Page 155 of Divine Temptations
I leaned [email protected]
“What the hell is this?” I shrugged.
Sarah blinked at me. “You’ve never heard of Tanner Ministries?”
I shook my head. “Should I have?”
“Oh, my God.” She laughed, but it wasn’t a funny sound—it was disbelief. “Calvin Tanner? The tacky cable televangelist? He’s been on late-night Christian TV since the nineties. Hair like a helmet, Bible in one hand, donation plate in the other?”
I stared at her blankly. “You’re telling me Jimmy’s connected to that guy?”
She grabbed her phone back, typing fast. “He must be, or why would his email address be... hold on. Let me see what I can dig up.”
While she searched, I sat frozen, trying to connect the dots. The quiet, nervous man who’d stood in my kitchen like he was afraid of his own shadow—how the hell did that square with a televangelist and a man who probably thought Satanic Temple members were walking abominations?
“Oh no,” Sarah whispered.
My pulse jumped. “What?”
She turned the phone and pushed it toward me, her face softening. “That poor guy. Look.”
The screen showed a promotional photo, shiny and sterile—Reverend Calvin Tanner, arm around a young man with a guitar in his lap.
Jimmy.
His expression was blank, eyes downcast, and his posture was too straight to be natural. Like a boy trying to disappear in plain sight.
I felt the blood drain from my face. “Poor Tanner.”
Sarah nodded slowly, lips pressed together. “Yeah. That’s him.”
I stared at the photo, the weight of it settling in. The pieces were fitting together, but not in any way I liked.
The Reverend Calvin Tanner looked straight at the camera, teeth bared in a politician’s smile. Jimmy’s eyes told anotherstory altogether. There was no light in them. No spark. Just… resignation.
I set the phone on the bar. My hands had gone cold. “Jesus Christ,” I said. “He’s a televangelist’s son.”
Sarah nodded. “Looks that way.”
I slumped against the counter. “Well, that explains a hell of a lot.”
“Explains what?” she asked gently.
“The guilt written all over him. The way he looks at me like he’s not sure if he’s supposed to want me or confess it.” I raked a hand through my hair. “His dad probably built his whole empire preaching against people like me.”
Sarah’s mouth twisted. “Against people like him, too.”
That landed deep. “Christ,” I muttered, staring down at the wood grain until it blurred. “He must’ve been living a double life since he was old enough to drive.”
She tilted her head. “You think he was spying on you?”
“I don’t know.” The words came out rough. “Maybe. Maybe it started that way. But it didn’t feel like a setup.” I thought of Jimmy’s hands trembling against me, his breath catching like every nerve ending was on fire. That hadn’t been fake.
Sarah sighed and finished her beer. “If it makes you feel better, I don’t think he came to hurt you. Look at him in that photo. That’s not a guy pulling the strings. That’s a guy trapped in them.”
I wanted to believe that. But I also knew what manipulation looked like, and how easily guilt could twist desire into something that burned everyone it touched.
“Maybe he was sent to dig up dirt,” I said. “Maybe Daddy Reverend wanted a sensational story—‘Inside the Satanic Temple,’ complete with hidden cameras and tearful confessions. Maybe I was supposed to be his monster.”
