“The advantage of the emotions is that they lead us astray.”

~Oscar Wilde

JC pulled at the baggy fabric of his jeans, feeling far younger than his twenty-five years.  He knew he should be concentrating on why Professor House had called him into his office, but all he could think of were the hundred messages he’d left on Tony’s answering machine and how unlikely it was that Tony would answer any of them.  It had just been a misunderstanding, the whole thing, and if Tony would only pick up then he could explain it and repair their six year friendship. 

“JC, JC.  My most gifted student.”  Professor House pulled out a thick file and assessed JC from his side of the desk.  “I can’t pretend to understand why you haven’t made any solid plans for after graduation, but can I make the assumption that you aren’t looking forward to unemployment?” 

“Yes sir,” JC mumbled.  He and Tony had planned on getting a place together so they could concentrate on their music while they worked some kind of ministry on the side.  Now it was only two weeks until they graduated from seminary and JC hadn’t even started looking for an apartment.   He’d always prided himself on knowing exactly what he wanted out of life, and those things had been always been music, the spotlight, and some way to give back to God everything he’d been given. 

Maybe if he caught up with Tony outside the bakery where Tony worked part time, he thought for the millionth time.  Except no…that might be considered stalker-like, and all JC wanted was to explain himself.  Writing a song for someone was a gift, and most people would be honored.  Just thinking about Tony’s silent, grim-faced reaction deepened the pit in JC’s stomach. 

“Hear me out on this, then.  I know of a church that’s looking for a pastor, and I’d like for you to go down there, let them try you out.” 

A pastor?  JC finally looked up from his pants.  He must have heard wrong, because pastoring an entire church was something that was years of experience away.  It was too much, not even an option, yet there was something about the idea of him standing behind his very own pulpit…he could see it, the faces of the people when he shared aspects of God with them that they hadn’t ever known.  Maybe this was what God wanted for him; maybe he would find something at this church.  Some kind of peace.  

“Why would they even want me?”

“Give them the chance to let you inspire them,” House urged.  “They’ll want you.”  He removed his glasses and folded them up carefully.  “I went to school with one of their deacons.  They’re having some growing pains, nothing any different than what all churches go through, but they can’t afford to pay very much.  Still, room and board and more experience than you could get anywhere else.  At the very least, pray about it and see what you’re led to do.”

JC slid his hand into his pocket, let it rest on his silent phone, and knew that he wasn’t going to say no.  It wasn’t like he knew what else to do.

***

JC leaned out the window of his apartment and took in the pleasing view.  The neighborhood was nice enough, and he could see the church’s steeple from his window.  He had the upstairs apartment; downstairs was the building’s owner who according to the deacons was available for any maintenance needs.  JC hadn’t met him yet- Chris, they had called him- but something about the flat, dismissing way they spoke of him had piqued his curiosity.  At night he could hear Chris moving around downstairs, and he already knew Chris’ routine almost as well as his own. 

He’d only called Tony twice in the entire week he’d been there, and of those two times he’d only left a message once.  It was progress.  His new life was a good distraction, but not quite good enough yet.  He supposed it would just take some more time, and here in Fox Creek there was nothing but time.

 A figure carrying a bag of groceries walked into view, and JC leaned a little further.  “Hi,” he called.  “Chris?” 

The man stopped right beneath the window and when he looked up, he pushed dark, messy hair out of his face to blink up at JC.  JC waved, and all of a sudden he was a choir geek again, staring into the faces of ten hostile burnouts.  Unlike JC’s childhood foes, Chris didn’t seem dangerous so much as just very suspicious as he squinted up at JC for a few moments before quirking his mouth into something like a smile.  “You must be the new preacher,” he said.  He shifted his grocery bag to the other arm, which gave JC a good look at the elaborate tattoo that twisted its way from wrist to elbow.

“Yeah.  That’s me.  JC,” he said like an idiot.

“Jesus.  You’re so freaking young.” Chris said.  “You must’ve given one hell of a sermon.” 

“I did my best.”  He’d wanted the job and had gone after it with every ounce of his competitive nature.  It had never even occurred to him that he wouldn’t get the job.  He needed it for his own sanity as much as anything else.

“It probably didn’t hurt that you were willing to work for pennies.” 

“Well."  That was no one's business.  "I’m not very experienced,” he admitted.

“No one around here is,” Chris laughed.  “You’ll fit right in,” he said, and JC was pretty sure it wasn’t intended to be a compliment. 

One of the deacons told JC to steer clear of Chris, which made him the most interesting person in town as far as JC was concerned.  When he asked about Chris people whispered their answers, yet it was apparently all right for JC to live in the same house as Chris, whose biggest crime as far as JC had seen was speaking too quickly and saying ridiculous things.  Sometimes JC wondered if anyone had told Chris to steer clear of him, because he avoided contact with JC, but whenever they happened to meet studied JC with razor-sharp eyes. 

It was easy to fall into a routine after just a few weeks.  The church was only a few blocks away, and the daily walk took him through quiet, friendly neighborhoods where the sidewalks were overrun with cracks.  The trees stretched high and far, providing a sheltering canopy on hot days, and JC used the time to think about his sermons; what they were and what he wanted them to be.  Most of the time they were the one and the same, sometimes they weren’t. 

His office was just past the sanctuary, down the hall and to the right.  It was the one perk the church had been able to provide when they’d hired him.  The office was roomy, full of light, and stocked with as many books as he could ever want to read.  He did want to read them, but the little things seemed to take up most of his days, and that was okay, too.  He liked just knowing they were there.    

Diane Bass did secretary work in the morning, which meant there was always industrial-strength coffee waiting when he arrived.  It also meant that there was a neatly printed list of people to visit in the hospital, phone calls to return, and—most recently—counseling appointments.

“JC.”  Diane popped her head through the open door, flashing him a toothy, fond grin.  She was always perfectly coiffed and smelled of mint gum and hair spray like so many of JC’s mother’s friends back home.  “Lynn Harless is here to see you.” 

Lynn, Lynn, Lynn…  JC nodded his approval, sifting through the hundred and fifty new faces and names he’d been trying to learn in the past few weeks.  When Mrs. Harless walked in JC recognized her curly hair and the way her cool, lotion-damp hand lingered a little too long in his own.  He also recognized the teenaged boy who lagged behind her with a baseball cap pulled down over his own unruly curls.  Justin, Mrs. Harless called him, and when she told him to sit, he did.

It put JC more at ease when the pair was seated and JC was safely behind his desk, pencil in hand.   He could do this, he told himself.  He could.  He’d been trained for it and was fully qualified.  It couldn’t be that difficult; he just had to listen and then tell the kid to do what his mom said.  Still, he didn’t know what to say so they ended up sitting there until finally Mrs. Harless started talking. 

“I don’t know what to do with him,” she began, clearly working herself up for quite a ramble.  By the time she was finished explaining about Justin’s misplaced priorities and was starting on his lack of ambition, she was dabbing at her eyes with a Kleenex and the kid was slumped down in his chair, savaging his bottom lip with white, even teeth. 

“Okay,” JC said suddenly, then blushed because he’d interrupted her and that was just rude, but she looked at him like he had all the answers in the world.  “Mrs. Harless, I think I should spend some time talking to Justin.  Alone?”  He tapped his pencil, trying to muster an expression of authority.  She’s going to know, he thought.  I have no clue what I’m doing.

“Anything you can do,” she said quickly.  She was already standing.  “He just doesn’t listen to me.  He probably won’t listen to you, either; just wants to run around with Trace-“

“-Mom!”  It was the first thing Justin had said, so JC scribbled “Trace” on his notepad while Lynn shushed Justin and told him to come straight home afterward.

When she was gone, JC slid the pencil between his teeth and ground his teeth into the wood, thinking carefully.  Justin peered curiously over at JC and shifted in his seat, probably waiting for the next lecture to begin. 

 

“So...why don’t you tell me about your mom,” JC said slowly, watching Justin’s expressive face.  When it reflected only derision, JC quickly said, “Or whatever.  Tell me about yourself.” 

It took a while, but Justin finally shrugged.  “I’m sixteen,” he said.  “I’m a junior at Creek High, and I don’t need any therapy.” 

JC nodded.  “Good, because I’m not a therapist,” he said dryly.  It came out dripping with disdain, and he bit his lip, tried again.  This time he tried to sound like his father, who was actually good with people.  “Your mom just thought you could use someone to talk to.” 

“So you can tell her everything I say.” 

“No.  Anything you say to me is confidential.” 

“Nothing I do is confidential,” Justin muttered, but when JC asked him to repeat himself, he just shrugged again and stared sullenly at the wall for the next few moments. 

“So, okay,” JC said, and coughed.  Justin looked up at JC as though he were the most tedious person he’d ever met.   “Your mom is worried about you.”

“She’s always worried.” 

“Does she have a reason?” 

“Can I go now?” 

JC followed Justin’s gaze to the window where he could see another teenaged boy loitering around the front walk.  When he turned back he caught the tail end of a smile that was obviously not meant for him to see. 

“Will you come back on Tuesday?” 

“Fine.”   Justin watched the window, leg twitching restlessly.  “Can I go?” 

JC let him go. 

***

“Business meetings are the last Sunday of every month after evening service.”  Joe Fatone, one of the senior deacons, patted JC’s shoulder and handed him a neatly typed schedule. 

“Oh.”  JC nodded helplessly.  He wasn’t the best with numbers.  Also, how boring.  He’d sort of thought that was the type of thing that would be handled by the church’s staff.  After all, he didn’t expect them to help him win souls; the least they could do was keep track of the books. 

“Don’t worry.  We’ll walk you through it,” he assured JC, and patted him again, jolting JC’s slight frame with each hefty tap.  “Bev will get you the minutes from the last meeting if you’d like to see them ahead of time.” 

JC nodded firmly this time, and maybe came off as too interested because when Bev showed up on his steep, rickety porch that evening with a folder of documents, she said, “Sorry this took so long; the copy machine was giving me fits.  I hate to ask Christopher to fix that damn thing one more time, but the longer we can keep it going, the better.” 

“Chris,” JC managed, and his face heated for no discernable reason.  He was so bad at this, but she’d taken him by surprise.  No one ever talked about Chris or even talked to Chris even though he gave freely of his time and talents.  It was like he didn’t exist. 

“Yes?”  Bev raised an eyebrow, not quite mocking, and just as JC realized exactly why she looked so familiar, she pursed her lips and gave him a hard look.  “Don’t you believe everything you hear, all right?” 

“Um, no, I haven’t.  I mean, no one tells me anything,” he finished with a nervous laugh, and it was true.  She peered at him for a few minutes before she pushed the folder into his hand and sighed. 

“Don’t look so sad, sweetie.”  Before he could react, he was wrapped up in soft arms that hold him in a brief, tight hug.  “Consider it an opportunity to make use of your head,” she whispered.  He could almost hear the unspoken “pretty little head,” and snorted into her shoulder.  It was obvious where Chris got his attitude. 

“You’re so young,” she said before leaving, and took in one last look.  “You’ll do fine.  You just keep delivering those powerhouse sermons, all right?”   

“Okay,” he said weakly, the folder heavy in his hand.  That he could do. 

***

JC did his best to heed her words.  He wanted so badly to deliver; he started spending more time writing than he had even in school.  Nights like those he didn’t even know what it was that propelled him forward other than a simple desire to succeed.  Another late night, and he rubbed his eyes and stood, pacing to shake off exhaustion.  One more cup of coffee should get him through writing the rest of this elusive sermon that he could feel, but not put into concrete terms.  The concept of truth was proving difficult to put into words.  Still, he felt led to try at the very least.  JC thought that Chris was just the tip of the iceberg when it came to hushed topics in this congregation. 

Chris hadn’t attended any of the services yet, but he wasn’t ever hard to find.  It felt less lonely when he could hear Chris rattling around downstairs, so JC left his windows open and fell asleep most nights to the rhythmic drone of Chris’ music.  Chris didn’t say much to JC, just watched with dark, contemplative eyes whenever he was around, but JC liked knowing someone was there, especially at times like tonight, when JC flushed the toilet and rusty water started rising from the sink more quickly than he could handle.  JC didn’t even have to make a phone call; about five minutes after water began trickling down into the floor vent, Chris showed up with a tool box and a bored expression. 

Thirty minutes later, Chris got to his feet on JC’s sodden-towel strewn floor and declared the whole thing a mess.  “I’ll have to come back tomorrow,” he explained.  JC just stared at the mess.  The stench of mildew was overpowering, but he was too tired to clean.  He was tired and lonely, and it was more important than he wanted to admit when he hesitated in the doorway and said, “Would you, uh, like some coffee?” 

JC held his breath, but Chris just laughed and wiped his wet hands on his jeans.  “It’s three AM, why wouldn’t we drink coffee?”

“Is it?”  JC was surprised even though his back and shoulders ached as though he’d been up for days.  “I didn’t- you probably want to get back to sleep?” 

“Nah, it’s cool.  I wasn’t asleep.  If I’d been asleep, I wouldn’t have seen all that water coming down through my ceiling.”   

JC busied himself with getting the coffee while Chris looked around, blatantly snooping.  Everything was pretty much a wreck, but he’d been working long hours and it wasn’t like he got a lot of company.   

“So, you all settled in now?” Chris asked.  Despite what he’d said, his voice sounded husky with sleep or fatigue.  Or maybe he’d been smoking.  Sometimes, JC caught the scent of cigarettes through the vents and it was always hardest to sleep those nights.  “Make any friends yet?” 

“Sure.”  JC handed Chris a cup of coffee. “The Fatones and the Basses are really great.  And-“

“-no, no,” Chris interrupted.  He flopped onto JC’s faded couch.  “Friends.  Someone your own age who you can complain to about those people you just mentioned.” 

JC shrugged and sank down onto the cushion next to Chris.  “Nobody like that, I guess.  But so far there’s nothing to complain about.” 

“Nothing?”  Chris was smirking again, blowing gently on his coffee with his eyes fixed on JC.    

“Well…” he said carefully, hardly daring to ask.  “Can I ask you something?” 

“Sure.” 

He played with the edges of the afghan, his eyes on his fingers as they threaded through the tassels of yarn.  “Why is the church in so much debt?” 

There was absolutely no reason why Chris would have that kind of information, but something told JC that he did, and when he looked up at Chris’ incredulous expression, he knew for certain. 

“You’re just now asking this?” Chris asked.  “And you’re asking me?”

“They don’t like to talk about it.  It seems like it makes them uncomfortable,” he admitted, which was most of the reason he hadn’t pushed. 

“It probably does.”  Chris settled into the corner of the couch and it was the first time JC had seen him idle, still enough that JC shifted forward suddenly with the realization that he was finally able to look at Chris and see something beyond the dark, secret eyes that were always so full of warnings.  He liked what he saw; it made him feel like he wasn’t quite so alone there.  “What’d they tell you about the old preacher?”  Chris asked.

“Nothing.”  It’s true.  No one had said anything at all; they’d just plowed ahead so cheerfully that JC hadn’t bothered asking. 

“Nothing?”

“I swear,” JC promised. 

“Lou preached here for twenty years,” Chris said quietly.  Even though his tone had turned distant, JC thought that the story was a personal one.  He also thought that Chris would never admit as much.  His words came quickly, but his face was shuttered and every now and then he shook his head.  “Lou was an institution, man.  He was like...a father to everybody.  And then last year people started talking—they do that a lot around here, you know.  Don’t think you’ll ever have any secrets, because everyone knows.” 

JC nodded just to keep him talking. 

“So, some shit went down and it turned out he made some bad investments and tried to cover them up…all the church’s money- gone.  And he just disappeared and left them with all this debt.  It hurt a lot of people.”

Including Chris, JC sensed.  Chris may not have been a part of the church, but he was part of the community and JC was beginning to see how interwoven the two really were.  “That’s…” 

“Yeah,” Chris said.  His face was grim, and JC was almost sorry he brought it up, but not entirely.  As the leader of the church he needed to know those things; it could only help him better understand the people he was supposed to be helping.  Like Justin.  JC frowned.  It wasn’t the first time today he’d thought of Justin and how much he didn’t know what he was doing with the kid.

“So, wow.  For kids like Justin, Lou would’ve been…”  JC trailed off and shook his head; it was just so sad.  Lou had been around since they were born, and then gone just like that.  “No wonder he doesn’t trust me.” 

“Who, Justin?”  Chris asked.  “His mom making him talk to you?” 

“Well. Er-“  JC stammered.  He was definitely going to need to work on the privacy thing.  It was kind of embarrassing, but Chris just laughed. 

“I told you, there’s no such thing as secrets around here.  It just happens.” 

“Yeah…”  JC didn’t know what to say.  He shouldn’t have said anything, shouldn’t have been up this late, and definitely shouldn’t have been gossiping with Chris, who he felt like he’d been stalking since he moved in.  Last time he’d seen Bev he’d tried to learn a little more, but she’d just laughed and told JC to go downstairs and ask for himself.  Something told JC that with Chris, it wasn’t quite so simple. 

***

When he got home the next day, Chris was underneath the bathroom sink, legs sprawled outward with one boot braced on the tile for support.  Justin was supposed to be coming by for a counseling session, so JC hoped this won’t take very long.  Then he saw the section of the wall Chris had torn out.

He leaned against the door frame and watched Chris’ hips rise off the floor as he twisted a stubborn piece of piping.  “I guess this means I’ll be seeing a lot of you,” JC said dryly. 

A muffled snort came from under the sink.  “A lot of this side of me, at least.  You’re not gonna be able to use your water for at least a week.  I’ll give you the keys to my place and you can just come and go when you need to until you’re hooked back up.” 

JC paused.  Chris seemed like the kind of person who valued his privacy.  He couldn’t be crazy about the idea of JC wandering in and out as he pleased.  “Are you sure?  I can probably see about getting a motel…”

Gripping the edge of the counter from below, Chris pulled himself out from under the sink and sat up.  “Nuh uh, man.  I know how much money you make, and trust me- you’re better off being inconvenienced for a week or so.” 

“It’s not- no, I just don’t want to inconvenience you,” JC explained.  Chris seemed sincere enough in his offer, so JC nodded, still skeptical, and said, “So, if you don’t mind…then okay.  Thank you.” 

“No problem.”  Chris winked and tapped his wrench on the tile floor, still watching JC.  “So, what’s up?  You’re just now getting home?” 

