Page 66 of Slay the Gay Away, Daddy

“No,” he quickly says, like he regrets asking the question more than he’s ever regretted anything. “That’s not what I was asking. I’m sorry. I was asking if you want me to have Meadows move her too?”

I take a breath, and it almost feels like I’m already breathing a little easier. Gone? She can just be . . . gone? Forever? The look I give is a plea, begging for it to be true. Needing to finally be rid of her.

“Please,” I whisper, my voice cracked and raw. My eyes burn as I blink back tears, but one slips out anyway. “Darren, please.”

His hand cups my cheek, and then his lips press firmly to my forehead. “Consider it done.”

“Will you come with me to seeher? I’ve never been that far back in the graveyard. Not since my father made me go to her funeral. I don’t know if I can do it alone, Dare, but I think I have to get it off my chest. To finally tell her what she did to me.”

He stares into my eyes like he’s looking right into my soul. He doesn’t even have to answer. Of course he will. He’ll follow me anywhere. He would storm the gates of Hell just to burn eternally at my side.

I love him. My Dare. My Dare-bear. Somewhere along the way, the boy I knew became a man, and though I fought like hell to fight it, that man stole my heart.

The old grave is overgrown, covered in moss, her name hidden away, lost with time. It’s better this way, I think. Seeing her name hidden makes it harder to see her face. It makes it easier to guard my broken heart. I trusted her once. I thought of her as family. She let me down as badly as my family ever did, so maybe I wasn’t too far off.

Darren is staring at the piles of wooden planks and cement blocks covering her final resting place.

“That was Mal’s doing,” I tell him. “I used to get these really bad dreams.” I tighten the grip I have on his hand, because I need to feel him closer. As close as I can get him. “I kept dreaming she was coming back for me. That my daddy figured out that I wasn’t really cured, so he sent her back to try again. When I would finally wake up, Mal would be holding me, trying to soothe me, but she just reminded me of her. I didn’t want it, Dare. I didn’t want her touching me. I didn’t want either of their hands on me.”

“I know,” he says, because I’m sure he does. “I know, Miles.”

“The dreams were worse when Mal and I tried to make love. I didn’t want that either.” I sniffle, wiping my eyes. “It felt wrong. I always felt so dirty when we were done, and I’d sit in the shower, hoping the water would wash me down the drain. Take me somewhere I belonged. Somewhere I wasn’t so broken.”

“You’re putting yourself back together,” he reminds me, kissing my shoulder.

I nod, not sure how true those words feel. I think a part of me will always hurt for the life I never had, but now I’ve got a whole new life. A big, potentially beautiful life unfolding before me. Shouldn’t I be able to cling to his love and leave behind my shame? Maybe it will get easier one day. Maybe the younger, hopeful Miles Brooks I left behind can finally be redeemed.

“I asked Mal to coverhergrave about a year after we were married. I had a really bad dream that she came back. That she tried to—” I close my eyes and shake my head, trying to keep my emotions in check. “Mal didn’t ask any questions. She just brought the wood out here and covered her for me, then never mentioned it again.”

“She’s a good woman.”

I nod. “She’s the best.”

He squeezes my hand. “She’s probably going to yell at me when we get home.” He’s got that same crazed look in his eyes he always gets when he wages war on Mallory. Last time I saw it was when he tossed all Mal’s casual skirts into the washing machine and poured three economy-size bottles of bleach into the inner-drum.

He can claim it was because denim skirts are an abomination to God until he’s blue in the face, we all know he just wanted to get her back for holding my hand in church earlier that morning.

“For what?”

He swallows and quickly looks away. “Believe me, you’ll find out once we get home.”

I sigh and shake my head, kneeling overher. Dare rests his hand on my shoulder and squeezes, and I place my hand on top of his and squeeze right back.

As I stare down at the wooden planks, it feels like there aren’t enough to hold her down. This woman—this demon—has haunted me all my adult life. She’s the big bad boogeyman hiding in my closet, ready to pounce. Even in death, her presence lingers. Festers. She held me back from being the man I could have been. The man I can still be with Darren at my side.

“The Lord calls us to forgive,” I whisper, keeping my voice steady by the grace of God. “But I don’t forgive you. I can’t.” I look up at Dare, trying so damn hard to hold myself together. “Sometimes, I can still feel her on me. She was wearing this nasty-smelling powder all over her, and it was gritty against my hand.” I roll the tips of my thumbs against the sides of my index fingers, and sure enough, it feels like it’s still coating my skin. “She ruined me, Dare.”

He shakes his head. “You aren’t ruined.” He places his hand over my heart and smiles, touching his forehead to mine. “You’re mine, and you’re perfect.” He kisses my forehead. “I think you should see someone, baby. A therapist to help with the trauma you’re still carrying around. I want this to be a fresh start for all of us. You’ve been holding onto this hurt by yourself, but you’re not alone anymore. You never were.” His lips brush against mine, and he wipes away a tear I didn’t even realize was falling. When he pulls away, he cups both my cheeks with his hands. “I love you, Miles. Let me find someone to help you with this. Please?”

I sniffle, and when my head nods on its own, I’m just as surprised as he is. I was raised to believe God was all the therapy I’d ever need. I had it drilled into my head that His love would be a light to guide me through the dark times. That light has yet to show itself. I’ve heard stories of it though. My dad talkedabout God’s love all the time, how it reminded him of sparkling silver slashes that spread through his body, making his skin tingle. Ripping words in foreign tongues out of him. The Spirit speaking through him. I’ve tried to find that feeling, but after twenty years, it still feels like I’m putting on a show. Mumbling out gibberish and pretending I’m speaking in tongues, so the rest of our church didn’t realize I was a fraud. I want that light. I’ve wanted to see it all my life, and as God as my witness, when I look up at Dare, I finally can. It’s there, shining out of my boy, right at me. It isn’t silver or sparkling. It doesn’t make me want to cry out in God’s foreign tongue. It’s simple, and it’s true. Truer than anything that’s come before.

Darren Matthews is the light, and he’s absolutely blinding.

My hands feel dirty, and when I look down at them, I realize it’s not the memory ofherpowder clinging to my skin. It’s actual dirt. I’ve got one hand dug into the soil, clawing at earth like I’m trying to claw my way down toher. There’s a well of untapped anger inside me, and I know Darren’s right. I need to talk to someone about this. I can’t keep going the way I am. If I want to be the man he deserves, I have to work past my pain.

“Will you come with me?” I whisper. “To the therapist? I don’t want to go alone.”

He reaches down and takes my dirt-covered hand, squeezing. “You got it.”

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