Losing Faith (13 page)

Cullen ran to him, wrapped his arms around him tightly, and led him to the boat. When they reached the cockpit, Cullen once again zipped them in against the raging storm and turned. When their eyes met, Abel said, “Help me. I’m so tired of running.”

ABEL WAS
soaked, numbed, and chilled down to his core, but he felt safe and warm in Cullen’s secure embrace. He heard Cullen’s reassuring voice in his ear. “It’s all going to be okay. I promise.”

Cullen’s voice was the only thing that saved him from breaking free and running. And running. And running.
No! I’m so tired of running. Isn’t that what I said?

Instead of running Abel tentatively brought his arms up, locked his hands behind Cullen’s waist, and held on tight, not allowing himself the opportunity to flee. He buried his face in Cullen’s neck and breathed for what seemed like the first time since Saturday night when he’d left this very boat.

After leaving Cullen, Abel had meandered through town and back to his church-owned house. He’d let himself in and walked through each empty room, listening to his steps echo through the bare halls. The house had once meant he’d finally had a place of his own. Much the same way he’d felt about the church. A home. But that had all changed when he realized he could no longer deny who and what he was. He’d tried for so long to block it out of his mind. He’d never acted on his desires and prayed to God day after day to take this burden from him, but his prayers were never answered. With each passing day, Abel had lost a little of himself until one man and one simple, stupid, innocent kiss had changed everything. One man and one kiss had breathed life back into Abel’s mundane closeted life, but that same man and kiss had also charted a course for the future that could no longer be denied. Cullen was now just a reminder of what he could never have. What his church would never tolerate. What his congregation would try to pray out of him.

The realization had hit Abel hard. His choices? Fight or flee. And of course being the coward he was, he’d chosen to flee. His only hope was that Cullen would give up on him and simply leave Southport by the time Abel had to return. But he hadn’t been prepared for the calls. The desperate, repeated calls. The worry so obvious in the man’s voice it had almost ripped Abel’s heart out. And then he’d received the call from Agnes questioning him about a visit by an Episcopal priest named Reverend Cullen Kiley, who claimed to know him. He’d panicked then. What had Cullen told Agnes about their friendship? Abel had made up some cockamamie story about a mutual friend with whom he’d gone to the seminary. It had seemed to appease Agnes for the time being, but if she questioned him further, the story would not hold up. And Agnes wasn’t the type to let anything go. Not much happened in Southport without her knowing about it, and she was very proud of that fact. And that’s when he’d lost it and finally called Cullen. He wanted Cullen to go, and what better way to do it than to lash out at him. And it would probably have worked if Abel hadn’t given in to his selfish needs and come back to Southport.

A flash of lightning brought Abel back to the moment. They both jumped. “Let’s get down below,” Cullen said.

Cullen led Abel downstairs, through the saloon, and into Cullen’s cabin. He picked up a candle off of the table, the dancing flame illuminating their way through the darkness. Abel watched silently as the reflection of the flames danced on the cabin walls. When Cullen stopped in the doorway of the master head and turned to him, Abel wanted to move, but he was so cold, shivering so badly it was as if his limbs weren’t working.

“We need to get you into some dry clothes.” Cullen peeled Abel’s jacket off and tossed it into the head, the weight of the soaked jacket making a thud when it hit the floor.

Abel couldn’t remember ever being so cold. He stood frozen in place as Cullen pulled his T-shirt over his head, exposing Abel’s bare chill-bump-covered chest. Cullen then dropped to his knees, and Abel lifted each foot as Cullen removed his sneakers and pulled off his wet socks.

It was as if he were no longer in control of his own body. Like he was outside of it somehow, watching the scene unfold in front of him. Cullen was on his feet again, unbuckling Abel’s belt, releasing the button on his khaki pants, unzipping them, and peeling them off.

Cullen towel dried Abel’s hair and body. “Don’t move.”

Cullen disappeared, and seconds later Abel felt a gentle vibration throughout the boat and heard a slight humming sound as the cabin lights came to life. Cullen returned, and Abel watched as he turned on the heat and then dug underwear, sweat pants, a sweatshirt, and a pair of socks out of several different drawers and then handed them to Abel. “Put these on.” He pushed Abel into the head and closed the door behind him.

When Abel emerged from the head, now fully clothed and starting to feel his blood circulating again, Cullen was bare chested and pulling on a pair of pajama bottoms. He looked over his shoulder. “You okay?”