JC caught himself before he could sigh.  It had been a long day.  “Yeah.  But I’m not done yet.  Justin’s coming in a few minutes.” 

“You seeing him a lot?”  Chris put down his wrench.  It was awfully nice to have someone to talk to, so JC rolled his eyes and grimaced to show Chris exactly how he felt about his progress with Justin. 

“I am, but it’s less like counseling and more like me talking to the top of his hat.  I swear the only time he isn’t miserable is when it’s time to leave.”

“He’s a good kid.” 

“Yeah?  I just wish I could help him.” 

“What’s to help?  He’s a sixteen year old with a way overprotective mother.  All adults are out to run his life, no one understands, and now he’s got the preacher on his case.” 

It sounded so simple when Chris put it that way, and more than a little hopeless. 

He finished just in time; Justin rang the bell when he was tugging his faded t-shirt over his head and he hurried out to answer.  He’d hoped that Justin would respond to him better outside the church setting, but other than his odd admiration over Chris’ presence, everything was per usual.

“How are things at school?” 

“Fine.”

“What about your Sunday school class?  Do you like it?”   

“I guess.” 

“Good, good.”

“You look different,” Justin finally said, the first time he’d initiated any kind of conversation. 

“Different?”  JC looked down at his clothes: jeans, a t-shirt, and bare feet. 

“Yeah.  Like a normal person.” 

“I am a normal person,” JC smiled.  

“I guess.”  Justin stared for a couple more seconds, and then slumped back down into his seat.

“So…” JC looked thoughtfully at Justin, trying to find the magical topic that would make all his defenses fall away.  He knew that Justin loved music, wanted to please his mother, and that if he looked out the window right now he’d see Trace sitting on his steps wearing headphones and tennis shoes that were far dirtier than anything Justin would ever wear.  Those things might be the key to getting through to Justin, but JC didn’t know how to use them.  Every time he tried, the kid shut down even more. 

“Fuck!”  The sound of splintering wood accompanied the curse.  JC headed nervously for the bathroom, Justin on his heels.  When he got there, Chris was holding the cabinet door in one hand and a wrench in the other.  “Sorry,” he told them, scowling at the broken door in his hand.  “I’ll try to keep it down.  I just could really use a second set of hands in here.” 

Beside JC, Justin straightened, and JC watched them sizing one another up until Chris said, “Hey kid.  You want to help me with this?  I’ll pay you five bucks an hour for as long as it takes to get this place running again.” 

Justin hesitated.  “My mom says…” he began, then changed his mind.  “Okay,” he said slowly.  Chris probably didn’t even know what he’d done, but JC saw everything, and hope bloomed with the smile that twisted reluctantly across Justin’s face.

***

JC had a key to Chris’ place, but it seemed polite to knock, especially since Chris obviously had people over.  He shifted the towel and shampoo from one arm to another and when the door opened he was greeted by a stranger with hazy green eyes and a room full of marijuana smoke. 

“Hey,” the stranger said, and JC realized that he wasn’t a stranger after all; he was Diane Bass’ son, home from State University for the weekend.  

“Hi,” JC said slowly.  “Lance, right?”  He saw Joey Fatone behind Lance, sprawled on Chris’ leather couch. 

“Yeah.  Good to see you again, preacher,” Lance said smoothly, and motioned him in with a wide gesture.  The whole thing tilted JC’s balance and he paused because this was a little out of his comfort zone. 

“JC!” Chris said warmly, his features softer, more open than usual.  He wore a pair of faded camouflage pants with a black t-shirt and no shoes, and  JC couldn’t stop looking at him.  “C’mon in.  You know Lance and Joey, right?” 

Joey had just been in JC’s office yesterday, dragged there for premarital counseling by his fiancée, Kelly.  He was an easygoing guy about JC’s age who taught chorus at the high school.  JC liked him- he liked all the Fatones- but hadn’t known he was a friend of Chris’.  Then again, how could he know when no one ever talked about Chris?  Joey waved at JC from the couch and then gave up on trying to hide the joint in his hand. 

“I don’t suppose you want a smoke?” Chris laughed, and Lance joined him with a low, dark chuckle.  It felt a lot high school, which JC hadn’t particularly loved the first time around.  He clutched his towel to his chest, frowning his refusal even though it was tempting, so tempting.  He hadn’t smoked up in months; not since the church called him out for his first interview.  He had a reputation now that meant everything.  “Suit yourself,” Chris said lightly.  His shrug seemed like a dismissal, and JC stood uneasily in the middle of the room for a second, trying to find the right thing to say. 

Lance settled next to Joey on the couch and took the joint from him, inhaling with half-lidded eyes.  “So, I hear you’re doing a good job,” he said after a few seconds, the words emerging in a cloud of smoke.  JC shrugged, too aware of Chris still standing at his side. 

“Yeah, he’s hot stuff in the pulpit,” Chris broke in.  The glow of approval was still just an ember in JC’s chest when Chris stomped it out by adding, “It’s the one-on-one stuff he’s got trouble with.” 

“I…Chris,” JC stammered. 

“Is that right?” Lance drawled, one finely-shaped eyebrow raised in interest.

“Oh, yeah.  You should see him; every conversation is like a bad first date.” 

If it wasn’t so true, JC would protest.  But Chris had just fairly and correctly assessed JC’s balance of strengths and weaknesses as they stood, and even though it made JC’s cheeks burn with indignation, this was Chris’ home.  He excused himself to the bathroom and took the quickest shower he could manage before slinking back to his own empty apartment. 

This was nothing new.  He’d always been this way, which was why he’d jumped on it when he realized his talent for public speaking.  God was his passion, and when he’d combined the two--performing and sharing his passion with others--the ministry had seemed like the natural choice.  Up behind the pulpit he felt connected to every single person in the room.  He didn’t even feel the need to stay behind the pulpit; most Sundays he tucked his Bible underneath his arm and paced the width of the sanctuary, making eye contact with each individual.  Making a difference. 

But Chris was right.  It was like there was an ‘on’ and ‘off’ switch on his confidence that he hadn’t really had to confront until now.  In school, everyone had been so dazzled by his writing and performing of sermons that JC hadn’t given a second thought as to whether or not he could fulfill all the duties that were expected of him. 

JC curled up on his couch and covered himself with a blanket.  It was too quiet, even downstairs, but when he turned on the loud, meaningless noise of the television he didn’t fall asleep for a long time.    

***

Chris showed up around noon the next day when JC was in the back, plucking idly at his guitar.  The door was always open, so he ignored the knocking until Chris gave up and let himself in. 

“Hey,” Chris said.  He stood there for a few minutes before he gestured at the guitar.  “What’s that you’re playing?  I like your sound, especially that one from a couple days ago, the slow one with the ba-dum ba-dum badum part…”   He sang a few notes and trailed off.

JC stilled his hand on the strings and pulled the guitar to his chest.  “Just something I wrote,” he murmured.  He hadn’t meant for Chris to hear, but it stood to reason that if he could hear Chris from downstairs, Chris could hear him.  He decided to keep his mouth shut and wait for the inevitable apology.  When he raised his eyes up to Chris for the first time, he saw that Chris was ready to work in tattered jeans and a black bandanna tied over his hair.  The edges of his hair stuck out from underneath, longer than JC kept his own hair, and he knew that if he were standing close enough he’d be able to smell weed and shampoo, maybe a hint of that thick coconut lotion Chris was always putting on his hands.  He wanted to stand that close, and hated himself for wanting it.  No wonder Tony still wouldn’t return his calls- he was hopeless. 

“Listen, about last night,” Chris hedged, and JC nodded encouragingly, to make things easier. “If you could not mention to Diane that Lance was at my place.  Lance tries to act like a badass, but he’s really just a big mama’s boy and she wouldn’t be very happy about it.” 

Disappointment hit hard, and JC ducked his head, unwilling to let Chris see. “That’s why you’re here?  To ask me not to tell on Lance?”   

“Well, I’m not the Avon lady.  What did you think I was gonna say?” 

“Nothing,” JC said tightly, but Chris had asked an honest question so he was going to get an honest answer.  “I thought you wanted to apologize,” JC muttered so quietly that Chris almost didn’t hear him.

“Apologize for what?” 

“Nothing, I guess.  Okay?  Just, can you please go now?” 

“JC, please,” Chris sighed.  “Tell me what’s wrong.”  He was probably just being polite now, but JC didn’t care.

“I thought we were friends, that’s what’s wrong.  I thought…and then you, the stuff you said.  Joey and Lance are part of my church, Chris.  That was so embarrassing; I don’t want them to know- what you said, it was personal.  Private,” he finished, all too aware of the hot blush on his cheeks. 

“JC,” Chris began, and moved his hands to hang in loose fists at his side.  He flexed and unflexed them; nervous, JC thought.  “JC,” he repeated.  “I mean, you think we’re…friends?  You don’t even know anything about me.” 

JC made a face and put his guitar down.  “I know things about you,” he insisted, tired but stubborn.  “I know that you’re a writer.  You still give money to the church every month even though you aren’t a member.  You like Gang of Four at night, but when you stay out all night you listen to folk music until I- um, until you fall asleep.  I know you’re good with kids, your mom adores you…and you don’t have a clue how to fix that mess you’ve made in my bathroom.”  The last remark was met with a faint smile, but mostly Chris just looked surprised.  “So, you can go now,” JC added.  “I don’t want you to have that uncomfortable bad first date feeling.”

The worst thing was how Chris had just proved correct everything he’d said last night.  Obviously JC didn’t know anything about people, not if he couldn’t even tell who liked him and who didn’t. 

“Look, I didn’t mean…” 

“Just stop.”  JC closed his eyes and wished he’d never started this conversation.  It didn’t matter, anyhow.  Chris was just a secretive punk from downstairs; a maintenance man at best.  “I also know you don’t lie.  I like that about you, that you don’t care what people think, so don’t start now.”

Chris stepped forward with determination and blocked JC’s path, making it impossible for JC to dismiss him.  “Okay.  I’m sorry.  I didn’t know.”   For a second, JC thought he might kneel and beg forgiveness, typical Chris theatrics, but Chris just looked at him for a long while, dark eyes fixed on JC’s face until JC looked away, his insides all twisted and confused. 

“I have to go visit Miss Sylvie in the hospital,” JC muttered eventually, and rose to brush past Chris.  “Lock up on your way out.” 

***

He was running late as usual, and when he got home Trace was already sitting on the stairs with his ratty backpack, bopping along to something on Justin’s discman.  The sky was gray and freezing, but Trace just smiled and scooted over to let JC pass.  JC stopped at the top of the stairs.  “Hey, come on inside,” he said.  Trace turned and pulled the headphones down around his neck, his expression a mixture of gratitude and suspicion.  “It’s cold,” JC coaxed.  “I’ve got coffee, and you can sit in the kitchen until Justin’s done.” 

Trace shrugged and got his stuff together with red, chapped hands.  He even muttered a low, “Thanks,” when JC held the door open for him, which JC counted as a small victory.  Trace had proven harder to crack than even Justin, and he’d almost given up on trying. 

After putting the coffee on to brew, JC headed toward the back of the apartment.  When he stopped to hang his coat, he heard Chris’ voice, light and intense all at once, talking to Justin. 

“…pick your battles, man.  Your mom sees you fighting everything she wants, she thinks you’re headed straight for a life of crime.  Is it really worth it?” 

“So what should I do?” 

JC held his breath, waiting for Chris’ reply. 

“It’s up to you.  But, how about listening to J--to the pastor for a change.  If you talk to your mom about it afterwards, she’ll know you’re making an effort.” 

“Maybe…” 

“Or, Fatone told me your school musical is coming up.  He needs kids with your talent, Justin.  Just because you think you’re headed for the big time doesn’t mean you don’t need all the practice you can get.  Your mom would go fucking crazy if you joined up with that extracurricular shit.” 

JC frowned at Chris’ word choice, but a part of him was grateful, so grateful and impressed with the way Chris was talking to Justin.  Chris was able to talk to Justin at his own level, completely unselfconscious and comfortable in a way that JC just wasn’t.  

JC shut the closet doors, making sure to make a lot of noise, then peeked his head in the bathroom.  “Hi,” he said, feeling suddenly shy.  He’d been hard on Chris, who had never done anything except be his own true self. 

Justin immediately clammed up.  He was crouched under the sink, wearing a bandanna tied on his head exactly like Chris’.  JC smiled over him at Chris, who rolled his eyes and shook his head in exasperation.  Several pieces of brand new pipe were lying around on the floor.  It looked like they were finally making progress. 

“Go ahead, Justin.”  Chris sat down on the edge of the bathtub and wiped his forehead.  “I’m about done for today.  Thanks a lot, man.” 

Justin was shut tightly back down by the time he and JC settled into the living room for their session.  JC could hear Chris finishing up in the bathroom.  It took all his energy to focus on Justin and not what Chris was doing.  Chris was probably just leaving, anyhow.  It wasn’t like he had any reason to stay.  JC rubbed his eyes and forced his attention back to Justin. 

“Is there anything you’d like to talk about?” he asked.  He knew Justin was going to say no, and sure enough, the kid was already shaking his head.  

“Okay,” he sighed.  “Are you getting along with your mom?”  They were the same questions he asked every time, but he didn’t know any other ones to ask. 

“I guess.  Not really.” 

“What is it you fight about the most?” 

Justin glanced up at JC, and for a second he seemed more nervous than belligerent.  “I don’t know.” 

“She mentioned Trace before, in my office.  Does she think you spend too much time together?” 

“She just doesn’t like him, that’s all.” 

“How long have you been friends?” 

“Since grade school.”

JC paused.  There were no words to describe keeping the same best friend for so long except impressive, enviable, and, well…sweet.  It was sweet.  Mrs. Harless was always dropping hints suggesting that JC work on Trace’s continuous presence, but every time JC watched them leave together, he couldn’t think of any reasons why he would want to do that.  “That’s cool,” he said slowly.  “Parents don’t always like their kids’ friends.  Maybe if you talked to her about why-” 

“She doesn’t like his mom,” Justin interrupted.  “She won’t change her mind, and neither will I.”  His mouth stayed open for a second, and JC thought he might say more.  He obviously wanted to say more, but the moment passed and Justin slumped back into the couch cushions, miles away once again. 

Hs method was not working.  JC had heard that you couldn’t counsel someone who didn’t want to be counseled, so he abandoned the scenarios he’d painted out in his own head, grand plans of helping the kid come to some kind of higher self-awareness.  It was all bullshit, anyhow.  He stood up and slapped his hands on his thighs.  “Okay, then,” he said.  “If neither of you will change your minds, there’s no point in talking about it.  Trace is in the kitchen.  You want to go in and have some coffee?” 

Chris didn’t emerge from the bathroom until Justin was in the kitchen, chattering with Trace.  “Good call,” he told JC, and exited through the kitchen. 

JC stood in the living room for a moment longer, wondering once again why he was there.

***

“How’d you know I was a writer?” 

JC had intentionally put off taking a shower until Chris had left for what he thought was the rest of the evening, but Chris was sitting on the couch and waiting for him when he emerged from the bathroom. 

“I…”  He tugged at the drawstring on his pajama pants and blotted at his wet hair with a towel.  “I just saw your desk.  Your stuff.  Books and…” he gestured at Chris’ computer desk, littered with stacks of papers, magazines and books.  “Plus,” he added, hoping it would be enough, “We kind of keep the same hours.” 

“Uh huh.”  Chris’ stare wasn’t exactly accusing, but interested.  More interested than JC had ever seen him, and the attention sent discomfort prickling all over his skin.  “What about the other stuff?” 

“I don’t know, Chris.  I just pay attention.”  It was his job, after all, and if he paid a little more attention to Chris than some of his congregation, it was only natural.  They were neighbors, after all. 

Chris nodded.  “Look, I already apologized, but I was wrong to say some of those things.”  He looked expectantly at JC, who wasn’t sure what he was supposed to say. 

“Well,” he said, and glanced around.  A wisp of smoke drifted from a stick of incense, and JC followed it with his eyes; anything to avoid looking at Chris.  “It’s okay.  I was being…presumptuous, or something, to think…anything, really.” 

“No.”  From the corner of his eye, JC could see Chris shaking his head and rubbing at his chin, which was shaded with dark stubble.  “You were right.  I don’t know anything about you other than what my mom and sisters have told me and believe me, you don’t wanna hear that.” 

He didn’t?  JC tried to think of all the interaction he’d had with Bev and her rambunctious, dark-haired daughters.  They’d always seemed to like him well enough.  “I don’t?” he said nervously.  The door was just a few feet away and he moved toward it.  “What did they say?  Did I, um.  Do something?” 

Chris snorted.  “Yeah, you showed up with your dreamy blue eyes.  I swear, at least two of my sisters think they’re going to marry you.” 

JC laughed nervously.  It was true.  Wednesday nights were always a headache when the youth group gathered in the fellowship hall.  There was always a giggling group of girls crowding into his office, the room thick with perfume and raging hormones.  He tried to remind himself that he loved all of them--as God’s children, of course--but that was hard to do when they were so openly ogling him.  Girls had always reacted to him in this way; he didn’t know why he’d thought that would change just because of his new position.  “Oh,” he said softly, not knowing how to answer.  

“Fox Creek’s most eligible bachelor,” Chris chuckled.  “It’s gonna be ugly when you finally pick someone.  You have some time?”  He gestured at a brown suede recliner and JC slowly realized what Chris was asking. 

“You don’t have to,” he said cautiously, “because of last night.”  

“No, hey, I want to.  It’s only fair,” Chris added, and JC allowed himself a tiny smile before folding himself into the recliner.

“Well, since you put it that way.  There’s not much to tell.  Like I said, I came here straight from school.  I like music…the guitar, singing, writing songs.  That’s it.” 

“That’s it?  What about your family?” 

JC smiled at Chris, a little sadly.  “Not much to tell.  They’re nothing like your family.” 

“Okay.”  Chris didn’t push.  “So why this?  Why not music?” 

JC drummed his fingers on his knee.  It felt like an interrogation, but knowing the church’s history with Lou, JC didn’t really blame him.  He thought about how to put Chris’ mind at ease.

“Because God,” he began.  “When I share it—when I share Him--with others, it’s like my music, you know?  Just, really beautiful and rewarding.”  He realized he was flapping his hands around and stopped abruptly, tucked them self-consciously under his legs.  Chris didn’t need a sermon.  “It’s- I’m good at it.” 

