Page 7 of Unbound
"It would be a public service," I argued, warming to the idea. "Free this poor repressed soul from his chains of heteronormativity."
"You're the worst," Elijah said, but I could tell he was fighting a smile.
"The absolute worst," I agreed cheerfully. "So, what do you say? Bet I can get church boy to come around in... let's say two weeks?"
"Two weeks?" Phoenix scoffed. "With all that religious programming? Try a month, minimum."
"Fine. One month to make Jesse Miller question everything he believes." I raised my glass. "Who's in?"
A chorus of groans and laughs answered me, but glasses clinked against mine one by one. Even Sam reluctantly joined in, muttering something about "being there to pick up the pieces."
2
JESSE
The wipers scraped across the windshield, a rhythmic screech against the quiet hum of the engine. Rain traced jagged paths down the glass, blurring the streetlights into watercolour smears. Rebecca kept both hands on the steering wheel, her knuckles pale against the dark leather. The silence in her car felt heavier than the protest signs I had carried for six hours. It was a thick, accusatory quiet.
“Someone could have seen you, Jesse.” Her voice was small, tight. “You cannot just walk into a place like that.”
I stared at my own reflection in the passenger window, a ghost superimposed over the rushing night. I looked pale. Guilty.
“I had to use the washroom. It was an emergency.” My own voice sounded hollow, a weak defence against an unspoken charge.
“There was a gas station a few blocks over. We talked about this. We have contingency plans for a reason.”
“I know. I am sorry, Rebecca. It was a moment of weakness. It won’t happen again.” The words were automatic, polished by use. An apology was always the first step.
“What if someone saw you lingering in there longer than you needed to and tells your father?”
The question hung in the air, a physical weight that pressed on my chest. I pictured my father’s face, not angry, but disappointed. That was always worse. The quiet, heavy sadness that meant I had failed him again. Failed God.
“No one will.” A lie. One person saw me. Not just saw me, but looked at me. The real me. “It was dark. I was quick. It meant nothing.”
She let out a long, slow breath, and some of the tension eased from her shoulders. Her hand left the wheel and rested for a moment on my knee reassuringly. Her touch was cool, a brief pressure before it was gone.
“I know. I just worry. For you.”
She pulled up to the curb outside my apartment building, the engine idling. I leaned across the console and pressed my lips to her cheek. The gesture felt rehearsed, a scene played for an invisible audience. Her skin was soft and smelled faintly of soap. There was no spark, no fire, no draw, and no magnetism. There never was. That was the point. It was a safe, clean, righteous affection in the eyes of the Lord.
“Goodnight, Jesse.”
“Goodnight, Rebecca.”
Inside my apartment, I stripped off my damp clothes, but the chill of the rain couldn't touch the warmth that had sparked low in my gut. It was a vile feeling, a traitorous pulse of heat that had answered his gaze without my permission. Ineeded it gone. I stepped into the shower and turned the handle all the way to cold. The icy spray hit my chest like a punch, stealing my breath. I gasped, doubling over, bracing my hands against the tiled wall as the frigid water assaulted that specific, damning warmth. I stayed under the punishing stream until my skin was numb, scrubbing myself raw as if I could wash away my own body’s betrayal.
When I finally stepped out, my teeth were chattering and my skin had turned an ugly, mottled red. I towelled off mechanically, pulled on clean pyjamas—flannel pants and a t-shirt from a church youth retreat three years ago—and went through the motions of my evening routine. Brush teeth. Floss. Rinse. Set the alarm. Check the door was locked. Place my phone on the nightstand, face down.
I climbed into bed and pulled the covers up to my chin, willing sleep to come quickly. To erase the night. To reset me back to who I was supposed to be.
But my mind wouldn't quiet.
I kept seeing him. Not the whole picture—not the bar, not the graffitied bathroom stall, not the context that should have horrified me. Just... him. The way he had leaned against that doorframe like he owned the entire building. The dark hair that fell just slightly into his eyes. That smile. God help me, that smile. It had been knowing and amused and entirely too confident, like he could see straight through every lie I had ever told myself.
"You look lost."
I rolled onto my side, squeezing my eyes shut. I should be thinking about Rebecca. About her patient smile, her gentle concern, the future we were building together. A righteous future. A godly future.
Instead, I was thinking about the way his voice hadsounded. Low and smooth, with a trace of laughter underneath. The way his gaze had tracked down my body and back up again, slow and deliberate, like he was cataloguing every detail.
