CovenantRoad

Author: CovenantRoad

  • Testing Boundaries (Excerpt)

    Silence settled, broken only by the rain’s patter. Ted didn’t rush to fill it, which irked Ethan for no good reason. He shifted, fingers drumming the armrest, then blurted, “So you just… denied that part of yourself?”

    Ted’s expression didn’t change. Ethan had been holding that question since the porch—maybe longer. With no distractions—no phone, no noise—it slipped out.

    Ted set his glass down with a quiet thunk, letting the words hang. “I surrendered it,” he said finally. “And I never looked back.”

    Ethan scoffed lightly. “That easy, huh?”

    Ted’s lips curved, not quite a smile. “Didn’t say it was easy.”

    Ethan leaned forward, arms on his knees. “So what—you just decided one day those feelings weren’t real?”

    Ted shook his head. “Never said that either.”

    Ethan frowned.

    Ted exhaled, settling back. “What I’m sayin’ is, I had to choose. The world told me one thing. God told me somethin’ else. I trusted Him more’n I trusted myself.”

    Ethan crossed his arms. “And that worked for you?”

    Ted nodded, but something heavier flickered in his eyes. He stared into the lantern’s glow. “I almost didn’t,” he admitted.

    Ethan raised an eyebrow.

    Ted rubbed his jaw, exhaling through his nose. “For a while, I figured I’d got it wrong. Maybe I was holdin’ onto somethin’ outta fear. So I walked away—gave the world’s way a shot, thought I’d find what I was lookin’ for.”

    Ethan’s stomach tightened. He hadn’t expected this.

    Ted shook his head, gaze settling on him. “Didn’t. Lost more’n I care to admit.” He leaned forward. “You wanna know why I trust God more’n myself? I’ve seen what happens when I don’t.”

    Ted sipped his water, calm again. “Spent years thinkin’ I had to choose between bein’ loved and bein’ faithful. But I was askin’ the wrong question. It wasn’t about that—it was about choosin’ Him.”

    Ethan swallowed, throat tight. He forced a smirk. “Not many people sound as sure as you.”

    “Took a long time to get here,” Ted said, a quiet laugh in his voice.

    Ethan watched him, the lantern light carving deeper lines in his face. He should’ve argued, laughed it off. But he didn’t want to. That scared him more than anything.

    Ted stood, grabbing a blanket from a closet and draping it over the couch. “In case it gets cold tonight.”

    (Excerpt from Narrow Road Together in the Ethan & Ted series. Contact me if you’d like to read the full story)

  • The Forge

    The fire spat embers into the night, a ragged glow against the Indiana pines. Caleb crouched by it, 52 years carved into his hands—calluses from swinging hammers, scars from swinging at life. Across the flames sat Eli, 48, eyes hollowed by years of hiding. Two men, strangers ‘til that retreat, now tethered by something neither could name ‘til it hit.

    Caleb tossed a stick into the blaze, sparks snapping like old guilt. “Grew up thinking God’d smite me for looking too long at a guy in church,” he said, voice gravel. “Dad preached hell—I believed it. Ran from it ‘til I couldn’t.”

    Eli nodded, boots scuffing dirt. “Same, different flavor. Mom said love was women or nothing. Tried it—married at 30, crashed by 35. Never told her the guys on the rig stirred me more’n she did.”

    The wind carried smoke between them, sharp and honest. Caleb’s gut knew that ache—loving men, not like the world said, but bone-deep, beyond flesh. He’d chased it in shadows—porn flickering on a screen, two guys bonding, not touching, but close. Never fit the gay label, never fit straight. Eli’s story echoed—different road, same ditch.

    “Found Christ at 47,” Caleb said, poking the fire. “Broke me open—grace, not wrath. Been five years, still wrestle the pull. Not sex—just that hum when a guy gets me.”

    Eli’s laugh was dry. “Yeah. Forty-five for me—Jesus hauled me out of a bottle. Two years in, same fight. Thought I was alone ‘til this.” He waved at the fire, the space between.

    Caleb leaned forward, elbows on knees. “Ain’t alone. World don’t get it—men loving men, pure, no mud. But Scripture does. Jonathan and David—souls knit, no bed. That’s us, brother.”

    Eli’s eyes caught the glow, steadying. “Thought I’d die single, shamed. This… covenant? Feels like air.”

    They’d met that week—retreat mud, shared coffee, stories spilling over late nights. Caleb saw Eli’s flinch at a guy’s grin; Eli caught Caleb’s quiet when loneliness bit. No preaching—just truth, raw as split wood. They’d prayed it out, hands clasped, fire a witness—two men, battered but standing (Ecclesiastes 4:12—cord of three strands).

    “Role’s this,” Caleb said, voice firm. “Live it—men who love men, Christ’s way. World’s blind; we ain’t. Build it, brother—hammer and soul.”

    Eli tossed dirt on the flames, embers hissing. “Yeah. Forge it—us, others. No more hiding.”

    Dawn crept up, gray and sure. They stood, shoulders brushing—not erotic, but alive. Caleb’s hammer waited; Eli’s rig called. Two men, loving unique, God-lit, stepping into a world that’d never name it. But they did—covenant, forged in fire, strong as hell.