by Lisa Henry
“Yeah?”
“And most of them were born in the 1940s.”
“Jeepers,” Jason said. “I mean, golly, mister.”
This time Nate’s smile was genuine. He knocked Jason’s shoulder with his own. “I really should go.” He wrinkled his nose. “I don’t mean like I’m running out of here because I’m ashamed or something. But I’m supposed to be back at the camp tonight.”
“Shouldn’t you be off work? You were in the hospital.”
“I like the camp. I like feeling useful.”
As you help your dad teach kids how to hate themselves?
He knew Nate was better than that. Shit, it was possible that even Reverend Tull was better than that. Maybe he really did think he was doing the best he could for those kids. Not that motive mattered when the end result was the same.
Something about good intentions and the road to hell...
“Okay,” he said.
Nate stood up and began to collect his clothes. Turned awkwardly away from Jason when he pulled his underwear and jeans back on, as though his modesty was just now catching up with him. Anyone else, and Jason would have teased him about it.
Oh, so I can suck it, but I’m not allowed to look at it?
Because anyone else would have seen the funny side. Jason didn’t know if Nate would. And he was afraid that Nate would regret what had happened, and that his self-recrimination would catch him when he was alone. What then? Would he take a blade and open up that scar?
“Listen,” he said, as Nate pulled on his shirt. “I want to give you my number.”
“Okay.”
“So we can talk, you know? If you need to talk about what happened.”
“Oh.” Nate’s face became guarded suddenly.
“What?”
“I thought...” Nate cleared his throat. “I thought you were giving me your number so we could meet again like this.”
Jason smiled and choked a little as a laugh tried to escape. “Really? You want that?”
“Yeah.” Nate answered Jason’s smile with a cautious grin of his own. “Yeah, I think I do.”
Back at the camp, guilt hit Nate like he knew it would. Sitting around the fire with the kids, toasting marshmallows and telling ghost stories, it wasn’t the thought of his own sin that bit back at him. It was his happiness. Everything had felt so right with Jason. Okay, his nerves had almost overcome him a few times, but it had been worth it. Not just because he’d come—Nate was no stranger to jerking off when he absolutely couldn’t stand the building pressure any longer—but everything. The thought of letting a woman do that to him turned his stomach. But with a man, with Jason, it was different. It had felt perfectly natural. It had felt like all the pieces that hadn’t really fit before were finally falling into place.
And now guilt showered him.
Not for what he’d done with Jason, but because he’d told all these kids that they shouldn’t look for happiness in the same place.
He gazed across the fire at Tyler, who was animatedly telling a ghost story. He’d started with the flashlight under his chin but was now swinging it wildly, sending the beam across tree trunks and campers’ faces, and into the night sky.
“And then William slowly untied the ribbon,” Tyler said. He paused, glancing around to make sure he had his audience’s attention. “And Annie’s head fell off!”
“That was unbelievably lame,” Steven said.
“Shut up, douchebag.”
“Hey,” Nate said, but the two boys were already in a shoving war, laughing wildly while a couple of the other campers whooped. “Enough.”
Nate could barely hear his own voice. Tyler goosed Steven under the arms, then slid his hands down Steven’s sides as Steven cringed and squirmed, nearly overturning his lawnchair. Then Tyler swiped a hand between Steven’s legs and gripped briefly before letting go. Nate looked to see if anyone else had noticed, but nobody reacted. Emily finally stood and said, “Hey, hey. Let’s settle down, okay?”
Tyler scooted his chair closer to Steven’s and slung an arm around Steven’s neck. He grinned up at Emily. “Okay.”
“Get off me.” Steven shrugged out from under Tyler’s arm. But he was grinning too.
Nate didn’t know what to do. He couldn’t reprimand them, since he wasn’t even sure he’d seen what he thought he’d seen. Could have been the firelight playing tricks on him. And if he said something and the boys denied it, and no one else had seen it…
Besides, Nate wasn’t going to make an issue of it in front of the whole camp. He’d talk to Steven and Tyler privately. And he’d talk to the counselors too—see if they’d noticed any inappropriate interactions between Steven and Tyler over the last few days.
