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But he’s learned nothing. He’s accepted nothing. He’s forgiven nothing.
“It shouldn’t be a choice,” I choke out with a shake of my head. “Don’t you get that?”
“I love you. This is…this is all I have.”
“It’s not good enough.”
We’re both crying now—openly and savagely—because we know what we had is in the wind. It’s left behind in the dusk of the day, a forgotten secret we should have known was too good to be true.
What he’s offering simply isn’t good enough. I can see that he still carries shame and guilt, and I don’t blame him. If I was taught all my life that who I was would send me to hell, I’d be the same way too. If I had a father who abused and tortured me for loving men, I wouldn’t be able to accept it either.
But I can’t go back to him now, not when there’s a chance that he’ll break and break me again in the process.
“I’ll do anything,” he begs, reaching out to grab my hands, and my traitorous body doesn’t pull away. “Anything,Noah. I’ll leave the church. I’ll shut down the camp. I’ll move next to UNC. I’ll do anything to be with you again.”
I grit my teeth and tremble. “It’snot good enough.”
And before I can stop him, he’s kissing me. It’s tormenting me with all the pleasure I thought I’d never have again. It’s reminding me of how much I love him, how much I crave him, how much I’d give for him. It almost breaks my resolve—the way his lips bruise mine with such passion—but I resist.
“No,” I growl as I rip myself away, his lips chasing after me. “I love you, Jarred, but I love me too. You’re not ready to love me the way I deserve to be loved. You still think that it’s me versus God, and it’s not. Until that changes, you can’t be a part of my life.”
“Baby, please—”
“No,” I say, firmer this time as I white knuckle the edge of the door. “You need to go.”
He wants to argue with me. I can see it in his eyes. He wants to fight for us, but there’s nothing for us to fight for yet. He wants me to fight for us, but I’ve fought as much as I could.
I close the door on his face, not hearing his final plea as I lean against the frame and drop to the floor. I let out a wail, a moan, an ear-piercing scream because I want him too.
But I have to learn to love myself again before I can love him.
CHAPTER30
NOAH
In the next two weeks, it’s been nothing but texts from Jarred and calls that I ignored every night. He’s persistent in his attempts to tell me he’s changed. He’s ruthless in his quest to make me see that we belong together. That’s the fucked-up thing. I know we do, but no number of words will change the fact that he’s just not ready.
I’m sitting at breakfast with my parents, swirling around the grits in front of me. I don’t really want to eat. I haven’t been hungry in a long time. Even when I do it, it tastes like nothing. Bland. Lifeless. Just like me, I guess.
Every time Jarred reaches out, I want to answer. I need him back in my life. I almost cave when I replay his declaration of love. But then I remember that he called me an abomination, that something deep inside him still believes that, and I don’t.
I didn’t realize loving someone was supposed to hurt this much.
“Noah,” my mother says, patting at her black bun as she gestures at my plate. “You better finish. We’re going to be late for church.”
I push around the grits and shake my head. Their continued attempts to get me to go to church have failed in the last two weeks. I don’t know why they think it’ll work this Sunday. “I’m not going.”
My father huffs with a scowl. “Your mother and I let it slide the last two Sundays because you’ve been a wreck, but you have to go to church. Out of all the time in your week, why can’t you give God two hours of it?”
“Is it because of that man?” my mother asks, tipping her head to the side as she frowns. “Are you still traumatized by what happened at camp?”
They still don’t know it was me in that video. They haven’t even brought it up since they heard it through the grapevine that first day I came back. I don’t think they’d be as accepting of my behavior if they knew it was me fucking Jarred. I’ve let them believe that because I don’t want to talk about it. I don’t see the point in admitting it. It wouldn’t change a thing.
It wouldn’t erase the heartbreak or rewind the clock.
My father sighs, pushing his thick glasses up his nose. “This is our fault.”
My head snaps up as I furrow my brows at him. “What do you mean?”
