Face the Music Read online

  “What are you wearing, child?” Donna asks Elliot behind me, and I cringe.

  You can force a girl to her closet, but you can’t make her wear anything she doesn’t want to. Mismatched knee socks, unicorn pajama shorts, and a Christmas sweater from two years ago was what she wanted.

  I twist open the door and paste on a friendly smile. One that I hope doesn’t look too nervous, but not too relaxed either. “Good morning, I’m sorry I’m a little late.”

  There are two DOEE representatives—one woman, one man, both severe looking in their suits. Neither of them was sitting when I walked in, which means they were snooping around my office, most likely looking at my shelf of reference books and family photos. I try to imagine what they see when they look around. Secondhand desk, IKEA chairs, a ten-year-old Microsoft computer. Typical small-town clergy office.

  “Pastor Langley.” The woman reaches her hand forward. “I’m Helen Jones. Thank you for meeting with us.”

  As I release her hand, the man steps forward. “Robert Gunthry.”

  “Nice to meet you both.” Not really. “Have a seat.” I circle around to my desk, set down my coffee, and address them as they sit across from me. “What can I help you with?”

  Mrs. Jones reaches into her bag and pulls out a file folder. “Mr. Langley, there’s been a formal complaint filed with our organization.”

  “A formal complaint? Nothing has crossed my desk that would be DOEE worthy unless you folks handle complaints about parking or the volume of our music in the sanctuary.” I laugh. They don’t. “Who…” I clear my throat. “Who is the complaint about?”

  Mr. Gunthry takes a page from the file and hands it to me. “You, Pastor Langley.”

  “Me?” What the fuck?

  I look at the offered paper and skim the complaint made by “anonymous,” who claims to have been a member of Grace Church for ten years. The accusation is that I have “broken the DOEE Code of Ethics in personal character and integrity and maintaining sexual purity.” A burst of laughter comes from my lips.

  “Is this some kind of joke?” Sexual purity? I haven’t so much as held hands with any female other than my daughter. “Am I being punked?” I look around the room for hidden cameras. “Did my brother put you guys up to this?”

  When they don’t smile, sickness stirs in my gut.

  “This isn’t a joke.” Mrs. Jones nods toward the paper in my hand.

  “We take these allegations very seriously.”

  I continue reading, having a hard time seeing the words through the fog of confusion as I rack my brain, trying to think of who I might have pissed off. I can’t imagine who would make these complaints against me. I take a shallow breath, trying to maintain an air of unflappable confidence, and determine that in order for these allegations to stick, they’d have to have proof. I know for a fact there is zero proof of my “sexual impurity.” To the contrary, my aching body is proof of my abstinence.

  I blink at the writing when I come across a name that puts the brakes on in my skull.

  Jesse Lee.

  What does this have to do with… oh shit.

  The pieces finally come together to create the big picture.

  I set down the paper and lean back in my chair. “Let me see if I understand this correctly. Because I played guitar for a three-hour live concert with my very famous brother, my personal integrity and sexual purity are now in question?”

  I would expect them to be embarrassed, ashamed that they’ve come all the way to confront me on such a ridiculous charge. They stare through me with dead eyes.

  “I’ve done nothing wrong,” I say because it seems as if they’ve already considered me guilty.

  “We’ve seen the video footage,” Mr. Gunthry says.

  “You saw me playing the guitar. What part of that is immoral, Mr. Gunthry?”

  “Mr. Lee was making lewd gestures implying masturbation with his microphone stand, as well as using vulgar speech and sexual references. Your decision to play for a band with questionable morals is suspicious,” Mrs. Jones says with her pointy nose in the air.

  “He’s my brother.” My jaw tics, and the heat of fury I haven’t felt since I was a young man simmers behind my ribs.

  Mr. Gunthry lifts his chin. “Jesse Lee is a godless man—”

  “Don’t talk about my brother. You know nothing about him.”

  “His songs are about debauchery and sexual immorality. He recorded the sounds of him masturbating and mass marketed those songs to children.”