He stared over the crackling flames into the darkness of the woods. Maybe he needed to take a walk, clear his head. He had that fear again—the fear that Steven and Tyler were deliberately challenging him. That, in looking the other way, he was allowing them to tarnish their souls, ruining their chance to know God’s love in eternity.
But also, he didn’t want to make a big deal out of nothing. It was up to Steven and Tyler whether they wanted to be here, whether they took Moving Forward’s lessons to heart. As long as they weren’t inciting mutiny in the other campers, then who the hell was Nate to accept a blowjob from Jason and then tell Steven and Tyler they couldn’t touch each other.
They’re kids. They need guidance. That’s what they came here for.
No. They came here because their parents made them. And now they’re playing along until they’re eighteen and can do whatever they want.
How would Nate have felt at their age, if someone had told him he couldn’t make his own choices because he was too young?
Nate had a bizarre desire to ask Jason’s advice. Stupid, because no way would Jason take the issue seriously. Jason thought Moving Forward was evil. He’d probably root for Steven and Tyler to fool around as much as possible, to prove that gay conversion therapy didn’t work.
But Nate wanted to ask all the same. Because even though Jason could be untrustworthy and selfish, Nate had always admired his strength, his courage, his convictions. His willingness to explore even the world’s most deadly places. He wanted to lean on Jason, wanted to let Jason open the world up to him. He’d wanted that four years ago, and he wanted it now.
But he wasn’t going to be a pushover. Wasn’t going to let Jason mock his faith or tell him who to be. Nate was his own man now. and even if his ideas about who that man was were starting to crumble, he wasn’t going to put himself back together in some mold Jason approved of.
He just had to find the compromise. Between his beliefs and reality, between faith and desire, and between Jason and himself. He’d concentrate on that for now and worry about his responsibility to his family, to the camp, later.
Chapter Ten
Jason met with Zac at two, at the dog park in Westlake. He’d dropped Rose off at her monthly appointment at the clinic. She said she was fine to go in without him. Nobody had held her hand when he was in Afghanistan, after all. Back then though, Jason knew, she hadn’t been as run down. She’d still driven herself the hour and a half from Pinehurst. But she wouldn’t let him come to the actual appointment with her, so he’d texted Zac the night before to see if he could meet up with Zoner. It was a three-hour drive from Portland up into central Washington, and Jason had been sure Zac would refuse. Was shocked when he hadn’t.
“I hope you know I only did this for him.” Zac nodded at the dog, who was spinning in circles while Jason petted him, whapping Jason’s knees with his tail.
“I know.” Fuck. This was a mistake. It was going to break his heart when he had to let Zac take Zoner away again, but it was selfish to want Zoner for himself. Zac had spent more time with the dog, and Jason was hardly in any shape to take him for a walk every day, was he? He remembered weekends when they’d taken him hiking on the trails around Forest Park, trying to run some energy out of him. Then getting home again,
locking poor Zoner out of the bedroom while Jason fucked Zac into the mattress, watching the way his sweaty body writhed underneath his strong thrusts.
That was something they hadn’t told him at the hospital. By the way, Mr. Banning, you’ll never be able to fuck as vigorously again. Because back then Jason was supposed to feel grateful to be alive, not bitter about his diminished quality of life.
Can’t run or jump? Can barely walk? Oh well, at least you’re alive.
Can’t go back to the job you loved? At least you’re alive.
Can’t fuck a man the way you want to? At least you’re alive.
At least you’re alive.
Well, fuck being alive.
On days like this one, fuck it.
“I’ve got some things of yours in the car,” Zac said at last.
“What things?”
“Some clothes,” Zac said. “A couple of books. A camera. They got mixed up in my stuff.”
“Oh.”
“Those dishes we got from Pottery Barn.”
“You never liked those.”
Zac’s expression softened. “No. I never did.”
