The phone slipped from my numb fingers, clattering onto the Formica tabletop. He loved me. Mike Johnson, the good pastor with his calling and his future, lovedme. And I’d run away without giving him a chance to say it.
I buried my face in my hands, feeling like the biggest coward who’d ever lived. He’d stood there in shock while Doreen attacked me, and instead of giving him a chance to recover, to process what had happened, I’d bolted like a spooked horse. Just like I always did when things got difficult.
But what if he meant it? What if he really was willing to fight for us, even when it cost him everything?
I thought about his sermon from that first Sunday, about finding the courage to return to the places that scared us most. About healing and second chances and how sometimes the thing we thought we didn’t want turned out to be exactly what we needed.
Maybe I was the thing Mike needed, broken and complicated as I was. And maybe he was what I needed too. He was someone who saw past all my damage to something worth saving. He thought I wasworthloving.
I picked up my phone and scrolled to his number, my thumb hovering over the call button. It would be easy to drive away, to disappear into anonymity somewhere else. But easy had never gotten me anything worth having.
But then I stopped, shoved the phone in my pocket, and got up from that sticky truck stop table. Mike Johnson loved me and he deserved better than a phone call at seven in the morning.
This was something I needed to do in person.
Chapter 28
Mike
Sleeping was impossible. And the sun was already up now, so I figured there was no point in trying any longer. Instead of forcing myself to stay in bed any longer, I got up and walked to the kitchen, my quilt wrapped around my shoulders to keep out the morning chill inside the parsonage house.
I could barely muster the effort to turn on the coffee pot. Thankfully I’d had the sense to prep it the night before because even the act of filling the filter with coffee grounds felt like an enormous chore. As the coffee maker began to come to life, I sank down into a chair by the window, staring out across Sagebrush as the sun slowly peeked above the horizon.
I was broken, through and through. I felt as if all the strength had left my body and I was more exhausted than seemed possible. And all of it had nothing to do with the fundraiser, the church, or being the town pastor.
It was just…heartbreak, plain and simple.
I’d never felt anything like this before. The physical ache in my chest, the way my stomach twisted every time I thought about Cash driving through the night, probably convinced I’dabandoned him. The way my hands shook when I remembered the look on his face as Doreen had torn into him.
I’d called him so many times my throat was raw from leaving voicemails. But his phone had been going straight to voicemail for hours now, which meant he’d turned it off completely. He didn’t want to hear from me, and I couldn’t blame him for that.
The coffee finished brewing, filling the kitchen with its rich aroma, but I couldn’t bring myself to get up and pour a cup. Instead, I pulled the quilt tighter around my shoulders and watched the town wake up through the window. A few early risers were already moving around, probably heading to work or running morning errands. Normal people living normal lives, unaware that their new pastor had just spectacularly imploded his career and lost the man he loved in one catastrophic evening.
I kept replaying the moment over and over in my mind. The way Doreen had appeared out of nowhere, her face twisted with righteous fury. The venom in her voice as she’d called Cash those horrible names, blamed him for corrupting me, for ruining her son all those years ago. And I’d just stood there like a deer in headlights, frozen by shock and fear.
I should have stepped in front of him. Should have told her to go to hell. Should have made it clear that whatever was happening between Cash and me was my choice, not some manipulation on his part. Instead, I’d let her tear him apart while I watched, paralyzed by the implications of what our exposure meant for my future here.
The sound of gravel crunching in the driveway made me look up from my brooding. My heart leaped for a moment, hoping desperately that it might be Cash’s truck, but it was just Dolly’s truck pulling up to the curb. She climbed out, carrying what looked like a casserole dish, and I realized with a sinking stomach that the sympathy visits were about to begin.
I wasn’t ready for this. Wasn’t ready to face concerned friends or parishioners who wanted to offer comfort or advice about mysituation. I considered pretending I wasn’t home, but she’d already seen me through the window and was waving.
The doorbell rang a moment later, followed by her gentle knock. I forced myself to get up, still wrapped in my quilt, and opened the door.
“Hey sugar,” she said, her usually smiling face creased with concern. “I brought you some breakfast casserole. Figured you might not feel much like cookin’ today.”
Her kindness nearly undid me. I’d been bracing myself for judgment or awkward questions, but she was just being neighborly. “Thank you, Dolly. That’s very thoughtful.”
She stepped inside when I held the door open, bustling toward the kitchen with the efficiency of someone who’d been taking care of people her whole life. “Coffee smells good,” she said, setting the casserole on the counter. “Mind if I pour myself a cup? I’d like to talk with you for a moment, sugar.”
I nodded, settling back into my chair while she moved around my kitchen like she belonged there. She poured two mugs of coffee and set one in front of me before taking the seat across the small table.
“Now then,” she said, wrapping her bright red acrylics around her mug. “I wanted to make sure you knew that not everyone in this town thinks like Doreen Blackburn. That woman’s been carrying a grudge for ten years, and it’s made her, if you’ll excuse my language,damnmean.”
I stared down into my coffee, not trusting myself to speak. The unexpected support was threatening to crack what little composure I had left.
“What happened to her boy wasn’t Cash’s fault,” Dolly continued firmly. “Tyler was gay long before he met Cash Callahan. Some of us could see it plain as day, but his mamarefused to accept it. Easier to blame Cash than admit her son wasn’t who she wanted him to be.”
“I should have defended him,” I said finally, my voice hoarse. “I should have said something.”