It was impossible to decipher Chris’ reaction.  He just nodded and sipped on his beer, openly staring at JC.  “You sure you’re in the right profession?” he asked. 

“What?  Yes!”  That was probably why people avoided Chris, and JC scowled at him, biting down on a thousand cruel retorts. 

“Ouch.  Does the church know about your quick temper?” 

“I don’t have a quick temper.  It’s just, you.  You’re the only one...” 

“Yeah?  Then, I guess we really are friends, now.”  Chris’ grin was quick and sharp, and JC had to look away before he responded to it with anything more than a disdainful shake of his head.  “C’mon.  I’m just fucking with you now.” 

“It feels like more than just fucking,” JC muttered, then cringed at his own words.  When he giggled, Chris laughed along with him.

“What’s more than fucking?” he snorted.  “Besides, a nice Christian boy like you wouldn’t know what that’s like.” 

JC smiled.  “Nobody believes in saving it for marriage anymore,” he said, half-joking.  He would elaborate only if Chris asked, but of course Chris, who revealed nothing of himself, wanted to know everything about JC. 

“Seriously?” Chris said, his beer paused halfway to his lips.  “You?” 

“Mmm hmm,” JC admitted, and flushed with embarrassed pleasure when Chris raised his beer up in a toast.  It wasn’t as admirable as everyone thought it was; JC had always just been too into his music, into his writing, into too many things that had nothing to do with girls.  It wasn’t really a matter of resisting temptation so much as a lot of disinterest on his part. 

“I don’t know how you do it, man,” Chris said slowly.  “Don’t you get kind of…” 

JC shrugged.  He woke up most nights plagued with a desperate ache; a needy sense of wanting that only seemed partially about sex.  Those nights, he breathed deeply and listened for the sounds of Chris moving around downstairs, but sometimes it was the sounds from downstairs that made him feel that way in the first place.  “Not really.”  He lied because he didn’t understand it, so how could Chris possibly understand? 

“That’s cool,” Chris said thoughtfully.  “You’re pretty cool, JC.  And the music, I like having it around.” 

Me too, JC thought.  He was trying to think of a way to return the compliment when Chris shattered the opportunity by launching into a story about a laundromat, a bag of weed and a nun that couldn’t have possibly been true but had JC laughing until his stomach ached. 

***

JC looked at his schedule and cringed.  Counseling with Mr. and Mrs. Hughes.  It wasn’t that he didn’t like them, it was just…they had so many problems.  Their financial problems were immediate, but the church only had so much to give, and Mr. Hughes had anger issues, which meant he was sometimes a little mean to his wife, whom JC sometimes secretly thought deserved it.  It was the most awkward when they brought up their sexual problems because he didn’t need those mental images.  He supposed that everyone was attractive to somebody, but the idea of the two of them…doing things…it was all he could do to stay in his seat. 

He held his breath at the rap on the door, but it was just Diane Bass with a tall styrofoam cup from the local coffee shop. 

“Lance came by and brought these for us,” she said.  She shook her head fondly and placed the cup on the corner of JC’s desk.  “I’m afraid he’s something of a snob.  He seems to think the coffee we’re drinking here is substandard.”  She rolled her eyes at JC, who nodded his agreement while blessing Lance in his heart because a nice flavored cappuccino was really the only chance of making his afternoon bearable.  “Do you have time for Joe before your appointment?” she asked as she was leaving. 

JC sipped at his cappuccino and then licked at the edges when he found it too hot.  “Mm hmm.”  He was always up for a visit with Joe Fatone Sr., whose duties seemed to include giving pep talks and generally being in a cheerful mood.  Today was no exception, and he settled into the couch in the corner of JC’s office.  Other than Joe, Trace was pretty much the only one who used the couch; for napping or doing homework during Justin’s appointments.    

“How’s it going, young man?” 

“Good.” 

“We thought you might want to take a couple days off before revival next week.  Five nights of sermons, that’s probably put you a little behind.”

JC shrugged.  “Not really.  I finished writing them last week.”  Joe’s stunned expression was immensely satisfying, and JC inhaled the sweet scent of mocha, sat back and felt like a king.  He’d gone three days without sleep, caught in a burst of inspired extrapolation on the teachings of Luke that he just knew was meant for the hearts of this congregation.  By the time he’d finished he had enough for the entire revival, and they were all similarly themed masterpieces.  He almost wished he were back in school and turning them in for grades; they were that brilliant. 

Joe’s laughter jolted JC back to reality.  “That’s the expression most people wear right before they’re taken down a notch,” Joe said, shaking his head.  “I’ve seen it enough on my sons, believe me.” 

“Oh.  I- right.” 

“That doesn’t mean I’m not anxious to hear the words you’ve prepared for us.” 

“Thank you.  And, Joey’s got some great music planned,” JC offered.  “I approved the selections last night; we’re really gonna raise the roof.” 

“That’s the plan.”  Joe smiled widely, and JC knew that if they were on the same side of the desk he’d be crushed in a hug right now. 

“Do you think.  I mean…” JC sipped at his cappuccino and played it cool.  “I know Chris doesn’t go to the services, but does he ever come to these things?  The revivals?  Or…” he trailed off and focused all his attention on reading Joe’s face. 

Joe rubbed his palms on his stocky legs and furrowed his brow.  “That’s a tough one, son.  There are a great many people who’d love to see Chris in the pew again, but just as many who would just as soon run him out.  They’d do it, too, if they wouldn’t have to face the wrath of that mother of his.”  Joe threw his head back and laughed in a way that JC was certain meant he was picturing something outrageous Bev had done in the past. 

“But, why would they-“  JC snapped his mouth shut when Diane poked her head in the door again.  “The Hughes?” he asked weakly.

“That’s right, sweetie.  Should I tell them to wait?” 

“I was just on my way out, Diane.”  Joe clambered to his feet and rapped his knuckles on JC’s desk on the way out.  “You take care,” he said, and with a brief greeting to the Hughes, he was gone. 

“Thank God we had a session today,” Tina Hughes said as soon as she was seated in the folding chair on the other side of JC’s desk.  “You won’t believe what he’s done now.” 

JC felt something inside him clench up, tight and uncomfortable.  It eased a bit when he wrapped his hand around the radiant heat of the styrofoam cup, but didn’t entirely disappear until he climbed the worn, peeling stairs of his apartment that evening. 

***

“Emily, get in here and set the table!” Bev hollered down the hall.  When she came back into the kitchen, she set a big glass of iced tea down in front of JC and went about her business.  JC received a lot of dinner invitations, but if Bev’s personality was warm, her home was even warmer and those evenings were his favorite, especially since Chris sometimes joined them. 

“She’s got more attitude every time I see her,” Chris complained of his sister.  JC thought all the girls seemed really nice.  A bit too attentive at times, but other than that he thought Chris was really lucky. 

“She’s seventeen,” Bev said as though it explained it all.  She’d probably be really good at counseling, he thought, proven by the way she didn’t even bat an eye when Emily entered the room wearing enough perfume and makeup for an entire brothel of whores. 

“What the hell is on your face?” Chris laughed in disbelief.  JC covered his mouth with his hand because his class on dealing with adolescent behavior had taught him that the slightest thing could damage a girl’s self-esteem irreparably.  Apparently he needed more field experience, though, because Emily punched Chris’ arm with an impressive amount of strength and flounced across the room to the refrigerator, making sure to tilt her ass in JC’s direction when she looked inside.

“Oh my God.  Mom, make her stop that!” Chris shouted.  JC’s face flooded with warmth, far more embarrassed than Chris could possibly be, and terrified to look up from the table. 

“Emily, you are excused.  Put on a skirt that covers everything that ought to be covered, get your sisters, and come sit down.  Chris, finish setting the table.”  Bev slapped her own forehead with an oven mitt and gave a dramatic sigh.  Another thing JC liked about Bev’s house was that unlike the dinners he attended with other families from the church, it was a shared spotlight and Chris was the only one capable of keeping up with the girls, story for story and insult for insult.  It gave JC the chance to just sit and breathe…and to watch Chris, who had the sweetest habit of shooting JC a prideful glance every time one of the girls said something particularly amusing. 

“JC, watch this,” Taylor said, and Bev clucked in disapproval. 

“Pastor Chasez,” she corrected, “is an adult.  Be respectful.”

“But Chris calls him JC.” Emily pointed out.  

“Because he’s my friend, dumbass.”  Chris rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, and Chris doesn’t even go to church,” Taylor added, and then without missing a beat, “Pastor Chasez, don’t you care that Chris doesn’t go to church?”

Chris stiffened in his seat, but still came out with a teasing, “Yeah C, don’t you care that you don’t get to look at my bright shining face every Sunday morning?” 

“Of course he doesn’t care,” Kate cut in.  “He’s always letting Trace Ayala hang around and he doesn’t go, either.” 

“Blech!”  Emily made a face and threw down her napkin.  “Trace is such a loser.  Pastor Chasez,” she made a point of saying, and shot Bev a longsuffering look.  “Seriously.  Gross.” 

“No, wait.”  Normally JC just sat back and let the chaos happen around him, but Trace was far from a loser.  “Trace is a cool kid.” 

“He doesn’t talk to anybody except Justin,” Emily continued.  “Justin, on the other hand, is popular.  He’s-“

“-You mean nobody will talk to him except for Justin,” Kate said.  “I remember when I was in school, and-“

“-I was talking!”

“Only because you interrupted me!” 

“Five minutes,” Bev said loudly, and the entire table fell quiet.  The next five minutes were to pass in silence, and JC followed Chris’ lead by eating as quickly as possible so that they were pushing away from the table right as they reached the last thirty seconds. 

“You lucked out,” Bev said dryly, and offered her cheek for a kiss from both boys as they fled the kitchen. 

***

JC tugged his scarf more tightly around his neck and leaned over the edge of his porch.  Justin and Trace were hooting with wild laughter, so much that JC had to yell to be heard over their racket when he called down to them.  

“Did you guys put that wreath on Chris’ door yet?”  One of the older ladies at church, Miss Lucy, had come by that afternoon with homemade pine wreaths and insisted that JC take one for both himself and for Chris.  The boys ignored JC and chased each other around the yard, giggling and shoving at one another until they grew tired and collapsed on the stairs. 

“Chris has his nipples pierced,” Justin reported as soon as he could breathe again, and at JC’s sharp look he hurried out with, “We saw!  When we were putting up his wreath, we woke him up and-“

“-like a stripper or something,” Trace agreed with enthusiasm. 

JC just held onto the railing, completely aghast.  Pierced?  It would make sense; after all, Chris’ ears were full of studs and gold hoops, but to put a needle through that tender area…JC took a deep breath, his stomach fluttering nervously.   “What do you know about strippers?” he muttered. 

Justin laughed at Trace, who just shrugged.  “I know I wouldn’t pay to see one who looks like Chris.”  They went off on another bout of laughter and JC stepped inside the apartment, stood with his back against the wall until his head stopped spinning. 

Miss Lucy brought by enough food to feed an army and JC heated it for dinner, spread it on the counter and invited Chris the way he always did when the church ladies gave him too much food.  “Miss Lucy says she used to change your diapers when you were a baby,” JC said from his seat at the table.  He watched Chris pour gravy onto his mashed potatoes, watched for any reaction at all, but Chris just shrugged and sat across from JC. 

“She seemed disappointed you weren’t around,” JC tried again. 

“Yeah.  She’s a cool old lady.  I’ll catch her next time.” 

JC nodded.  If he wanted to know more about Chris, he obviously needed to ask outright, but it was easier said than done.  Chris was unpredictable, and sometimes he said things JC didn’t want to hear.  JC decided to let it go for now.  He’s distracted, anyhow, by the way he can make out the faint outline of…something…right about where Chris’ nipples were at.  Heat unfolded in his stomach, slow and heavy, and he shut his eyes.  It had been a long time since he’d felt this way, but a fear of needles was nothing to be ashamed of.  If his hand trembled when he held it against his belly, it was only because he was picturing bright syringes and the way they slid butter-smooth into his flesh. 

“You okay?” 

“Yeah,” JC said weakly, and opened his eyes.  The feeling had mostly passed, so long as he kept his eyes on his plate.  “Just saying grace.”

“Tell God I said hi,” Chris smirked.  “Ask him how he’s coming along on that World Peace thing.” 

“Whatever.  Ask him yourself.”  JC rolled his eyes.  “The high school musical is coming up in a couple weeks.  I heard Justin’s putting them all to shame.” 

Chris snorted and took a large bite of meatloaf.  “Yeah?  Lemme guess who told you that; Trace?” 

“Of course.”  They grinned at one another across the table for a second, because Trace was Justin’s biggest fan and Justin never got tired of hearing about his own greatness.  “But Joey said the same thing.  It’s getting to where I don’t know what to tell his mom anymore.  It seems like he knows exactly what he wants to do with his life.  I think she’s making a mistake by trying to force him in another direction.” 

“Good for him.”  Chris nodded, satisfied.  “How about you?  You figured out what you want to be when you grow up?” 

“Why do you keep saying that?  What do you think I should be doing with my life?” 

“I dunno.  You’ve got the charisma thing onstage.  There’s no doubt you inspire people.  But there’s a lot more involved with being a pastor of a church.”

“I know.” 

“I mean, okay.  Let’s say Miss Vicki comes to you, she’s got five kids at home and her husband walked out on her.  What would you do?  She’s part of your congregation, you’re responsible for her.” 

“I-“  JC thought about it for a long time.  Chris was taking this all so personally; too personally.  Yes, he realized.  This was personal for Chris.  “I don’t know,” he snapped.   “What did Lou do?” 

“He took care of things,” Chris said simply. 

“Maybe at one point he did.  No offense, but he sounds like a real ass.” 

“See?  Tell me you’re a man of God.” 

“I’m not talking to you as your pastor, Chris.  I’m talking to you as a friend.” 

Chris shifted in his seat and took a sip of his water, completely unfazed.  It was infuriating, especially when he said, “I heard you and Justin giggling about Brother Matthews’ mustache.  And last week you said that Miss Sylvie smells like cabbage.” 

“So?” 

“So…it’s just you, who you are.  You like to gossip, you don’t like babies…you can’t even stand it when people hug you!  I’ve seen you, every week you cringe your way through the receiving line.” 

JC paused.  For a second he considered arguing, but Chris was pretty observant and could argue for as long as it took to win.  He settled for a cool, “And your point is…” 

“My point is…you’re an amazingly talented performer.  But maybe you’re not right for this job.” 

“I don’t understand.  What do you want me to do?  I mean, you’ll never forgive Lou for leaving.  But you want me to leave?”  The idea of it hurt, not just because he felt like he was finally getting into the swing of things but also because the idea that Chris could say goodbye to him so easily was unsettling. 

“I don’t know.”  Chris looked down at his food, swirled his mashed potatoes with his fork.  “I just.  They’re all getting really fucking attached to you, okay?” 

“Who?”

“Everybody!  Diane Bass, Joe Fatone, my whole freaking family, not to mention Justin and Trace.” 

JC stared from across the tiny table and chewed slowly, his eyes narrowed on Chris.  “You,” he added, not nearly as certain as he sounded.  He hoped it was true, but Chris could still make him feel terribly self-conscious just with a twitch of his eyebrow. 

Chris just looked back with clear brown eyes.  His mouth was tight and almost angry.  “It’s not about that,” he said quietly.  “It’s, JC.  What happens when you leave-“

“Why do you keep saying that?” JC burst out, choking on frustration.  He pushed away his plate because, God, he couldn’t eat another bite.  “Do you know something that I don’t know, Chris?  Because, you seem convinced that I’m gonna just up and go!” 

The answer took too long, making it obvious that whatever Chris knew, he didn’t want to share.  “Fine,” JC said tightly.  It felt like a failure, that the one person he wanted to know thought so poorly of him.  “Is it- is there something about me-” he stopped suddenly, thinking better of the question.  That line of questioning had never gone well; he had a lifetime of asking people what was wrong with him, only to be left reeling by their replies.  There were too many words that could still hurt him, after all this time.  “Never mind,” he managed to say, and pushed away from the table. 

“I’m not trying to piss you off!” Chris protested.  “I’m just trying to…” 

“To make me doubt myself?  Well guess what, Chris- you’ve done a great job, and it wasn’t even necessary!  All I’ve done since I got here is doubt myself and whether or not I can do this, and how do you think it makes me feel that the person I’m closest to doesn’t think I’ll last out the year?” 

“It’s not your abilities I doubt!  You can do any fucking thing you set your mind to, JC!”  Chris burst out.  His arm came across the table and captured JC’s wrist before he could pull away, a hard clamp that held him without sacrificing gentleness for strength.  “That’s what I’m telling you.  You’re in, okay?  You’re in.  I just don’t want you to feel…like there’s no way out.” 

JC’s breath came fast and shallow as he searched Chris’ face for answers.  Neither of them looked away, and he knew that Chris was trying to find something, too.  If Chris would just ask, JC would tell him whatever he wanted to know, but he was too afraid of what Chris might ask.  “I don’t want out,” he whispered, and suddenly he was no longer on the defensive, but seeking to reassure.  He pried Chris’ hand from his wrist and held it, their dinner cold and forgotten on the table.  It surprised him that Chris allowed it, the gentle pressure of JC’s hand all around the soft, warm skin of his own. 

A sound at the door made them leap apart, but JC was thrumming with a powerful sense of calm, not like Chris with his gleaming eyes and pink-tinted cheeks. 

“Hey…”  Justin looked from Chris to JC and back again.  “We heard yelling,” he accused.  Trace appeared behind him, arm loosely curled around Justin’s waist.  Normally, both boys would have been raiding the cabinets by now. 

“Chris was just being stupid,” JC said quietly.  “Everything is fine.” 

Justin gave them one more sharp look and then nodded; he had no reason not to trust.  “Okay.”  He glanced over at Trace before nodding again, this time with a smile.  “I just wanted to make sure y’all weren’t fighting when you take us into the city tonight.” 

“The city?”  JC wrinkled up his forehead and pretended to think hard.  “Was I going into the city?” 

“I don’t think so.”  Chris jumped on the opportunity to torture Justin.  “In fact, I thought tonight was that special service at church.  One of those all-night sessions where all the little old ladies get up and say what they’re thankful for.  And I happen to know for a fact that Sister Botsworth passed her kidney stone last week.  Should be a good one!”   

