Covet Thy Neighbor

by L. A. Witt

  Eyeing Jason, I said, “It’s kind of a moot point because his religion is a rather huge part of his life, don’t you think?”

  “So if he walked up here right now and told you he’d renounced his beliefs, become a card-carrying atheist, and never wanted to set foot in a church again as long as he lived, you’d jump into a relationship with him without thinking twice? No fear?”

  I swallowed.

  “That’s what I thought. And really, wouldn’t someone with polar opposite beliefs be the perfect match for you?” He grinned. “You’d always have something to talk about.”

  Somehow I managed to laugh. “Okay, I can’t argue with that.”

  “Exactly.” He paused for a long moment. “The thing is, I don’t think it’s his beliefs that are really bothering you. I mean, regardless of why, your family hurt you. You’ve had one solid relationship since then, with a guy who also worked you over—which had nothing to do with religion—and that was four years ago. No guy has been able to get near you since then.”

  I stared out at the dark shadows of the distant mountains. My neck prickled and blood pounded in my ears as the uncomfortable truth set in.

  “Face it,” he said softly. “You’re terrified of getting hurt. It’s not the fact that this guy might have something in common with your parents that’s scaring you. That’s just a convenient excuse to hide behind so you don’t have to face the truth.”

  “Which is?”

  “That if this guy walked away from you for any reason, it might hurt as bad as when your family turned you away.” He put a hand on my shoulder and squeezed gently. “You’re not afraid of Christians, Seth. You’re afraid of being loved.”

  The words hit me in the gut. I closed my eyes. I wanted to get defensive and tell him he was full of shit, that he had no idea what he was talking about, but I couldn’t.

  “I know this isn’t easy for you.” Jason squeezed my shoulder again. “But I think letting this guy go is a huge mistake. You need to make things right with him. Even if things don’t work out in the long run, I get the feeling this isn’t how you think it should end.”

  I sighed. “At this point, though, I’m not even sure what I can do. I told him where I was coming from—where I thought I was coming from—and it… it didn’t go well.”

  “Letting it fester isn’t going to fix it.”

  “Do you think anything will?”

  “Well, I think your best bet is to quit being a stubborn idiot and go talk to him.”

  I said nothing.

  “Maybe you guys can make it work,” Jason said, his tone gentler now. “Maybe you can’t. But I know you: you’re the kind of guy who will move on if things don’t work out, but if you walk away without even giving it a go, you will regret it until the day you die.”

  I couldn’t look at him. He was right, of course. “I think I hurt him pretty badly, though.”

  “Just talk to him. Hopefully he’ll listen.”

  Yeah. Hopefully.

  But I couldn’t bring myself to bank on it.

  Chapter Thirteen

  TONIGHT. WE were going to discuss this tonight. My conversation with Jason had been banging around inside my head for a couple of days now, and if I was ever going to sleep again, Darren and I needed to talk. Tonight, damn it.

  Assuming he didn’t tell me off or blow me off. Sitting in my living room waiting for him to get home, I caught myself wishing I believed in some higher power I could pray to just to beg for Darren to hear me out. There was something ironic about that. And maybe I’d have appreciated that irony if I wasn’t wound so tight and trying not to get sick with nerves.

  If he thought I was an asshole, he had every right. If he refused to discuss anything with me, I couldn’t blame him. That didn’t stop me from hoping and hoping he didn’t walk away.

  The quiet creak of stairs under feet sent my heart rate skyrocketing.

  Now or never, before I lose my nerve.

  I opened the door as he was unlocking his.

  “Darren.”

  He froze but still didn’t turn around.

  “Listen, um.” I cleared my throat. “Can we talk?”

  He took his key out of the lock and slid it into his pocket. For a moment he didn’t move, and I thought he might push open the door and go into his apartment. But then he slowly turned around, and I braced myself for icy eyes and tight lips.

  As we faced each other across the dim hallway, though, I would have given anything for icy eyes and tight lips. Cold indifference or even barely contained fury would have been so much easier to swallow than the palpable hurt in his eyes. Like it was painful for him to even be in my presence.

