✰ 𝙲𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝟷𝟷: 𝙶𝚘𝚍 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚜 𝚢𝚘𝚞, 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚎𝚗𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑 𝚝𝚘 𝚜𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞.
cw: smut, p in v unprotected, religious themes
✰ 𝙲𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝟷𝟷: 𝙶𝚘𝚍 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚜 𝚢𝚘𝚞, 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚎𝚗𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑 𝚝𝚘 𝚜𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞.
“God loves you, but not enough to save you,” Roy said.
His arms spread wide, palms turned upward. The chapel held its breath. Men in pressed shirts sat rigid. Women, backs straight, hands folded in their laps.
No one laughed. No one questioned. They simply nodded.
I looked at my father. His gaze never left Roy. Chin slightly lifted, he listened for something beyond the spoken words. His hand found my knee, a light pat, twice. Approval, given without a glance. I smiled, lacing my fingers through his, holding on.
Roy moved as he spoke, slow, deliberate steps across the small platform.
The bible remained open in one hand, though his eyes never touched its pages.
“People think love means protection,” he continued. “Think it means safety. That if you do right, if you walk the path laid out for you, nothing bad’ll touch you.” He paused, his eyes sweeping over the congregation. “But that ain’t what love is.” His boots echoed softly against the wood as he took another step. “Love is purpose. It’s knowing your place in the world god built and standing in it. Even when it hurts. Especially when it hurts.”
A few heads dipped lower. I didn't.
“Because pain– ” he gestured outward, toward the windows. “ –pain is how you know you’re where you’re supposed to be. It’s how you know you belong to something bigger than yourself.”
The word settled in the room.
He spoke of family then. Of trust.
Of a future not chosen but given, like an inheritance, like land. Something not questioned. Something earned by staying.
I’d heard it before, not all at once, but in pieces. At the dinner table. In the fields.
“And the ones who understand that,” he said, “the ones who accept what they’ve been given and don’t try to run from it, those are the ones god favors.” His gaze lifted, finding Gator first. His jaw tightened when Roy looked at him. His shoulders straightened. Then Roy’s eyes found mine, just for a second.
The service moved as it always did. People stood. Wood creaked. Fabric shifted.
Gator stepped in behind me as we lined up for the blessing. His hand found my waist without hesitation. I didn’t move away.
When my turn came, I stepped forward, bowing my head.
Up close, Roy felt bigger.
Not physically, not really. But the space around him seemed to close in. Everything narrowed to just him and whatever he decided to say.
“See you after,” he murmured.
The chapel emptied in pieces. Voices returned slowly. Boots scraped on wood. Doors opened. Light shifted as bodies moved through it.
I stayed. When I looked up again, the room was almost empty.
Roy remained, standing near the front, flipping through his bible like he searched for something he already knew by heart.
“It’s been a while since your last confession, kid,” he said without looking up.
He closed the book with a soft thud and finally looked at me. “What do you want to tell me?”
I opened my mouth. “I… I– ”
Nothing came out. Not because there was nothing there, but because I didn’t know what counted.
He watched me for a second, then smiled.
“C’mon,” he said. “There must be something.”
I looked down at my hands. They remained folded. “I don’t think I’ve done anything wrong.”
Roy hummed softly, unconvinced. “No?”
Another pause. Then he stepped closer.
“You ever think,” he said, his voice low now, “that doing things right ain’t always the same as doing things well?”
I frowned slightly. He continued before I could answer.
“You’ve always been… capable,” he said. “Reliable. You don’t scare easy. You see what needs doing before anyone has to tell you.”
Something in my chest tightened. Compliments from Roy always sounded a little like instructions.
“But capability’s only part of it,” he continued. “What matters is what you do with it. Where you place it.” His eyes didn’t leave mine. “This ranch,” he said, gesturing vaguely toward the outside, “this life... it needs people who understand responsibility. Not just the work. The weight of it.”