JC let Chris go on until Justin and Trace looked properly horrified, but they did need to get going if there was going to be enough time for the Christmas shopping they had planned, so he let himself laugh the way he wanted to.  When he caught Chris’ eye he knew that Chris was pleased and happy even though he wasn’t smiling.

***

“Justin, are you sure?”  JC looked at the coat in Justin’s arms, two hundred dollars worth of wool and suede and smooth, gorgeous buttons.  “Your mom…”

“It’s my money.  I earned it,” Justin said stubbornly.  “I want him to have it.”  He fingered the price tag carefully. 

JC nodded and breathed in the expensive, heady scent of the leather shop.  If it were for anyone else he might have protested, but Trace had been walking around for the past two months in a hooded sweatshirt that had seen better days.  He worked weekends and some evenings at the Dairy Queen, but his hours were always cut down in the winter months and he gave most of his earnings to his mom just to make ends meet.   

“Feel how warm it is.”  Justin pushed it toward JC so he could touch, then headed for the cash register, a satisfied smile playing on his lips.  “I can’t wait.”  JC watched with an odd sense of pride as Justin handed over the money and paid five dollars extra for gift wrapping. 

“What about your mom?” 

“I was thinking some earrings?”  He looked hopefully at JC.  “What’re you getting your mom?”

JC shrugged and huffed out a nervous laugh.  “My mom already has everything.”

“Everything?”  Justin was skeptical.  “Like, diamonds and furs and swimming pools and shit?”

“Justin,” JC warned, purely out of obligation, and Justin smirked in response.  “Yeah, that stuff,” JC finally answered. 

“You’re that rich?” 

“No.  My parents are that rich.  I bought some time in a studio and recorded some of my songs, so everyone I know is getting a cd this year.” 

“Sweet!  Me too?” 

JC nodded.  At first he’d thought of it as the perfect gift for the parents who had everything, but Chris was always asking about his music and it had been admittedly cheaper to just make copies for everyone.  “Don’t tell Chris.” 

“My lips are sealed,” Justin declared, and threw his arm around JC’s shoulders while they walked beneath the Christmas boughs that stretched from one side of the mall to the other; pine garlands with bright ribbons and shiny mirrored balls.  “I bet he gets you something good.  They say he makes a lot of moolah,” he added slyly.  He swung the shopping bag as he walked, heavy with Trace’s surprise.  “Trace is gonna look awesome in this coat!” he blurted with a wide grin.

JC made a face at Justin, but he felt warm inside, content and successful beyond measure. 

***

Christmas shopping traffic was bad, and that combined with the newly falling snow meant they didn’t get home until late.  JC walked Justin to the door and apologized to Mrs. Harless, who waved it all off and kissed his cheek.  After she shooed Justin away, she pressed a tin of fudge into JC’s hand.  “You’ve made all the difference in the world,” she told him.  “He actually talks to me now.  Sometimes I think he even listens,” she laughed, and wiped at her face.  “I just wanted to thank you.” 

“You’re welcome.”  JC didn’t shy away from her arms, and he meant it when he returned the embrace.  It felt like family, and he walked away feeling strangely light.  Chris chattered most of the way home about the trunk full of presents he bought for his family and shopping with Trace. 

“And then we go into like, the eightieth store and he still hasn’t found anything worthy of the great Justin Timberlake,” Chris was saying when they started unloading the car.  JC watched the impressions his feet made in the light covering of snow and listened to the familiar cadence of Chris’ voice telling a story, always wanting to entertain.  “Here, bring those two into my place.”  Chris pointed at two shopping bags and JC took them, followed behind him.  “I swear he looked at every single thing in the entire mall.  Poor kid.  He got his mom oven mitts.”  When they got inside, Chris shut the door with his foot and stomped the snow off of his shoes before kicking them off.  “Stay a bit?” 

“Yeah.”  JC put the packages on Chris’ already cluttered table and picked up a glossy, thick magazine with the word Fragile emblazoned in red on the cover over a slim, dragon-eyed model that might be a man but could just as easily be a woman.  “Is this what Fed Ex brought yesterday?”  He’d signed for the heavy envelope, the same size and weight as the magazine.  

“Sure is.”  JC glanced up to see Chris’ reaction, but Chris just stripped off his outer shirt and tossed it onto the couch.  “I write for ‘em, sometimes.” 

“Did you write in this one?” he flapped around the magazine and Chris laughed at him. 

“Go ahead and read; I can tell it’s killing you.” 

JC started flipping pages before he even sat down, but it took a good amount of searching before he finally found the article with C. Kirkpatrick underneath the title.  “The isolated artist,” JC read aloud.  “Finding inspiration amidst creative famine.”  He looked at Chris’ name in print, stared at it until the word was a meaningless collection of letters.  “Is this about leaving New York?”  Everyone said that Chris went to New York straight out of high school and was gone for eight years, only returning when Lou left everyone reeling and vulnerable.  JC shut his eyes and felt the slick pages of the magazine against his fingertips.

“Not really,” Chris replied.  “I’m opening some wine they sent me; want some?”

“Thanks.”  JC watched him pour the dark liquid into glasses and shifted to make room for Chris on the loveseat.  “Your mom must be really proud of you,” he told Chris, who just smiled around the rim of his glass.  “This is kind of dumb, but sometimes when Justin does stuff…I mean, I know he’s not my kid.  But I feel proud of him- like, how I imagine a parent would feel.”  He was only telling Chris because he thought that Chris might feel the same way. 

“I know.  He’s gonna go places.  We’ve done raised the boy right,” he drawled. 

JC took a sip of the wine, heavy and bittersweet on his tongue.  He swallowed it down and enjoyed the warmth that spread through his belly.   “Mmm,” he hummed softly.  He needed to slow down; he didn’t drink often and red wine always went straight to his head.  Already, after just a few mouthfuls he could feel the heat of it behind his eyes.  It felt nice, and so did Chris, who was right next to him, warm and close, telling another story.  When he finished the glass it was hard to follow what Chris was saying, but the way his voice was going up and down was lovely and delicious and JC thought he could listen to it all night long. 

“Oh, Jesus.  Your face.”  Chris said suddenly, and JC blinked at him, confused.   “Your cheeks, man.  You feeling good?”

JC pressed his palms to his cheeks, which were hot to the touch.  It was cold outside, but so warm inside Chris’ apartment.  “Mmm, yeah,” he murmured.  “I probably shouldn’t drink the stuff.  ‘t’s good, though.” 

“Yeah?  You like it, huh?”  He could feel Chris watching him, amused and affectionate, and the heat continued to spread inside him, leaving him sensitized all over. 

“Yep.  I’m not drunk, you know,” he said, and licked the taste of wine from his lips.  “Just a little buzzed.”  

Chris clicked his tongue against the back of his teeth twice.  “You’re probably gonna be falling asleep on me now, too.” 

“Prob’ly.” 

“C’mon.  I need you awake so you can tell me your secrets in your weakened state.” 

JC swirled the last few droplets around and around in his glass until Chris took it from his hand and placed it with his own on the coffee table.  “I don’t have any secrets,” JC replied.  His eyes followed Chris everywhere; Chris seemed softer tonight, more relaxed.  It was like what happened this afternoon had somehow changed things between them because until tonight, JC had always been put off by the lingering worry that Chris might say something biting and true.   

“None?”

“Nope.”  JC shook his head and shut his eyes when the room rushed past.  There had never been anything to hide.

“I have a secret.”  His fingers touched JC’s leg ever so lightly, just enough to get his attention. 

“Tell me,” JC said lowly, and leaned in close enough to smell the wine on Chris’ breath when Chris said,

“That article is about you.”

JC blinked slowly and tipped his head to the side until his cheek brushed Chris’.  They were both smiling, but he didn’t know why.  Oh, right.  The article in the beautiful magazine, that sensitively written piece of writing was about him?  “You think I’m an artist?” he asked, and licked his lips just in case they were as red as Chris’, still sweet with drink. 

“Of course.  I do know a little something about music, you know.  I’ve heard you start out with an idea and like, grow it into something beautiful.  You live right on top of me; of course I’ve heard you.  It’s all I hear.” 

I try to be quiet, JC was about to say, but Chris’ fingers twitched on his leg and suddenly it was like a switch had been thrown.  It was definitely the wine that was making JC so nervous and edgy, just like it had always been the high of his music that had made him feel that way with Tony.  If Tony hadn’t been willing to let JC explain then Chris would definitely wouldn’t, and JC wasn’t about to put himself in that position again.  “I gotta go,” he said shakily, and maneuvered himself away from Chris and off the couch.  His legs were so unsteady; it had to be the wine. 

“What’s wrong?” 

“Nothing, I just, I’m tired.  I have to go.  To bed.  Thanks for the…” 

“Sure, sure.”  Chris stood and wiped his hands on his jeans.  “Watch those steps, okay?  It’s still coming down out there.” 

“Okay, thank you.  Can I take this?”  He grabbed the magazine and held it against his chest.  “I’ll bring it back,” he promised.  Chris nodded and stepped outside with JC, into the bright snow that pelted his face and melted into tiny streams of rain.  He felt Chris’ eyes on him all the way up the stairs, but didn’t want to turn around.  He just wanted to sleep. 

***

Justin was supposed to come by at two.  They didn’t have official counseling sessions anymore, but they did have a couple serious talks a week, and sometimes they were even initiated by Justin.  He was glad Justin was late because the church bus was broken down on the side of the highway, which meant he not only had to come up with eight hundred dollars for repairs, but come up with some way to transport all the needy members of the congregation in the meantime.  There wasn’t any extra money; not this close to Christmas.  Every cent had been spent on the food pantry and other outreach projects.  The sad thing was that even if JC were to give up his entire next paycheck, it still wouldn’t be enough. 

He pushed the budget reports to the side and reached for his Bible, which was buried underneath a pile of overdue correspondence.  Just having his hands on it was calming, knowing that he could page through to his favorite passage and find some kind of peace, but the problem was that there wasn’t any time for that lately.  He heard Justin outside his office, talking to Diane about the school Christmas program, so it would have to wait for even later. 

The first thing Justin did was drop a bag of pretzels and a Pepsi on JC’s desk.  “You didn’t eat, right?” he asked, and JC realized that he hadn’t had anything since the wine last night at Chris’. 

“Uh, no,” he said sheepishly, already ripping into the bag.  “Thanks.” 

Justin shrugged and planted himself on the old couch in the corner of JC’s office.  “No problem.  Chris made me bring it.  He said you try to get everything done on Saturdays, then end up stuffing half a bag of marshmallows into your mouth when you get home at midnight.” 

“Mmph.”  It was the only protest he could muster because he Chris had been right and he was absolutely salivating with hunger, crunching down on the pretzels and popping open the soda.  Justin took advantage of his inability to speak and started right in. 

“Have you seen Trace?  Because, he was supposed to give me a ride.  That fucker.” 

“Justin,” JC choked around his mouthful.  “House of God,” he scolded.  “Anyhow, doesn’t he work Saturdays?”

“Yeah, but they said he never even came in.  It’s bullshit!” 

“I’m sure he’s very sorry he forgot you.  And I’m sure he’ll grovel sufficiently until everything’s back to normal.” 

“No.”  Justin’s pout didn’t even seem put on for once.  “He doesn’t forget me.” 

“Okay.  So, go find him.  You have your mom’s car?” 

“No.”  The pout deepened.  “I had to walk in the fu- in the snow.” 

“I can give you a ride home,” JC said.  “In about an hour, if you don’t mind waiting.”  He had so much to do, but accomplishing even part of it would be nice.  Maybe he could take some of it home.  He stared at the disaster of his desktop and tried to prioritize.  The financial stuff should get done first, he decided, and stuffed all the receipts and reports into the financial folder.  He could work at home just as well as his office. 

“I’ll walk.”  Justin got up and pulled a knit hat over his curls.  “I just wanna find Trace.” 

Justin was worried, JC realized; not mad.  He didn’t want to yell at Trace, he just wanted to know where he was.  “Let me drive you, J.”  JC threw the files into his backpack and shut down his computer. 

They didn’t find Trace at the bowling alley.  They didn’t see his car at the mall even though Justin made JC drive around the parking lot twice, slow and thorough until people started looking at JC like he was cruising for a child to snatch.  Trace wasn’t at the library or the movie theater or any of the places Justin could think to look, and by the time Justin finally ran out of ideas, it was almost dark.  In the space of that time, JC had grown nearly as worried as Justin, who was wiping at his eyes with his coat sleeve, sniffling and compulsively checking his phone for missed messages.  They went inside and made a few more fruitless phone inquiries until there was no one left to call.  Then, he and Chris took turns reassuring Justin and pretending not to notice his tears.

JC wasn’t going to insult Justin by asking the questions he knew the police would ask him if it came to that.  He didn’t ask because he already knew that Trace was a happy kid, a good kid, and not interested in anything outside this town.  Hell, he wasn’t interested in anything outside Justin, but the police didn’t know that.  The next day was Sunday and JC needed some time to recharge, but it was after dark by the time he finally got a minute alone.  He stepped out on the front porch and breathed deeply, trying to clear his mind.  All he needed were a few minutes where he wasn’t worrying about Trace, but the storm door screeched open and Chris stepped outside with him, all dressed in black, hair pulled back into a ponytail.  JC had never seen him with his hair back and he took a curious second look because Chris was so different like this, all deep, dark eyes set in fine-china skin and glowing in the streetlight. 

“Hey.”  Chris said.  JC watched him pull a pair of black leather gloves from his pocket. 

“Hi,” he replied, but his stomach tensed up with dread.  Did Chris know?  Had he seen, last night…

“Justin’s having a tough time.”  Chris reached in his coat for a pack of cigarettes and then into his pocket for a lighter.

“I know.”  JC sagged with relief.

“What do you think he’ll tell the cops?” 

JC paused.  It seemed obvious.  “That his best friend has gone missing?” 

Chris took a long drag of his cigarette and exhaled in an irritated huff.  “No JC, it’s his boyfriend that’s gone missing.  And you’re right; he probably won’t say that to the cops, but I think it’s hard for him to carry this all by himself and maybe if we can give him a little support, that wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.”

“Boyfriend?  Why are you saying that?” 

“Oh, I don’t know.  Maybe it was that time I caught them making out in Trace’s car in the driveway.  Justin’s hand in Trace’s pants?   That’s proof enough for me.” 

JC stepped back, away from Chris.  “I’ve never seen them do that.” 

“Like they’d let you catch ‘em!  Nobody knows, JC; they’re probably scared to death of anyone finding out.  Don’t make me sorry I said anything,” Chris warned, and JC waved him away. 

“Shut up,” he snapped.  “I wouldn’t do that.”  And he wouldn’t.  He would never tell such a terrible secret about someone, especially not someone he loves.  Being that way was bad enough, but for Justin it was a thousand times worse because his mother’s hatred for Trace was as firmly planted as the church’s stand on who he ought to love.  Or rather, who he ought not to love. 

“What’s wrong, then?”

JC sighed and then made a frustrated sound that was an awful lot like a scream.  It had been 647 days since he’d had a cigarette, and here was the wrong:  it felt like the ultimate betrayal that the very thing he’d been trying to avoid had been flourishing in his heart and in his home the entire time.  A kid he cared about was missing, and another was in his living room, wallowing in misery over the loss.  “Just this whole thing,” he replied slowly.  “Trace.  We need to call the police.” 

Chris grabbed JC in a quick, one-armed hug.  “Let’s do it,” he agreed.  “But first…”  He held his cigarette between two fingers and offered it to JC, a knowing smirk on his lips. 

He almost dropped it twice, his hand was shaking so hard.  “I love you,” he breathed, and shut his eyes when he closed his lips around the soothing, familiar paper.  “How did you know?” he asked when he’d exhaled a good amount of his anxiety in a stream of smoke.

“JC,” Chris said softly.  His voice was kind, and a little sad.  “You show everything on your face.” 

***

The phone rang eight times after JC went to bed.  After the third call he just kept the phone next to his pillow; that way he wouldn’t have to open his eyes when he answered.  It was almost always Justin crying about how he didn’t understand, but word traveled fast and a few members of the congregation called as well, wanting to know if there was anything they could do.  The last call was Justin again, reminding JC to pray for Trace.  The next morning he felt gritty, achy and exhausted even after his shower, but he had a sermon to deliver, not to mention Sunday school and all the people waiting to talk to him. 

Justin was gray around the eyes, pale with worry even in the stained-glass light of the sanctuary, and JC put his arms around the kid as soon as he got the chance.  It felt synthetic and aloof with their stiff suit jackets between them, but Justin clung tightly and JC didn’t care what they must have looked like with Justin’s curly head tucked into the crook of his neck, his big, overgrown hands on JC’s waist.  People were looking, casting curious glances in their direction, but most of them had already heard about Trace. 

“Let me come home with you.  Mom is driving me crazy,” Justin begged.

“I heard that,” she said sharply, but when she met JC’s eyes over the top of Justin’s head she nodded her permission.  She shifted her Bible under one arm and patted Justin’s back.  “Be good, sweetie.” 

JC drove through McDonald’s on the way home and Justin ate french fries out of the bag in the car, silent the whole way.

“Justin.”  JC’s throat felt tight just saying the words, but he needed to say them for Justin.  He parked the car in the driveway and left the keys in the ignition. “If there’s anything you want to talk about.  I know- I mean, I realize that you and Trace are, you know.  Close.  Boyfriends, Chris said.”    

“Chris said that?” 

“Only to me,” JC said quickly.  “He thought it was important for us to support you right now, about everything.  And we do.” 

“Oh.” 

JC glanced over and Justin’s eyes were unreadable; downcast and nearly covered by his stocking cap.  He didn’t look happy.

“Does your mom know?” 

“Nope.”  Justin shook his head and chewed nervously on his straw.  “Nobody.  Just you.  And Chris, I guess,” he added.

Chris’ front door flew open.  “I see you out there with food!” he yelled. 

“We better feed him.”  Justin seemed relieved, so JC didn’t try to stop him.  He watched Chris chase Justin and the food, and let himself worry about the problems with the church bus only all the way up the stairs, promising he’d put them aside when he entered his apartment.  Before he made it all the way to the top, his cell phone rang.  For a second he considered not answering; he’d only been away from the church for thirty minutes, for crying out loud, but no matter what else he had going on, it was still his job. 

“JC,” Joey said from the other end of the line, hoarse and shaken.  “It’s my dad.” 

