After a tortured childhood and years of soul-searching, Brooke Morrison has finally settled into a comfortable life. While his sexuality prohibits him from practicing his degree in youth ministry in a church setting, he’s found a fulfilling job as a youth counselor at a residential treatment facility in Colorado. He falls in love, marries the man of his dreams, and makes peace with God. He’s happy.
Then his buried past drags him back to the Ozarks.
The life Brooke has worked so hard to build is crumbling in his hands in the face of painful memories and past abuse, and his confidence is withering. In El Dorado Springs, where his nightmares come to life, Brooke desperately seeks closure life doesn’t offer. Brooke must find value in himself, in his marriage, and in the world around him—and create the hope and perseverance to keep his past from swallowing him whole.
As we stepped out of the concourse, I searched for the sign pointing out where our baggage claim station was located. I felt a light elbow prod in my side.
“Hey, look over there,” Jed whispered in my ear, gesturing to our left.
I followed Jed’s motion to the left, searching the signs pointing in all directions.
“Not up there. Look at the crowd.”
I scanned the people, uncertain what I was trying to see. No one stood out. No one familiar or particularly conspicuous-looking. “I don’t see what you’re pointing….” My voice faltered. “Oh no. Please tell me this isn’t happening.”
The crowd had parted to reveal a huge red cardstock board with the words, “Welcome to Seattle, Jedediah and Brooklyn! May fag love live forever!” scrawled in inch-thick rainbow glitter. Under the words, looking most uncomfortable, was a tiny, red-faced, balding man in a brown tuxedo, holding the sign gingerly in his stark white gloves. His face was flushed, and his eyes darted nervously at the people in the crowd who were staring at him.
Jed began to walk toward the spectacle, but I grabbed his arm and pulled him back. “Jed, please tell me that is not for us.”
“I’m afraid it is, babe.”
“I thought you said your family would be cool with me.”
“A welcome sign in rainbow glitter isn’t welcoming enough for you? Did you want white Clydesdales too?” I could tell he was barely keeping his laughter in check.
“Jed, I swear to God, I am going to fucking kill you!” I shoved my fists into the pockets of my jacket.
“My goodness gracious, that is hardly any way for a trained youth pastor to speak to God-fearing people.” He gave me a swift kiss on the forehead and ducked out of the reach of my fist as I attempted to punch him in the chest. “Come on!”
I nearly lost my balance as Jed pulled me toward the atrocious sign.
He released my hand only once we were directly in front of the sign. Jed pulled the small man into his arms, despite the sputtering and protests. “Carl! It is so good to see you. It’s been too long! You haven’t changed at all!” He ran both his hands over the helpless man’s head. “What is this, you growing some of this back?”
“It has been less than a year, sir, but it’s a pleasure to see you too,” the man said dryly. “It appears the Wild West has yet to tame your enthusiastic recklessness.”
“I love you too, Carl!” He released him, and the tiny man immediately began to straighten his tie and smooth his crinkled clothing. “This is Brooke, by the way. He’s the best man in the universe. Well, beside yourself, of course.” Before Carl or I could get a word out, Jed continued his onslaught. “Where are my folks? I thought they’d be here.”
“They are in the limo, sir, with your luggage. As you well know.”
“Now, Carl, if you don’t want to play with me in my little game, all you need to do is say so.”
“I dare to say, I learned that to be untrue by the time you were twelve.” He tried to discard the sign into the trash, but Jed yanked it from him. “Not that anything has changed since you were twelve.”
“Oh posh!” The sign in one hand, mine gripped firmly in the other, Jed headed toward the exit. “Come on, babe. I can’t wait for you to meet my parents.”
“Did he say limo?” I whispered incredulously.
“Uh-huh.”
“Oh God!” I moaned.
Brandon Witt received his roots in the Ozark, grew wings in Denver, and is learning to fly in New Orleans. When not snuggled on the couch with his two dogs and his partner, Stephen, he is more than likely in front of his computer, nose inches from the screen, fingers pounding the keys.
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