There were a lot of things they’d disagreed on, Jason supposed. A long-distance relationship had suited them both. All the convenience of a regular relationship, without the intimacy. Zac got to tell people about his boyfriend with the exciting, dangerous job, and Jason got to feel warm knowing there was someone waiting for him at home.
He tugged Zoner’s ears gently. “I know you never signed on to look after a cripple—”
“It wasn’t that!” Zac shook his head. “Jesus. I mean, it wasn’t just that.”
Jason nodded, and tried to let go of some of his bitterness. Okay, so they’d never talked about a future. They’d never talked about forever. But it had still fucking hurt when Zac had said he wanted out, because Jason knew that if he’d come back whole, it wouldn’t have ended the way it did. “Are you seeing anyone?”
“No.” Zac answered a little too quickly, but Jason didn’t care enough to push. “How’s Pinehurst? As horrible as you remembered?”
“Pretty much.”
“Are you keeping up with your PT?”
“Yeah.” Reading through the list of exercises counted, right? Even when he couldn’t be bothered crawl out of bed to do them.
Zac sighed. “You should. Remember what the doctors said. You have to strengthen the muscles, or you’ll end up in a chair.”
Jason snorted. So they were still close enough to tell when they were lying to each other. He wasn’t sure if that was something he could take comfort in, or something that seemed almost unbearably sad.
“Are you seeing anyone?”
For some reason the question shocked him. He hadn’t expected Zac to ask, since it was obvious Zac no longer thought of him as a viable sexual being. He’d thought that Zac's idea of politeness—no, don’t draw attention to Jason’s disability. That will only embarrass us both—would protect him from a question he had no fucking idea how to answer. “Not, um, not exactly.”
Zac’s smile was tentatively teasing. “Well, I just know there’s a story behind that.”
Jason scruffed Zoner. “There really isn’t.”
It didn't matter what Nate was, and what Jason and he had, now or then. Jason had hurt Nate, deeper than he had been able to admit to himself for years. He'd told himself that little Nathan Tull had fled straight back into the closet of his father's church, a coward. But Jason had driven him there. Encouraged him to spread his wings, then flung him straight into a tempest. It had been so easy to think that Reverend Tull was the villain in Nate’s story, but maybe he wasn't the only one.
Zoner brought him a stick. Jabbed him in the legs with it. Dragged it across his hands, then pretended to bound away with it. Trying to tempt Jason to grab it and wrestle. Once upon a time, he would have. Now, he couldn’t risk it. Zoner was a big dog. Part Great Dane, the vet had hazarded, but mostly general mutt.
Zac reached out and grabbed the stick. Played tug of war with Zoner, wrenching his big head back and forth. Covering all of them, and the park bench, in dog drool.
“I missed this,” Jason said.
Zac wiped his hands on his jeans. His smile was a little uncomfortable.
You scared the cripple is going to get maudlin, Zac? Make a spectacle of himself?
That was unfair. Again.
Zac looked away, suddenly interested in an old man walking a small terrier.
“Thanks,” Jason said at last. “For driving all this way. It’s been good to see you both.”
Which wasn’t exactly the truth, but not really a lie either.
But, whichever one it was, he knew he wouldn’t ask Zac to make the drive again.
“Nate?”
Nate, his arms full of baseball gear, caught the door with his foot before it shut. “Yeah, Dad?”
His dad pulled the door open and held it, chuckling as an aluminum bat slid out of Nate’s grasp and clattered to the floor. “Baseball, huh?”
“After our talk.”
Nate’s talk.
Probably why his dad was here. Just checking up on him to make sure he was okay after coming home from the hospital. To make sure he felt strong enough to discuss his past with the kids. He didn’t, not today, but it wasn’t his physical strength failing him. It was his faith, or at least those tenets of their faith that his father believed. Those were slipping away now, like water through his grasping fingers.
It didn’t feel wrong.
That, a voice told him, was exactly the danger. Sin came packaged like that. Wrapped in soft promises and comfort and laughter. Sin disguised itself at first. It was insidious.