***

JC’s thoughts on the way to the hospital were mostly panicked half-prayers, scattered in every direction but boiling down to the fact that Joe was, in JC’s mind, the ideal father figure.  On a good day he had the utmost respect for Joe Fatone, on the worst days he sat in his office and indulged in full-on fantasies of adoption.  By the time he arrived and hurried into the emergency room waiting area, he’d managed to suppress his own selfish worries and turn his attention outward, where it was needed the most. 

Seeing the Fatone clan in this setting was surreal.  Two hours ago they’d all been filling up the fellowship hall with their bright laughter and now they were clustered together on one side of the waiting room, absolutely wilted with shock and fear.  JC hugged them all, and for the first time it didn’t feel like an obligation.  Helping them was something he wanted to do, so he swallowed down all his own fear and tried to forget that Joe was the one who always accompanied him on these hospital visits. 

“He just got really pale,” Joey said, looking none too healthy himself.  His voice sounded like broken glass as he tried to keep his words private and not cry all at once.  “And he kept saying it was nothing, but then he couldn’t even stand up.  They said it might be a heart attack.” 

A heart attack.  “Is he, I mean, was he conscious?” JC whispered.  He glanced over at Joey’s mom to make sure she wasn’t overhearing. 

“No-”  Joey’s face crumpled momentarily, but he fisted away the stray tears and took a deep breath to continue talking.  “He wasn’t, but then the paramedics revived him.  So, I don’t.  We just don’t know.” 

“Joey.”  JC slid a tentative hand over Joey’s back, and it was impossible to say anything other than yes when Joey leaned into the touch and said, “Just, please stay here, JC.  Don’t go, okay?” 

***

It was nearly dawn when JC walked in and found Chris at the kitchen table, scribbling something in a black notebook.  When he saw JC, he set his pen down and followed JC into the dark living room where Justin was a lifeless shape on the couch, draped with the old afghan.  Seeing Justin here eased something inside JC, but it was a small comfort when there were so many things he couldn’t make right.

“Here.”  Chris took JC’s suit jacket from his hands.  When JC just stood there, too exhausted to think, he reached for JC’s tie, already half undone around his neck.  With slow, calming movements he unlooped the tie and put it on the coffee table with the jacket.  He paused at JC’s shirt buttons, his eyes flickering up to JC’s face before unfastening the top two, then the third.  His hand slowed on the fourth, but then something changed and he tugged JC’s shirt out of his waistband, unfastened the rest of them, and touched the bare skin of JC’s collarbone right above where his undershirt ended.  “Want some coffee?” he whispered.  JC knew it was to keep from waking Justin, but it was such an intimate sound that goose bumps prickled all over his skin. 

JC shook his head and turned away.  He was too tired for this. 

“A shower?” 

JC kept shaking his head.  Chris was being so nice, and it would’ve been so easy to let Chris just lead him into the kitchen, the bathroom, the bedroom, and do whatever Chris’ hands led him to do.  When he was weak like this he couldn’t even pretend that the best thing he could think of wasn’t leaning into Chris and being held the way he was always holding everyone else.  He’d been giving for months, offering out portions of his strength and he’d never suspected that his reserve was slowly being depleted.  JC forced himself to walk back to his bedroom and shrugged out of his dress shirt, unfastened his pants and let them slide from his hips.  He’d been in his church clothes for the past twenty-four hours and it felt like heaven to fall onto his bed with just an undershirt and boxers.  The sudden relief of rest felt so good that he moaned and squirmed on the cool, smooth bedspread and didn’t even care when he heard Chris’ amused chuckle from the doorway. 

“JC,” he said quietly.  He was worried, but JC was out of reassurances.  He’d used them all up today, and if he’d have known to save one for Chris, he would have.  The only reassurance he had now was his body, and if Chris came to lie down beside him, he’d make room.  The idea of it was dizzying, and he wanted it so badly he could almost smell the smoky coconut scent of Chris’ hair.  It was just testing, just a thoughtless test when he eased over onto one side of the bed.  When Chris blinked in surprise and said, “Can I?” JC folded his lips between his teeth and bit down, knowing he shouldn’t but giving his permission anyhow with a few jerky nods. 

When JC rolled onto his stomach, Chris put his hands on JC’s shoulders.  “Is this okay?”  JC wanted to laugh; Chris had never been this unsure of anything, but he was stilled by the drugging effect of the warmth that bled from Chris’ hands into his skin.  He didn’t reply because his breath was caught in his throat, frozen with the pleasure that sprung up where Chris’ hands massaged gently.  All he could do was melt into the mattress and make small, appreciative sounds as the heat wormed its way through his entire body.  

“I’m so tired,” he said into his pillow, barely able to keep his voice steady for the way Chris’s thumb was stroking lightly at the back of his neck. 

“Sleep.”

”I’m halfway there,” JC assured him even though it felt strange using Chris like this.  Not that he was complaining; it was good, so good that his eyes were stinging with restrained emotion because for Chris to treat him this way…it meant something.  Maybe Chris thought he was on the verge of a breakdown or something, he thought suddenly.  “I’m fine, you know.” 

Chris dropped down into a lying position and propped himself up with one elbow so he could look at JC.  “I know,” he said.  His face was close in the dark and it reminded JC of how close he and Tony used to be, before the fight.

It had been months since he’d tried to call Tony, and he still didn’t understand why he’d never been given the chance to apologize, explain himself, something.  Before he could stop himself he was crying, turning his face into the pillow and letting his tears soak the pillowcase.  They never really stopped, but sometime after Chris edged closer and tucked his face into JC’s neck, JC fell into a heavy sleep to the comfort of an arm wrapped tight around his waist.

The sound of a ringing phone woke JC, and he climbed over Chris, who was burrowed deeply under the covers and still out cold.  Half-asleep, JC stumbled down the hall, past where Justin was sleeping and into the kitchen where he found Justin’s cell phone. 

“Hello?” 

“This is Sylvia from the office.  Justin was absent for homeroom this morning?” 

JC squinted at the clock, which read past nine o’ clock.  Shit.  “I.  He’s just running a little late,” JC assured her.  “He’ll be there as soon as he, um.  As soon as he can.”

“All right, then-“ she paused, then hesitantly asked, “Pastor Chasez?” 

“Yes.  Justin stayed here last night, and we’re-“

“Oh, say no more.  It’s fine,” she assured him.  “Just send him to the office for a pass when he gets here.  You have a nice day, now.” 

“’kay.”  He hung up and looked around the bright, cold kitchen, shivering in just his underwear.  He supposed he should get dressed in case Justin woke up and was somehow traumatized by seeing his pastor walking around half naked, but first he started a pot of coffee, noting how swollen and hot his eyes felt.  It wasn’t a surprise considering how he’d fallen asleep and how little rest he’d gotten.  That wasn’t important now; he needed to get Justin to school, check in at the church, get to the hospital, and find time to still worry about Trace’s whereabouts. 

He showered quickly, forgot to put the shower curtain inside the tub, and cut himself twice shaving.  When he looked in the mirror over the dull, aged porcelain sink he didn’t see a leader.  He saw a tired man, too small to do everything expected of him.  Maybe, he thought, Chris was right.  If it was the truth then he wasn’t ready to admit it quite yet, and it wasn’t like Chris wanted it to be true.  When Chris looked at him it was sometimes with suspicion, sometimes with affection, but never with the kind of disdain he’d shown when JC had first shown up. 

Chris was still a dead weight when JC was dressed, but Justin was drinking coffee in the kitchen, sleepily looking at the phone on the table.  “I grabbed my fucking mom’s phone,” he sighed.  He kept his curly hair longer than JC did, and it was huge this morning, standing out in huge fluffy tufts.  JC smiled behind his own coffee mug. 

“Yeah, the school called earlier.  You need to hurry up and I’ll drop you off.”  JC checked his watch again and glanced toward the back of the apartment.  Knowing that Chris was sleeping in his bed made his stomach do a slow flip every time he thought of it, thought of the way they’d shared a space while they slept.  “I, uh.  I’m gonna go wake Chris,” he said casually.  “Can you be ready in thirty minutes?”  

Chris was already stirring when JC went to wake him.  He sat on the edge of the bed, suddenly shy.  “Good morning,” he teased.  “You’re the last one up.” 

Chris snorted and yawned.  “I was the last one to sleep,” he reminded JC. 

JC watched Chris run his fingers through his tangled hair and fidget under the covers like it was too comfortable to move.  “You can stay if you want,” he offered.  “Justin is late for school.  I’m late for…everything.”

“Mmm, thanks.  I might take you up on that.  I don’t-“ he stopped suddenly, distracted by the loud knocking.  “Company already?”  

“I’m not surprised,” JC sighed.  He got up reluctantly and found Lynn already in the kitchen, staring stonily at her son and holding a silver phone in her hand. 

“Mrs. Harless, I- we overslept and I already talked to the school; I was just about to take him.  They said he could have a pass,” he added lamely, but she didn’t even acknowledge him.  Her attention was on her son, sharp and unwavering.  Justin seemed to shrink under the scrutiny, but he held her gaze. 

“You had a voice mail,” she said calmly.  “I listened to it.  Do you know who it was?”

JC had a terrible feeling he knew, and judging by Justin’s sudden pallor, he had a similar guess. 

“It was Trace,” she said.  Her voice grew quiet.  “Justin, I realize that you and Trace have been…close…for a long time, but the things he said.  I can’t even begin to understand, unless…is there something inappropriate going on between the two of you?” 

“Mom…” 

“Mrs. Harless, is Trace all right?  Where is he?” 

“I don’t know,” she snapped, and JC suddenly wished he hadn’t drawn attention to himself because she was on him with all the bewildered accusation in her heart.  “Did you know about this?” she demanded, and Chris chose that exact moment to meander out, disheveled and morning slow.  JC could almost feel the crackle of electricity that surrounded Lynn and threatened to become something explosive. 

“I was at the hospital all night,” JC said before she could ask.  “Chris stayed with Justin.” 

She nodded, somewhat appeased.  “And did you know?” she repeated.  “About what my son has been up to with that…” 

“Momma, don’t say that.”  Justin mumbled.  “He’s, whatever you were going to say, he’s not that.  He’s my best friend.” 

“Is he your boyfriend, too?” 

Chris stopped in the doorway, instantly wide awake, asking JC questions with his eyes.  JC just shook his head.

“Yes, momma,” Justin said softly, and looked so ashamed that JC’s heart ached for him.  He was just a kid, and it couldn’t be right for his youthful devotion to be considered shameful.  Justin was just so young, and JC realized then why all the adults at church kept looking at him with that fond, wistful expression; they saw the same vulnerability in him that he saw in Justin.  “Is Trace all right?  Where is he?” Justin asked. 

“I don’t know where he is, but I suppose he’s fine.”  She was still holding the phone in front of her, a reminder of why they were all there.  JC didn’t say a word because he really didn’t want to answer the question she’d asked him, and it seemed that Justin was afraid to move from his spot at the table.  Finally, she turned to Chris with her chin high, mouth drawn into a tight line.  “Well, I can’t say I’m surprised.  I had actually thought JC would be a good influence on you.  Instead…” she gestured at Justin’s hunched shoulders.  “You’ve managed to lead my son into thinking it’s okay to be that way.  Like you.” 

JC gaped, but Chris had no response to her accusation other than a slight arch of his eyebrow.  “Coffee,” he muttered, and maneuvered around JC to get to the cupboard. 

“No, Mrs. Harless.  It’s not like that,” JC protested.  “Justin and Trace, their relationship has been growing and, ah- maturing, for years.  Chris would never say anything to try to change Justin’s mind about anything.”

“He doesn’t have to say anything!  He’s a living example of that lifestyle, and everyone just turns the other way because they don’t want to lose the financial backing.” 

What she was saying had to be true; it made perfect sense.  JC wanted to turn around and demand why Chris hadn’t told him, why Chris was so tightfisted with his secrets that JC still felt like he’d always be on the outside, but he couldn’t right now.  It wasn’t the time to think about himself, so he drew in a deep breath and exhaled slowly.  “Okay.  But this isn’t about Chris.  It’s about Justin.”  Beyond that, he had no idea what to say about the situation.  All of his schooling told him to bring out a speech about the sin of homosexuality, but that didn’t seem to fit the sweet way Justin and Trace interacted, two ordinary boys full of dreams who couldn’t get enough of one another.  He moved behind Justin and curved his hands over the tight set of Justin’s shoulders, driven by a fierce protectiveness.  Justin had been one of the biggest pieces of his life since he’d come to Fox Creek; he was family, and no one else was going to defend him-- certainly not Chris, who was leaning against the counter and sipping his coffee as though it were just like any other morning. 

“You’re right.  Come on, Justin.  I’ll take you to school,” she snapped.  Her hands were shaking, her movements jerky as she shoved Justin’s phone at him and pulled his coat from its hook on the wall.  Justin got up reluctantly and took his time putting on his coat, his eyes pleading first with JC and then Chris, who shrugged.  JC wasn’t fooled by Chris’ seeming indifference.  If Mrs. Harless weren’t there, things would be entirely different.

When his coat was all zipped, hat pulled down snugly, Justin stuffed his hands into his pockets and finally looked up at his mother.  “Am I in trouble?”

“That depends on whether you’ve done anything wrong.  Have you?”  JC hated how her face was suddenly so full of hope.  Everyone was about to be terribly disappointed. 

“I don’t know,” Justin said into his jacket.  “I, maybe.  But it isn’t how you think it is, momma.”  His face fell when she made a disgusted sound and hitched her purse over her shoulder. 

“Thank you for keeping him,” she said stiffly.  “I’ll see you Sunday.”  Chris no longer existed as she walked to the door, and Justin trailed dutifully after her with a little wave. 

As soon as they were gone, JC grabbed his scarf and coat from the hall closet, moving as quickly as possible.  He had a busy day ahead.  The sooner it was over, the better. 

“JC…” 

“I don’t have time.  Can you lock up?”  He didn’t wait for an answer. 

***

JC left his car running when he ran into the church.  As usual, Diane had everything under control and she shooed him off to the hospital, where she assured him his presence was far more important.  She sent him off with another desperately needed coffee and a list of other patients to visit while he was there.  Joe had been admitted to the third floor sometime during the night, and JC went to him first, hugging his way through all the Fatones until he reached Joe’s bedside. 

“There you are,” Joe said warmly.  He still looked pale and unwell even though they’d said he was going to be fine, but JC wasn’t sure what people were supposed to look like after a heart attack.  He took JC’s hand.  “I don’t want you worrying about me, now.  Did you get that bus thing taken care of yet?  Because, Brother Caswell has volunteered to do all the labor for free.  All we need to come up with are the parts.” 

“You shouldn’t be thinking about this,” JC scolded.  “You just concentrate on getting better, and I’ll take care of the rest.”  Yeah, right.  He hadn’t even thought about the bus because everything else was falling apart around him.   

“Not so easily done.”  Joe sighed heavily up at the ceiling. 

“You don’t have a choice.”  JC didn’t know where the words were coming from, and they were nothing less than boldfaced lies, but he said them anyhow.  “You’re the one who hired me for the job, and now you just have to trust that I’ve got everything under control.” 

“Oh, Lord.”  When Joe laughed, he wheezed in a way that made JC shift nervously toward the call button.  “Son, you just remember this.  This is God’s church and he’s the one in control.  You’re just here to do the footwork.”  The problem with footwork, JC thought, was that the path was always so full of holes and stones. 

***

He managed to go two days without seeing Chris, but Thursday he decided it couldn’t wait any longer.  He had to say something before Chris felt like JC blamed him.  When Chris appeared, he gazed at JC from the other side of the screen door for a few moments before letting him inside. 

“I’m sorry about Justin’s mom,” JC said right away.  He knew how it felt to be accused of something and then never have the chance to explain.  “She was so out of line, but I didn’t want to make things worse by arguing.” 

Chris nodded and wiped his palms on his baggy cargo pants.  “I know.  She may have been about to lose her shit, but she wasn’t surprised.” 

JC looked up.  He had thought the same thing.  “You know, I think that might be why she made him start seeing me.  Because she thought he was…well, she said- on the wrong track.  But, yeah.  I think she knew all along.” 

“I told you there aren’t any secrets around here.” 

JC paused.  It was the perfect opening, but it wasn’t worth making Chris angry or embarrassed. 

“And yes, now there really aren’t any,” Chris added. “Now that you know I’m gay.”  His words held a tinge of bitterness. 

“I don’t, it doesn’t matter to me.” 

“Right.  Like you weren’t about to have kittens when I told you about Justin and Trace.” 

“That was different.”  And it was.  Justin and Trace were a hard reality, something that could change things for everyone.  Chris being gay was just an abstract, a preference that didn’t make any real difference.  “I feel responsible for him,” JC explained. 

“So, that’s it?  You’re gonna feel comfortable around me now?  Because, I know what you’re out there preaching to the masses, and it ain’t this.” 

“Chris, please.”  JC pressed his hands to his forehead.  “I can’t do this.  I promise that who you date makes no difference to me.  I just, I need your friendship right now so don’t use this to push me away.” 

Chris relaxed a little and even quirked his mouth into something like a smile.  “Yeah?”

“Yes.  And…”  He shouldn’t say it, but he wanted to.  He wanted things to feel the way they had when he’d woken up with Chris pressed against him as though he deserved nothing less.  “The other night…”  He let his eyes slide over to Chris, just to make sure his thoughts were welcome.  “…I needed that.  And none of the people around here would’ve known that, but you did.” 

“It was pretty obvious,” Chris said, but he seemed pleased.  “You saw Joe?” 

“Yeah.  I think he’ll be fine.  You know, with a special diet, regular exercise, and all that.  A lot of medication.”    

“How about you?” 

“Whatever.  I’m good.”

“Wanna go into the city this weekend?” 

JC couldn’t think of anything he wanted more than to get out, do a little dancing and forget that three hundred people were relying on him for their physical, emotional and spiritual well-being.  “Just tell me when,” he sighed, and stretched out on Chris’ couch.  “Mmm, think I could get away with leaving my phone at home?” 

“Depends on if you want to keep your job,” Chris said lightly, but JC heard the underlying suggestion.  For once, he didn’t argue the point.

***

“Joey, hey!”  JC dodged the crowds of rushed high-schoolers to catch up with Joey, who gave him a huge grin and a slap on the back that actually stung a little.  “You having Christmas musical rehearsal?”

