Chapter 21
chapter twenty-one
Oakland’s phone wouldn’t stop buzzing as she climbed the church steps, each vibration like a needle to the back of her neck. She didn’t have to check to know what the messages said.
They were worried, but mostly they were curious. It wasn’t like her to be late, especially when she had a class to teach.
She reached for her phone to silence it, but the screen flickered in her peripheral vision, message after message rolling in. She didn’t look. She just silenced it and shoved it back into her pocket.
She hesitated before reaching for the heavy wooden doors.
They swung open before she could touch them.
Derek nearly collided with her, eyes wild, mouth already moving. “Bitch, what the hell are you doing here?”
Oakland blinked at him, startled. “Um. Going to church? Why?”
He grabbed her arm and yanked her back toward the sidewalk. “Your sister is a cunt, that’s why.”
“Brother York,” she gasped in mock scandal, pressing a hand to her chest. “Language!”
Derek ignored her, still scanning the entrance like someone might be lurking in the shadows. “I’ve been texting you all morning.”
“I’ve been ignoring my phone.”
“Who does that?” he muttered, pulling her further away.
She dug her heels in, forcing him to stop. “Derek, what’s going on?”
He sighed, lowering his voice. “Kiley told.”
Oakland’s stomach clenched.
“She told everything,” he continued. “People are pissed. You’re a seminary teacher, and you know…” He gestured vaguely. “They think the gay might rub off.”
A hollow laugh slipped out before she could stop it. “Right. Because that’s how it works.”
“Look, I really think we should get out of here before someone?—”
She held up a hand, already exhausted. “Okay, let me just order a car. It’s too cold.”
For once, he didn’t argue.
The taxi hummed silently as it pulled up, its soft interior glow a stark contrast to the cold bite of the morning. Oakland slid in first, the synthetic warmth of the seats barely cutting through the tension in her back.
The drive home was quiet, save for the low murmur of news updates scrolling across the dashboard screen. Oakland kept her forehead against the window, watching the snow-lined streets blur past.
“This is total bullshit,” she muttered, kicking at the perfectly sterile carpet beneath her feet. “I didn’t even do anything.”
Derek hummed in consideration. “Are you saying your sister didn’t walk in on you and Christine post-fuck this morning?”
Oakland didn’t bother looking at him. “I didn’t sleep with Christine.”
Derek let out an exaggerated gasp. “Bullshit! Kiley said you two were half-naked.”
“Kiley is exaggerating,” she rolled her eyes. “I was exhausted. We fell asleep.”
“Boring,” he sighed dramatically. Then he smirked. “Still—funny, isn’t it?”
Oakland frowned. “What’s funny?”
“You dating such a lezzy lez,” he waggled his eyebrows at her.
She turned to him slowly. “Why is that funny exactly?”
Derek leaned back into his seat, grinning. “Honestly, I thought you’d hit it with another repressed Mormon girl. But I can see flannel lesbians being your type.”
“I wear flannel sometimes.” Her stomach twisted. “Could you tell we were, um, seeing each other at dinner?”
“Baby, please. We’ve known each other forever, and I’m not blind.”
The car pulled up to her apartment building, the dashboard flickering to display the cost of the ride.
Derek sighed. “What are you gonna do?”
Oakland let out a slow breath. “Probably just go back to bed.”
“I meant about church, bitch. What the fu?—”
“Oh.” She huffed out a laugh, dragging a hand through her hair. “I don’t know. I imagine Dad will be here any minute.”
Derek nodded like he’d already expected that answer. He hesitated, then softened just slightly. “You want me to come with you?”
“No,” Oakland leaned across the console and wrapped her arms around him. “He keeps trying to get me to date you. I don’t want to give him any ideas.”
Derek stiffened. “Ugh, gross.”
“Totally.” She squeezed him tighter. “Thanks for the getaway.”
She climbed out of the car, already bracing for what came next.
The inevitable knock at her door.
The questions.
The judgment.
The fallout.