“I know you do.” He smiled again. “If I had two of you,” he said lightly, “I wouldn’t have to worry about a thing.”
Something in the way he said it made my stomach tighten.
“I wish I had you at my right hand,” he added. “Especially with your father getting older.”
I swallowed. “My dad’s fine.”
“I didn’t say he wasn’t.”
Silence again. Then he stepped back, just enough to break it. “Go on,” he said. “You’re doing good. Just don’t forget what all this is for.”
I nodded, turned, and walked toward the door. At the threshold, I glanced back.
He stood exactly where I’d left him, bible in hand.
The light from the window behind him haloed his frame, turning him into something almost holy.
Outside, the air was hot.
Gator leaned against his patrol car, a toothpick in his mouth, one boot crossed over the other as if he’d been there the whole time. He straightened when he saw me, a smile spreading across his face. I didn’t think. I walked straight to him, grabbed his jaw, and kissed him quick before I could change my mind. He let out a soft laugh against my mouth.
“Don’t have much to confess.”
He tilted his head, the toothpick shifting from one side of his mouth to the other. “You sure about that?”
I didn’t answer. He opened the passenger door for me instead. I slid in. He circled around, got behind the wheel, and started driving before I could ask where we were going.
Gator’s fingers drummed on the steering wheel.
“So,” he muttered, steering with one hand while the other searched his pocket for the vape. “What did he want?”
I turned my head, watching the fence posts blur past. “You know what he wanted.”
"Yeah, well," Gator huffed a laugh. “What’d you tell him?”
Gator snorted, exhaling a cloud of sweet watermelon vapor. He glanced at me. “Good.”
The gravel road seemed to stretch forever, framed by fences and the endless, wind-whipped prairie grass. Gator drove like the road belonged to him, the patrol car leaned hard into every curve. The engine groaned, but he just pressed harder on the accelerator.
“You’re going to put us in a ditch,” I said. My hand, without thinking, went to the dash.
He merely grunted and the car lurched into another curve, tires spitting loose rock. His knuckles whitened against the steering wheel.
“Dont say anything about my driving,” he muttered. His free hand settled on my thigh.
“Hard not to when my life keeps flashing before my eyes,” I shot back, my gaze fixed on the landscape.
“Relax. I drive better with one hand anyway.”
My hand pushed lightly against his arm. “You’re such an asshole.”
His grip on my thigh tightened, his thumb moving in slow circles just above my knee.
We went back and forth like that, the entire drive.
A constant push and pull we’d perfected over years. Neither of us meant any of it, not really. It was just the way we spoke, the way we existed in each other’s orbit.
The creek came out of nowhere.
Trees rose in a dense thicket, greener than anything else for miles. Clear water caught the sunlight. The air itself shifted, growing cooler.
He pulled the patrol car off the gravel, parking it under the shade of a cottonwood.
“Really?” I asked, stepping out of the car. My eyes swept over it. Nothing had changed. “Here?”
He leaned against the car door, his arms crossed over his chest, watching me. “What?”
I shook my head. "I haven't been here since I was sixteen," I said quietly.
The place looked exactly the same.
And for a second, so did every memory attached to it.
He looked at me, like he was trying to figure something out.
“Bet you came here a lot,” I said, smiling slightly.
“Well. Yeah. But not like that.”
We walked down toward the water, the ground growing softer, spongier underfoot. The scent of pine and damp earth grew stronger. His hand found my waist again, guiding me without asking. Lately, it always seemed to end up there.
We sat on a large rock near the edge of the creek, its surface cool beneath the thin fabric of my dress. The water flowed with a gentle murmur.
He picked up a flat, grey stone, turning it over and over in his fingers, his gaze fixed on the water. With a flick of his wrist, he sent it skipping across the surface.
“My mom used to bring me out here,” he said suddenly, his voice low, almost a whisper. He didn’t look at me, his eyes still fixed on the water.
I glanced at him. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” he repeated. He tossed another stone, a harder throw this time, the splash louder. “I hate that I can’t remember anything.”