“Every night between now and when the curtain goes up,” Joey said.  “All we can do now is pray it all comes together.  Your boy’s distracted.” 

“Yeah, that’s why I’m here.  I wanted to catch him.  Do I have time?” 

“Sure, no problem.  C’mon into the auditorium; I’m sure you’ll find him somewhere.” 

Justin was sitting cross-legged on the floor amidst his busy cast mates, silently reading a book of music, lips moving wordlessly.  JC dropped down onto the floor next to him so that their knees were touching. 

“Hey.” 

“Hey,” Justin replied flatly.  “I’m grounded.  And I don’t have to get counseling anymore.” 

JC nodded.  Lynn had called him with a thousand assurances that it was nothing personal, that she was deliriously happy with the job he’d done.  She’d also begged him to keep Justin’s transgressions a secret until she could make him see the error of his ways.  His skin had crawled with the wrongness of it all, but he’d gone along with everything she said.  It was his job to make sure no one strayed from the flock, after all.    

“Is Chris mad?” 

JC tipped his head in confusion.  “No, of course not.  He’s used to it now, he says.  People acting that way.” 

“Maybe I’ll get used to it, too.  Used to people hating me.”  Justin shrugged and rolled his music book into a tube.  “I don’t care.  We don’t care.  So don’t feel sorry for me, or whatever.” 

JC smiled.   Up on stage, Joey was trying to round up a group of chorus members for a run-through, but he could barely be heard over the piano.  He gave a small wave and turned back to Justin.  “I don’t feel sorry for you.  Actually, I think you’re pretty lucky.”  

Justin laughed, genuine delight in his eyes.  “You’re totally not supposed to say that,” he said smugly, and nudged JC with his shoulder.   

“I don’t really know what I’m supposed to say in this situation.”   

“Say that God protects people like us.  People like Trace,” Justin replied without hesitation, and JC wondered how long he’d been wanting that kind of reassurance.  At least there was this one small thing he could do. 

“I believe he does,” JC promised.  “Just keep praying.”

Justin stiffened with indignation.  “I’ve never stopped.” 

***

As tired as he was, sleep didn’t come easy.  Things with Justin and Trace wouldn’t leave him alone, and there was a long list piling up of other people he needed to worry about.  He dragged himself out from under the covers and reached under the bed for his guitar.  The smooth, cool wood was soothing against his palm, and he wrapped his hand around the neck like a lifeline.  Normally, he’d launch straight into some praise songs, lose himself in asking for answers the best way he knew how.  Worship was a certain way to dispel all the demons that plagued him: his insecurities, worry, and selfishness, but he didn’t go that route and found himself strumming out a song he hadn’t let himself sing in a while.  The music matched his feelings at the moment; hope blooming amidst desperate emptiness.  Wanting, wanting, and being impossibly far from what he needed.  It was a song that reflected how he was feeling, and it was the song that had ultimately driven Tony away.   

“JC?” 

He stopped and put his hand on the strings to quiet them.  Chris was in his bedroom again, and judging by his attire- just a pair of sleep pants- JC had been keeping him awake.  “Sorry.”  He rubbed his thumb against the edge of the fingerboard.  “I was just…couldn’t sleep.” 

“If you wanted company, you should’ve just told me.”  Chris stretched his arms over his head, laced his hands together and arched his back until it cracked.  JC held his guitar against his chest and stared at the dark hair of Chris’ armpits in contrast to his pale, flexing arms. 

“I didn’t mean to wake you,” he said, another half-lie to add to his growing list of transgressions.  “Can’t sleep.  I can’t stop thinking that something’s wrong.” 

“Trace?”  Chris moved closer, and JC put his guitar down, slid it back under the bed and got up.  Pacing had always worked wonders for his nerves.

“Yes.  God, he was here every single day.  I should’ve known that something was wrong.  I was so focused on Justin that I never noticed.  I thought of them as one person—if Justin was fine, then so was Trace.” 

“We all thought that.”  Chris said.  He approached JC from behind and put his hand on JC’s back, a soft, gentle weight.  “Not even Justin knew.” 

“I don’t what to do,” JC sighed.  If he turned, he could probably have Chris again, but when he turned around he belatedly noticed the fact that fuck, Trace and Justin had been right.  Chris was definitely pierced in more than his ears.  Chris opened his arms, the offer that JC had been waiting for, but JC hesitated and stepped back, away from the bright glints of silver that were threaded so secretly through pink nubs of flesh.  That feeling from before was coming back, the rush of heat that made his head spin sickly.  He pulled back even more from the dangerous gleam, his blood pumping faster with confused adrenaline that burned his cheeks and neck.  His voice emerged unsteady when he tried to speak.   

“Sorry.  I have this…thing…about needles.  It’s this, a phobia,” he said quietly.

“But you’re…um.”   Chris’ voice was gentle, and JC wanted to cry suddenly because it was all wrong and he didn’t know why, but it was.  Chris being gentle meant something was wrong, he knew that much, and he followed Chris’ gaze down to where he could already feel the heavy, aching throb between his legs.  Chris was right.   It wasn’t fear that had him so tense and agitated; it was something else.   It was Chris. 

“I know,” he whispered.  “I’m sorry.”  The worst part was how he couldn’t even go into Chris’ arms the way he wanted to, not like this. 

“Don’t be sorry,” Chris said, and caught JC’s hand with his own.  JC’s fingers twitched in the tight grip but he didn’t try to escape, just watched as Chris brought him closer and closer until the pads of JC’s fingers were resting on the peak of a warm, velvety nipple and skirting the edges of cool, hard metal.  It was a relief that suddenly it wasn’t so much about JC anymore, because when he stroked down with one finger, Chris dropped his head forward, swearing quietly. 

Heat rushed to JC’s face as he slowly traced the curved line of Chris’ jewelry.  When he put one finger underneath and lifted gently, Chris hissed in response, and JC knew that the bulge at the front of his pants said that the touches felt good.  Momentarily lost, JC licked his dry lips, sucking his bottom lip into his mouth and it was a heady, bewildering rush the way that Chris’ expression immediately turned helpless and wanting.  Chris didn’t say anything, but the way he reached out and touched JC’s mouth needed no interpretation.

“Please,” Chris asked, a bare whisper.  “Your mouth…”  His finger was smooth and light on JC’s lips, dancing along the full curve for the briefest of moments and leaving a tingling trail of sensation in its wake before retreating.  

JC immediately dipped his head and opened his mouth on the sensitive peaks.   At first he lapped carefully around the edges, suckling lightly, but then he found that if he teased with teeth and tongue on the nipple and hoop alike Chris’ hips pushed forward like something he couldn’t control, like a prophecy, like sex.  Sex.  JC couldn’t ever remember wanting it with anyone, but he wanted it right now- with Chris- so badly that the desire was a knife of need, sharp and immediate. 

“Yes,” Chris breathed, and threaded his hand into JC’s hair where he held him there, steady, as JC licked and panted, suddenly desperate and shamelessly rubbing his erection where it had come to rest against Chris’ thigh.  Chris’ skin seemed to heat under his touch and it tasted how he smelled, which JC couldn’t place because he’d never had this before.  He’d never tasted lips that weren’t slicked with lipstick or skin that wasn’t perfumed, and he’d never been so hard that he was just moving his hips against someone, uninvited and unable to stop. 

“Here,” Chris said, and JC realized that Chris had been watching him this whole time through hot, slitted eyes.  “JC,” he whispered, “Kiss me.”  His mouth was so pretty, the curve of his lower lip red and wet from where he’d been biting it, and JC lifted his face until their mouths met softly.  Chris did most of the work as his mouth moved on JC’s, careful and unrushed until JC pulled back, stunned by the way he was shaking just from a kiss, just from touching Chris. 

“I’m so fucking gone on you,” Chris said lowly, his voice harsh and ragged.  “Fuck.  I didn’t think you’d…”

“Only with you,” JC breathed against Chris’ mouth, and then they were at something of a standstill, the kiss broken, JC’s hands still on the soft skin of Chris’ waist. 

“Is this okay?”  Chris slipped his hand between them and traced the head of JC’s cock through the worn flannel pajamas until JC could feel the fabric gradually soaking through, warm, wet and rough against his sensitive skin.  Just when it was almost too much, Chris cupped his hand around the whole length and stroked hard, up and down until JC was moving into his hand with jerky thrusts, clutching Chris’ waist and giving nothing but cooperation when Chris maneuvered them onto the bed and out of their pants.  It was all okay, more than okay, but he didn’t say so; it was hard to say anything with Chris stretched out on top of him, straddling his hips and rubbing his dick alongside JC’s.

He could feel Chris holding back, going slow on his account but it still all felt like it was going too fast when he found himself wrapping his legs around Chris to bring him closer, closer, until he could feel Chris’ cock branding his belly, thick and hard, and it was such a relief that Chris wanted this as badly as he did.  Chris was so hard to read sometimes; JC was constantly having to second guess how he dealt with him, but tonight it was all right there.  JC loved that, loved the openness of Chris’ face, the honest sounds he made when JC rocked up against him. 

He wanted to do this all night, tangle and writhe here in the bed with Chris, but he was already wound so tight, the aching pleasure building with every ungraceful slide of Chris’ dick against his own.  He wanted it to last all night, but the constant friction of Chris’ body was too much. Chris’ mouth on his ear and pleasure rippled outward from those points- ear, neck, cock- until JC had no control over it and just let it wash over him, wave after wave of raw pleasure that bled wet-hot between their bodies.  

Chris was still iron-hard against his belly, all slow kisses and trembling restraint that had to be killing him. 

“Um.”  JC’s voice sounded hoarse and abused.  “Do you want me to…”  He wasn’t sure what he was offering.

“You don’t have to,” Chris said against his lips, and rolled onto his side.  JC turned to face him, his hand resting on the soft skin of Chris’ side.  He could see Chris now, all of him, and he’d had his mouth on Chris’ body but the rest of it- the dark, insistent erection between them- seemed so far to go.  While he watched, Chris stroked himself a few times.  That was a little less daunting so it seemed safe wrap his own hand around Chris’ own and was worth it when it made Chris groan out loud.  From there he could feel the shift and flex of how much pressure Chris wanted, how deep he wanted to go, and God, the sounds his hand made on his cock, flesh on flesh and the harsh sound of Chris breathing.  JC’s fingers tightened and he found a quicker pace that made them both gasp because the cause and effect, every reaction was almost as though he were doing it to himself.

He could tell when Chris was about to come because for just a second they lost the rhythm- a slight pause followed by just a few more urgent strokes- and when Chris stopped their hands entirely, JC watched and felt it at the same time, warm and wet as it spilled between his fingers.  It was the most painfully intimate he’d ever been with another person, but when he shifted and glided sticky-slick over Chris’ dry, clenching hand, it was an entirely different level of intimacy that left him breathless and hard, already wanting more of Chris, who was strong and rebellious and exciting. 

Chris had said he was gone on him, but people said a lot of things in the middle of sex, even JC knew that.  It wasn’t like he’d said “I love you.”  Now that it was over, JC looked to Chris for a clue about how to proceed.   He wanted another kiss to make this seem like less of a mistake, but Chris’ face was unreadable as he lay sprawled naked across the disheveled bed.

“C’mere,” Chris said, finally.  He reached for the blanket and urged JC underneath with him, where JC gladly went, huddling close.  Chris seemed so relaxed and sated, but JC was still running on the warm glow in the pit of his stomach.  Every place where his body touched Chris’ seemed oversensitive and he shivered when Chris’ hand crept down and traced lightly over his ass.  JC wasn’t stupid; he knew the connotations and didn’t care because it was Chris, who understood everything about him. 

“That wasn’t enough for you?”  Chris massaged JC’s ass a little harder and a few fingertips slid in between, trailing electricity everywhere they touched.  The idea of it made JC’s skin burn with fever again, and he knew Chris could feel what it was doing to him. 

“Shut up,” he whispered.  Their mouths were so close, just a breath apart, and why wouldn’t Chris just kiss him already?  “I like you, okay?” JC said as though that explained what he was doing here, doing this when he knew it would bring nothing but trouble. 

“I can tell,” Chris replied, so softly it was barely audible.  “You like me the same way I like you.  Too much.”  There were so many things JC could have said to that, but he was glad he didn’t have to say any of them when Chris finally moved that last inch and touched his lips to JC’s.  Hungrily, JC licked at them and opened Chris’ mouth so he could feel Chris’ tongue moving against his own and hear every gasp, every hitch of breath.  When JC lifted his hands to tangle in Chris’ hair it was like that last connection he’d been craving; Chris’ head in his hands, tongue in his mouth, and under the covers, Chris’ talented fingers exploring down and further down. 

JC wrapped himself up in it, around Chris and inside the blankets.  He knew it was wrong, knew there was no such thing as a secret in Fox Creek, but at that moment he also knew that he’d do anything to keep Chris in his bed for as long as he was willing to stay. 

***

The next day marked the beginning of Christmas break for most of the town.  JC went into church early and left Chris sleeping in bed.  The children’s Christmas program was rehearsing in the sanctuary, and when he stepped into the hall he was almost taken out by a precariously-winged angel, trailing giggles and glittery feathers in her wake.  The clumsy chords of the piano rang out cheerily through the halls, and JC felt light for a change, hopeful and full of joy, so he left his office door open even though it meant constant interruptions of small talk, holiday greetings and the occasional advice-seeker.  By the end of the day his desk was crowded with tins of goodies but he didn’t dare open them because tonight was dinner with Bev, who tended to scold if he didn’t bring a good appetite.  She always thought that he and Chris were too thin even though Chris had a soft middle that definitely didn’t speak of being underfed.  

Joey and his dad stopped in, full of questions about Trace’s disappearance, but JC didn’t have any answers.  He advised them against asking Justin about it, but other than that he didn’t know what to say.  He spent so long chatting that he lost track of time and was almost late for dinner. 

“This is nice,” Chris said quietly when they were hanging their coats in Bev’s hall closet.  His hand brushed the soft cashmere of JC’s black turtleneck sweater.  “You look good tonight.”  The touch raised goose bumps on JC’s arms, and his nipples tightened up under the plush fabric. 

“You too,” he said, and ducked shyly.  No, he could not be doing this, not here in Chris’ mother’s house, but he was doing it because Chris looked really good.  Better than good, really; he was shaved smooth and his hair was cut short, shorter than JC had ever seen it, standing up in haphazard spikes, bold and intriguing.  JC knew he could touch them if he wanted to.  For that reason, he kept his hands down at his sides until they reached the kitchen and were shooed into their seats. 

“Now that’s a good look,” Bev said, one hand on her hip.  “Better than the last time you changed your hair.  He used to have these ridiculous braids,” she said to JC, and Chris cut her off, hands waving her words away. 

“Mom, stop!  There are some things that should never be revisited,” Chris protested, but he was laughing along with her.  “Stacy did it when I was over at Lance’s today.  She needed someone to practice on, and Lance is…well, let’s say that he’s unhappy with his current state of blondeness.  He’s threatening to sue.  I swear,” he said happily.  “I’m gonna marry that girl.”   

“Oh, Lance looks fine,” Bev scoffed.  “I like his highlights.  He’s a handsome boy and unlike his sister, he’s available.”

“No mom,” Chris said, and jumped up to look over her shoulder into the pot she was stirring.  “I’m not gonna marry Lance, no matter how hot you think he is.”

“Always a smartass,” she laughed, and smacked the side of his head lightly.  “I’m talking about for Emily.  Maybe then she’d lay off on poor Pastor Chasez.”

“I don’t mind,” JC said.  “It’s actually pretty normal for people to get a crush on or become infatuated with somebody in a position like mine.”  He smiled sweetly at Chris, who nodded appreciatively.

“It must suck knowing your sermons are going right over the heads of all those impressionable young girls and boys.” 

“Chris,” Bev warned, and JC figured it was the “boys” that had gotten him in trouble.  JC flushed deeply; he felt so obvious, like anyone would be able to look at him and know what he’d done, but part of him almost wanted her to know.  He was proud that someone like Chris had let him in, proud of the friendship they’d built and proud that they’d reached such an enviable level of trust and intimacy.  He was proud, but not foolish enough to think that anyone else would see it in the same light.

“What?  I’m being sympathetic,” Chris grumbled, but Bev interrupted him by piling the table with food; two kinds of creamy soups, rolls, salad and dessert.  She instructed them to enjoy the rare quiet time without the girls.  JC found comfort in the warm, sweet dough and ate slowly, watching Bev’s face for any sign of knowledge.  When she looked up and caught him watching her, he smiled weakly and she frowned. 

“You look tired,” she said.  “Christopher, you’re not keeping JC up too late, are you?” 

JC’s felt the blood leaving his face as he tried to chew the suddenly pasty bread with numb lips.  “He’s not,” he blurted, and choked a little bit, much to Chris’ amusement.  “I’m just.  A little worried about Trace and things.  The holidays,” he said, as though it explained everything.   Two weeks until Christmas and everyone was a bit frazzled, even Bev. 

They made it through the rest of dinner with mostly talk of Christmas gifts and traditions, a safe topic until JC stood to leave and Bev said, just a tinge too low for his liking, “Christopher, stay for just a minute.  He’ll be right out,” she promised JC, who took his time getting his coat, scarf and gloves so he could catch what they were saying.  Bev was being too discreet for him to hear much; he heard a few snippets of irresponsible and Lou, whose name immediately sparked an agitated response from Chris.  On the other hand, JC thought as he hurried down the sidewalk to the car, he probably didn’t want to hear that conversation after all.  

***

If past experience were anything to go by, JC really should have known what to expect.  He’d learned months ago to equate his relationship with Chris to that of his relationship with Tony, and really when it came down to it, the only difference was that Tony had pulled away before anything had happened between them. 

“What’d she say?” he asked when Chris got in the car. 

“She’s too fucking nosy for her own good,” Chris said flatly. 

“Nosy?”

“Or, whatever.”  Chris sighed and dropped his head down onto the steering wheel.  “Smart.” 

“No,” JC said.  It was too cold in the car and he tucked his chin into his scarf, warmed by his own breath and nothing else.  “She doesn’t know, she doesn’t understand.” 

“Understand what?  That she’s the mom of the first queer to ever come out in this community and doesn’t want to be the mom of the guy who fucked over the church for the second time in two years?”  

“It’s not like that.”

“Everybody will think it is.”

“You never cared what everybody thought before!” 

