Total pages in book: 66
Estimated words: 65376 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 327(@200wpm)___ 262(@250wpm)___ 218(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 65376 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 327(@200wpm)___ 262(@250wpm)___ 218(@300wpm)
“You’re going in the dungeon.”
“Dungeon? What? I’ve been a good dude.”
He grins, shaking his head. “Maybe too good.”
We go through a gate, and he parks under a big tree beside a three-car garage. Standing by the car’s hood, he holds his hand out for me.
So this place is private. We clasp hands, and I glance over at the house. Clearly, no one’s here.
I sort of want to ask where we are, but more so, I want to find out—so I let him lead me through a winter-brown garden and to some stairs near hidden in the underbrush. He kicks some vines away and drops my hand as we start down a long, steep, wooden staircase. The creaking stairs lead down a cliffside toward a dock where there’s a big, white motor boat. It looks pink because of the glow of the sunset.
When we get to the dock, I see the Golden Gate out in the distance. Luke waves me on the boat first, then fires up the motors, and we idle away from the dock. He steers toward the bridge while I stand by him. Then he comes in closer to land, kills the motors, and stares at the water.
He scrubs his hands through his hair. “Sometimes it’s good to get out.” He lets out a long breath.
“Yeah?”
He sucks in a deep breath, not meeting my eyes.
“What’s wrong?”
He shakes his head, his jaw still tight. His eyes on the orange and pink water look unfocused.
I sit in the chair beside the captain’s, and he presses something on the captain’s screen. Then he turns around and disappears inside the hull.
When I get down into the small space—so much smaller than his yacht; there’s just a bed, a table, cabinets, and a kitchenette—he’s lying on his back in said bed with his arm draped over his face.
“I can take you back home,” he says flatly.
“Why?”
He doesn’t answer.
“Do you want to be alone?” I swallow, and he whispers, “No.”
There’s room for two on the bed. I stretch out beside him. When he doesn’t move toward me, I wrap my arm around him and scoot in close. I sniff his jaw, where he smells like his good cologne. Then I gently kiss his throat.
“How long would you follow me?” he rasps.
“What do you mean?”
His body tenses against mine, and then he turns away.
I wrap my arm around him, let myself relax against his hard back.
“Eventually…you’d get tired of this.” The words are barely whispered, yet their meaning throbs all through me.
“I’ve been far too slow to tire of you, Skywalker.”
“Why do you do this?” The question rings through the small space. “Why did you stay here?”
“You already know the answer.” It’s because I love him.
“I don’t know why.” His low voice sounds reedy.
“Why isn’t a valid question. I love you because I’m me. Because we’re both alive. As long as we are, I can’t not. That’s not in my code. In every world where you’re you and I’m me, I love you. That’s just how it is.”
“Please don’t say that.”
I tighten my grip on him. “Is it torture for you?” I whisper. “That’s the way that I feel. It’s a torture that I love.”
“Please forgive me.”
I press my lips against his shoulder. “There is nothing to forgive, Sky. Some things just are.”
I lean up on my elbow in time to see him close his eyes. I urge him onto his back, and I kiss both of his eyelids. Then I kiss his mouth like it’s a sacrament—because it is that. He is exaltation and contrition, ecstasy and penitence. This knotted, barbed wire thing—this quiet war between us—this is worship.
We don’t take the stairs back up until the first gold arms of dawn are reaching over the bay. When we reach the car, a police officer steps out from behind it.
16
Vance
The home is owned by Luke’s great aunt, a blind, deaf woman who suffered a stroke two years ago and is cared for by nursing staff. When they saw the unknown Prius, someone called the police.
Luke tells the officer we’re old friends, and the Prius is my car while I’m in town. That we were fishing. The woman doesn’t even glance my way. She is elated to be face-to-face with Pastor Luke. She stumbles over her words, laughs about his dimples, then remarks on his height and the color of his eyes. For a while, she talks about her favorite sermons. Finally, she asks him to sign a receipt she has in her pocket. Luke invites her on a behind-the-scenes tour of the pulpit and offers Pearl’s phone number, which the woman punches into her phone.
“Oh my goodness. You have no idea how awesome this is. I’m so glad you parked here!”
I can’t help but wonder what he was thinking. Coupled with the question he asked on the boat—if I would eventually get tired of this…as if he might want to stretch this thing between us longer—it makes me wonder if he wanted us to get seen…or at the very least, if his feelings about being outed are becoming more ambiguous. Wishful thinking on my part, I’m sure.