I nodded. The wind rustled through the leaves above.
“You ever think about leaving?” he asked, his voice still low, still not looking at me.
The question caught me off guard. It felt too big for a place like this.
“All of it.” His gaze swept, vaguely, over the trees, the water. The ranch. The land.
I shrugged. A cold knot formed in my stomach.
“Why would I?” The words came out automatically.
He didn’t answer. He just picked up another stone, his fingers tracing the smooth, cool surface, then sent it arcing into the water.
Neither of us said anything for a while.
Somewhere farther downstream, a bird called out once and then fell silent again.
I stood. My fingers went to the buttons of my dress, undoing them one by one. The fabric, soft and worn, slipped from my shoulders, pooling at my feet. I stepped out of it, then kicked off my shoes.
He stood too. A slow smile spread across his face. Then he pulled his shirt over his head, his movements deliberate, unhurried. The fabric, a tight black t-shirt that always clung to his chest, stretched taut with the movement of his muscles.
I hated that shirt, hated how good he looked in it.
My gaze traced the line of his chest as the shirt came off. He unzipped his camo pants, letting them fall around his ankles before stepping free.
He moved first, wading into the water. Ripples spread around his legs. The sun caught the water on his skin, making it shine.
He turned and extended a hand toward me. The water climbed from my thighs to my waist, cold enough to steal my breath.
The mud squished between my toes with every step.
The day's dust, Roy's words, the weight of everything waiting for us back home.
For a moment, the water washed it all away.
My nipples, already taut from the chill, hardened further.
I looked at Gator. Water swirled around his hips. His hand, when it finally met mine, was surprisingly warm, a contrast to the icy current that swirled around us.
He pulled me forward. My body collided with his. His hands found my waist, pulling me even closer until no space remained between us.
He lowered his head, his lips finding mine, a bruising, hungry kiss that left no room for thought. His tongue plunged into my mouth. My hands tangled in his hair.
The creek, the trees, the rest of the world faded into the background.
His fingers, still at my waist, slid lower, pressing against the curve of my ass, pulling me tighter against his erection. A low moan escaped my throat, lost in the intensity of the kiss.
He broke contact, just for a moment, his breath hot against my ear.
“You’re so good, baby,” he murmured. “Always so good for me.”
His hands moved again, slipping beneath the waistband of my underwear, pushing the thin fabric aside.
A gasp tore from my throat. The creek was freezing. His hand wasn't.
He worked me with his fingers, slow and deliberate, then faster, pressing into the sensitive peak, circling, teasing, pulling me closer to the edge. I barely noticed the cold anymore. My legs, suddenly weak, wrapped around his waist, pulling him in, desperate for more. My hips instinctively began to grind against him.
“Tell me what you want,” he whispered, his lips grazing my jaw, then my neck.
“You,” my voice barely a whisper above the sound of the creek. “I want you.”
He pulled his fingers away, just for a second. The sudden absence of his touch felt unbearable. Then, with a groan that tore from his chest, he pushed into me, a slow, deliberate movement that stretched me as he settled deeper against me. My muscles clenched around him, adapting, molding to his form.
I cried out, a muffled sound against his shoulder, burying my face against his damp skin. His hips began to move, slow and steady. Water splashed around us with every movement.
“Look at you,” he breathed, his voice ragged. His eyes fixed on my face. “So wet. So tight. You’re perfect.”
His chest hair, slick with water, brushed against my breasts, the sensation sending a shiver through me.
My nails dug into his shoulders, leaving marks on his skin. I met his thrusts, matching his rhythm. My legs, still wrapped around his waist, tightened, pulling him even deeper.
“Say it,” he urged. His eyes burned into mine.
His cock, thick and full, stretched me until I could think about nothing else. The air pushed from my body with each thrust.
“So good,” I choked out, my hips bucking against his. “You feel so good.”
