Communion (On My Knees Duet 3)

He hugs me hard. "I missed you." His cheek is on my head and my hands are tracing the grooves of his muscular back. It feels damp. "You okay?" I stroke up toward his nape. "You had a long day?"

I feel him shrug, and he holds me more tightly. "I want to go home early, but I've got a meeting at 5:30. You wanna go without me, and I'll grab a car?"

"Nah. I'll just keep working till then.”

I feel him inhale against my neck. "You sure?"

"Yeah, I'm sure." I rub his back. "You okay?"

He nods. I feel him inhale and stroke my fingers over his back. Tell me, Sky babe.

"Saw one of the membership rosters." He inhales again. He lifts his head, his eyes holding mine, so I can see how fucking sad he is. "But it's okay. This is stuff that happens. There's this...guy I know.” He swallows. “Two guys. They were in this study group I did. Anyway, I uh…had thought that maybe we could get together with them sometime."

He looks into my eyes, and I can see the question in his. But what is it? "Ohh, you're saying they're a couple."

I can see his nostrils flare on a breath before he nods.

"Guys you like?" I ask.

He nods.

I can’t help a big grin. "Yeah, let's do it. They're from the church?"

His face looks uncertain, but he nods again. "Just some people I know from here."

"Anything you want to do, I'm down for. I’d love to meet them."

His lips twitch. "Anything..."

But when he hugs me again, I can feel him take a deep breath. He doesn’t move and doesn’t speak. Like he’s got me locked against him and he’s holding on, as if I’m his life raft.

"What can I do for you, Sky babe? What would feel good?"

"I don't know.” His face is pressed against my neck. “I think I should do the Q&A next Wednesday. In the sanctuary."

"Yeah?" That sounds scary as shit.

He nods, and then lifts his head so I can see his drawn face. "Give them all a chance to...get things out of the way."

"What would they ask you?"

He laughs, even as his face looks somber. "Almost said let's take a walk, but..." He blows a breath out. And I realize what he means.

"Are you afraid to take a walk with me? Around here?”

He swallows, his lips twitching slightly before they tug downward, and I feel so fucking sorry for him.

"We can do it. You said there's a lot more security now, right? There's someone near my room all the time."

He smiles a little.

"We'll walk in the grass. Nobody's gonna do that again, Sky. Statistically improbable, remember?"

He shrugs, looking tired and strained.

"Your eyes look so damn tired. Go for a little walk with me.” I capture his hand. “You can tell me what you think people will ask. And what you want to say."

I’m not thinking—it’s just knee-jerk. Me wanting him to feel like we can be ourselves here, just be normal. Right as I’m second-guessing the idea, he nods and squeezes my hand, and then he leads me back into the church. We walk through it, passing a few people. Sky nods and smiles at each one of them. I can tell he's nervous.

"Maybe this is too much," I say when we step outside the front of the building. "Like maybe me being here is just too much right now. I can rent a studio. There's no reason I should be at the church."

He shakes his head once. When he speaks, his voice is soft and urgent. "You're here because I want you here. It's not too much."

He takes my hand again, and we start walking. His palm feels damp.

"I know what they'll ask,” he says softly. “They'll ask if being gay is a sin."

"And…what will you tell them?"

"That I think it isn't."

I stroke his hand. "Why not?" I make sure my tone is gentle.

"Because God loves people. Unconditionally. It's one of the strongest messages in the Bible. If our creator loves us unconditionally, without reservation, we should love ourselves the same way. And we should love each other that way. It's the point of everything. The point is love.”

He inhales sharply. I can see him staring at the manicured lawn ahead of us as if he’s thinking hard, not really seeing the bright afternoon. “I can't help who I'm attracted to. And someone's going to say, well you could choose to be celibate. And single. But I'm not happy single. I’m not…good.”

I think of Pearl’s stories—of how he used to call in sick, of my Sky lying by the fireplace, all alone for days, depressed and drowning—and I nod.

He goes on: “Someone else will say it's gluttonous to want sex. And their card won't get called, so help me." He laughs.

“So help me God,” I correct, teasing. “Remember? That's how that goes. So help me, God. With a comma after me.”