Covet Thy Neighbor

what it might have been like to fall for you. And I’m not sure which risk is more terrifying, to be honest.”
    He swallowed. “I thought . . . I didn’t think you felt that way.”
    “I’m not sure how I feel,” I whispered, because that inexplicably seemed like the only way to keep my voice from shaking. “Just that it hasn’t felt like a one-night stand since the beginning, and staying scares me as much as walking away.”
    His expression hardened again. “So all of that crap about our differences in beliefs, what was that? A smoke screen?”
    “It’s still . . .” I paused, trying to word this carefully. “It’s still something I’m not completely sure how to deal with. I’m not going to lie. But I think what I said and what I was afraid of—what I thought I was afraid of—might have been some misdirected self-preservation.”
    Darren’s brow furrowed.
    I hesitated, giving myself a chance to collect my thoughts. “As a friend pointed out while he was smacking me over the head with what an idiot I’ve been, someone with different beliefs is a perfect match for me.” Holding eye contact with Darren was difficult, but I made myself do it. “You have as much conviction about your beliefs as I do about mine. You’re willing to debate it and discuss it, and even though we disagree, you’ve never once made me feel inferior or like there’s something wrong with me.” I lowered my gaze to my hands in my lap. “Not even when I made you feel that way.”
    “Most of the time you didn’t,” he said, almost whispering. “That was one of the things I liked about you. We could talk from opposite ends of the spectrum, and still respect each other even if we didn’t see eye to eye.”
    “I do respect you, Darren. And what you believe.” I lifted my gaze again. “I’m sorry. I freaked out, and I hurt you. It wasn’t what you believed, it was my own hang-ups that threw everything off the rails.”
    “Well, my reaction . . .” He slowly ran his tongue across his lips. “There’s something I should probably tell you. It might explain why I was so upset about what you said.”
    I sat up a little, steeling myself. “Okay . . .”
    His Adam’s apple jumped. “I know you’re guarded because of what your parents did to you. And no one can blame you for that.” He swallowed hard. “But you’re not the only one who’s been hurt.”
    My heart dropped.
    “I think you need to . . .” Darren laced his fingers together in his lap and focused on them, furrowing his brow like they required deep concentration. “I think you need to understand why I came here. To Tucker Springs.” Darren finally raised his head and met my eyes. “Why I had to leave Tulsa.”
    Something twisted below my ribs. “Go on.”
    “I was the youth pastor for a church there for four years, and from the start, I figured it would be best to be on the up-and-up about my sexuality. I was dating someone at the time, and I didn’t want to have to hide him, or worry about blindsiding anyone.”
    “People didn’t like that?”
    Darren shrugged. “Some wigged out. Some didn’t care. And yeah, it annoyed me when they decided the youth group was large enough that I really should have an ‘assistant youth pastor.’ You know, the ‘assistant youth pastor’ who came to everything where I was with the kids.”
    “A babysitter?”
    “Basically. But she was good with the kids, and she was great to work with, so whatever. I made the best of it.” Then Darren took a deep breath, and as he let it out, he set his shoulders back like he was steeling himself against something. “We had four gay kids in the youth group. Four who were out, anyway. And I wondered about a couple of the others, but . . . definitely four. Anyway, that made people even more uncomfortable. Because somehow having them in a group led by a gay man was more dangerous than the teenage girls in the group led by the straight guy who was the youth pastor before me.” He rolled his eyes.
    “Sounds familiar,” I muttered.
    Darren shifted uncomfortably. “So, all the kids in the youth group had my email and my cell phone. They knew in no uncertain terms they could contact me, night or day, if they needed anything. Sometimes they called. Frustrated about something they couldn’t talk to their parents about, or just having a rough day.” He met my eyes. “You know what it’s like being a teenager.”
    I nodded. “Wouldn’t go back to those days for