Chris started the car and turned the heat onto high.  “That’s not true,” he said.  “I care what they think about you.  Fuck, JC, do you know how many people had these huge crises of faith when Lou left?  You’re supposed to be infallible and if you let them down, then they don’t know what to believe.” 

“What?  No.”  JC refused to accept what Chris was saying.  “They know I’m just a person; and besides, their faith is stronger than that.” 

“Whatever.  Do you really want to find out?” 

“Of course not!”  It seemed like the right answer, but then the car fell silent as though they’d reached some kind of agreement, which JC was certain he hadn’t signed off on.  He certainly wasn’t agreeing with Bev’s misgivings about their relationship.  They’d both gone into this knowing it wasn’t something they ought to be doing, but they’d done it anyhow and that had meant something.  They’d still gone ahead and loved each other, and it wasn’t fair for Chris to take it back now based on nothing but a reprimand from his mother.

“So, what does this mean for us?” he asked into his scarf.  All day long he’d been thinking about going home and sitting on Chris’ couch with him, holding and being held.  He hadn’t dared entertain anything more explicit than that- not if he’d wanted to get any work done- but that alone was enough to look forward to as far as he was concerned. 

“JC.”  Chris yanked at the gearshift and started driving.  “Last night was…”  He paused, glancing over at JC.  “Actually, last night was fantastic.” 

“Gee, thanks.”  JC said around the lump in his throat.  Even with his lack of experience he knew where this was going.  Next Chris would be saying he was sorry, but…

“I’m sorry,” Chris said, and he made it so hard by sounding genuinely sad.  “I want you,” he said quietly.  “But mom is right.  After Lou…we just can’t risk that again.” 

“And I’m just supposed to go back to being alone?”  JC pressed the side of his face against the window, wishing they were home so he could shut himself up in his room and let himself cry the way he refused to do right now.  “Is this-“ he had to stop and pull up all the anger he wasn’t really feeling just to be able to speak.  “Is it a total brush-off, or does this just mean you’ll be keeping your hand off my dick from now on?” 

Chris didn’t answer, which was satisfying in so many ways.  It either meant that JC had won the argument or that Chris was too ashamed to answer; either way he didn’t have to hear Chris telling him how much time they wouldn’t be spending together in the future.  It wasn’t just a coincidence that the way Tony avoided him was how Chris was now going to avoid him as well.  This was what it was like to be gay, he realized.  This was why Joey was always ducking behind him when they were around town, desperate to steer clear of his many ex-girlfriends.  When things went terribly wrong with someone, you avoided them until they went away.  When they arrived home, JC took the stairs stiffly, slow and dignified, and for the first time in months, locked the door behind him. 

***

He was asleep when the phone rang.  It was only nine thirty, but sleep was an easy escape and he took it gratefully.  He was asleep, but he answered anyhow because it was his job to be there and part of him was frozen for a brief, fluttering heartbeat of hope that it might be Chris.  It wasn’t, of course, but as soon as he realized who he was speaking to, he was on his feet and pulling his clothes on, not even fully conscious yet. 

“I just need a ride,” Trace said over a static-noisy line.  “I can pay for gas, I just…I need a ride.”  

JC grabbed a pencil and his cable bill.  “Where are you?” 

Trace was in Texas.  JC doubted his car’s ability to make it that far safely, and asking Chris was out of the question, so he called Joey, who had a big, comfortable van that was ugly as sin but ran beautifully.  Joey was happy to not only offer his van, but to make the trip with JC, and he said he’d be by first thing in the morning.  JC considered calling Justin, but decided against it since it would only send Justin into a frenzy that refused to die down until Trace was safely back home, which might not be for days.  He set his alarm for early and went back to bed. 

***

When Joey pulled up first thing in the morning, JC was ready.  He walked toward the van and stopped short when the side door slid open and there were far too many familiar faces for his liking. 

“Road trip!” Justin yelled, and climbed all over Chris, who had the decency to give JC an apologetic smile. 

“You were seriously gonna do this on your own?” 

“Yeah!” Justin scowled.  “Thanks for letting me know that Trace wasn’t like, dead in some ditch somewhere!” 

When JC threw his bag in the back he saw Lance, sleepy and ever-bored in the back seat.  “Hi.” He waved at Lance.  His only hope was that Chris still had the tiniest bit of discretion and hadn’t told his friends what had happened between them.  Every time JC looked at Lance he saw Diane Bass looking back at him, proper and dignified, which was why Lance’s fondness for obscenities always caught him by surprise. 

“Sorry,” Joey said when JC climbed into the front seat.  “I thought Chris knew.  And then he got the kid, and I figured we’d make a thing of it.  You’re cool with it, right?”

“I’m just an innocent bystander,” Lance called up from the back.  “I’d rather be in my bed right now.” 

“He’s cool with it,” Chris said, talking loudly to drown out Justin’s continuous questions about JC’s conversation with Trace.  “Aren’t you, C?” 

“Fine,” JC said.  Joey had picked up a map and JC unfolded it just for something to do.  It wasn’t Joey’s fault.  No one knew how hard it was for him to be around Chris, and there was no reason for them to know.  Joey was a good traveling companion; he drove fast and made amusing enough small talk that JC could almost forget that Chris was sitting behind him.

“Don’t you dare pass that exit without stopping for coffee.”  Lance even threatened like his momma, and JC would’ve laughed if it hadn’t been so chilling. 

“Coffee for five, coming up,” Joey said, but Chris interrupted. 

“No fucking way!  This kid’s wired enough as it is; we’re gonna take turns sitting on you soon if you don’t calm the fuck down,” Chris said to Justin, and flicked him on the earlobe, which completely defeated the purpose.  Justin bellowed and pinned Chris’ arms behind his back which turned into a full-fledged wrestling match on the small bench seat, making Lance even grumpier. 

“I’m coming up there with you, Joe,” he warned. 

“No,” JC blurted.  “I’m, uh.  I get carsick in back.” 

“Yeah, right.”  Justin said under his breath. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Chris demanded.

“It means I know why JC won’t sit back here.  Because he’s pissed off at you.” 

“I’m not pissed off,” JC said over his shoulder.  He glanced to the side in time to catch Joey’s skeptical eye-roll.  “What?”

“He’s right,” Joey said, always with a smile.  “You and Chris are usually…” he paused, briefly consulted Lance in the rearview mirror, and finally said, “a lot friendlier.”

“I’m friendly,” JC said tightly.  He was plenty friendly.  Far too friendly for Chris’ liking; that was the whole problem.  It was taking everything he had not to go over that night again and again, picking apart everything he’d done and trying to determine what he could’ve done differently and made it impossible for Chris to stay away.  

“Whatever,” Lance said impatiently.  “Coffee.  And halfway there I’m switching with JC.” 

***

Five hundred miles later they drove with the windows down.  JC pretended not to know exactly how Chris and Lance were calming Justin down; at that point it didn’t even matter.  His ass was sore from riding so long, his eyes were burning with fatigue and so long as Justin stopped climbing the walls he didn’t care about how wrong it was to hear Lance saying, “Now hold it in, keep it in, keep it in…okay- now,” or smell the bitter-smoke smell that clung to everything inside the van.

For the next long while there were only quiet murmurs and laughter from the back seat.  JC’s eyes drifted shut time and time again until he finally let it happen until in the space between sleep and consciousness he distinctly heard Justin say, “Trace has been gone for nine days.  It seems like a longer than that.  And it’s been sixteen days since we had sex, that’s probably why.” 

JC rolled his head to the side until he could see Chris, slumped next to Justin.  Chris met his eyes and said, “Shhh,” but Lance’s drawl came low and shocked from the back seat. 

“Whoooa.  You were right, Joe.  They’re getting it on.”  

“I know all and see all,” Joey crowed.  “You owe me twenty bucks.” 

JC turned around in his seat to look at a completely stoned Justin.  His intention was to say something mocking, but he was struck with a pang of envy for the way Justin curled into Chris, so comfortable and so allowed.  He turned back, heart twisting painfully for something he would never have, and found Joey watching him again. 

“Eyes on the road,” he joked weakly.

“You okay?” Joey asked.  “I mean, I figured you’d be okay with it since you’re okay with Chris and all.  Or, is that why you’re fighting?”  Joey was just like his father.  He liked putting things up front, and JC couldn’t fault him for it even though this was the last thing he wanted to talk about at the moment. 

“No,” he sighed.  “It’s not.  I’m fine with Justin, I’m fine with Chris and I’m fine with Trace.” 

“Climb back here and show me how fine you are,” Chris called, and Joey made a face. 

“Jesus, Chris!  That’s the fucking preacher you’re talking to.  He’s stoned,” he explained to JC, who shrugged it off like Chris’ flippant attitude didn’t hurt.  It was actually getting irritating, because why did Chris get to decide when and if they were together?  JC hadn’t had many relationships, but he knew that what Chris was doing could be considered jerking him around no matter how valid his reasons.    If Chris was feeling this relaxed about it then maybe it was a good time to show Chris they could still be close, and JC wasn’t about to pass up this opportunity. 

“It’s cool,” JC said.  “He’s right.  It’s way past Lance’s turn for shotgun.” 

They switched at a rest stop.  JC slipped into the back seat where Lance had been, and Chris lasted all of about two seconds before he joined him, leaving Justin to doze quietly up front.  JC sat perfectly still as Chris sidled up to him, their shoulders touching, and finally Chris’ fingertips skating over his knuckles and coming to rest on JC’s thigh.  It wasn’t an apology and it certainly wasn’t an offer of anything more than comfort, but JC took it.  He was used to Chris’ prickly, reluctant affection and now that he knew Chris was capable of getting to a place where it was offered freely, he was willing to wait. 

***

Trace was in room twelve, and when he opened the door he looked tired and a little lost.  They all pretended to inspect the room while Justin clung to Trace, kissing him with unrestrained enthusiasm that was amusing but at the same time so real that it broke JC’s heart a little.  JC had never seen them like that before, but he could guess what Justin was feeling.  He knew what it was like to want someone that much.  He sagged a little because the touch of Chris’ hand, which had seemed so great in the van, was really nothing now that he was looking at two people who both wanted each other with an equal amount of feeling.

“I can feel the wrath of Lynn Harless from two states away,” Joey said.  “Let’s get going.” 

“Wait.”  Trace said, muffled by Justin’s mouth.  Laughing at Justin’s dismayed reaction he pulled away, but only enough to say, “There’s some stuff I wanted to tell you before we go.”  He was looking at Chris.  “It’s about Lou.”

No one said anything, but there wasn’t any question about if they were listening or not.  Trace sat down on the edge of the sagging mattress and Justin followed, glued to his side.  “Don’t give me any shit, okay?  He called me a couple weeks ago with a bunch of questions.  He did some stuff- I don’t really wanna talk about it- but he wanted to know if I told anybody about it.  And I couldn’t let him…I had to tell that fucker off in person!”  Justin petted Trace’s arm, his eyes wide with concern. 

“Is this about your mom?” Chris asked quietly, carefully, as though it hurt to say.

“Fuck off!”  Trace yelled.  He shook off Justin’s hands.  “Don’t talk about my mom!”

“I’m not!  I’m just trying to find out why you’d come all the way here- okay, forget that.”  Chris took a deep breath and started over.  “I know why you’d come all the way here to tell off that bastard.  I know that it was personal for you.  But why did he call you?” 

Trace snorted, and JC saw for the first time how pale and unwell he looked.   He wanted to step in, but Trace was being more forthcoming than usual, and Chris seemed intent on getting his answers. 

“He wants to come back,” Trace said darkly.  “He’s got the money and everything.  He’s really gonna try, too.” 

“No way.”  Lance shook his head, fists clenched. 

“But we’ve got JC now!”  Justin said.  “He can’t come back.  Did you tell him about JC?” 

“Of course I did.” 

“Get in the car,” Chris said.  “Come on, get your stuff.  We have to get back.”  JC knew that he meant we have to get back before Lou. 

Lance and Joey left quickly, but Justin lagged behind.  “Give us a minute?” he begged.  “We won’t be long, I promise.” 

“Five minutes,” Chris said with a smirk. 

“Ten?” 

“Don’t push your luck.” 

JC let Chris lead him out the door to the van, where Lance and Joey were waiting silently.  “Trace’s mom was fooling around with Lou,” Chris said before they got in.  “Nobody- well, hardly anybody knew.  I bet that’s why he called up Trace, to see if anybody found out.”

“Because if people know, then he can’t come back,” JC breathed.  “Fuck.”  Lou sounded like such a loser; it was impossible to understand why so many people still refused to speak a bad word about him. 

“But no one is going to know,” Chris warned.  “That’s his mom.” 

“Of course not.  Poor kid.” 

Suddenly, Chris seemed a lot closer.  JC blinked, and Chris’ arms were around him, holding tight in a brief, intense hug.  “I’m sorry about all this shit,” Chris said.  “You deserve better than this.” 

“Thanks,” JC said into Chris’ hair, so different now that it was cut short.  It still smelled the same, though.  He pulled away even before Chris let go.  “But I don’t really  deserve better.  Maybe this is exactly what I deserve.  Maybe this is my chance to…”   He didn’t finish because he didn’t know.  It was unsettling how much relief he found in the idea of being replaced by someone who already knew how to do the job. 

“They’ll never let him back,” Chris said fiercely.  His jaw was set with tension, and JC wanted to touch it, to ease some of what Chris was feeling.  He glanced around to make sure no one was around before doing just that. 

“I still want you,” he said softly, and felt the tension increase under his fingertips. 

“I know.”  Chris stared over his shoulder and into the van window.   JC sighed and let his hand fall away just as Trace and Justin appeared, hand in hand and blissfully happy.  It would have been depressing if they hadn’t been so cute, but then Justin leaned in and said, “I love you,” so goofily happy that JC changed his mind.  It was just depressing.

***

If the church only had more money they’d be able to afford an assistant pastor, and JC spent more than a few moments at his desk in idle fantasy about pushing all the crap work off onto him before getting started on the work that had piled up in his absence.  When he heard Joe Sr. coming down the hall, he closed out his mostly blank Word document because it was no one else’s business that he couldn’t think of a thing to say to his congregation. 

“You must be doing something right,” Joe said loudly.  He knocked the same moment he opened the door.  “Because I never thought I’d see this guy in the pastor’s office!”  He was beaming as he led Chris into JC’s office.

JC banged his knee on his desk in his rush to stand.  “Chris.”

“And I bet I can guess why he’s here,” Joe said darkly. 

JC had no idea what would bring Chris to the church, much less to JC’s office where people might see them together.  “Is it Trace?” he guessed.  “What’s wrong?”

“I didn’t want to believe it,” Joe said.  “Brother Turner said he saw Lou over at the truck stop on route nine this morning.” 

“You got it,” Chris said.  He took the seat across from JC’s desk and pulled it up close.  “Joe, can we have a few minutes?” 

“Sure thing.”  Joe gave JC a supportive wink before shutting the door behind him.  He was probably rushing off to tell everyone the news, JC supposed.  Either about Lou or about Chris; most likely both.  By suppertime the whole town would know.

JC settled back into his chair across from Chris, who looked so good, like everything JC had ever wanted.  His face was so lovely, his eyes so sharp and knowing, and JC didn’t care who was in town or who had left town.  He just wanted Chris to look at him again like he was something fascinating.  With only a few exceptions, ever since dinner at his mom’s Chris had let his gaze slide right off JC- or through him, which was even worse. 

“Chris,” JC said.  This was how he’d lost Tony; in icy increments.  “I still want-“ 

“-Will you give up on that?  Jesus!” Chris hissed.  “Don’t you want to keep your job?”

“I don’t know,” JC confessed miserably, and leaned forward.  “Maybe you were right all along!  Maybe I’m not cut out for this.  Is that what you meant?  Did you know already, that I was…that I would want this?  Because, you were right.  I still want you, and I will regardless of what you do.  You’re not going to save me from anything by staying away.”  He saw Chris scrunching up his face and getting ready to protest, so he rushed on, getting up and going around to Chris’ side of the desk. 

Chris rose immediately, always ready to run , but JC stood close, blocking his path.  “Stay a few minutes,” he said, fingers wandering over Chris’ thick winter coat.  He thumbed the zipper down, down and open until it parted.  Chris didn’t protest, so he slid his hands inside, delving into the heat that surrounded Chris body.  “Hey,” he said, stepping closer—too close to explain if anyone should happen to walk in on them.  They were so close he could feel Chris’ breath, could almost feel the rasp of stubble against his lips, but instead he touched Chris underneath his coat, feeling the curve of his side, warm and firm beneath the wrinkled t-shirt, watching Chris’ eyes the whole time, how they darkened with every second JC touched him and how they fluttered helplessly when JC found the raised bumps of his piercings. 

“I know what you like now,” JC said.  When he spoke, his lips brushed the corner of Chris’ mouth, a whisper of touch, just a fraction of what JC wanted to give him.  “Don’t blow me off again, okay?”  He slipped his hand underneath the hem of Chris’ t-shirt and skimmed past one nipple before pinching the other lightly.  Chris gasped and his eyes were hot, glittering and shocked on JC’s. 

“Okay,” he said shakily.  JC knew he should move away but he had Chris shivering beneath his fingertips and there was definitely a kiss somewhere in the near future, not to mention the fact that if anyone came in he’d never be able to explain why his dick was filling out the front of his pants in an absolutely obscene, obvious way.  His body was thrumming with arousal and he leaned into Chris, ruffling through the hair below his belly button, fingers straying lower for just a few seconds before Chris grabbed his hand.  “You’re crazy,” he said.  He sounded angry, but then he lifted his chin and kissed JC, a soft brush of tongue and that was it.  “Lance’s mom is right outside the door,” he whispered.  “You have to stop.” 

“For now,” JC agreed.  Chris fit perfectly against him, but the church wasn’t the best place for this.  He reluctantly pulled his hands out of Chris’ coat and tugged the t-shirt back down, dumbstruck by the way Chris’ pants fit so awkwardly over his crotch and the fact that he was the reason for it.  “You going to the show tonight?”  His face still felt stinging hot, even when he stepped back and away from Chris. 

“Of course.  Someone’s gotta tell the kid how much he sucks.  Keep his ego in check.” 

“I’ll look for you.”  JC said. 

“I’ll be the one getting struck by the lightning bolt,” Chris grumbled.

“And I’ll be the one who looks happy.”  JC sat down at his desk and smiled for Chris.  “See you later.” 

