Chapter 12:
Thursday arrived like a sentence Elias couldn't appeal.
Marco drove him to church in silence, one hand gripping the steering wheel, the other resting on the worn leather Bible in his lap.
Lucía didn't come. She'd hugged Elias too tightly at the door and whispered, "Listen with an open heart."
Elias wanted to scream that his heart was already wide open—and terrified.
The office of Pastor Raymond Lyle smelled like wood polish and coffee. Crosses lined every wall. Certificates of ministry framed his head like a halo.
Pastor Lyle rose as they entered, warm smile in place. "Elias. My boy."
Elias didn't answer. He sat stiffly in the chair across the wide desk.
Marco remained standing behind him, arms crossed.
Pastor Lyle folded his hands. "I hear you've been… confused, son."
Elias stared at a crack in the floor tile. "I'm not confused."
Marco interjected. "Elias, this is your pastor. Tell him the truth."
Pastor Lyle leaned forward, voice softening. "We all wrestle with temptation. The Enemy knows how to attack God's chosen. But there's healing in confession."
Elias clenched his jaw. "There's nothing to confess."
Pastor Lyle's voice darkened. "Son, this lifestyle—the sin of homosexuality—is a rebellion against the Lord's design."
"I'm not rebelling," Elias said. "I'm living."
Marco's hand landed on his shoulder, heavy. "Listen to Pastor."
Pastor Lyle opened his Bible. "Romans 1: 'God gave them over to shameful lusts…'"
Elias shut his eyes. He'd heard these verses a thousand times.
He heard them the day Jordan Morales disappeared from church.
He heard them whispered about the man in the choir who stopped coming.
He heard them until he'd memorized the rhythm of his own shame.
But now, another voice cut through the memory.
"I see you. The real you. And I'm not going anywhere."
Rowan's voice.
When Pastor Lyle finally stopped reading, Elias spoke quietly.
"I can't hate myself anymore."
Pastor Lyle blinked. "No one is asking you to hate yourself. Only the sin."
"It's not sin," Elias said, voice trembling. "It's me."
Marco's voice was ice. "We will not allow this to define you."
Elias stood up so fast his chair scraped the floor.
"Then you don't know me at all," he said.
Outside, the air hit him like freedom and fear tangled together.
Marco caught up, voice low. "Elias. Get in the car."
Elias didn't move. "I'm walking."
Marco grabbed his arm. "You're my son."
Elias pulled free. "Then act like it."
He turned and walked away.
Rowan found him an hour later, sitting on the curb outside the Walgreens across from church.
Rowan didn't say a word. Just sat beside him and leaned his head against Elias's shoulder.
Elias whispered, "I think my dad hates me."
Rowan replied, voice gentle and fierce: "Then he doesn't know what love is yet."
That night, Elias went home.
Marco didn't speak to him. Lucía hovered in the hallway, eyes red but silent.
In his room, Elias picked up his Bible, thumbed through the pages, and finally closed it.
He texted Rowan:
" I don't want to go back there."
Rowan answered:
"Then don't. You have choices. Even if it doesn't feel like it yet."
Elias stared at the screen until tears blurred the letters.
Because for the first time, he dared to believe Rowan might be right.