Page 30 of Preacher Man
“Shit,” Ethan whispered, panic flaring in his voice as he scrambled off me, fumbling to pull on his pants.Papers slid off the desk and fluttered to the floor.“You have to hide.”
“Are you serious?”I hissed, still trying to catch my breath.“Ethan… ”
“Please, Jake,” he said, wild-eyed, his hand shaking as he pointed to the gap under the desk.“I’m begging you.”
I stared at him.My knees ached.My pride did, too.Everything in me wanted to stand tall, to stay visible.To not be shoved into the shadows like I was something to be ashamed of.
But he looked so scared.
So broken.
And I loved him too much to make it worse.
I knelt down and crawled beneath the desk just as the footsteps grew louder, coming closer.
From under the desk, I watched Ethan smooth his shirt down with trembling hands, wipe at the tears still wet on his face, and paste on the mask he wore so damn well.
The preacher, the good man, the liar.
And as the office door creaked open, I wondered how long I could keep hiding like this before it finally destroyed us both.
ChapterNine
Ethan
My heart was thudding so loud I thought it might give me away.
The door creaked open like some kind of slow-motion horror movie, the kind where you already know what’s coming and you still pray you’re wrong.I kept my expression calm, my posture upright, but I was trembling under the surface.
I risked a glance down.
Jake was crouched beneath my desk, his chest rising and falling fast.His lips were parted, his face flushed—still wrecked from what we’d just done.What I’d let us do.No, what I’d begged for.
And now someone else was in the room.
“Brother Ethan,” came the voice, low, sticky, too-smooth like honey drizzled over spoiled meat.“The Lord’s peace be upon you this fine day.”
Brother Thomas.Of course, it was him.
I looked up, my smile stiff, my hands shaking as I folded them in front of me.“Brother Thomas.You startled me.”
He stood in the doorway with his thick leather Bible clutched like a weapon, his face pink and sweaty beneath his too-tight collar.He had that waxy look some old men get when their skin starts clinging to the bone, like his soul had already left, but his body didn’t know it yet.
“The Board of Deacons has requested your presence,” he said, each syllable slow and heavy, like it was being delivered straight from Mount Sinai.“They’d like a word.At my home, if you’d be so kind as to join me.”
My heart dropped straight into my stomach.
“Oh,” I said.Just that.My voice cracked like I was back in high school choir trying to hit a tenor note with a cold.“Of course.Just let me grab my keys.”
He stepped aside, and I forced my legs to move.My knees felt like splintered wood, barely holding me up as I brushed past him.
Jake was still silent under the desk, bless him.I didn’t dare look again.
I walked outside with the air strangling me, thick, damp, and judgmental as hell.The sun was blinding, bouncing off the cracked pavement like it had something to prove.
Brother Thomas headed for his truck, a mud-brown Ford that looked like it had been blessed with motor oil and spite.I veered toward my car instead, fumbling with my keys as I broke into a jog.
I needed a second.A breath.A plan.
