Page 46 of Preacher Man
He turned back to the crowd, voice trembling now, but not with fear.With feeling.
“He gave me someone brave enough to love me, even when I couldn’t love myself.Someone who held up a mirror and said, ‘Look.Look who you really are.’”
Tears slid down my cheeks, and I didn’t care who saw.And then he said my name out loud, into the mic, like a gospel chorus.
“I love you, Jake,” Ethan said.“More than life itself.Jake, come up here.”
My legs moved before my brain caught up.My boots echoed on the floor as I stood, climbed the steps, and walked toward him.
Heart hammering.Hands shaking.
He reached for me the second I was within range, pulling me into the pulpit like I belonged there.Like this was our altar now.
He looked into my eyes and said, voice thick with emotion, “God doesn’t make mistakes.And loving you has been the most holy thing I’ve ever done.”
Then he kissed me.
In front of everyone.
The crowd erupted.
Gasps.Murmurs.A single sharp clap that turned into others.Someone shouted “Hallelujah!”A woman in a mint-green hat fainted right into her husband’s arms.
But all I could feel was him.All I could taste was Ethan, warm, real, and finally mine.
I pulled back just enough to look him in the eye and whispered, “I love you too.”
Then I said it louder, for everyone to hear.
“I love Ethan.”
The room was buzzing now.Half stunned, half joyful.One man stood to clap, and then others followed.Not everyone, but enough.
Enough to know the light was winning.
And I held him right there, in front of the cross and the crowd and the judgment and the love, and I knew…
This was our miracle
Epilogue
Ethan- One Year Later
Iused to think “home” was something you inherited.A place tied to your past, passed down like a family Bible or a recipe for potato salad you don’t even like.
Turns out, home is Jake drinking his coffee shirtless on our porch while the sun rises over Mechanicsville and the cows across the road moo like they’re judging his bedhead.
And maybe they are.It’s impressive bedhead.He’s got that just-slept-like-a-saint-but-fucks-like-a-sinner look down to a science.
I stood at the screen door, coffee in hand, and offered up a silent prayer of gratitude.
Jake looked back at me and smiled, slow and easy.That smile still brought me to my knees, even if now I got to fall into his lap every day without fear.
“Morning, preacher man,” he said, voice a little raspy.
I rolled my eyes and stepped outside, curling into the chair beside his.“I haven’t preached in a year.”
He winked.“You preach at me every time I forget to rinse out my mug.”
