Chapter 18
Silas
The folding chairs were crooked again.
I could’ve fixed them myself—hell, I should’ve—but June had that look in her eye, the one that said she had a vision and nobody else’s opinion mattered, not even mine.
So I kept my mouth shut and adjusted the cross on the pulpit instead, pretending I didn’t feel like my heart was about to give out just from watching her…
…and, of course, trying to ignore the fact that we’d had sex on the altar just a few feet away.
More than once, at this point.
We’d spruced up the fellowship hall for the event, and June was running around to chat with all the volunteers, introducing herself with that winning smile she seemed to put on so easily.
She was wearing a white—or, as she’d corrected me earlier, eggshell—wrap dress that fluttered a bit to show too much thigh when she walked fast enough.
She was walking fast…so I was seeing a lot of thigh.
And I was wondering if I would survive the afternoon without pulling her into a supply closet.
She leaned over a table to help Francine organize the silverware baskets, and I caught a flash of that long stretch of leg again—lean and freckled and currently making it impossible to remember how sentences worked.
I looked away…looked back. Looked away again and muttered a quiet prayer under my breath, something along the lines of Lord, deliver me from wrap dresses.
“You okay there, big brother?” Beau’s voice cut in from behind me.
I didn’t even turn around. “I’m fine.”
“Funny, because you’re starin’ at June like she’s a pork chop and you ain’t eaten in six days.”
I finally turned then, just enough to glare at him. “I’m helping.”
“Uh huh.” Beau crossed his arms and looked past me toward the fellowship hall, where June was now standing on tiptoe to reach a box on the top shelf of an ancient hutch. “Sure seems like you’re helpin’. Specifically your blood pressure.”
I sighed and adjusted the little tablecloth on the card table nearest me. “She’s been runnin’ herself ragged all week. I’m just makin’ sure she doesn’t…fall. Or pass out.”
Beau smirked. “You always stare at people’s thighs when you’re concerned about their safety?”
I groaned, giving him a withering glare. “It was bad enough when Whit and Delilah showed up and started ribbing me,” I told him. “Now you’ve gotta hop onboard too?”
“Hey,” Beau said, punching me playfully in the shoulder. “It’s just fun to see my big brother in love—or, I guess, another big brother.”
I raised an eyebrow. “If things keep going this way…I guess you’ll be next on the chopping block, huh?”
Beau snorted. “Me and who? Nah…I think Milo takes up more than enough space in my life. Me and my dog will be just fine alone.”
“Tell that to every single woman at this potluck who’s been eyein’ you,” I said, looking around. “Ever since Mabel told the whole town me and June were an item…well, it’s like chum in the water, ain’t it?”
“I don’t see a single girl at this event that’s under the age of sixty,” Beau deadpanned.
I gestured toward a blue-haired lady organizing flowers near the entryway. “What about her?”
Beau scowled. “That’s Tammy Jo Osborn…she’s ninety.”
“Rude.”
“She also has a husband.”
“Then she’s got taste and ambition.”
Beau tipped his head in the opposite direction, and I followed his gaze to find Whit and Delilah setting out silverware on the buffet table. They looked like punk rockers in their Sunday best—Delilah in a slinky green dress and Whit in jeans and a battered black henley.
“Hey—if it’s open season on the Wards now, why the hell can’t Whit take the heat?” Beau muttered.
“Because Whit doesn’t have a damn job,” I chuckled. “And because we both know he’s been head over heels for Delilah since before he could tie his shoes.”
“Yeah…” Beau said, laughing with me. “Guess you’re right. But I’m still not gettin’ hitched anytime soon.”
I raised my eyebrows. “We’ll see.”
We stood there for a minute, taking it all in—the warmth of the fellowship hall, the mingling scents of barbecue and casseroles, the hum of voices and laughter as neighbors trickled in. It didn’t look like it had two months ago, before June came back.
It looked like home.
It looked like a church.
“I think we might actually pull this off,” I murmured.
Beau clapped me on the back. “We? No, dude—you were just staring at thighs. June pulled this off.”
I couldn’t argue with that.
When I turned to find her again, her eyes met mine from across the room like she’d been looking too. She gave me the smallest smile—just a flicker at the corner of her mouth—but it knocked the wind out of me all the same.
God help me, I loved that woman.
I was still watching her when she headed our way, weaving between tables as more and more people filtered in. She looked flushed but bright-eyed, a little overwhelmed in the way only true extroverts did—like it energized her.
Beau leaned in. “You want me to give y’all a minute? You seemed pretty busy mentally measuring her inseam.”
I elbowed him. “Go make yourself useful.”
Beau snickered, but wandered off, probably to go flirt with someone’s grandma. A second later June stepped up beside me, a few stray curls falling out of her braid. She looked up at me with sparkling eyes. “Okay…I think we’re actually ready! I’m ready, at least. Maybe.”
“You’re more than ready,” I said, reaching out to touch her arm. “You pulled it together. The place looks amazing.”
She glanced around like she wasn’t sure whether to believe me. “You think so?”
I nodded. “I think it looks like a church again.”
She leaned into me just a little, shoulder brushing mine. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”
“I didn’t do much,” I said. “Unless you count the moral support.”