* * *
The first knock hit like a hammer against Oakland’s skull. The second sent a jolt through her body. The third made her stomach twist itself into knots so tight she thought she might throw up.
She sat frozen at the kitchen table, fingers gripping the edge so hard her knuckles ached. Maybe he would go away if she stayed still and didn’t move.
No such luck.
The room felt too small, the air too thick. Sacrament ended twenty-five minutes ago, which meant her father came straight from church. No detours. No hesitation. That wasn’t good. That meant he was here on a mission.
The next knock wasn’t a knock at all. It was a full-bodied thud, something between a demand and a threat.
Oakland forced herself to stand. Her legs felt shaky beneath her. Her stomach turned. You didn’t do anything wrong, she told herself. You didn’t.
The door clicked open before her hand touched the handle.
She never should have given him a key.
Her father stood on the other side, shoulders squared, face hollowed out by exhaustion.
The bags beneath his eyes looked worse than usual, his skin pale and waxy.
He was usually a little sharper, every word and movement had a purpose.
But today, there was something sluggish in how he looked at her as if his body was moving half a beat behind his thoughts.
“Oakland,” he said, voice heavier than usual, “is someone here with you?”
The question nearly made her choke.
“No.” Her reply was quick and hesitant.
She wasn’t sure if she blinked, but suddenly, he was inside. He shut the door behind him, the latch clicking into place.
“Ok. First things first. Obviously, you are being temporarily excused from the seminary while this issue is investigated.” His voice was level, but something was off—something strained. “I thought we were past all of this, Oakland. I thought you got it under control.”
Her throat felt raw. Say something. Say anything.
“I do.” A lie. “What Kiley is saying isn’t true.”
She forced herself to meet his eyes. They were searching, waiting for cracks in her armor.
“Are you really lying to my face?”
Her breath hitched.
She could feel the answer clawing its way up her throat, demanding to be spoken. The truth would be so much easier. So much simpler.
“No.” She forced the word out, locking her jaw so it didn’t tremble.
Her father exhaled, rubbing his temple like he was nursing a headache. A flicker of concern tightened in her gut, but she shoved it down.
“So you’re saying you have never engaged in inappropriate behavior with that girl?”
The phrasing made her stomach churn.
Her body screamed at her to tell the truth. Just say it. Say it once and get it over with.
But she didn’t.
“No. She’s just a friend. A client.”
Lie.
Her heart pounded against her ribs.
“Oakland.” His voice dropped an octave. “I’m giving you one more chance to tell me the truth.”
She swallowed against the nausea rising in her throat.
This was it, the final moment.
She steadied herself. Lifted her chin. And for the first time, she looked her father in the eye and lied with everything she had.
“That’s the truth. I promise.”
The words tasted like metal.
Her father closed his eyes briefly, his jaw tightening like he was biting back something sharp. When he opened them again, his gaze was unreadable.
He let out a slow breath, then, in a quieter voice, “You haven’t… been doing anything else, have you?”
Her stomach twisted violently.
She knew exactly what he meant.
The memory of being fifteen in her previous bishop’s office hit her in the gut.
In the Mormon church, it wasn’t unusual for bishops to privately discuss the law of chastity with teenagers, probing into their private habits under the guise of spiritual guidance.
She hadn’t even fully understood what he was asking—only that it left her deeply uncomfortable.
Her face burned.
Her father couldn’t even say the words, but he expected her to answer.
She wanted to scream at him. She wanted to tell him it wasn’t his fucking business. But that wasn’t how this worked. That wasn’t an option.
So, she did what she was best at these days.
She lied.
“No.”
She forced the word out, sharp and clean.
Lie.
Lie.
Lie.
Her father sat back, rubbing his chest absently, his fingers pressing into the fabric of his shirt like he was trying to ease some unseen ache.
She should care. She should be worried. But she could barely breathe under the weight of her lies.
“I can see that you’re struggling,” he said carefully. “You’ve been battling this for years, but giving in to those thoughts will only make things worse.”
Something inside her cracked.
Those thoughts.
Like she was sick. Like she was some kind of pervert.
