Page 39 of Son of a Preacher Man

“Oh, my God,” she choked.

“He ain’t real, baby.” Kodiak angled his head, and stroking her hair, he smiled. “But Hell is, that I can attest to.”

Seth, seventeen years old.

Staring vacantly out the window, he didn’t care where his father was taking him. Seth didn’t care about anything much at all, really. Except Linnea and getting them both far the fuck away from here. He was already working on a plan to do just that.

One more summer.

One more year until graduation.

He’d spoken with a recruiter from the United States Army who came to his high school on career day. Seth would have signed up right then if they’d have let him. He could wait until January. He’d be eighteen then and wouldn’t need Jarrid’s permission for anything anymore.

Course, he’d have to leave his little one behind for a while, being she was only seven. And that was the only fault in his plan. It worried him, but what other choice did he have? None. He’d come back for her, but he couldn’t stay here.

The day Jonathan took his own life, a big piece of Seth went with him. He lost everything. The boy he loved—his best friend since he was five. The cheerleader he’d been fucking. Football. Friends. Freedom.

And it was all his own doing.

He’d broken his promise.

The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away.

For the past seven months, he’d done everything he could to atone for his sins. Ignoring the whispers at his back, Seth went to school and studied hard. Every other waking moment was spent on his knees, in prayer, for Jonathan’s soul, and his own, begging God to forgive them.

The only respite he was afforded was when his father and Miss Catherine allowed him to take Linnea to the playground or to get an ice cream cone at the Dairy Queen. They encouraged him to, actually, and he did so willingly. Gladly. Anything to see that smile light her face.

No one will take your joy from you.

And Linnea was all he had left.

His head jolted. Seth turned away from the window as his father swerved onto a narrow dirt lane. In the middle of fucking nowhere, sad, scraggly-looking trees lined one side, barren fields stretched as far as the eye could see on the other.

“Where are we?”

Without bothering to answer, Jarrid lit a cigarette. He took a couple drags, tapping his thumb against the steering wheel as if weighing his words. “You must repent, boy. The devil has his hooks into you. We need to cast him out.”

Only devil I need to cast out is you.

Isn’t that what he’d been doing every fucking day since Jonathan died? And he’d likely never stop. No one was sorrier than Seth was. Sorry, he’d forsaken his vow. Sorry, he couldn’t save him somehow. But he’d never be sorry that he loved him. Loving someone could never be wrong, and there wasn’t anyone who could convince him otherwise.

Seth knew better than to tell his father that, though. To survive he had to keep up with the facade of being the preacher man’s good, obedient son. Hell, he’d been doing it for most of his life.

One more year.

Bowing his head, he groveled, “Yes, sir.”

“This place came highly recommended by an associate of mine.” Taking another drag of his nasty cancer stick, his father turned his head to look at him. “It’s a camp for youth who’ve lost their way, like you have. They’ll put you back on the righteous path.”

“Camp?” Christ, you gotta be shitting me. “You’re sending me to summer camp?”

Jarrid grinned. “I am.”

Seth wasn’t dumb. There’d be no singing “Kumbaya” around the campfire or roasting s’mores where he was going. “Dad, I told you, it was just that one time. I’m not gay.”

He wasn’t.

“I know, son. You like fucking girls too.” He sniggered, crude signs of wood, bible verses painted on them, coming into view. “But I gotta make sure of it, see? We must rid you of these sinful urges and wash you clean. Can’t have you tainting her.”

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