  “Do you want to come in?” I asked.

  He didn’t move. “Let’s try talking first. Then we’ll see how it goes.”

  “You want to do this out here?”

  “Unless you think anyone’s going to join us.”

  I couldn’t tell if that was supposed to be sarcastic or if there was an underlying plea of let’s just do this now before I have to walk away.

  I opened my mouth to speak, but he beat me to the punch: “On second thought, maybe it would be easier if we were sitting down.”

  “You sure?”

  He nodded.

  We moved into my apartment and sat in my living room. I took the recliner, and he took the middle of the couch. And no matter how much I wanted to, I couldn’t make myself face him.

  Stanley wandered in, gave each of us a look of disdain, and then trotted out of the room. Raised voices terrified him, and even the tension before an argument was enough to send him scurrying under my bed. I watched him go, grimacing as more guilt piled on. Even my cat was upset? Way to go, Seth.

  Finally Darren broke the silence.

  “This is about the other morning, isn’t it?” His tone betrayed nothing.

  Without turning to him, I nodded. “I wanted to apologize.”

  “But I can’t imagine you’ve changed your mind.” Still no emotion either way. “About me.”

  I chewed my lip. “That’s the other thing I wanted to talk to you about.”

  “Oh. Okay….”

  “I know we haven’t known each other all that long. But things just… clicked between us. More than they have for me with any other guy.”

  “Yeah, I know what you mean,” he whispered.

  “And I can’t lie, I’ve been edgy ever since you told me you were a minister. But ever since the other day, I’ve been a wreck.”

  Darren didn’t speak.

  I stared at the floor between us. “I know I was too quick to judge you. And I’m sorry for that. I really am.”

  “I can accept that,” he said softly.

  I exhaled, some—but not nearly all—of the tension leaving my shoulders. “The thing is, I….” Oh, fuck it. Might as well just say it instead of beating around the bush. “Religious differences may seem like a petty thing to avoid, but I’ve already lost too many people I love over this. I don’t….” The words stuck in my throat. They were all the wrong words anyway. Fuck, I couldn’t get my thoughts straight. Why the hell couldn’t I—

  “Seth. Look at me.”

  I hesitated before finally raising my gaze. Speaking was hard enough, but now… fuck.

  He inclined his head. “You don’t, what?”

  “What you are, what I am… I’m scared of what that’ll mean in the future. Because of my past. But even without our differences in beliefs or my history, I don’t….” I moistened my lips, and somehow, as I held his gaze, I formed the words: “I’m scared to death of what it would be like to fall for you and then lose you.”

  Darren’s lips parted.

  I went on. “But I also don’t want to know what it’s like to go through life wondering what it might have been like to fall for you. And I’m not sure which risk is more terrifying, to be honest.”

  He swallowed. “I thought…. I didn’t think you felt that way.”

  “I’m not sure how I feel
,” I whispered, because that inexplicably seemed like the only way to keep my voice from shaking. “Just that it hasn’t felt like a one-night stand since the beginning, and staying scares me as much as walking away.”

  His expression hardened again. “So all of that crap about our differences in beliefs, what was that? A smoke screen?”

  “It’s still….” I paused, trying to word this carefully. “It’s still something I’m not completely sure how to deal with. I’m not going to lie. But I think what I said and what I was afraid of—what I thought I was afraid of—might have been some misdirected self-preservation.”

  Darren’s brow furrowed.

  I hesitated, giving myself a chance to collect my thoughts. “As a friend pointed out while he was smacking me over the head with what an idiot I’ve been, someone with different beliefs is a perfect match for me.” Holding eye contact with Darren was difficult, but I made myself do it. “You have as much conviction about your beliefs as I do about mine. You’re willing to debate it and discuss it, and even though we disagree, you’ve never once made me feel inferior or like there’s something wrong with me.” I lowered my gaze to my hands in my lap. “Not even when I made you feel that way.”

