Page 26 of Slay the Gay Away, Daddy

“The only thing you’ve overcome is common sense.” She stares down at my shoes and looks like she might be sick at any second. “And your sense of style. Jesus, these are hideous.”

They’re blue and white boating shoes. They might not be the cutest item in my closet, but they’re comfortable, and Darren says he likes the way I look in them. He always likes the look of me. I’m quickly realizing I like the look of him, too, but that doesn’t make any of this easier. If anything, it just makes me feel guiltier, because if I wasn’t in the picture, Dare wouldn’t be backsliding. Without me, he could find a real pastor who could successfully guide him back into heterosexuality. But there’s not another pastor waiting in the wings, ready to swoop in and correct the wrongs I’ve made along the way, so all he has is me.

An hour later, I’m showered, shaved, and ready to face the day. It’s a few minutes past one, and when I check my phone, I see Darren sent me a message earlier telling me he’d see me this afternoon. When I close the text chain, I’m greeted with ourpicture as my background. I didn’t change it yesterday, and I’m pretty sure I won’t be changing it today either.

With Mal gone, I take a moment to crack open my laptop to see where she stopped reading, my eyes bulging when I look at the bottom corner of the screen. I was roughly a third of the way through the book when I got stuck on their breakup scene, but now my word count is double, and I’ve added an additional hundred pages to the manuscript. I have no idea how I managed to type so much in my sleepy state, but somehow, I have. I’ll have to try and read some of it later to see how terrible it is. For now, Darren takes priority.

The second I walk out my front door, I hear his folks yelling from the other side of the street. Well, I can hear his daddy yelling. Darren’s mom doesn’t do a whole lot of screaming. She’s quiet as a mouse, most days. I don’t know if he’s hollering at her, or if he’s made the careless decision to yell at Dare, but God help him if he has. I’m not going to let him yell at my boy again. I don’t care if it earns me a black eye, he’s never screaming at Darren again. He’s never demeaning him just to make himself feel like more of a man. Not on my watch.

When I reach their front door, I pound it with the side of my fist, and I hear picture frames rattling on the other side of the wall each time my fist touches down.

The door opens, and Darren has a look of exhaustion covering his face. “Oh, thank God. I need you to get me out of this house.”

I glance over his shoulder, staring down the hall into the kitchen. To my surprise, I spot Sister Matthews lifting a plate above her head and slamming it onto the floor, shattering it into hundreds of little pieces.

“And I’ll tell you another thing,” she says in a meek, almost whispered voice that doesn’t match her current behavior at all. “I’m not going to have all this yelling. For goodness’ sake, Johnny, you’ve turned our home into a warzone.”

Brother Matthews walks into view, holding a Bible in his hand, lifting it high to the sky. “You’re damn right, I have. This is a battle to the spiritual death, and I won’t risk my eternity on some frilly little fairy. Either he shapes up, or I’m shipping him out. He’s a God-damned deviant. I ought to take him down to that little prostitute’s den in West Clark. God knows one of those sex workers would be willing to heal him.”

My mind whirls. Flashes ofher. Flashes of her touching places I begged her not to. Taking liberties she had no right to take. Now Brother Matthews is contemplating putting Darren through the same ordeal, and it makes my blood boil hotter than it ever has. I’ll kill him if he even tries.

I dig my nails into my palm and push past Darren. When I reach the kitchen, Sister Matthews’ eyes widen, and Brother Matthews must notice, because he slowly turns to face me.

“Pastor?”

“Love thy neighbor,” I growl. “That means loving your son too.”

“God’s Word says everything I need to know about his kind. It’s very clear what his judgment for their sin is.”

“Darren hasn’t sinned.”

“Hasn’t sinned? I know you don’t preach about their kind, probably because you are one yourself, but that don’t mean God abides faggotry.”

My hand balls into a fist like it’s doing it on its own, and once I swing, my actions don’t register until he’s lying on the floor, his eye swelling, redness spreading across the side of his face where my knuckles connected. “Don’t ever say that word again. Do you hear me? I don’t care what the Bible says, you’re not using God to abuse your son. Not anymore.” I kneel next to him and wrap my hand around his throat, enjoying the sight of his bulging eyes a little too much. Leaning down, I whisper so only he can hear. “If I find out you’ve hurt his feelings again, I will drag you outof this house, and I won’t stop until you’ve stopped breathing.” I lean even closer, growling, “He’s mine. My flock. You don’t get to hurt him again.”

When I pull away there are tears in his newly swollen eye, and I can tell it’s taking every ounce of his strength to stop himself from crying. He’s seconds from breaking, and—God help me—I think I want to watch him break. I grab him by the hair and tug until he’s crying out in pain, facing his son.

“Apologize,” I demand, tugging until I feel hair break free from his scalp. “You apologize to your son right now, or so help me God—”

“I’m s-sorry,” he cries, his voice breaking. “I’m sorry, okay? Let go!”

Releasing the hold I’ve got on his hair, I take him by the chin and turn his face until we’re eye to eye. “God may love you, Johnny Matthews, but I don’t. If you ever hurt my boy again, you can send my love to God in person.” I wait for him to nod before standing and heading toward the hall. Darren’s standing in the archway leading out of the kitchen, and there’s a noticeable bulge pressing against his slacks. It sends a rush of adrenaline spiking through me, going right to my cock. It’s a confusing rush of emotions, but rather than allow the feelings to take me under, I marinate in them. Anger, joy, affection, and something else. Something deeper. Something strong as steel.

“Let’s go,” I say, placing a hand on his lower back and walking him away from the kitchen. I slide my hand around and rest it on his hip, holding him against me, refusing to let go. When we make it to my truck, I open the door for him. Usually, Darren stumbles and tumbles into my pickup truck, because it’s so tall and he’s short as heck. Not this time, he won’t. I pick Darren up and place him in the seat, buckling his seatbelt, then straightening it over his shoulder so it isn’t too close to his neck. Once I’m sure he’s comfortable, I try to move, but my legs arelocked. I know I need to get in the driver’s side and drive us to church, but I can’t move. Darren is blushing twelve shades of red, and he’s not meeting my gaze. That doesn’t work for me.

“Hey.” When he refuses to look up, I place a finger under his chin and tug, dragging him to meet my gaze. “Are you angry?”

He blinks a few times like he’s waking from a dream. “Huh?”

“Are you mad at me for hitting your dad? Because that’s a valid emotion, and you’re allowed to feel it. I’m sorry if you’re upset, but I’m not sorry for hitting him.”

He quickly shakes his head. “No. That’s not it.”

“Then what is it? You look shell shocked.”

Wincing, he stares down at his lap. There’s still a noticeable bulge in his pants, and I can’t tear my eyes away from it. By the look of it, Darren’s not packing much. I kind of want to see it, though. I’ve never thought of Darren in a sexual manner, but it’s like his bulge is beckoning me. Begging me to look at it. So that’s what I do. I stare at the tent in his pants, darting my gaze up at him now and then, our eyes catching each time. It’s a repetitive cycle, and neither of us say a word as it happens.

After I’ve had my fill, I look up at him and smile. His forehead is looking really inviting, so I lean closer and give it a kiss, letting my lips linger. The needy sounds escaping him are doing things to me. Maddening things. My mind is filled with obscene images that I don’t want to think of again, but also never want to fade. Darren on his knees in front of me, following my every command like a good boy. His lips on my stomach, leaving trails of kisses as he moves lower. The look on his face when he sees my cock for the first time. How he’ll look with his mouth around my shaft.

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