Communion (On My Knees Duet 3)

“You’ve got terrible language,” the kid says bluntly. I grin, wishing I could see his face. Is he giving Rayne a judgy face? Because that would be epic.

“Yeah, you know what?” Rayne says. “I don’t think God gives a rat’s ass. Don’t go telling Luke that, though. We wanna show respect, yeah?”

“Do you, though?” the guy asks.

“Do I show respect? To God or Luke?”

The guy laughs. “Either one of them.”

“My respect, my business. Listen, I’ve been working on the four-letter words but it’s not easy. Speech is dull without them.”

“Hell yeah to that.” I lean my head against the door. This guy is trying to sound cool. I’m pretty sure he is. I bet he wants to impress Rayne babe. Even with his shorter hair and pricey threads, my guy still looks a little grunge and a lot sexy. I wonder if the kid is gay, but then the baby cries, and I’ve got to hurry down the hall without making noise, so Vanny and his college kid guest can’t hear me.

I find Little Miss squalling, her face all red—and that’s because she’s doing funny business. It takes me a while to do the diaper, due to the fact that babies are all squish and squirm and fuss, and this one is sassy because she wants a bottle.

“We’re gonna feed you, little lamb. Just hold your horses.”

Negative five for the nonsensical animal analogies, McDowell.

Then we’re out in the hall, and I catch a glimpse of V and his friend heading into the living room.

This is going to be interesting.

For the next ten minutes, I feel like I’m in the Twilight Zone. Vance sees Eden eating her hand and whips up a bottle while I try to make small-talk with this random dude, whose name I still don’t know. I’m trying to strike the right balance between acting like Pastor Luke and also a little of possessive husband, but also welcoming older brother, possibly gay mentor?

The guy is sitting at our breakfast table, mostly looking at the table itself. But when he gives murmured replies to something Rayne or I say, his voice is low and strong and normal.

The kid is…I don’t even know how to assess him. I think he looks unwell. His face is somber in a way I seldom see in healthy people…like he just found out he has some fatal illness. But it’s odd because when I catch glimpses of him—when the kid looks away, or down, and I get in a quick stare—I realize he’s in solid shape.

Not like I’m thirsting for the kid, but just…he’s well-worked out. Maybe too well. He’s got a lot of muscle and almost no fat. Which makes me think he must have been okay till recently, and sometime in the last few weeks, he fell into a less-than-ideal situation. Maybe got kicked out of his house? I decide that’s what he looks like: like he’s missed a few meals.

Rayne is trying to get some information out of him—I can tell—but the dude won’t take the bait. He gives generic answers. Vanny passes me the bottle and Eden latches onto it. Rayne and the kid start talking again, and I’m pretty sure I see the kid swipe at some hair that’s not in front of his forehead. Did he just shave his hair short? I dyed mine dark last night, so I feel him.

I listen as Vance talks about the house itself, and how we came into possession of Eden, and bad press. He gets the young guy to say he’s finished with high school and is supposed to be at college right now. Which is a feat, because the kid has got his personal information in a death grip. The kid also says he’s never had a younger sibling, so I guess that’s something for the info chart.

Just as Little Miss is nodding off, I pass her off to Vance.

I sit down at the table, just across from the kid. “What’s your name again, kid?”

His lips twitch—and even that looks sad. “I’m not a kid,” he says. His eyes, down on the table, lift to meet mine.

Whew…that gets me right behind the sternum. I keep staring. He keeps staring. There’s a sort of blankness in his gray eyes—almost lifelessness. He looks so bleak.

I hear myself say, “Maybe not.”

He looks down again. When he looks back up, he seems more self-possessed than he has yet.

“I want to ask you something,” he says.

I’m surprised when my pulse beats off rhythm.

“Me?”

He smirks. “No, the other person at the table.”

“Hey, I’m back here.” I glance over my shoulder, finding Rayne smiling one of his lovable Rayne smiles.

“Not you,” the guy says quietly. His gaze returns to my face. “Can I ask the question in private?”

There’s something in his voice—a subtle note of unsteadiness—that makes me feel nervous.