***

JC didn’t care that Lou was in town.  He didn’t care that whispers followed him everywhere or that the red and green holiday sweater Miss Sylvie had made him itched his neck.  It was too good of a night to let any of that bring him down.  Justin, who was running around backstage singing a series of warm up notes, danced a circle around JC and took a second to laugh at JC’s sweater.  Since Trace had come back Justin had been even more hyper than usual, so JC just wished him luck and found a seat. 

Everyone stopped to say hello to JC, and he wished he could tell them to stop looking so worried.  Lou may have been back, but he wasn’t a threat.  JC had given the church everything he could, and if he wasn’t able to give them the most private pieces of himself, then they weren’t his to give.  He didn’t question it, because God was his conscience, and he knew when things were wrong.  Loving Chris had never felt wrong; if anything, he’d felt driven to know Chris ever since they’d met.

 They were surrounded by people but it was still like a date, full of covert glances and accidental touching.  JC could see Lynn Harless up front with a video camera, and she must have been even prouder than JC felt, because Justin was phenomenal, not only with his singing but his dancing, acting, everything else he did set him apart from the rest.  JC had stopped by for several of the rehearsals, but nothing prepared him for the way it would all come together, Justin in the spotlight singing his heart out, and JC wiped his eyes on the scratchy sleeve of his sweater.  Justin was going to go so far, and it was a relief to know that he’d drag Trace with him wherever he went. 

“You’re a sap,” Chris whispered. 

JC shrugged and wiped his watery eyes again, smiling sheepishly. “He’s incredible,” he whispered back. 

“You’re incredible,” Chris said, and JC wasn’t used to feeling sexy, especially not in this awful sweater that was probably making him break out in hives as he sat there, but there wasn’t any question about what Chris was thinking about when his gaze flickered down to JC’s mouth.  He shifted in his seat, and leaned closer to JC.  “Come home with me when this is over.  Tell ‘em you’ve got a headache or something.” 

JC nodded.  Everyone was going to the local pizza shop afterwards, but they wouldn’t miss him.  It was one of the few things he’d done for himself since he’d started this job, and he didn’t feel the least bit guilty about it.  After all, an overwhelming number of his classmates in seminary had already been married or engaged.  Their advisors had stressed the importance of a wife to support and love a pastor or future pastor, and JC understood that now.  It was impossible to shoulder all the problems of a church and go home to an empty apartment every night. 

He was even willing to admit that considering his surprising- but somehow not surprising- choice of a lover, this job might not be the right place for him. 

Justin and Joey were glowing after the show, and so were Lynn and Trace, standing at opposite ends of the room but sharing the same overwhelming pride for Justin.  Justin made his way to his momma first, kissing her cheek and let her fuss for several minutes before he went to Trace.  Finally, Chris and JC got to give their congratulations and after that it was easy to get lost in the crowd, to drive home in the post-show traffic and follow Chris into his apartment. 

JC took off his shoes and walked around while Chris got them some drinks.  No matter how often JC was in Chris’ apartment there were always new things, new magazines, art, or novelty items, and it was so much more interesting than JC’s apartment, which was usually just a mess.  “The first time I was here, you insulted me,” he said as he sorted through what looked like a new bin of cds.  “And then the next day, again.  In fact, I think you insulted me almost every day for the first six months I knew you.” 

“If I apologize will you promise to take off that fucking hideous sweater?  Baby Jesus is looking at me.” 

“You don’t like this?”  JC smoothed his hand over the nativity scene that was embroidered near the hem.  “I think it’s nice.  It was a gift.” 

“I hope so.  I don’t know if I can do the things I’m about to do with someone who would willingly buy a sweater that says, ‘Have a Holly Jolly CHRISTmas.’  It’s like your shirt is yelling at me.” 

JC pulled the sweater up and over his head just as Chris brought their drinks out.  It was the same red wine that had gotten him so tipsy just a few weeks ago, and Chris smirked when he saw the recognition on JC’s face.  “I figured I’d stick with something you like.” 

“Thanks.”  JC took a tentative sip and found it as delicious as it had been the first time.  “I’ll try to go a little, um, slower this time.”  He inhaled the rich fragrance and took another sip. 

Chris stepped closer.  “You can go as fast or slow as you want,” he said, smiling an irreverent smile, and JC wanted to tell him that every time they were together things seemed to go so fast, and the time Chris had rejected him were the longest days of his life.  But that was something better said with music, and JC had learned some lessons the hard way. 

“Okay,” JC said, eyes on the dark burgundy liquid swirling around in his glass so Chris wouldn’t see.  “Maybe first you could show me your bedroom.” 

“A good place to start.”  Chris went ahead and kicked some dirty clothes out of the way in the hall before leading JC into a room that was twice the size as JC’s bedroom.  It smelled of Chris’ laundry detergent underlain with cigarette smoke, and it was…dark.  Black shades covered the windows, and the king sized bed was draped in black sheets, pillows and a thick black comforter. 

“It looks like a vampire lives here,” JC said, putting his glass down on the clean surface of the black lacquered dresser.  Twinkling party lights were strung along the headboard and over the mirror, but other than that there was just a lamp in the far corner.  It was dark and sexy, like Chris, a thought that he kept to himself.  Chris would just laugh at him for thinking that way. 

“It’s where I sleep,” Chris shrugged.  “It went with my old place.” 

JC sat on the edge of the bed and rubbed his feet on a furry black rug.   He toed off his socks so he could feel the silky fur against his bare skin.  Chris seemed to take this as a sign to undress, which JC wasn’t about to argue with, even though he was still in his undershirt and slacks.  When Chris was undressed he put his hands on JC’s thighs and spread them so that he could kneel on the floor in front of where JC sat, still toeing the bizarre furred rug. 

JC felt his pulse speed up even though he was sitting perfectly still.  It probably had something to do with Chris’ hands on his belt buckle, unfastening and pulling it off like he had every right to what was underneath.  It was still strange to feel someone else’s hand reaching inside his underwear to touch his dick, but in an exciting way that had his erection pushing up against Chris’ hand even before Chris had even peeled open his slacks.   

“I can’t believe you’ve never done this,” Chris said, and wrapped his warm hand around JC, squeezing lightly. 

JC gasped at the sudden rush of pleasure.  “Um.  Well, I’ve done this,” he managed.  “With you, that one time.” 

“Yeah.”  Chris stroked him a few times before wetting his lips dramatically, with intent.  JC went a little lightheaded because oh no, Chris wasn’t going to, JC couldn’t be that lucky, but of course Chris was going to let the head of JC’s cock slide between his wet lips and into his mouth where he sucked lightly and teased with his tongue while JC moaned with appreciation, not daring to move.  “Bet no one’s ever done that to you,” he said when he lifted his head. 

“You know they haven’t,” JC said breathlessly.  “It feels good.” 

“I can make it feel even better,” Chris bragged.  He stood and pushed JC backwards so he could tug his pants out from under his hips and completely off.  JC spread his legs, knees still bent over the edge of the bed.  Anything Chris wanted to do to him was fine so long as it happened soon.  He squirmed his hips on the bed, hinting at Chris, who took the hint by crawling on top of JC, a warm press of skin everywhere on JC’s body.  This time JC opened his mouth right away, wanting Chris’ tongue against his own, deep kissing that made JC want to go deeper.  He wanted…he wasn’t sure what he wanted, only knew that his body was moving against Chris’ in a hard rhythm and he kept thinking of the way Chris’ mouth had felt on him for those few brief moments; tight, hot and full of promise. 

It had only been a few minutes, but Chris was wild against him, grinding down with his hips and biting gently at JC’s neck and collarbone.  Shocks of pleasure raced through JC’s body, almost faster than he could stand, but he still wanted more.  “Chris,” he said as he dragged his fingers down Chris’ back, smooth smooth skin that continued all the way down as he boldly traced the curve of Chris’ ass.  Just the thought of it made his stomach clench with arousal, and his cock was starting to slide more easily against Chris’ belly as he dripped everywhere, so close to the edge.  “Do you do this?”  He let his fingers wander down lower, and gasped against Chris’ mouth when Chris opened his legs and suddenly JC’s fingers were right there, feeling Chris’ opening, hot and damp just like the rest of him. 

“Yeah,” Chris said, and dropped his forehead onto JC’s shoulder.  “Oh, fuck.  Like that,” he whispered shakily.  JC kept up what he was doing, just touching and pressing lightly.  “You want to?” 

JC wanted to so badly that he was afraid if Chris so much as moved he was going to come, so he lay perfectly still and pretended to think about it.  “Yeah,” he finally said.  “I think that would feel...”  He stopped and kissed Chris’ lips, slid his hand into Chris’ soft, slightly sweaty hair. 

“How do you think it would feel?” Chris asked against JC’s mouth. 

He tried not to think about it, but the images kept flashing in his head, tight and slick; hot, his fingers told him that already just from the little exploration he’d done.  “Pretty amazing,” JC answered.  “I want to do it.”  Soon.  Now. 

Chris got up for a minute and disappeared into his bathroom.  Hearing the unhealthy groan of their ancient plumbing was almost enough to jolt JC back into reality, but when he looked around it was all posh black interior with an occasional glow of light scattered around the room.  He moved up on the bed and waited until Chris returned, gorgeously naked, his cock rising up from between his legs and swaying as he walked.  JC sat up, wanting his hands on Chris again.  He wanted his mouth on him, too, but when Chris got on the bed he reached for JC with a slick hand and JC was helpless under his touch again, writhing up and into the slippery fist, picking up a pace that scorched right through him until Chris said “Fuck, stop that,” and let go.  He coaxed JC back on top of him again and JC paused, feeling clumsy when Chris’ legs opened and wrapped around him.  

“It’s okay, I’m all ready,” Chris assured him with glittering eyes.  JC nodded and held himself against Chris’ slick entrance, pushing slowly in and feeling the way Chris relaxed to take him, so tight and yet yielding, as hot as JC had known it would be.  This was what he’d wanted, he realized when he was all the way in and Chris was panting underneath him, eyes closed.  He’d wanted a piece of Chris, any piece that meant Chris was letting him in, and this was the ultimate proof of Chris’ trust.  “You’re supposed to be fucking me,” Chris said, and it wasn’t exactly romantic, but it was a relief all the same to let go with his body’s natural desire to move in and out for as long as it took to find release. 

It didn’t take long.  It was incredible to be inside that tight, sweet place, but what finished it for him was looking down and seeing Chris so completely undone by everything JC was doing do him; when JC changed the angle to go deeper, Chris moaned low and guttural, and JC had to go faster, on the verge for a few more strokes before he glanced down at Chris’ dick, thick and hard against his stomach, leaking steadily.  The visual sizzled down his spine and exploded in a burst of warmth, over and over as Chris jerked himself frantically, suddenly even tighter around JC if that were possible. 

He could feel it when Chris came.  He hadn’t known it was possible, but for a second it was more sensation than he’d known were possible, and he kept going, trying to make it all the way through Chris’ orgasm, until his arms couldn’t hold him anymore.  After that, all he wanted to do was hold Chris and burrow under the covers, which fortunately seemed to be all Chris wanted to do. 

“That was incredible,” he whispered when they were tangled in the dark under the blankets. 

“You’re incredible,” Chris replied, déjà vu, and JC smiled. 

***

JC figured that things were going to be different now that Lou was in town, but he hadn’t realized how different.  He just figured that he’d have to do a better job dealing with people and maybe remind them every once in a while about how much Lou had let them down.  So long as they weren’t begging Lou to come back he knew he was fine, but what he hadn’t expected was for Lou to try to reclaim his position. 

When he got to work, Diane hurried out from behind her desk, tense and upset.  “There are some people waiting to talk to you,” she said, and didn’t give him any coffee.  Bev was one of the people waiting, solemn-faced and more hyper than he’d ever seen her.  Joe Sr. was at JC’s desk, and a few of the senior deacons were on the couch.  In the corner chair was someone JC recognized not by face, but by intuition. 

“JC.”  Joe stood, and he looked so pale that JC worried for his heart.  “This is an impromptu meeting; we would’ve called you but we knew you were on your way.  You’re definitely part of this conversation.” 

JC slung his backpack down off his shoulder and put it in the corner.  “Okay,” he said, a sick feeling already in his stomach. 

“I hate that we’re even having this conversation,” Joe continued, so warm and apologetic that JC couldn’t look him in the eye.  “I hate that I have to ask you this, too, but it’s procedure, and well…as much as we love you, you’re not above the rules.” 

JC glanced up at Bev, and it was unsettling that he couldn’t tell whether or not he had her support.  Probably not, since she had all but ordered Chris not to continue their relationship. 

“I hate asking,” Joe said again.  “But Lou-“ he gestured to the heavyset man in the corner, who gave a little wave.  “-Lou has come to us with an apology, all the money he stole, and some accusations about our new pastor.” 

“Accusations?” JC said weakly.  He hadn’t expected this to be so humiliating, but these were people he counseled on a regular basis, people he stood up and preached to, and they expected something of him.  He hadn’t thought about the fact that it might be impossible for them to see it as anything other than a betrayal if they found out that he and Chris were lovers. 

“He says you and Chris are involved in an inappropriate relationship.  I’m sorry,” Joe added, looking at Bev, who threw her arms up helplessly.  “But JC, we trust you and if you tell us otherwise, there will never be another word about it.” 

He could lose his job over this.  Chris had tried to tell him, but JC had been looking for something, and having Chris made him feel like he could have it all.  He had broken the rules, and he’d gotten caught.  Still, it wasn’t fair.  His desk was still sitting there full of unfinished sermons and things he needed to say.  

“Is it true?”  Jim Bass was a get-down-to-business kind of man. 

JC forced himself to look Lou in the eye.  “It’s true that Chris and I are close,” he said slowly, but their relationship wasn’t “inappropriate”.  He wouldn’t say that about Justin and Trace, and it definitely wasn’t true about him and Chris.  “I love him,” he admitted, and hated how his voice broke because he wasn’t ashamed but they were making him feel ashamed, when they couldn’t possibly know everything Chris had been to him. 

“Oh honey,” Bev said softly, and started to move toward him.  Joe, who had at one time been so proud of JC, stopped her with an outstretched hand.  It was just as well; JC didn’t think he could have taken her kindness at the moment, anyhow. 

“I don’t know what to say,” Joe said gruffly.  “It’s my job, and I don’t want to do it.  We love you, son, but you can’t stay.  We don’t like trouble around here, so a letter of resignation is fine.”  His eyes were full of tears, but his face was lined with anger.  JC nodded in response, anything to get it over with. 

“I’ll help him get his things,” Bev said as they all filed out, but JC shook his head, turning his back as he pretended to examine his shelves. 

“I can do it myself,” he said thickly, and didn’t wipe his face until he was alone behind the closed door. 

***

It didn’t take long to pack his things.  He didn’t want most of them anyhow, and his parents wouldn’t want any of his ugly college furniture in their guest house.  He took what he needed, praying he wouldn’t run into anyone he knew, and left his letter of resignation along with the key on the table.  He couldn’t stay, they had told him, and they were right.  He was supposed to spend Christmas with the Fatones, but that wasn’t an option now that they all knew he was the worst kind of sinner they could imagine; worse than a pastor who stole from the congregation and abandoned them in a state of financial ruin.

The worst part was that he’d done exactly what Chris had warned him against since the beginning.  Chris had tried to tell him he wasn’t right for this, had said he would end up hurting everyone, and he couldn’t bear to be around when Chris found out what JC had done here at this church he was supposed to be helping.  He hadn’t been ready.  He hadn’t been selfless enough.  He had just wanted something for himself. 

Still…he wanted to stay.  He wanted to see all of Justin’s performances, and be there for Joey’s wedding.  He wanted to see Trace graduate and become better than his upbringing.  He wanted to give everyone their Christmas presents, which was a stack of CDs tucked safely in the bottom of his suitcase.  He couldn’t understand how Lou had ever voluntarily left, because this town was the best thing that had ever happened to JC.

While he packed, he tentatively reached out in prayer.  He was surprised to find God right where he had left him, and it seemed like such a waste that he’d spent almost a year laboring for three hundred people and was right back where he’d started. 

“What the fuck are you doing?”  Chris slammed his car door and yanked the potted plant out of JC’s arms.  Lynn had given it to JC when Justin had stopped sulking around the house, and IC held out his arms, willing it to stay upright. 

“Chris!  Be careful!” he shouted.  It felt good to have something to yell about. 

“Not unless you tell me where you’re going!”  Chris waved the plant around dangerously, and JC followed it frantically with his eyes. 

“I’m going home!  I’m fired, okay?  I’m a disappointment, I made Joe cry, Chris!  And probably a lot more people.  You should’ve seen your mom’s face…God, I just…” he stopped, deflated, before glancing around nervously.  He didn’t want to see anyone; all he needed was for Lynn Harless to pull up and rip him a new one for being an evil influence on her son. 

“So you’re going home?  To that place where nobody gives a shit about you?  Oh, good idea.”  Chris was still yelling, teeth bared and his free hand flapping around.  “Leave the place where everybody fucking loves you, and go back there.” 

“They don’t want me,” JC said.  The wind was harsh against his cheeks, and he tucked his scarf into his coat.  “I don’t have a job.” 

“You’re the one who made me feel like nothing else mattered except us,” Chris said angrily.  “I told you this would happen, but you pushed for it.  I assumed that meant you were ready to handle the consequences.” 

“I didn’t think there would be any consequences,” JC protested.  “We didn’t do anything wrong!” 

“These are the consequences,” Chris snapped, but he caught up with JC and kissed his cold, wind-chapped lips.  “Everybody knows.  Not everybody approves, but you have me.  You have my mom, and yeah, you were right- she’s all weepy because of what happened, but she’s happy for us because I’m her son and I found this fantastic person who makes me happy.” 

JC sniffed.  “This is you happy?” 

“Yes.  Don’t I look fucking ecstatic?”  Chris transferred the plant into JC’s arms.  “Now go put this where it belongs.”

“And then what?” 

“Then we’ll go inside and wait for people to come around,” Chris said, a little more gently.  

JC snorted and clutched at the freezing pot.  “That might take a while.” 

“Then we’ll keep ourselves busy, right?”  He nudged JC, and quirked his eyebrow.  “Until they come around.” 

JC stepped onto the path to his apartment and took a few tentative steps before finding his faith and nodding, cautiously hopeful.  “Right,” he said.  “Until they come around.”