A Clean Break (Gay Amish Romance Book 2) (2 page)

He knew Mother wouldn’t understand his choice. He could write her a thousand letters, and it would never matter. He still heard the echo of her wail in church on Sunday before he and Isaac had run from Zebulon.

“Why does God punish me?”

It was the only time he could remember Mother showing such emotion, even when his brother and father died. To hear her dare question God’s will still made him shiver.

She deserved an explanation, but David could never tell her the truth about loving Isaac. He was an abomination in the eyes of the Lord and the church. He thought of the English word he’d heard in the movies—gay. Mother could never understand it. That he’d rejected the plain life was already undoubtedly a heartbreak for his family. If he told them who he really was…

His chest tightened. They could never understand. It was unthinkable. He imagined it going one of two ways—either they would do everything to convince him to repent and live a good Amish life, or they would shun him. Even if he wasn’t officially
Meidung
in Zebulon since he hadn’t followed church, his family could shut him out all the same.

Beside him, Isaac mumbled and shifted before settling back into sleep with a little rattle that wasn’t quite a snore. A line of drool spilled onto his pillow. David smiled to himself, again resisting the urge to hold Isaac close.

We’re really here
.

Watching Isaac, David shoved his thoughts deep inside. No matter how much he hated himself for abandoning Mother and the girls, he’d had to leave. He had no doubt he was going to hell, since without joining the church heaven was far out of reach. Never mind his multitude of other sins. But it was the only path he could take.

For so long he’d tried to be a good Amish man. But when it came time to give his vow to God and join the church, he’d faced the truth. On his knees in front of Bishop Yoder and all of Zebulon, David had said the only thing he could:
no
. To say yes would have been a betrayal not only of his heart and honor, but of Isaac.

And he would not betray his Isaac. Watching him, David again resisted the urge to pull him near and kiss him awake so he could see Isaac’s smile. After the accident, David had caused such misery when Isaac deserved only joy.

Even before they’d become lovers, working side by side each day had given David a new sense of peace. Even a new appreciation for carpentry. Isaac had been the one to show him what true happiness and companionship was. Exhilaration rushed through him at the thought that soon they’d work together again. He didn’t know how or where, but they’d make it. They’d build a life with new tools, piece by piece.

As he stretched his arms over his head, David wondered if Aaron was awake yet. The house felt still, so he didn’t think so. The bus hadn’t arrived until one-thirty in the morning, but Aaron had still picked them up at the station. Isaac and his brother had hugged each other for a long time by the car in the cold rain.

The city had seemed ghostly in the small hours, almost empty but for the lights peppering the glass and concrete. David had sat in the back of the car, craning his neck to see the tall shadows of buildings looming beyond the fog. He could hardly believe this place was real. It was a far cry from the little towns of Northern Minnesota.

They hadn’t spoken much on the drive to Aaron’s home—a townhouse, he’d called it—in a place in the city called Bernal Heights. There was so much to say, and David supposed they hadn’t known just where to start. It was still hard to imagine that Aaron was welcoming them with open arms even knowing the truth about their sin.

As the guest room brightened inch by inch, David wondered what it would be like to see his own brother again. For a minute, he let himself imagine that Joshua had only been lost to the world like Aaron. He could still hear the last words Joshua had said when he climbed out their bedroom window that night with a wink and a smile.

“Don’t wait up.”

David hadn’t, and he told himself it wouldn’t have made any difference—that even if he’d crept to Mother and Father’s room to whisper the truth, Joshua and those poor girls would have already been dead, caught in the current of the Ragman River. He told himself he hadn’t failed his brother with his misplaced loyalty and cowardice.

He wished he had a picture of Joshua to remember him by. It had been more than seven years, and Joshua’s sharp smile was growing soft around the edges in David’s mind. Would the memory of his mother and sisters fade too?

With another long look at Isaac, David tiptoed over the smooth wooden floor to the tall mirrors. He hadn’t shaved in days, and he rubbed a hand over his rough cheeks. He supposed he could grow a full beard if he wanted. A mustache, even. There would be no Amish beard hanging off the bottom of his chin now that he’d refused baptism. Or he could simply shave every day as he’d always done.

