Page 44 of Preacher Man
The front doors loomed in front of me like I was walking into a lion’s den, but fuck it.I didn’t come here for Jesus.
I came for Ethan.
I pushed open the heavy door, and the air inside hit me like a time warp.Stale perfume, old Bibles, and whatever cologne Brother Thomas probably bathed in.Something cheap.
I slid into the back pew as quietly as I could, though my boots still squeaked like I was trying to sabotage my own entrance.I sat down, stiff and awkward, like I was afraid the seat would burn my skin.I half-expected the wood beneath my ass to sizzle and catch fire.
But then it hit me.
That feeling.Like the sun through the clouds after a storm, or warm hands smoothing over my chest, calming my heartbeat.
Ethan.
Not the physical kind of presence—he wasn’t here—but something in the air vibrated with the memory of him.The ghost of him, maybe.The proper kind, not the spooky kind.
He’d sat in these pews.Ethan had walked down this aisle.He’d breathed the same air I was breathing now.
And even surrounded by all this holy bullshit, he’d been bright.Not dimmed or diminished.Not like these people who believed they were chosen by God just because they were loud and judgmental.
Ethan wasn’t chosen.Ethan chose.He chose compassion when they chose condemnation.He chose me.
Even if he couldn’t stay.
The organ creaked to life and the old lady up front, Sister something, started banging out the first hymn like it was a funeral march.Everyone around me stood up, all at once, like Jesus himself had whispered “Rise.”
I didn’t move.
I just sat there, hands on my thighs, watching them.Then the song ended, and everyone sat again in unison.The scrape of wooden pews echoed like creaky bones settling.
Then the real torture began.
Brother Thomas stepped up to the pulpit like a man with a mission.He smoothed down his tie, adjusted his mic, and launched into a Bible lesson so disturbing it made me flinch.
Genesis 22.Abraham and Isaac.The test of faith.You know, the one where God’s like, “Hey Abe, stab your kid for me, would you?”And Abraham’s like, “Sure, Big G, anything for You.”
What the actual hell?
The more he droned on about obedience and loyalty and sacrificing what you love, the more my hands curled into fists in my lap.The man sounded gleeful about it, like he couldn’t wait to be tested in the same way.
I almost stood up and walked out.
And then the church doors creaked open behind me.
I froze.
Then I turned my head, my heart pounding in my ears, a million thoughts crashing through my brain at once.
And there he was.
Ethan.
Hair a little messy, like he’d driven with the windows down.A denim jacket I hadn’t seen before clinging to his shoulders.His eyes searched the room until they landed on me, and when they did, the breath got punched right out of my chest.
Jesus.
He looked tired.Like he hadn’t slept in days.
He looked like I felt.