  “That’s a rumor.” I think the rumor is true, but still, they have no proof.

  “Regardless”—Mrs. Jones settles her file folder back into her bag—“you chose to align yourself publicly with a man who is blatantly immoral and blasphemous, and this brings your personal integrity into question. Your congregation is concerned.”

  “One person makes an anonymous complaint and you assume the entire congregation has a problem with this?”

  “We have to investigate,” Mrs. Jones says. “After we gather more information, we’ll meet with the board and decide if action is needed.”

  “My brother’s guitar player was nearly killed in a tour bus accident and they needed someone to fill in. That’s all I did. I don’t see why that’s a problem for the Domestic Organization for Evangelical Ethics.”

  Mr. Gunthry stands, and Mrs. Jones follows. He says, “We’re not taking action until we investigate. We’ll be interviewing some of your staff and dropping in on the day-to-day around here. Don’t make this any harder than it has to be, Pastor. Let us do our jobs, and if you have nothing to hide, you have nothing to be nervous about.”

  “As for your brother,” Mrs. Jones says with distaste, “it would be smart to keep all interactions with him personal rather than professional from here on out. The company you keep.” She lifts a brow. “You understand.”

  “No.” I laugh humorlessly. “Not really.”

  She smiles, but the expression is forced and condescending. “We’ll be in touch.”

  I hop up to open the door for them, eager to get their small-minded asses out of my office. I reach around Mr. Gunthry and open the door, and they both freeze. I follow their line of sight and catch my jaw before it falls wide open.

  Ashleigh is in my office, leaning one hip against Donna’s desk. She’s dressed in a pair of skin-tight bright red leather pants, black high heels, and a black see-through top that hangs low off her shoulders to proudly show off her red lace bra. Her hair is down, dark sunglasses propped on her head as she pours a bag of Skittles in her palm. Her eyes come to mine, then bounce to my guests still playing statue in the doorway.

  “Ashleigh,” I say, because with the short circuit going on in my brain, it’s all I can get out.

  “What’s up, Pastor Langley?” She pushes off the desk and picks a few pieces of candy from her palm before popping them between her shiny glossed lips. “Skittle? I don’t eat the greens and yellows.” She moves her palm toward Mrs. Jones and Mr. Gunthry. “Go on, I don’t bite.” She winks. “Unless you want me to.”

  Mrs. Jones gasps.

  “They were just leaving,” I say, jumping between Ashleigh and them to provide some kind of safe barrier so they feel comfortable passing her.

  “Suit yourself,” she says as I hear the sound of a handful of Skittles hitting the garbage can.

  Silently, the reps from the DOEE leave, and once they disappear down the hallway, I release a relieved breath and drop into the couch in my lobby.

  “What’s up with the stiffs?” Ashleigh sits on the armrest opposite me.

  I lean forward, head in my hands. “Long story.”

  Being under investigation by the DOEE is the last thing any pastor wants. Even if—no, when, even when they come up with nothing on me, word will get out that my church was investigated, and rumors will fly and affect attendance and church growth. And all for such a stupid reason.

  “I got time.”

  I tilt my head and look up at h
er. Her eyes look extra blue today surrounded by all that black eyeliner. Her facial features are delicate, but it’s hard to tell under all that makeup. I wonder what she would look like with a clean face. My guess is she’d look younger, maybe even innocent.

  I drag my eyes away from her mouth and stare at the floor. “What are you doing here on a Monday? And so early?”

  She slaps her palms on her thighs. “Oh, yeah. That. So Bethany told me she called you, but I’m guessing she lied.”

  Bethany doesn’t lie. Ever. I slip my phone from my pocket and check for recent calls. “Looks like she left me a message late last night.” I was in such a rush to get out of the house this morning, I only checked for messages from Colette. “Is everything all right?”

  Ashleigh crosses and uncrosses her long legs and I try like hell not to notice. This woman is a feast for the eyes and draws attention by simply breathing. I stare at a crucifix hanging on the wall just over her shoulder. Her very bare, red lace bra’d shoulder.

