Communion (On My Knees Duet 3)

We're going to get married, and we're going to have children, and we're going to be happy. I will transform this church so that it suits us—so it supports our life rather than rips at it—and if I can't make that happen, we’ll just go. And I'll feel nothing but peace. Coming back here after our time away was difficult. I got too nervous—that someone would lash out or...I don't know…I guess try to hurt one of us.

It's a weird feeling to know that anyone I pass by on the street might think this fundamental part of who I am is invalid at best. Being such a lightning rod, so visible—that makes it even harder. And this scrutiny, it's mine. I asked for it. I wanted it. I thrive in it. Living my life in the open—especially the spiritual parts of it—is not something that's ever bothered me before.

Now, everything is different. All I want is Vance, to make him happy.

I look into his eyes and we both smile. "Nice job, Zaddy."

He laughs, extra softly, so the baby doesn't falter in her suckling. "If someone's gonna be a zaddy, I think we both know it's you, Sky."

"Is it such a sure thing?"

"Oh, c'mon. You're older, more established. You've got the better body—"

"Rayne. Don't be ridiculous. Everything about you is perfection."

He snorts. "You turn heads everywhere we go, McD. Don't think I don't know about those calls you're getting to be on the cover of magazines."

"What?" I feign ignorance.

He rolls his eyes. "I've got eyes and ears all in this church," he jokes, although I think maybe he really does.

"You didn't mention that you knew,” I tell him.

"Well, yeah. It's not my business, is it?"

"Actually it is," I tell him. "I was going to ask. What your preference was. Or is. About press coverage."

Rayne waggles his brows, and I know him well enough to know he's trying to look nonchalant even though he doesn't feel it.

I reach over the baby to give his shoulder a squeeze; he's still crouched down beside us, holding the bottle for her. "What do you think?” I ask. “Did she tell you which ones were asking?"

He smiles, acknowledging it was Pearl who squealed. "Nah. She just said people were calling. And seemed 'excited.'"

I try not to let my laugh sound too jaded. "Oh yes, they are so excited about selling magazines."

"Still better than the old times."

"Yes," I agree. "I guess it is."

I can't help thinking that twenty years ago—maybe even ten—I might have spent my whole life in the closet. Married to a woman like Megan. Fathering children. Pretending.

"Whatcha thinking, McD?" V asks softly.

I give him a look and watch his face bend sympathetically, and then I laugh because I think we just talked without words.

He leans his head toward mine, like he wants to nuzzle me but doesn't dare to move and cause our picky miss to be thrown off course.

"Holy hell, she's gonna drain this dry," Rayne says with a laugh.

"Yeah, she might. You want to hand it off to me and run go make another one?"

He smiles down at the baby. "Yeah, I guess I can do that."

I take the bottle from V, and he gets up. Missy doesn't falter. I smile as I watch him rush to the counter and start the preparation. "Fuck, do I remember how to do this?" I hear him murmur.

"You do," I murmur back. And—oh no—the baby looks up at me, halting in her drinking. C’mon, cupcake. Keep on going. She goes right back to it.

"I do," he says. "I do."

I let my gaze wander up and down the curve of his ass. Mine. I should take him to the courthouse and get married after we leave work. Maybe that's not good enough, though. Also, what if it's a spectacle, or someone says something negative to us? Maybe we could just apply for some kind of paperwork? But if we do that, will Vance think I didn't want to do it in person?

I blow a slow breath out and look up to find him looking at me, leaning his hip against the counter as the microwave heats water for the bottle.

Hi, I tell him, winking.

He grins, looking down as if he's feeling shy.

Don't be shy, my Rayne babe.

He looks up at me, and yeah, my boy is definitely shy right now. He whirls toward the microwave, catching it before it makes the "ding" sound. I can't help grinning, down at the baby and then out at him again, as he mixes the formula into the water and walks back over to us, looking bright-eyed and bushy-tailed.

He smiles down at the baby.

"Almost to the bottom of the bottle, so you’re just in time," I murmur.

He squeezes some out of the formula out in his hand, and with a frown that quickly turns into a self-pleased look, he holds it down for her. I ease the empty bottle out of her mouth, and he offers her the other, which she takes and starts to gulp down even more forcefully than the first.