The choice was his, and he smiled faintly at the notion. His light blue eyes had been red-rimmed the last time he’d looked in a mirror—dirty with a jagged crack in the corner—in a bus station bathroom in Reno. David blinked at his reflection now. He was pale, and his dark brown hair was sticking up after going to sleep with it wet. He patted it down uselessly. It was growing over his ears in the Amish style, but now he was free to cut it as short as he liked. Maybe he could go to a real barbershop.

His gaze swept down the reflection of his body. Although he’d seen his face many times in the bathroom mirror at June’s, he’d never looked at himself without clothes on. It gave him a strange little thrill as he traced a finger over his chest, and the dark hair scattered there over his reddish nipples.

There was more hair leading down from his belly to his cock, which was half hard as usual when he woke up. He pulled down his foreskin lightly to look at the head, and a tingle shot up his spine. After a few tugs, he continued his exploration.

More hair sprinkled his thighs, and when he turned his back to the mirror and peeked over his shoulder, he was pleased to see his rear was round and tight, and overall he was muscular and lean. To be admiring his own body was sinfully vain, and strictly against the Amish rules, of course. But there was no one to stop or shame him here. Not about mirrors or pride or
anything
.

Now that he could do everything, David wasn’t sure what to do first. He watched Isaac in the reflection again, smiling to himself as Isaac smacked his lips and sprawled onto his back. Every time David had woken on the bus, Isaac had been peering out the window with his forehead against the glass. David wished they could’ve taken one of Isaac’s beloved trains to California, but the bus had been easier.

He’d tucked away the names of all the places they’d rolled through on their way—Fargo, Bismarck, Miles City, Butte, Rexburg, Idaho Falls, Salt Lake City, Battle Mountain, Sacramento, and a dozen more little towns and outposts. He wanted to go back and see them all one day. He wanted to see everything.

“Go see the world.”

David’s chest tightened at the memory of June driving them to Grand Forks that night. She hadn’t asked a single question, and had smiled so brightly, supporting him without judgment as she had since they’d met. He’d always thanked God that something good had come out of that terrible day.

Racing over the field to Father’s side, the corn stalks slapping against him. Gripping Kaffi with his thighs as they thundered through the trees to June’s. The sun-baked wood of June’s porch under him as he struggled to breathe, her calm voice talking to whoever answered nine-one-one, her hand solid on David’s shoulder
.

He wasn’t sure now how his later visits to June had gone from sipping lemonade to setting up a workshop there and borrowing her truck to taste the English world. He’d tamped down his curiosity for years, especially after Joshua. But bit by bit, something inside him had loosened the more times he visited June. She’d never pushed or judged.

And now here he was, more miles from home than he’d dreamed possible. In the mirror, he peered at June’s purple suitcase on the floor. He’d had a small collection of English clothes at his secret workshop at June’s farm that they’d changed into before leaving.

They’d left their hats behind at church when they ran, but inside the suitcase were their plain clothes. Clothes their mothers had made. Clothes they would never wear again unless they went back. David looked at himself, naked and free. No. They could never go back.

As the Greyhound had pulled up in the bitter January wind, June had held him close and said she loved him. He’d never heard his parents say that to him or any of his siblings in all his years. It just wasn’t their way to talk of such things. He knew Mother did love him, but to hear it from June had made him warm inside even as snow drove into their eyes.

He blinked at his reflection. He kept waiting to find himself alone in his bed in Zebulon—his mother and sisters buzzing around downstairs, lighting the lanterns. They were two hours ahead in Minnesota, and right now he’d be in the barn at his worktable, and one of the girls would have brought a snack soon—apple bread or sugar cookies.

Would old Eli Helmuth help with the men’s work around the place? Would he marry Mother and take care of the girls? How would they have enough money? Would they have everything they needed? David had to ask Aaron for a pen and paper to write them. Although when he imagined what he would say, his mind went blank.