“No. And I don’t think I’ll ever be okay again,” Abel said honestly.

Cullen walked over, again wrapped his solid arms around Abel, and held him tight. “You will,” he whispered. “We’ll figure this out.”

This time there was no hesitancy in Abel’s reaction. He lifted his arms and ran his hands across Cullen’s smooth muscular back. “You’re cold. You need a sweatshirt.”

But Cullen didn’t release him, and it took only a second for Abel to realize he liked the feel of Cullen’s muscles under his hands. He gently kissed Cullen’s neck. “You need clothing.”

Cullen released him, reached into the head, and lifted a long-sleeved T-shirt from a hook on the back of the door. He pulled it over his head, took Abel by the hand, and led him to the saloon. “Sit. I’ll make some coffee.”

“I’d prefer some of that bourbon if you have it,” Abel said shyly.

A reluctant smile tugged at Cullen’s lips. “I knew giving you bourbon was a mistake. Are you sure?”

Abel nodded. “I’m sure. If I ever needed a drink, it’s now.”

Cullen poured two glasses of bourbon and led Abel to the couch. Cullen sat and crossed his legs under him, his foot brushing Abel’s hand in the process. “My God, Cullen. Your foot is like a block of ice. Put your feet in my lap.”

Cullen hesitated.

“Now!” Abel rubbed his hands together to warm them and then took Cullen’s feet and rubbed them vigorously. They were both icy cold. After a few minutes, they felt a bit warmer to the touch, and Abel reached behind him and took a lap blanket off of the back of the couch and wrapped it tightly around Cullen. “There. That should keep you warm.”

“Thank you,” Cullen said eyeing Abel warily.

“I’m sorry,” Abel finally said.

“For?”

Abel thought.
What am I sorry for?
“Everything,” he said. “For running. For ignoring your calls and then blasting you when I did call you.”

“Did you really think I would tell anyone at the church what I suspected? What good would that do either of us?”

Abel hung his head. “Honestly? No. I wanted you to leave Southport, and the only way I knew how to make that happen was to hurt you or make you angry enough to hate me.”

“I could never hate you, Abel. But your idea worked. My plan was to pull out tomorrow morning.”

Abel looked away. He didn’t want Cullen to see the tears welling up in his eyes. But he had no one to blame but himself. After everything he’d done to make Cullen leave, did he have a right to ask him to stay?

Before Abel could answer his own question, Cullen slid his finger under Abel’s chin and turned Abel’s head until their eyes met. “I said my plan
was
to pull out tomorrow.”

“You’re not leaving?” Abel asked hesitantly, tears now flowing freely.

“Not now. Not unless you want me to.”

“No! Please don’t go.”

Cullen brushed the tears away with his thumb. “But what’s changed?”

“For starters,” Abel said, “that kiss changed everything for me. After I kissed you, I knew I could never go back. But I was scared. I figured if you left Southport, the temptation would leave with you.”

“What temptation?” Cullen asked.

But before Abel could answer the question, Cullen seemed to get it on his own. “Me?”

Abel nodded.

“Abel…,” Cullen said, looking away. When he looked back, Cullen’s usually brilliant blue eyes had gone flat. “I’m a dysfunctional mess who can’t move on with his life because he’s still mourning the loss of his husband almost two years later. What do I have to offer you but misery?”

“That’s just it,” Abel said, taking Cullen’s hand in his. He wasn’t sure if it was the bourbon or what, but he was feeling more confident in his convictions. “I’m a closeted gay Southern Baptist minister who’s never even been with another man. What do I have to offer
you
but misery? But yet I came back. And… you’re still here.”

Cullen didn’t respond.

It has to be the bourbon, but at this very moment, I don’t care.
Abel leaned forward and pressed his lips lightly against Cullen’s, and they were just as warm and soft as he’d remembered. When Cullen didn’t pull away, Abel ran his tongue along Cullen’s lips. Cullen opened slightly, and Abel pushed his tongue inside, kissing Cullen deeply and passionately. Abel had kissed girls on dates in high school, mostly because he had to, but this…. This was a real kiss. Blood was pumping through his veins at breakneck speed and chill bumps were forming all over his skin. It was like nothing he’d ever experienced. He reached his hand behind Cullen’s head and pulled him in closer. He needed him closer. Abel found a new sense of courage and acted on it. His tongue explored Cullen’s mouth, tasting the sweetness of the bourbon mixed with Cullen’s own sweetness. Abel was losing himself in the kiss when suddenly Cullen withdrew.

