My heart did a little flip in my chest. “Really? I thought you were just being polite.”
Cash snorted. “When have you ever known me to be polite?”
I laughed quietly. “Fair point.”
We sat in silence for a moment, his thumb absently stroking the back of my hand. It was such a small gesture, but it felt more intimate than anything we’d done against that wall earlier.
“My dad used to make cookies,” Cash said suddenly. “Not often, but sometimes. On Sundays.”
I held my breath, afraid to break the spell of this rare moment of openness.
“They weren’t as good as yours,” he continued, his voice dropping even lower. “But I always looked forward to them. Before everything went to shit.”
“What happened?” I asked gently. Even though I already knew the answer, I wanted to hear it from his lips.
I felt him tense beside me. For a moment, I thought he might get up and leave again. But he stayed.
“He found out I was gay,” Cash said flatly. “Walked in on me with my friend Tyler in the barn. I was sixteen. Dad didn’t say a word, just turned around and walked out. That night he told me I had to leave. That he didn’t want afaggotin his house.”
My chest ached for the teenage boy he’d been. “Cash, I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t be,” he said roughly. “It was a long time ago.”
“Doesn’t mean it stopped hurting.”
He was quiet again. I could feel the heat radiating from his body, so close to mine yet still holding himself apart.
“Why’d you become a pastor?” he asked, changing direction again.
I smiled in the darkness, used to his abrupt subject changes by now. “Because I believe in grace,” I said simply. “And second chances.”
“Even for people like me?”
The vulnerability in his question made my throat tight. “Especially for people like you.”
Cash’s hand slid from mine, but before I could mourn the loss of contact, his palm was cupping my cheek. His thumb traced my lower lip, sending shivers down my spine.
“I don’t deserve a second chance,” he whispered.
“Everyone does,” I insisted. “I got a second chance. So why shouldn’t a stubborn cowboy like you get one?”
Cash’s thumb froze against my lip. “What do you mean you got a second chance? What’d you do, Pastor? Steal from the collection plate?”
I could hear the teasing in his voice, but there was genuine curiosity there too. In the darkness, it was easier to be honest. Easier to let the words come that I usually kept locked away.
“I wasn’t always this... put together,” I admitted. “Before seminary, I was a mess. Drinking too much, sleeping with anyone who’d have me, running from everything that hurt.” I swallowed hard. “My parents died when I was nineteen. Car accident. I went off the rails after that.”
“I’m sorry,” he murmured, his hand sliding down to rest on my bare shoulder.
“It’s okay. It was a long time ago,” I echoed his earlier words with a sad smile. “But I was lost. Then I found the wrong guy. Aguy that I thought I couldfix.” I shook my head, hating what I was about to say. “And I really believed I could save him until he got me landed in prison for six months.”
Cash stiffened slightly. “You? In prison?”
“Hard to believe, right?” I gave him a shrug, glancing out the window at the moon hanging low in the sky. “I really thought my life was over. That I was worthless. Until someone believed in me when I couldn’t believe in myself.”
Cash shifted closer on the bed, his leg now pressing against mine. “Who?”
“An old pastor. Found me passed out on the church steps the morning after I got out of jail. Instead of calling the cops, he took me in. Let me stay in the rectory. Talked to me. Listened. Never judged.”