  “Most of the time you didn’t,” he said, almost whispering. “That was one of the things I liked about you. We could talk from opposite ends of the spectrum and still respect each other even if we didn’t see eye to eye.”

  “I do respect you, Darren. And what you believe.” I lifted my gaze again. “I’m sorry. I freaked out, and I hurt you. It wasn’t what you believed, it was my own hang-ups that threw everything off the rails.”

  “Well, my reaction….” He slowly ran his tongue across his lips. “There’s something I should probably tell you. It might explain why I was so upset about what you said.”

  I sat up a little, steeling myself. “Okay….”

  His Adam’s apple jumped. “I know you’re guarded because of what your parents did to you. And no one can blame you for that.” He swallowed hard. “But you’re not the only one who’s been hurt.”

  My heart dropped.

  “I think you need to….” Darren laced his fingers together in his lap and focused on them, furrowing his brow like they required deep concentration. “I think you need to understand why I came here. To Tucker Springs.” Darren finally raised his head and met my eyes. “Why I had to leave Tulsa.”

  Something twisted below my ribs. “Go on.”

  “I was the youth pastor for a church there for four years, and from the start, I figured it would be best to be on the up-and-up about my sexuality. I was dating someone at the time, and I didn’t want to have to hide him or worry about blindsiding anyone.”

  “People didn’t like that?”

  Darren shrugged. “Some wigged out. Some didn’t care. And yeah, it annoyed me when they decided the youth group was large enough that I really should have an ‘assistant youth pastor.’ You know, the ‘assistant youth pastor’ who came to everything where I was with the kids.”

  “A babysitter?”

  “Basically. But she was good with the kids, and she was great to work with, so whatever. I made the best of it.” Then Darren took a deep breath, and as he let it out, he set his shoulders back like he was steeling himself against something. “We had four gay kids in the youth group. Four who were out, anyway. And I wondered about a couple of the others, but… definitely four. Anyway, that made people even more uncomfortable. Because somehow having them in a group led by a gay man was more dangerous than the teenage girls in the group led by the straight guy who was the youth pastor before me.” He rolled his eyes.

  “Sounds familiar,” I muttered.

  Darren shifted uncomfortably. “So all the kids in the youth group had my email and my cell phone. They knew in no uncertain terms they could contact me, night or day, if they needed anything. Sometimes they called. Frustrated about something they couldn’t talk to their parents about, or just having a rough day.” He met my eyes. “You know what it’s like being a teenager.”

  I nodded. “Wouldn’t go back to those days for anything.”

  “Hear, hear.” He swallowed. “So one night, this kid calls. Chad. He wasn’t quite seventeen, and he was one of the four.”

  “One of the gay kids?”

  “Yeah. And he was a mess. Drunk out of his mind, crying, saying he wanted to kill himself.”

  “Oh my God….”

  Darren moistened his lips, and his eyes lost focus. “I picked him up at this diner where all the kids like to hang out. He refused to get into the car until I promised not to take him back to his parents’ place, so I took him back to mine so he could sober up.”

  I winced. “Why can I already see where this is going?”

  “Because this story always ends the same way,” he said bitterly. “When I’d finally convinced him to let me take him home, his parents flipped out, and….” He made a “you do the math” gesture.

  “Jesus.”

  “And this poor kid. He was so raw, and in such a bad place, and….” Darren whistled and shook his head. “Man, he still refused to let anyone bully him into making an accusation. I was scared to death for him through the whole thing.” He paused, clearing his throat. “Every time my phone rang, I was sure someone was going to tell me he’d hurt himself. He just… he didn’t need that, you know?”

  My skin prickled with sick déjà vu. I knew damn well what that kid felt like, and I hadn’t had someone like Darren to fall back on. I couldn’t begin to imagine what it would be like to have that support and then have it yanked out from under me.

  “So what happened?” I asked.

