as he puts a bottle into some kind of small, round machine.

“The boy knows hisStar Wars,” Luke says, clearly approving.

“Pastor McDowell here has got a real light saber,” Vance says. “From one of the sets. We’ll have to show you.”

“Really?” I ask.

The pastor’s eyes move over my face as he nods. “That’s right. Vance’s favorite thing about me.”

Vance snorts, and Luke gives him a smirky little look as he starts to bounce the baby more.

Finally, the bottle’s ready. Luke starts feeding the baby and Vance takes a seat at the table, where he chats my fucking ear off. I gotta give it to him—dude is personable. Pastor Luke has got that whole chill, older dude vibe going. He seems nice, a little serious or shy, maybe. Thoughtful, I guess. Vance seems thoughtful, too, but really friendly. It’s like…his husband is more of a closed door—half closed, anyway—but Vance Rayne puts it all out on the table. When he talks to me or asks a question, I feel like he’s focusing on me with all his focus powers.

I know it means my gut was right from last night, that he reallyisa nice person, but I can’t say I like it.

I try to evade his carefully casual questions. I’m sure he notices, but he’s not pressing. Neither is Pastor McDowell. He’s gazing down at his baby, and I start re-thinking my perceptions of a woman’s mothering instinct. These two seem like they’re doing okay.

I wonder if I could, too. The thought is out of my head before I can shove it back in. I drum my fingers on the table. Then I notice the baby’s sorta stopped drinking. She looks moresprawled out on the pastor’s arm, like she’s falling asleep. That’s funny. Luke hands her off to Vance, who snuggles her against his chest, looking smitten as he peers down at her.

Luke sits down across from me. There’s more shooting the shit. I tell them that my name is Miller, and I start to get the clawing feeling again. Like something’s ripping at the inside of my chest behind my pecs.

Finally, when I get the chance, when I feel brave—just for a second—I say what I came here to say. “I want to ask you something.”

Luke McDowell looks surprised and actually says, “Me?”

I almost ask him if he’s sure he’s a real pastor. Lots of them seem perfectly happy to become the sole authority on everything. The more I’m in the room with him, the more I think this guy is a blond Nordstrom model with a classically attractive face and hipster glasses.

I don’t know if I can talk about this at all…but if I do, I can’t handle Vance Rayne’s nice eyes on me. And anyway, the question I have is more for a pastor.

My heart pounds as I say, “Can I ask the question in private?”

Twelve

Ezra

We end up in their living room—the really nice one that looks kind of like a palace, even in comparison to my mom’s pretty nice crib.

Pastor McDowell sits in an armchair, so I sit on the love seat. As soon as my ass meets the couch’s cushion, my heart starts fucking racing. I think of getting up and bolting out the front door. I know I won’t do that—there’s no fight or flight for me today—so my head starts to go hazy. It’s dissociation. Learned about it during my first go ’round at Sheppard Pratt. This shit is pretty damn annoying.

---