Page 16 of Preacher Man
He unlocked the front door and glanced back at me with that infuriating grin.
“Let’s grab that cold beer now, Ethan,” he said.“Looks like you really need it.”
I stood there like a man caught between heaven and hell.
Because I needed it.The beer and the cold.The distance.
But mostly, what I really needed was to not follow him through that door.
Because if I did, I wasn’t sure I’d come back out the same.
I followed him.
The front door groaned open, swallowing us into the cool shadows of his house.Jake’s place was clean in a rugged, no-frills way.Open layout, wooden floors, a big sagging leather couch, motorcycle magazines fanned out on the coffee table.It smelled like cedar and something a little spicy, probably whatever cologne clung to his neck and made me weak in the knees.
He moved to the kitchen, grabbing two beers from the fridge.Then he popped the tops with one smooth flick of a wrist against the counter.
I hovered awkwardly in the doorway, like a vampire waiting for permission to enter, except I was already inside, already falling, already damned.
He handed me a bottle.Our fingers touched.I jolted like he’d burned me.
“You good?”he asked, voice rough like gravel and warm like whiskey.
“Fine,” I lied.Took a long swig, too fast.The cold bite of the beer went straight to my head.
Jake leaned against the counter, watching me.Not like he was assessing.More like he was studying.Like he was looking past the preacher’s collar I wasn’t currently wearing, the nerves, the stammering politeness I wore like armor.
“So…” I said, fumbling for something—anything—safe.“This, uh, place is nice.You did the renovations yourself?”
He raised an eyebrow.“You really gonna talk drywall right now?”
I coughed.“I just meant… ”
“You said, ‘I can’t do this again.’”
He said it softly, but it hit hard.
My grip tightened around the bottle.I stared at the label, wishing it would blur into scripture and absolve me.
“It’s nothing,” I muttered.“I didn’t mean anything by it.”
Jake didn’t move.Just sipped his beer and waited.
The silence stretched between us, full of unsaid things.My skin prickled.Every nerve felt exposed.
“Ethan,” he said, “I’ve seen how you look at me.On my bike, back at the diner.Hell, even in church.You watch me like you’re hungry and ashamed of it.”
I swallowed hard.“I’m not… ”
“Don’t lie.”
His voice wasn’t cruel, nor was it mocking.It was just… certain.Like he already knew the truth and was waiting for me to admit I did, too.
I put the beer down.My hands were shaking.I turned away, pretending to admire the backsplash, but my voice betrayed me.
“There was someone,” I said, my throat tight.“Before.”
Jake said nothing.The air between us stilled.