But maybe, just maybe, this wasn’t sin. Maybe this wasn’t damnation. Maybe this was exactly what it felt like: happiness. Nate had been unhappy for so long that he didn’t dare risk his chance at it now.
“As long as you’re feeling up to it,” his dad said.
“Yeah,” Nate lied. “I’m fine.”
His dad clapped him gently on the shoulder and let him go.
In the front yard, Nate saw his mom getting ready to leave for her Christian Women’s Alliance meeting. He wanted to call to her, say bye, but something stopped him.
When he was a kid, he’d been closer to his mother than to his father. His dad had always been open and kind, always easy to talk to. Nate, shyer and quieter than his dad, had gravitated to his mother instead. His mother seemed less approachable to people, harder to read, but Nate had liked that. He’d liked that he didn’t need to share her with the whole town.
Somewhere along the line, that had shifted. Nate had become a teenager and life had gotten messy. While his father acknowledged life’s unevenness, its complexities and gray areas, Nate never saw him living that mess. Never saw him fumbling in that space between black and white. He saw a man who, at his core, believed that sin and virtue were clear cut, easy to identify, pursue, or reject. That anyone could overcome any hardship, any vice, through willpower. Maybe a different kid would have resented that, allowed it to drive a wedge between them, but Nate had stepped back from his mom’s gentle cynicism instead, and fervently modeled himself after his father in the hope that he could know that certainty as well, and be strong like his father.
Until the scandal. Then Nate saw his father hurt, confused. Lost. Teenage Nate had always guiltily imagined he’d take some satisfaction in that sight. But the reality of it was ugly. Left Nate aching and ashamed. He’d found himself wanting to rebuild his relationship with his mother, who didn’t seem quite so rigid in her beliefs. Or quite so shaken if the things she did believe were challenged.
But he hadn’t known how to talk to either of them. How to do anything but apologize. Eventually, hungry for comfort, he had accepted his father’s assurances that he could be fixed. That anything could be fixed through God’s love. He hadn’t believed it. But he’d learned to.
It was a beautiful day—not as hot as it had been all week. The breeze k
ept Nate centered, made him feel awake and alive. Marissa was out on the field with the kids, and Nate felt guilty just looking at her. They had to break up. Nate had to do it tonight. He couldn’t string her along, couldn’t hurt her.
Sin boldly.
He greeted the campers and dropped the gear in the makeshift dugout. They didn’t have an actual diamond, just lines painted on the grass. It needed to be mowed; Nate could barely see the bases as he surveyed the field. Marissa waved to him, and he waved back tentatively.
He was missing someone. Sixteen campers had signed up to play today, plus four counselors. But there were only nineteen people here.
“Anyone seen Isaac?” he asked.
The campers looked around. “He was at breakfast,” Mary Ann said.
“I’ll go check the cabins. I’ll let you guys pick teams without me.”
Steven snickered and elbowed Tyler in the ribs.
Those two were incorrigible. It made Nate uncomfortable. Maybe even a little jealous? He didn’t know. He only knew that he had to be sure of himself before he could even start sorting out his feelings towards the work he did here at the camp. Before he defied his father’s teachings, before he betrayed him and became the Absalom to his father’s David. He wasn’t afraid. But he had to be sure.
Nate headed for the cabins. In the middle of the day they were deserted. Towels hung on the rails out the front of Maple. Someone’s boardshorts had fallen into a soggy heap on the ground. Nate picked them up, shook the worst of the dirt out of them, and slung them over the rail.
“Isaac?” Nate knocked on the wall beside the open door. “You in here?”
Isaac was lying on his bunk, reading a book. He didn’t look up when Nate stepped inside.
“Hey. I thought you were playing baseball,” Nate said.
“I don’t want to.” Isaac rolled over and faced the wall. He held the book up in front of his face.
“Okay.” Nate leaned against the end of his bunk. “Are you feeling okay?”
“Fine.” A monotone.
“Isaac.” Nate sighed. “Listen, is there anything you want to talk about?”