  “Yeah, everything’s fine, I just…” She tugs on her shirt, drops her eyes to her lap, then sighs. “Never mind. I should go.”

  “Wait.” I force my eyes to hold hers. I’ve never seen her act so insecure, and she’s never at a loss for words. Something’s wrong. “What’s going on?”

  “It’s no big deal.” She sits tall like she’s thinking of running, but instead she tosses all that long hair over her shoulder. “Bethany said, but—”

  “Hang on.” I hit my voicemail then speakerphone, turning up the volume as Bethany’s voice comes through the speaker.

  Hey, Ben. It’s Bethany.

  I chuckle because that’s how she starts every voicemail to me, as if I can’t see her name on my phone.

  I’m calling for Ash. She’s looking to do some volunteer work at the church.

  My gaze darts to Ashleigh because, well, frankly, I’m shocked. Her face turns the prettiest shade of pink and she rolls her eyes as if she can feel it and is annoyed by her reaction. That, for some reason, makes me smile.

  I wanted to call and put in a good word for her. I’m going to tell her to come see you first thing in the morning tomorrow, ya know, before your schedule gets super crazy. So anyway, expect her in the morning to talk about positions.

  Yeah. My brother’s voice pipes up in the background. Ask Ash to teach you a few positions too, bro.

  Jesiah!

  What? The dude hasn’t been laid in—

  I fumble my phone and frantically hit Delete on the message, my face flaming. I can’t lift my head to look at Ashleigh, who must be grinning like the Cheshire cat while I sink deeper into embarrassment.

  Finally, when my face temperature drops, I look at Ashleigh to find her staring at me. I expect her to be smiling, maybe fighting laughter, but instead she looks at me with respectful curiosity.

  Rather than address the big, blazing elephant in the room, I redirect to her. “You’re interested in volunteering at the church?”

  She gathers her hair at her nape and pulls it over her shoulder, her silver bracelets jingling as she combs her fingers through the ends of her hair. “I mean, I don’t know. I’ve got free time and maybe it’s some kind of a midlife crises or whatever they call it, but…”

  I don’t interrupt her as she struggles to explain exactly why she’s interested in volunteering. I should stop her, cut her off, save her from herself, but watching her lips move and seeing her less than confident is not only refreshing, it’s also attractive.

  She finally gives up, blows out a breath, and smiles. “So that’s a yes.”

  Why am I smiling? I try to pull down the corners of my mouth, but the effort is useless. “What are your strengths?”

  She looks at me as if I’m speaking a foreign language.

  “What are you good at?”

  “I’m good at a lot of things.”

  The way she draws out each word has my pulse kicking a little harder at her meaning, but I play dumb and wait for her to continue.

  Her shoulders drop because I didn’t bite, and her smirk melts into a frown. “I don’t know. I guess I’m good at talking to people.”

  “Okay, so maybe a greeter.” I push to stand and head to Donna’s desk, where I search for the volunteer paperwork but come up empty. I check my watch. “I’ve got time before my first counseling appointment. Come with me.”

  She hops off the couch and her heels click on the floor as she follows me out of the office and down the hallway. “Thanks for this, Pastor Ben.”

  I slow when we turn the corner, meeting her eyes. “Ben. Just Ben. I mean, we’re practically related.”

  Her nose scrunches up and she frowns.

  What did I say?

  I decide keeping my mouth shut is the best option. I don’t know what it is about her that makes me feel so off center.

  I open an office door and allow Ashleigh to walk in before me. She stops so abruptly I stumble to keep from slamming into her back.

  Ashleigh

  No fucking way.

  Ben steps around me, his eyes going from me to the offensive bitch in front of me. “Kathy, I’m glad you’re here. I want to introduce you to our new volunteer, Ashleigh.”

  The frigid sack of judgment smiles like a shark and stands from the table where it looks like she’s been stuffing envelopes. “Ashleigh, it’s nice to meet you.”

  I choke on a laugh. What a snake. Pretending to be sugar in front of Ben when we both know she’s pure vinegar. “Is it?”

