Page 3 of Deacon

“Freya,” Ryland calls.

I put my head back out. “What?”

“Bittern’s coming to work to help us today,” he says. “Braxton’s coming back around noon to get his shit before he leaves for his aunt’s house. You make something for lunch.”

“Fine,” I say, slamming the door.

My heart is thumping. I don’t want to be alone with Braxton, but there’s not much I can do. So, I watch Bittern go, and then I make sandwiches to leave on the table. Then, I strip all the beds and haul the sheets out to the tobacco barn. I usually wash the bedding once a month, but I need an excuse to be out of the house.

I’m halfway through the second load when I hear boots on the floor. I glance up. Braxton is standing in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest.

“Hey, pretty girl,” he drawls.

I turn back around, mouth dry. He gets closer, leaning on the dryer to my left.

“Hey,” I say, voice low.

“I gotta be going soon,” he says. “Headed up to my aunt’s, then back to West Virginia.”

“West Virginia is where my mom’s family is from,” I blurt out.

I don’t know where that came from. Rarely do I talk about my mother, because there’s nothing to say. She left when I was barely more than a toddler. The memories I have of her are like photocopies, blurred with age. I’m not even sure they’re real memories anymore.

“Oh yeah?”

I nod, trying to make small talk. “And the preacher at the church I go to.”

“You go to church?” he says, taking a step closer.

“Yeah,” I whisper. “The one-room down the road.”

The corner of his mouth curls in a lopsided grin. I wonder if the church thing turns him on. I wonder if he thinks I’m something pure to ruin. The world has made it clear that sex will change me, but men, they reincarnate themselves before the bed is cold. Sin doesn’t stick to them, somehow.

I want to believe that’s bullshit. Who taught me that anyway? Not the dusty, dry preacher who refuses to even discuss sex.

Maybe Aiden?

All my self-hatred leads back to Aiden. I know that well.

“You a good girl, huh?” Braxton drawls, pulling me from my mind.

I’m not really an anything girl—I’ve barely started living. I look over; he’s close. The washing machine thumps, making it hard to think. Warm summer air comes in through the slats of the tobacco barn and blood pumps in my ears. I see his hand come up and touch my cheek.

“Think you could give me something to think about later before I go?” His voice is low, oddly persuasive.

I wet my lips. “What kind of thing?”

His eyes flick down. “Maybe something quick.”

My stomach swoops. “Like…sex?”

He flashes a grin. “Yeah, you don’t have to do anything. Just spread those legs. It’s real easy.”

“I haven’t done that before,” I blurt out.

He cocks his head, hand working down my face to my neck. I got dressed in my favorite jeans and shirt after everybody left. His finger traces down the line of my cleavage.

“It’s alright. I won’t tell anybody,” he says.

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