Communion (On My Knees Duet 3)

I wrap myself around him and just smell him. Vance. The keeper of my heart. The master of my little human universe. For me, he's the embodiment of love. He helps me see God. That's what love does. It helps us see beyond our animal instincts, our petty human limitations, and it helps us elevate.

Vance hugs me, and I hug him harder. "Thank you. You're my lifeline, you know. You're the way I see God."

He frames my face with his hands, kisses my cheeks and my forehead and my eyes. "I'll be your protector, okay?"

"You're always the hero of our story, Vanny."

"We're co-stars as the hero. We're gonna build something epic with what we have. I can feel it,” he says.

I haven't told him much about my plans that involve making Evermore a haven for people who don’t have other places to go—especially queer people. But I know what he’ll say when I do. I tell him just a little bit, and he hugs me hard.

"That's what I want." He kisses my temple. "I just want to see what we can do together. And when we're old" —he laughs softly— "hopefully we die together," he says in a low rasp. "Do you think that's fucked up?"

I laugh, almost shocked, but also... "No. I don’t want to live without you either. But I've resisted that siren call a long time, Vanny. So you better hope there's a pandemic virus for us, or a meteor or something."

He kisses my mouth gently, and when he leans his head back, I'm relieved to see he's smiling. "It's okay if we don’t go at exactly the same time. I gotta die first, though."

"My Rayne..." I kiss his jaw. "Who knew you were such a morose boy?"

He runs his hands into my hair, tugging as his hooded eyes seem to almost glow with love. "That's not how it is, McD." His voice sounds hoarse. His mouth looks so soft. "I just know what I need."

I run my tongue over his lower lip, give him a tender kiss, and then hug him against me. "I don't know why I get to be that. But I'm glad I do."

We sit there for a long time holding each other.

Rayne murmurs into my shoulder. "I've got your back, Sky. You're gonna get up there, and you're gonna do this. No one's better than you."

I lift my head off him so I can look into his eyes. Just looking at his face makes me feel better. Like a hit of some drug.

"When it's over, we'll go hold our baby,” he says.

I shut my eyes.

"You're stressed about that, too?” he guesses. “Don't be stressed. There's a lot of babies, Sky babe. If we can't keep this one, we'll just get another one from somewhere."

I can't help a soft laugh. "It's that simple?"

"Oh yeah," he says, winking. "It's that simple."

I think of Vance running through an orphanage, scooping up baby after baby, holding them all like he held Eden when he first found her in the box, and I get a good, long laugh out of it.

"You're..."

"Impractical?” he says. “And optimistic?" He tilts his head and smiles so beautifully that it hurts my chest.

"Yes,” I say. “You're both of those."

There's a knock on my door. "It's time for your makeup, Pastor."

"Knock em dead," Vance says as we stand together, still wrapped in each other.

I widen my eyes, chastising and hopefully comical, and he laughs. "Slain in the spirit."

That makes me laugh, too.

"I'll do my best, Rayne."

He kisses my lips as we get to the door. "I love you."

"I love you more." One more hard hug, and I'm out.

I'm out as hell. I'm walking down the hall with the pre-production team and not a single note in my pocket, and I feel Vance's eyes on my back like a warm hug.

I'm out, and I'm about to go on live TV and tell the world.

23

Vance

God, my stomach's in a fucking knot. Luke is standing maybe ten feet out in front of me, behind a curtain wall that separates him from the amphitheater’s large stage. I can see the mic box attached to his belt in the back, creating a lump under his jacket. I can see the way his left hand flexes at his side—his fist not really clenching but just curling nervously. He shifts his weight. His right hand, which holds the black mic that he uses onstage every time, must be flexing, too, because there's tension in his triceps.

I watch as his shoulders rise and fall, and then his head bows. He rolls his bulky shoulders like they’re aching.

I think I'm learning the musical cues. The song they play while people get into their seats is almost over. Then it's over, and he bows his head one more time, quickly, and he's stepping forward onto the bright stage. The burgundy curtains flutter around him, and the staff here in the wings around me falls quiet.