Communion (On My Knees Duet 3)

“Modesty is a virtue, Rayne, but modesty when you’re as talented as you are is a sin.”

He shakes his head, and I smile because he really is modest.

I walk him to his atrium; it’s one that’s more interior to the church, so anyone coming near him would need to go through more than one guard—not that he knows that.

There’s a fresh slab of marble that he greets with a grin.

“Nice sight,” he murmurs, running his fingertips over it.

“You are.”

“You gonna watch me on the cameras?” he asks, grinning.

“What do you think?”

Vance laughs, and my heart does a slow roll as he smiles. “Go on, preacher. I’ll be right here.”

I drag air into my lungs and paste a smile on my face, and Rayne’s eyes crinkle at the corners as he gives me a smile. He steps from his slab of marble to me, wrapping am arm around my back so he can hold me tight against him for a second.

“You want me to walk up later?” he asks. “Come and see you in your office?”

I press my cheek against his. “It’s okay.”

I’d never say it, but the idea makes me nervous. Things today are going to be strained enough without anything…extra.

Still, when Vance folds me into a big bear hug, I let myself relax against him. I deserve that. We do.

Pretty soon, he’ll be my husband legally. Pretty soon, we’ll wear the rings. I’m not going to worry about someone seeing me hug the love of my life. I’m not going to worry about any of this. Love is love. Is love. And that’s a hard stop for me.

“Well, are you or aren’t you?”

“Like I said, Kimber—I am.” I grit my teeth, blinking at my desktop computer—which has gone to sleep—and squeezing my cell phone so hard it might break. “I don’t see the point in taking our conversation beyond this point.” I’m going to get married, and that’s that.

“The point is theological, Pastor McDowell. Marriage and…partnering…are two completely different animals.”

I exhale slowly out my nose so it won’t make a sigh sound into the phone. “I’m heading into a meeting, Kimber. If you would like to move your membership—”

“What I would like, and what a lot of us Evermore donors would like, is just for you to wait, Luke. Even just a few months. You’ve waited your entire life to even go public with this information. What’s a few months when you’re living with this man—this artist—anyway.” I blink, gritting my molars. She goes on: “Let us see how regular Christians, specifically the ones who attend Evermore, will react. See if we can ease them into this. And then you do what you want. Go off and get married. Maybe something international, where the licensing is done—”

I end the call and rise from my desk chair, hurling the phone across the room onto the largest couch, where it bounces off, onto the rug. A few deep, measured breaths—I can still hear the echo of her saying “artist” like it’s “shit”—and then I’m striding over toward a window, twisting the rod that opens the wooden blinds and blinking at the courtyard.

I should feel better knowing Vance is in the building. I could sneak downstairs and see him, do the things we used to. But this isn’t like that. Nothing is the same now.

I shut my eyes again, replaying highlights from the board meeting I’d just gotten out of when Kimber, one of our largest Bay area donors, called my cell phone. Everyone was tactful, sure, but how do you package “we’re worried everyone will leave because of you” in a way that doesn’t come off like…I don’t even know.

I promised Vance I’d call him or go down to see him if this happened. But I can’t. I go back to my desk chair, hold my head in my hands, try to tell myself all this is temporary. These are hiccups. Yeah, it’s what my new therapist would call “triggering,” but I can handle being triggered.

No one wants you.

You’re a mistake.

Now that they’ve found out what kind of man you really are, they’re all disgusted.

So what? What do I care what these bigots think?

Still, my stomach churns as I think of how many people on the board expressed the same idea that Kimber had: that maybe I should wait to get married.

“Leave the attention on what matters—on the church—instead of your love life,” one of them advised.

But you can’t do that. You’re already married, Luke. Remember

I promised myself to him. In every way that matters, Vance is mine forever—and I feel like crap that a-hole donors like Kimber Fischer don’t know it, and neither does my own damn board…because I haven’t made it public. Because we aren’t legally wed here in California. The international thing Kimber suggested? We already did it—or we would have, if we had been able. Two men can’t even marry in the Caymans.