Page 35 of Slay the Gay Away, Daddy

Before I can get a word out, Mal beats me to the punch. “He’s threatening to tattle on me if I shoot him.”

“Huh?” His eyebrows scrunch together in the center of his forehead. “If you do what now?”

“If she shoots me,” I confirm. “Don’t worry, though. She’s not gonna. She slashed up all my underwear instead.” I turn and force a glare at her. “I’m going to get you back. When you least expect it, expect it.”

She gives me a dismissive flick of her wrist. “So, idiotic war aside, we need to discuss the game plan.”

“What do you mean?” Miles asks, sipping his coffee. With the cup to his lips, our eyes meet, and he throws me a wink, the corners of his mouth curling up around the cup.

“For the future, obviously. We need to think of a way to break the news to the church. Personally, I think I’d like to go down in a blaze of glory.”

Miles’ eyes widen as he looks over at me, quickly shaking his head, mouthing, “Don’t you dare have her killed, Dare.” I guess he remembers our little discussion about my real job. Good. I don’t want to relive that conversation. I’m honestly surprised he hasn’t made more of a big deal out of it than it is.

“No promises,” I mouth.

“It all comes down to how you choose to handle the divorce,” she says, then takes a sip of coffee. “If you want to come out of the closet, that limits our chances of keeping our positions in the church, but honestly, they wouldn’t be much of a loss. The Beauchamps left last week, so we’re down to less than twenty members.” She sighs, setting her cup down. “This isn’t the life I wanted. I was supposed to be a pastor’s wife. My name was supposed to pack a punch. If there’s no way for us to save face, I think I’d like to make a spectacle.” Her words don’t sound like a threat. If anything, they seem conspiratory in nature. I kindof want to see what she has in mind. “Infamy and fame are two sides of the same coin.”

“Continue,” I say, leaning in and listening closely.

“What do you boys think about a two-man Pride parade?”

chapter fourteen

When I was little, Miles Brooks took my hand and led me past the church’s platform, through a door behind red curtains, up the stairwell, and toward a small pool of water. His fatherwas with us, but the entire time the former Pastor Brooks was talking, all I saw was Miles. He was staring at me with so much pride it felt like I might pop. His father guided me into the small tub and asked if I believed Jesus died for my sins. I was only six, so I didn’t even know what a sin was, but when I looked at Miles, I knew what he wanted. I looked up at the late Pastor Brooks and nodded my head proudly, telling him I did. Telling him Jesus was my king, but it was a lie then, and it’s definitely a lie now. That title belongs to Miles. Always has, always will.

People don’t give him enough credit. I hear the things they say about him behind his back. That he’s light in his loafers. How he’s fruitier than Toucan Sam, whoever the hell that is. That he has no place preaching the gospel. He defies them all, just like he always has. When he preaches, it’s with conviction and power, and a lot of stolen glances at me, seeking me out in the crowd when he needs a morale boost. There have been times when Miles’ sermons have moved me to tears. There have also been moments where I wanted to sink under the pews to hide my cringe. Today is one of those days.

“Hear me when I say, the Lord sees all. He knows your body by heart. He doesn’t want to have to see your bits and bobbles each time you snap an adult-themed selfie.” He points at an elderly man, perhaps one-hundred years of age, and scoffs. “Do you think Jesus wants to see your erection, Brother Henderson? Don’t go pointing your phone at your penis, sir. God will not be mocked.”

Beside me, Mal lets out a sigh. Girl, same. “Here he goes.”

I’ve sat beside Mal all my life, because he was always at her side. I don’t know why we still sit together. There’s no reason for it when half the pews are empty, but for some reason, four times a week, I’m at her side, cringing at the same jokes she cringes at. Snickering together each time Father Daddy throws shade at members of the congregation. She’s familiar to me. Thisis familiar, and I think I enjoy the familiarity. I mean, I’m still going to steal her husband, but she doesn’t want him anyway.

“I’m ninety-six, son,” the elderly man says. “I haven’t achieved or maintained an erection in over two decades.”

“Amen,” Miles shouts as the room stays quiet. Color races across his cheeks as he squeaks out, “He has overcome.”

For some reason, Miles walks to the lectern where he keeps his sermon notes and grabs a hammer. Why the hell does he have a hammer? Fuck knows, and fuck knows why he carries it toward the steps leading down to the aisle and places it on the edge of the platform.

As he’s doing this, Brother Henderson is talking shit, essentially begging to get hit by me when service is over. “Overcome? Sonny, I ain’t got nothing to overcome.” He pauses before mumbling, “Unlike you,” but Miles must not hear it, because he doesn’t call the man out like he usually would. “It ain’t like I’m looking at porn. I only use it to make phone calls and keep up with my grandchildren on Facebook.”

Miles’ eyes narrow as he stands and faces Brother Hernderson. “You don’t need Facebook when you’ve got the Good Book.” He cranes his neck, looking into the small crowd. “Can I get an Amen?”

A few members of our church mumble out their agreement with a lackluster round of “Amen,” but for the most part, the congregation just seems extremely confused. Their indifference to his excellence makes me a little stab-happy, if I’m being honest. It makes me wanna pry their eyelids open like they did in that Clockwork Orange movie, and drop eyedrops in their eyes for hours, just so they can’t look away from Miles’ beauty. Granted, if I see any erections forming, I’ll cut them off at the root, but that’s a given. No one eye-fucks Miles Brooks but me. No-fucking-one.

Well, that’s not entirely true, because when a man and woman start bickering behind me, I turn to find a young man sitting with his parents, eye-effing Father Daddy like he’s the last man on Earth. Kinda want to punch his face in. I probably would if I didn’t know the guy.

Austin Snowden.

I could never hit Aussie. I don’t know what the twink is doing here, because for as long as I’ve known him, he’s been a proud atheist. I first met him when he and my friend Tatum began an emotional entanglement. The pair were both bottoms, so they outsourced, looking for a third. They took in two additional twinks, Bennet and Benji, but they’re bottoms, too, so it didn’t really solve their predicament. Eventually, they brought Benito into the mix. Austin was the first to leave the arrangement, confiding in me at the time that he felt like Benito’s behavior was bordering on abuse, and he couldn’t take it anymore. Now that Benito is under Agent Meadows’ thumb as his personal pet, the four of them are free. I see them around town sometimes. Mostly Bennet and Benji, but Aussie and I bump into each other from time to time. After leaving the relationship, he moved home with his mother and stepfather, the man and woman currently sitting next to him. It’s been over a year, but he hasn’t made any effort to find a place of his own. As I watch him watching his stepfather adoringly, I think I know why.

When I look back at Miles, he’s got his jaw clenched and a possessive scowl.

“What?” I mouth.

He darts his eyes at Austin, then at me, and twitches the finger at his side left-right-left, like he’s telling me to stop staring. I have to roll my eyes, because these eyes only go sappy and puppylike when I’m around Miles. No one else has ever caught my eye like he has. I’ve never even entertained the idea ofsleeping with anyone else, because I belong to Miles, body and soul.

My lip quirks into a smirk, and I waggle my eyebrows at him before gazing longingly at Austin. Apparently, I’m in my brat era, because I kind of want to see how jealous I can make Daddy. The moment I lick my lips seductively, he growls at me, and not a single person in the crowd asks what the hell he’s growling about. I think they’ve been tuning him out.

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