June laughed, and the sound of it went straight to my chest. “I don’t know…you did more than a little work sanctifying the altar, too.”
I cleared my throat. “Can’t just say things like that out loud, Reverend.”
She smirked. “Pretty sure I can say whatever I want in my church.”
“Well, technically it’s my church.” I paused, looking down at her. “But I’d share it with you.”
She stared at me for a moment…then stood on her toes and kissed my cheek. “That’s good,” she whispered. “Because I’m not going anywhere.”
June lingered for another moment, her fingers toying with the hem of her dress like she wasn’t quite ready to move. Then she took a breath, squared her shoulders, and looked up at me with the same fire she’d had the night we cleansed my bedroom.
“I should go greet some more folks,” she said. “Delilah’s probably traumatizing someone already.”
I smiled. “And we wouldn’t want her to have all the fun.”
June winked, stepped away, and disappeared into the crowd—stopping every few steps to smile, to shake a hand, to beam like the church had always been hers.
I stood there for a beat, letting myself breathe it in…
the buzz of conversation, clinking dishes, community.
I’d been ready to let this place go…to burn it to the ground, maybe.
But now? Now it felt like something was coming back to life.
I moved forward just enough to lean on the doorway from the fellowship hall, looking toward the double doors of the church. A warm draft passed through the space, stirring the hymnals stacked by the entryway, fluttering the blank name tags on the welcome table.
Then—
Bang!
A thud cracked against the stained-glass window in the steeple, directly above me. I flinched, jerking toward the sound just in time to see black feathers floating down the outside pane.
A crow.
Or…what was left of one.
“What the hell…” I muttered, stepping out of the doorway to look out through the window on the ground floor. I saw the bird in seconds—still on the ground, dead.
A bad omen, whispered something low in my gut. A sign…something that I needed to protect June from.
And that was when I heard Delilah’s voice rise about the din.
“You need to get the fuck out of here, asshole.”
Heads turned; conversation stuttered and dropped off.
My spine snapped straight.
Delilah stood near the welcome table, a plastic knife in her hand like she was going to cut someone with it. June looked confused, though she was quickly getting an understanding of what was going on.
And standing at the threshold, calm as a snake in the grass, was Abel Trent.
He looked the same as he had all those years ago—sharp suit, slicked-back brown hair, and a too-bright, too-wide smile. Behind him were three more figures, men in white button-ups and slacks. All of them radiated a kind of twitchy righteousness I knew too well.
The Remnant Fellowship…resurrected.
My jaw clenched as I stepped out from the shadow of the doorway, striding quick as I could to the front door, to get between June and these men. I could feel it in my bones—the shift in the air, the static at the back of my neck.
Something wasn’t right. Something wasn’t safe.
The tall man behind Abel moved first, reaching into a satchel and pulling out a handful of neatly folded pamphlets, featuring red ink on cream paper. The title at the top was bold enough for me to read from ten feet away.
THE FINAL HARVEST:
A Revival of Spirit, Fire, and Truth.
My stomach dropped.
Abel held one out like a party favor. “Evenin’, folks. We’re hostin’ a tent meeting down off Pine Hollow Road this weekend. Thought we’d extend a warm invitation to anyone ready to step back into the light.”
Delilah’s jaw clenched. “You can choke on your invitation, Trent.”
He just smiled wider. “Still got that sweet mouth, huh?”
Whit took a half-step forward like he was ready to bury Abel right there in the welcome table. I couldn’t blame him. My hands had already curled into fists, almost eye to eye with Abel, and it was taking everything in me not to throw this man out on his sanctimonious ass.
And then—before I could speak—June touched my arm.
Just a light graze. But it stopped me cold.
Her voice was steady, calm, but her eyes…those blue eyes burned. “It’s okay,” she said softly. “Let them come in.”
I turned to her, stunned. “June…”
“If they’re here to cause trouble, they’ll show themselves,” she said. “But if they’re just passing through—handing out flyers, talking about God—then let them. We’re not afraid of a little light, are we?”
I could’ve kissed her. I could’ve screamed. I could’ve dragged Abel out by his collar and prayed afterward for forgiveness.
But the conviction in her voice made it impossible to argue.
She stepped forward, extending a hand to Abel with the kind of serene smile that felt downright impossible. “You’re welcome to take a plate and stay awhile. We’re rebuilding something special here.”
Abel took her hand—too eagerly, like a man thinking he’d won something—and shook it once. “God bless you, Miss Fontenot,” he said.
June just kept smiling.
“It’s Reverend,” she said, her voice still smooth, still sweet. Then she reached out to grasp his hand with her left as well, making sure he saw the healed snakebite. “But you can just call me June.”
Abel’s eyes flicked down to her wrist.
I saw the recognition hit him—his grip faltered for just a second when he saw those twin scars, framed by the rosary.
June didn’t blink.
She didn’t back down.
She just let him look. Let him know.
And then she pulled her hand away gently, turning to me like he wasn’t even there.
“Silas,” she said, “I think we’re about ready to get this shindig started.”
I nodded, but my eyes never left Abel as he finally stepped inside.
He didn’t speak again—not to me, not to her.
Just followed the smell of barbecue like any other guest, not knowing he’d already walked straight into the lion’s den.