My head was thrown back, my throat exposed. I could feel the intense heat building, a pressure in my belly, a throbbing between my legs.
He groaned, and thrust harder, faster, driving me over the edge. My body convulsed, a wave of pure sensation washing over me, the climax echoing through the water. My internal muscles clenched, milking him, drawing him deeper. My hips arched, a final, desperate movement as the world dissolved into white noise.
His body tensed, a final, powerful thrust, and then he collapsed against me, his breath coming in ragged gasps, his hot cum filling me. Its warmth spreading deep inside.
When it was over, he stayed inside me for a moment, both of us breathing hard, foreheads pressed together, the water lapping gently around us.
The world had narrowed to our breathing, our heartbeats, and the creek moving around us.
He stirred, a low rumble emanating from his chest. His fingers, still tangled in my hair, gently stroked my scalp. “I remember that day,” he said quietly.
It took me a second to catch up.
I hadn't been thinking about the past. I hadn't really been thinking at all.
“The last time you came here.”
I pulled back slightly, the cool water rushing in between us, a sudden chill against my skin. His eyes held mine.
“You were with that guy,” he continued. “Paul.”
I huffed a laugh. The memory returned. Paul. The name felt distant somehow.
“He was talking too much,” Gator said, “didn’t like what he was saying.”
“What was he saying?” My voice was barely a whisper.
Gator shrugged. The water rippled around his arms.
I knew better than to push. The warning in his eyes was clear.
But I also remembered the way Paul showed up to school the next day, his lip split, an ugly purple bruise blooming under his eye. The way he wouldn’t look at me again after that, wouldn’t speak my name. The way he avoided me, his gaze always sliding away.
We left the water when the air grew cooler and the scent of wet earth drifted through the trees. He helped me out, his hand steady at my elbow.
He helped straighten my dress once I'd pulled it back on, his fingers brushing my skin. He dressed quickly, becoming Deputy Tillman again piece by piece.
He took my hand, his fingers lacing with mine, and pulled me toward the dense line of trees, away from the creek bank. The ground here was drier, covered by fallen leaves and pine needles.
“There’s something,” he said.
We stopped in front of an old tree, its bark rough and scarred.
Names crisscrossed the trunk. Some had nearly disappeared beneath years of growth. Others looked fresh, carved deep into the wood.
He pointed, his finger tracing a set of letters.
I stared at it. The letters were shallow, almost erased by time and the elements.
A strange, hollow ache settled in my chest.
“I hate that I don’t remember it.” His fingers brushed over the letters, as if he could pull the memory back if he touched it long enough.
“I don’t think she liked me,” he said.
“What? Gator. She was your mom.”
“Yeah,” he said, his gaze still fixed on the faded letters. “And she still left.”
The words were quiet, but they carried the weight of years, of a wound that had never truly healed.
For a second, all I could hear was the creek.
“People leave,” I said. “That doesn’t mean– ”
“Roy’s not that bad,” I said, softer now.
The words came automatically.
A truth I'd been taught to believe.
He laughed. “Yeah,” he said, turning his head to meet my gaze. “With you.”
“The perfect girl, the perfect shot,” he added.
Silence stretched between us. The wind moved through the leaves overhead.
“I just… did what I had to,” I finally managed, my voice small.
It was the only defense I had, the only explanation I could offer.
“For my dad. For the ranch.”
“For him,” Gator said, his voice cutting through my words.
I hated that he wasn't wrong.
“God,” he continued. “I used to hate seeing you around him. Always behind him. And he would teach you stuff he never taught me.”
We stood there a little longer than we should have, the weight of his words pressing down on me, on us.
Neither of us knew what to say after that.
Then he reached for my hand again, his fingers intertwining with mine.
Even though something in me, small, quiet, easy to ignore, had started to shift.
Like a fence post, just slightly off-center. Like a road that no longer quite led where it used to.
I didn’t name it. Not yet.
I just followed him back to the car, the scent of pine and damp earth still clinging to my skin.
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