“I’m sorry. I’m not ready for this,” said Cullen.

At first the rejection was like a jab to the heart, but Abel remembered Cullen and Cole’s story. He knew Cullen was struggling, and maybe, just maybe, they could help each other move on. “I understand,” Abel said. “I shouldn’t have done that. I’m sorry.”

“It’s not you,” Cullen said quickly, taking Abel’s hand. “It’s just….”

“I know,” Abel said. “It’s Cole.”

Cullen didn’t respond, but he didn’t need to. From the look of pain on his face, Abel already knew he was right.

Cullen took a sip of his bourbon and looked at Abel. “I’m sorry.”

“Please don’t apologize,” Abel said. “I’ve been in the foster care system all my life, and I’ve had enough ‘I’m sorry’ to last a lifetime. ‘I’m sorry your mother didn’t want you.’ ‘I’m sorry no one adopted you.’ ‘I’m sorry this foster home isn’t going to work out.’ ‘I’m sorry those people hit you.’ ‘I’m sorry you aged out of the system.’ You see, Cullen, I’m done with apologies. I’ve had way more than my share.”

To his credit, Cullen said nothing, but seconds later Abel once again found himself wrapped in Cullen’s embrace. Abel closed his eyes and melted into Cullen’s secure hold.
Being in Cullen’s arms must be what it feels like to have a real home. To really belong somewhere.

“It feels good to be held,” Abel said. “So safe and secure. Something I never had growing up.”

“It does feel good,” Cullen said. “It’s been so long for me, I’d almost forgotten.”

Abel nuzzled down against Cullen’s body and rested his head on Cullen’s chest. “Can I share something with you?”

“Sure,” Cullen said.

“This is a first for me.”

“What’s a first?”

“Being held like this,” Abel clarified.

“You’ve never been held?”

“Not really,” Abel said. “My foster parents were mostly in it for the money. I mean… they’d kiss me on the top of my head and squeeze my shoulders every now and then when the social worker came around, but other than that, I was nothing more than a paycheck. I had a roof over my head and food in my stomach, and at the time I thought that was more than I deserved.”

Cullen sighed and tightened his grip on Abel.

Abel raised his head. “Don’t get me wrong. I learned much later when I became a pastor that there are some wonderful foster families out there. Unfortunately, those families weren’t in the cards for me. I never saw any of them until I’d aged out of the system.”

“I’m so sor—” Cullen stopped midsentence. “I almost apologized again.”

“I know. It’s okay.”

“That must have sucked.”

“The good thing is, you can’t miss what you never had,” Abel said. “But now that I’ve had it, you’ve ruined me for the rest of my life.”

Cullen squeezed him a little tighter. “You’re a wonderful man, Abel. Now that you’re embracing your true self and beginning to live the life you’re meant to live, you’re gonna find more love than you ever imagined.”

Abel didn’t know what to say. And then he thought about the church. “You know, at one time I thought the church and God was what it felt like to have a home. And over the years, both have given me a sense of belonging that I’d not experienced growing up, but looking back now, it never really felt real. Secure.”

“Maybe because you were using the church as something to hide behind.”

“What do you mean?” Abel asked. “Are you saying my faith isn’t real?”

“No. That’s not it at all,” Cullen said. “But you joined a religion that you knew was not accepting of homosexuality and spent the better part of your adult life praying to be straight.”

“That’s true,” Abel agreed. “I knew at a very young age I was different. And when I reached puberty, I knew what being different meant. The only problem was, I was never secure enough in my life to share it with anyone. I always thought if I told one of my foster parents I was gay, they would just send me back. I didn’t have the best of homes, but at least I had one. So I turned to my faith. I read the Bible and prayed for God to save me.”

“Oh, Abel,” Cullen said. Abel detected the crack in his voice. Cullen waited a few minutes and then spoke again. “None of this means your faith in God is any less real. It got you through some pretty rough times, and to me that’s what faith is. Believing in something you can’t see or touch. Something that gives you hope. In the short time I’ve known you, I believe you have the calling and the temperament to be a wonderful spiritual leader. You just have to find the right church.”