  “Kathy runs our church’s serving staff.”

  That fake-ass smile stays plastered on her face but softens when she aims it at Ben. “What will Ashleigh be doing, Pastor Langley?”

  “She’s interested in greeting,” he responds—without giving her permission to call him Ben or even Pastor Ben. I mentally celebrate the tiny victory. “I trust you’ll get her all set up with the volunteer prep class.”

  “Class?” I peer up at him, horrified. “I didn’t know there would be a class. Listen, school is not my thing.”

  “It’s more of an informational class,” Kathy says as sweetly as she can. Her gaze swings to Ben. “I’ll take care of her, Pastor.”

  “Great.” Ben smiles at the woman, making her melt in her orthopedic clogs. “Thank you, Kathy.”

  She comes around the desk, clasps her hands in front of her belly button, and nods. “It’s my pleasure.”

  Ew. Just… gross.

  “You’re in good hands,” he says to me, his perfect white teeth making an appearance as he grins.

  I doubt that. But there’s not a thing Crusty Kathy can throw at me that I haven’t heard before. “Cool.”

  “Cool.” He looks into my eyes for a second too long before turning quickly to the door and leaving me alone with my new boss.

  The room is silent for at least a full minute while Kathy stares at the doorway Ben left through. I wait for her to throw the first barb. I know it’s coming.

  “So.” She turns to me, her fake smile a distant memory as she studies me from head to toe with a frown. “I’m surprised to see you here.”

  “Not as surprised as I am to see you here.”

  I really thought this volunteering thing would be easier, something you just sign up and show up for. A class? Dealing with Kathy? Had I known this was part of the deal, I never would’ve gone through with it. I should’ve asked more questions. Knowing Bethany, she hid these details from me on purpose—something I plan to be vocal about during our next conversation.

  Now that I’m here, I’m committed. I’ve never backed down from a fight and I’m not going to start now. Especially with a self-righteous bitch like Kathy.

  “Let’s get you started on the paperwork.” She reaches into the desk and pulls out a couple pages, attaches them to a clipboard, and hands it to me with a pen. “Your answers will determine whether or not you get accepted as a volunteer. We do insist on total honesty.”

  Acceptance? How can an organization of any kind turn away free
help? This is starting to feel more like a job interview than a volunteer position. I take the offered clipboard and settle in a chair all the way across the room.

  Have you ever been convicted of any crimes? If yes, please explain.

  I smirk and scribble my answer.

  I don’t know who’s going to regret this more, me or them.

  * * *

  “I realize he’s a busy man, Donna, but this is an emergency.” Kathy’s hands shake, making my questionnaire do the same as she stands like an obedient soldier in front of Ben’s secretary’s desk.

  “He’s in a counseling session.”

  Donna’s gaze swings to me as I lounge on the couch, chewing a wad of bubble gum. My arms are spread across the back cushions, heels on the coffee table, legs crossed. I give her a wink and a little finger wave.

  She responds with a shaky smile and turns back to Kathy, who looks as if the top of her head is about to pop off. “If you want to wait—”

  “Yes, I’ll wait.” Kathy whirls around and glares at me. “You do not need to be here. I can say without a single doubt that you’ve been denied for volunteer service.”

  I blow a bubble, allow it to pop, then suck it back in. “Eh, I’ll wait. I’d rather hear it from the boss.”

  It’s the same thing I’ve been saying since she dismissed me thirty minutes ago, after reading my responses.

  “I can assure you he’ll say the exact same thing I have.” Her hoity-toity attitude pisses me off.

  “Maybe.” I honestly have no idea how he’ll respond, but one thing Ben has never been, at least that I’ve seen, is a judgmental dick like ol’ Kathy here.

  As if on cue, Ben’s door opens and a young couple comes out. They’re smiling at each other, then at Ben.

  He says, “Great session. We’ll see you in two weeks.”

  They thank him and walk out of the office.

  Ben’s gaze snags on me and his eyes warm. “Hey.”