Page 62 of Slay the Gay Away, Daddy

“You did this, didn’t you?” she asks Darren. If she keeps talking with that hefty tone in her voice, we’re going to have a problem. “Did you seduce him? We all know a spirit latched itself onto you when you left for school. Trust me, we’ve all talked about it. You were a good Christian boy, and the demon of homosexuality hooked its claws into you. You came home allflamboyant, shoving it in our faces, wearing outfits that would put Mary Magdalene to shame.”

“Did you just call me a whore?” Darren asks, gaping at her.

She makes the grave mistake of poking my boy in his chest. “I did, and I’ll say it again.”

“Sister Andrews,” I growl, pulling her attention back to me. “Get your hands off him and get back to your pew.” Her eyebrows rise to the center of her forehead, and she opens her mouth to speak, closing them when I quickly shake my head. “You want to know the truth?” My heart slams in my chest as I look up at the congregation. My father’s flock. That’s who they’ve always been. Because they’ve never been mine, not truly.

The chapel door opens, and Meadows and Pet walk in. Meadows is dragging a large, squirming bag, and I’m pretty sure there’s a person inside. Pet is holding another duffle bag. They take a seat in the back pew—well, Meadows takes a seat. Pet just kneels beside him in the aisle. I don’t really know why they’re here, to be honest. I’m pretty sure Meadows doesn’t have a religious bone in his body, judging by his newly unearthed secret identity. Gosh. It really is like we’re living in a bad soap opera. He gives me a nod like he’s encouraging me, and I kind of resent it, because the only reason I’m doing this is because he outed me with that stupid video. A video which went viral after he tossed an ungodly amount of cash at his slew of Russian bots. Why the heck is he so invested in this? It’s creepy.

What’s not creepy is the look Darren is giving me right now. A simple smile, just for me. Encouraging eyes telling me I’ll be okay once it’s all said and done. For the first time in my life, I actually believe it. I can picture a happy life. One spent out of hiding. One filled with actual purpose.

“I could waste time with explanations and plead for acceptance,” I say, eyes panning across the congregation. “But I don’t want to.” It’s a realization that hits me like a tidal wave.“You’ve known me all my life. Most of you watched me grow up. You watched me, but you never really saw me. You didn’t know what living with my father was like. The things he did to keep me on the straight and narrow.” I close my eyes and breathe slowly, holding it for a few seconds just to harden my heart in preparation for what’s about to happen. “I’m gay. I’ve always been gay. I’ll always be gay.”

And there it is. My truth. Out in the world.

I wait for jeers that don’t come. As I glance around the room, resignation settles in my soul, because they look just as disgusted as I expected them to.

Again, I think, this is not my flock, and I am not their shepherd. It’s never felt more obvious than right now. Every eye is on me, and each set is filled with shame. It permeates, spreading through the room like fog until I’m feeling dizzied by their disdain. I can’t look at them, because looking at them reminds me of looking at Dad. Every member of this church shares his views. They hate the sin, and by the looks of it, they hate the sinner. So, when I can’t stand the sight of their hateful expressions, I find all the support I need in Darren’s eyes.

It’s only now that I make my decision. I could fight them to hold power, but why would I want power over people who believe the most fundamental part of me is disgusting? I’ve shared space with them four nights a week, ever since I was a baby, and now that history is erased in their eyes. They’re looking at me like I’m a stranger.

Sister Andrews glares at me. “It’s Adam and Eve, not Annette and Genevieve!”

I close my eyes and sigh. God grant me the patience.

“You ain’t supposed to lie with another man, boy,” someone else calls out, and it makes me flinch, because it sounds so much like my father, you’d think he was standing here beside me.

“We love you, sugar,” Sister Cruz says kindly, “but we can’t abide your sin. It would be one thing if you were living a chaste life, but . . . sodomy? Oh, Miles. Baby, where did we go wrong?”

“It’s Pastor Brooks!” Darren growls, standing from his seat. He slowly walks in front of me, craning his neck to glare at everyone. “Have you all lost your goddamn minds?”

Ah, hell. Yep. That’ll do it. That’s Darren’s one-way ticket to Hell sorted.

“Watch your mouth,” Sister Andrews says. “You’re a homewrecker, Darren Matthews. You’re a slut and a snake, and we see you. We all see you.” She flings her finger right at him. “Sinner!”

Darren smiles and takes a step forward. “Do you want to talk about sin, Imogene? Do you?” He cocks his head to the side. I’ve never seen him like this. So sure of himself. So commanding. So . . . sexy. “Because I will burn this church to the ground, and I will salt the fucking earth with your deepest, darkest sins.” Terrifyingly, Darren’s entire expression changes, and he lifts his hand, snapping three times. “Meadows?”

Meadows stands and walks toward us carrying the duffel bag Pet was holding earlier in one hand, and his manilla envelope in the other. With the hand holding his folder, Meadows tips an imaginary hat at Imogene Andrews. “Top of the morning to you. If I were you, I’d watch my mouth.” He leans in, whispering something we can’t hear into her ear, both their eyes darting toward the folder.

Sister Andrews eyes bulge, and she sucks a sharp breath. “You wouldn’t,” she whispers. “You couldn’t. How do you even know that?”

Meadows reaches up and squeezes Darren’s shoulder. “I’ve got the best private eye in the not-so-great state of Texas,” he says proudly.

Darren nods. “And I’ve been preparing for this case all my life.” He points at the folder. “Do you want to tell them, or should I?”

Her jaw hangs open, and she slowly shakes her head. “Please.” As she gapes at him in horror, Darren pulls out a photograph of . . .

“Is that a voting booth?” I ask, because what the heck does that have to do with anything?

Darren leans closer to her. “He may have stolen the election, but she stole our hearts.” Pointing at the photograph, I notice what must be the top of Sister Andrews’ head. Her finger is pressing down on the button for . . .

“I don’t think you’ll be welcome here either if they find out you’re an undercover liberal,” Darren says.

“I am a proud Christian woman,” she barks. “How dare you insinuate—”

Darren shoves another ridiculous photograph in her hands. I don’t know how or why he would have it. In the picture, taken from outside her bedroom window, Sister Andrews is sitting in her rocking chair, knitting a blanket. There were words. Treacherous words. Diabolical words.

“We are not going back,” the blanket says, and there’s even a poorly knitted likeness to our almost-Madam President.

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