Communion (On My Knees Duet 3)

"Damn, she's fucking thirsty. Hungry. Is it both?" he asks.

I'm smiling. "I think it's both, yeah. When they're this little."

His brows narrow a bit. "I think she's going to have dark hair."

"Because of her eyebrows?"

"And her skin." He nods.

The baby's skin is a shade darker than ours, and we're tanned from our time on the yacht.

"She's so beautiful," he says, sounding almost wistful. "Why would someone leave her?"

I can see it bothers him because he swallows right after he asks, and then he looks away briefly.

I look up into his eyes. "Not everyone knows beauty when they see it, Vanny. They don't know what they have even when it's standing right in front of them.” I reach my foot out, nuzzling his leg, and he smiles before he bites down on the inside of his cheek. Sensitive Rayne.

"Remember this, though: value isn't determined by the viewer,” I tell him. “It's not in the eye of the beholder. Not when it comes to people. We all have inherent worth, just for existing."

"Why?" he whispers, his eyes holding mine. I want to touch him so badly I feel it in my chest. Instead I hold the baby slightly closer.

"That's the way that God intended. Our existence—even if you're not religious, you have to realize it's a miracle on its own. It's statistically so very improbable, V. That even one of us is sentient, that there are two and we can speak, communicate. That we can share experiences, such as someone writing and another person reading, absorbing the message written for them by another being. Watching a film that's written, produced, and acted, and the ability to feel things from it. Human beings are wonderful and fascinating. We humans are good things. We have limitless capacity for love, affection, for good."

"But we're not." He looks almost puzzled.

"You don't think so?"

His eyes move from mine down to the baby, and then back to my face. I can see him swallow again. "I think so," he concedes after a moment.

"We're animals,” I go on. “But one of us can choose to lie awake until the other falls asleep. And learn to wake up when the other needs him." Now I'm the one who's getting all emotional, my voice going hoarse. "One of us can wait for years just hoping for something. And go out on a limb for another. Against logic. Gambling…on a desired future. Don't you think that's love?"

He nods, a small smile on his lips.

"Don't you think that's magic, Vance Rayne?"

He smiles. "I guess it is."

“Let me tell you what I'm going to do, my Vanny.”

He stands by my shoulder, smiling down at Little Miss, and I close my eyes. “I'm about to turn this place into an institution that supports the two of us. And people like us. And everyone. All people. I think that it's going to work. If I do it right, I almost know it will. But if it doesn't? We’ll start something else. Or I will. You don't have to do anything. You can paint the murals or just meet me at the dinner table every night.

“But I want this place to be a resource for every group that needs it. Not just people who need food, money, or medicine, or shelter. Or therapy or community or spiritual fulfillment. But people who are maligned and cast out. Disregarded, like their problem doesn't matter because it's not common enough or worthy enough.

“As long as we're here, this is our place. And I can see now, that's okay. I thought for a long time, who am I to mold this place into what I want it to be?” I tell Vance. “But what do I want, and why is that so wrong? I want it to be gay-friendly? So what? Is that wrong? Would a good God—say ‘no’ to supporting people who are loving who they love? I’ve never believed that. Not really—even when I waffled some. And I don’t believe it now. And I’m the head pastor. I’m in charge here. So I think I need to be in charge. Give it a shot. And if people are so misaligned with me, if they are so…elsewhere…and not where I am…then I can cut ties.”

I feel his hand in my hair, stroking, and I rest my head against the back of the padded rocking chair.

“You want it to work,” he says softly. “I know you do.”

“Yes.” My throat aches at the fierceness of it—at how very much I want this to work.

His lips press against the top of my head. “But you trust that if it doesn’t, things will be okay? Because of God. Right?” He sounds hesitant, which makes me smile.

“Trust in God.” I nod. “Yeah.”

His arm wraps around the chair from behind, his hand stroking my throat, and he kisses my hair again. “Okay, then it’s all good.” His lips brush my temple before he whispers, “Oh, and Sky? I want to help if you want me to. You just have to tell me what to do.”