  “The police investigated it. The kid and I both passed polygraphs, and eventually all the charges were dropped.” Darren rubbed his forehead, grimacing like this whole train of thought gave him a headache. Maybe it did. “But the congregation still wasn’t happy. And the elders, the deaconess, the pastor….” He shook his head and sat back, focusing on something across the room. “They had a meeting about it. About me, really.”

  “That doesn’t sound good.”

  “Not really, no.” Darren’s lips thinned into a bleached line, and he was quiet for a moment. “When all was said and done, they came to an agreement that it would be better for everyone involved if I left the congregation.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “I wish. I mean, I’ll go to my grave and still not understand it. What was I supposed to have done, you know?” He ran a hand through his hair. “Just leave him at that diner? Drunk? Tell him he needed to talk to someone else because people might get the wrong idea? As fragile as he—” Darren’s voice cracked, and he quickly cleared his throat. “The whole thing was so fucked-up.”

  My heart skipped. I couldn’t say what startled me more: the fact that he’d cursed, or how badly his voice had shaken when he did.

  Or, as he turned toward me, the extra shine in his eyes.

  “I never did a damned thing to any of those kids,” he whispered. “But I was kicked out because people got it into their heads that I might. Because I’m gay, and so….” He waved a hand and then swiped at his eyes. “Damn it, I’m sorry.”

  All the air rushed out of my lungs. “And I did the same thing, didn’t I?”

  Darren said nothing. He didn’t move. Didn’t look at me.

  Heart pounding, I got up and moved to the couch beside him. When I touched his arm, he didn’t recoil, so I put my other arm around his shoulders.

  “I’m so sorry, Darren,” I whispered.

  Releasing his breath, he leaned against me, and I wrapped my arms around him.

  After a long, silent moment, I asked, “Why was Chad upset that night?”

  “What?” Darren’s eyes were clearer, but his brow furrowed with confusion.

  “The kid you were helping that night.” I swallowed. “What… what had happened?”

  Darren shifted his gaze back down to his hands. “To tell you the truth, I never did get
out of him exactly what set him off that night. There was so much weighing on him. He’d been really stressed for a while. I was worried about him, and we’d had a few conversations about it. I know he’d just broken up with someone. He felt like an outcast. His parents were putting pressure on him academically and spiritually. To this day, I don’t know what the last straw was.” Darren sighed. “I think it just boiled down to being a gay teenager with ultraconservative parents in the Midwest.”

  “Poor kid,” I said.

  “Yeah, no kidding. And all of that, what I just told you, that’s why my brother had such an attitude the day we came to check out the apartment. He’s even angrier about what happened to me than I am, and he’s terrified it’ll happen here too.”

  “Do you think it will?”

  “I don’t know.” Darren absently brushed a few unruly strands of hair off his forehead. “The congregation is very open-minded, and probably better than half are gay themselves. Plus the pastor’s brother was gay. But… pastors move around, congregations change. Anything’s possible, really.”

  “Hopefully it’ll stay the way it is, then.”

  “Hopefully.” He swallowed hard. “By the way, about that first night….” He trailed off, and I didn’t say anything as he apparently struggled to find the words. Finally, “I don’t usually do that. In fact, I’ve never done it. Never when I just met a guy. But there was something about you from the beginning that I couldn’t ignore. And it was more than the attraction. In a way, knowing you were an atheist made you… safer.”

  “Safer?”

  He nodded, avoiding my eyes. “I was pretty sure you were gay, and judging by the bumper sticker, you were an atheist. Which meant I didn’t have to be on guard, worried you were going to shove me away because I’m gay. You didn’t strike me as the type who’d invite me to a neighborhood barbecue but then subtly try to keep me away from all the kids.”

  My jaw dropped. “People did that?”

  “All the time.” He rubbed the back of his neck and sighed. “And after feeling like a pariah for so long, to the point I had to leave the state, I can’t even tell you what a relief it was to be having a couple of beers with someone who just took me as I was. And I guess I got more carried away with that—with you—than I usually would.” He met my eyes. “Because for the first time in a long time, I felt… safe. You were safe.”