Her vision blurred. She clenched her hands together to keep them from shaking.
She was so tired.
Her entire body ached with it, the exhaustion sitting deep in her bones, pressing into her skull. Lying was supposed to make this easier. It wasn’t. It was only stretching the misery out longer.
She wanted this to be over.
She wanted?—
“You know, I still think Brother York could be a suitable partner,” he started, but he was cut off before finishing.
“Dad?” Her voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper.
He looked at her, waiting.
“If I had…” Oakland swallowed hard, her voice barely a thread. “If I had done the things Kiley said. If I wasn’t what you wanted me to be… would you still love me?”
Silence.
Not thoughtful. Not stunned.
Calculated.
Her father looked at her like she was a riddle he already knew the answer to. Like this was just another test she failed.
He folded his hands on the table as if preparing to pray. But when he finally spoke, it wasn’t with softness. It was with certainty. Doctrine.
“I will always love you, Kitten,” he said, the old nickname curdling in the space between them. “That doesn’t mean I will approve of the choices you make. Love and approval are not the same. Don’t confuse them.”
Her chest caved in a little.
“I love you enough to fight for your soul,” he continued, voice still maddeningly calm. “Even if it means you hate me for it. Even if it means letting you fall, so you remember what it feels like to crawl back to the truth.”
She stared at him, numb. “So if I don’t come back… if I don’t repent…?”
“Then you’re not my daughter in spirit,” he said simply. “And I will grieve you.”
The words hit like glass shattering inside her lungs.
He didn’t flinch. Didn’t even blink. “This lifestyle, this choice, is not compatible with salvation. You can’t have both, Oakland. You can’t. And I won’t lie to you the way the world will.”
She was frozen in her seat, stomach churning, throat raw.
It was like mourning her own funeral, while the person officiating looked her in the eye and smiled.
“I understand,” she whispered. Because what else could she say?
Her father braced a hand against the table as he stood, slower than usual, as if gravity fought him harder these days. But there was no frailty in his voice.
“I don’t want you seeing that girl again.”
The words hit like a verdict. Not a request. A command masked in disappointment.
Oakland didn’t answer. She couldn’t. The silence stretched between them, thick and unmoving.
He studied her for a moment longer. His jaw clenched so tight it looked like it hurt. His fingers curled tighter around the edge of the table. His breathing was just slightly off. Just enough for her to notice.
She should’ve asked if he was okay. But she couldn’t make herself care, not after that.
“I’m serious, Oakland.” His voice sharpened, slicing through the air. “This is the last I want to hear of it. That girl. This thing. This disgusting demon you’ve let into your life: It is dead. Do you understand me?”
Oakland’s spine stiffened. A strange, ringing pressure grew behind her ears.
She nodded. “I understand.”
Then he turned. He rubbed at his chest briefly, steadied his posture, and walked out.
The door slammed.
The sound rattled through the house like a warning shot.
And then, silence.
A silence so complete it screamed.
Oakland didn’t move. Couldn’t. Her arms hung limp at her sides, her face hot and burning with shame and rage and something much older, something deeper than either.
She blinked once. Twice.
Then, her legs buckled just slightly.
She forced herself toward the kitchen, one shaky step at a time. She opened the freezer and grabbed a cold spoon, pressing it under her eyes. The sting was sharp and grounding.
Deep breath in. Deep breath out.
But nothing worked.
She turned on the faucet, not because she needed water but because she needed noise. Something to drown out the echo of his voice. Something to make her feel like the walls weren’t closing in on her.
She gripped the counter so hard that her fingertips went numb.
The lies were supposed to protect her. To save her.
But all they did was hollow her out.
She dropped her head, eyes locked on the stream of water as if it held some answer. As if, if she stared long enough, the ache would dissolve with it. She wanted to disappear into that stream, slip down the drain, and become something shapeless. Something invisible.
“I need to end this. I can’t do this anymore,” she whispered into the stillness as if the air might finally listen.
And the silence, cruel as ever, had nothing to say back.
?