He heard a muffled sound that was oddly familiar, and after a moment he realized it was water through pipes. Through a door beside the mirrored closets was the bathroom. In the tub there was a silver shower head you could lift in your hand and move all around while the water flowed endlessly like a waterfall. No heating up rainwater in the barn anymore, or tripping to the outhouse in the darkness.

Smiling, David listened to the distant rush of water and thought of mornings in the house back in Red Hills, when Joshua was young and happy. When
rumspringa
was just a faraway notion, and their family whole.

As the only two boys, he and Joshua had slept in narrow beds in the smallest room. The pipes in the wall were by David’s head, and each morning—even before the rooster crowed—he woke to the rush of water as their parents began the day. Joshua would remain burrowed under the quilt for as long as possible, able to sleep even if a herd of cows had broken their fence and thundered by.

After they’d moved to Zebulon and their world changed to one of outhouses and lugging buckets of water into a tub in the kitchen, for months David had missed the rush of water in the mornings. Eventually he’d stopped thinking of it. It was like anything, he supposed. With enough time, it would be forgotten.

Before long the staircase creaked with footsteps, and David pulled on jeans and a T-shirt. He’d have to start wearing some kind of underwear if he was going to wear pants with zippers every day.

After another long look at Isaac, he closed the bedroom door quietly behind him and paused on the landing. He could hear someone downstairs in the kitchen, and the smell of fresh coffee already wafted up. It was silent on the floor above where Aaron and his wife slept. Jen had been working overnight at the hospital, and David wasn’t sure if she’d come home yet.

He took a step, and jolted to a stop
. I didn’t say my prayers
. Morning prayers were such an automatic part of his routine in Zebulon—sliding to his knees by his bed before he was barely awake. Now he stood stock still at the top of the stairs, not sure which way to turn.

Would God even listen now that David had turned his back on the church? On the Lord Himself? And more than that, he’d just woken next to his lover. Though he knew he should beg forgiveness for their sins, he couldn’t. He wouldn’t truly repent in his heart, and he would sin again—gladly—before the day was out. So what was the point?

Yet it felt wrong not to pray at all. With a glance around, David dropped quickly to his knees on the landing. Closing his eyes, he prayed for guidance, and the welfare of Mother, the girls, Isaac, and Isaac’s family. He hoped that in these things, God would still be listening.

David was careful to be quiet on the stairs, the wood polished beneath his bare feet. The sun was up now, although the day was gray and wet. He peeked through the long window beside the door, and saw little more than fog. Steps led down to the street, and the red tail lights of a car glowed in the murk.

The main floor of the narrow townhouse had the same pale hardwood throughout, and the furniture was light as well, with green and purple cushions here and there. Tall windows made up one side of the living room, with an enormous television mounted on the wall nearby.

Most of the room was dominated by a lush wrap-around couch he thought was called a sectional, made in a pale beige. It had matching footrests he knew were ottomans. Then the space flowed into the dining room. David ran his fingers over the wide table, which was made of what he knew English people would call reclaimed wood. Pine, perhaps?

“It’s rustic.”

David jerked, turning to find Aaron on the other side of the white counter that separated the dining room from the kitchen. He smiled nervously, his heart skipping. “I like it.”

He knew Aaron had told Isaac he didn’t care that he was gay, and that David was welcome. But it was still hard to believe. Did Aaron
truly
not mind that David was sinning with his brother? As he tried desperately to think of something else to say, he wished he’d woken Isaac after all.

“Thanks. We wanted to mix up the modern look a bit. You could probably make something like it no problem.” He held up his mug. “Coffee?”

“Yes. Thank you.” David joined him in the kitchen, gazing at the stainless steel appliances and sleek white cupboards. Watery green tiles covered the wall by the wide sink beneath a window offering a view of a narrow garden and wooden deck with a round table and four chairs piled on each other. He touched the tiles tentatively. Glass, he thought.

Aaron chuckled as he poured the coffee. “This is probably the vainest kitchen you’ve ever seen, right?”