At St. Michael’s, the schedule remained unchanged.
My heart swelled now with the comfort of it.
This church had brought me peace in so many moments of chaos.
I’d begun to wonder if that’s where I’d gone wrong when I graduated high school. I was so hell-bent on escaping Mom’s house that I’d run full tilt in the other direction, forgetting everything about my history and embracing the future with total abandon.
But that night… That night had snuck up and bit me in the ass.
I smashed my lips together until the soft flesh ached, pressing the stacks of photos to my chest before spinning and leaving the holy comfort of the church.
Crisp winter wind bit at my cheeks as I walked as quickly as possible down the icy sidewalk to the tiny two-bedroom cottage next to the church.
I was so grateful for Bastien’s kindness, putting me up here and giving me a job I genuinely enjoyed.
But deep down, I resented it too.
I resented relying on anyone or thing, and escaping to the cottage at St. Michael’s didn’t exactly feel like a healthy boundary between and Bastien and me.
My cold fingertips fumbled with the key in the lock, eyes turning back down the way I’d come, a slash of deep crimson against the snow-white landscape catching my eye.
The cardinal stepping down the steps of the church, Bastien’s palm hovering behind the old man, gentle grin gracing his calm face.
My heart slammed against the cage of my chest, hummingbird wings thrumming between my thighs at merely the thought of his hands on my skin.
The cardinal paused outside of an idling black Suburban, the smell of its exhaust carrying all the way down the block to land in my nostrils. Bastien looked up then, eyes catching mine and lingering.
His lips slid into a sinful grin, giving me one salacious wink before I ducked my head and crashed through the old cottage door. I slammed it shut behind me, hinges protesting as an inferno of pent-up emotion blazed through my insides.
What the fuck was I thinking?
EIGHT
Tressa
“I thought I was the fuckup here. Finding you drunk in a bathtub is forcing me to reevaluate my decision-making.” Lucy’s cheery voice split my eardrums later that night when she burst through the bathroom door, empty wine bottle in hand and frown on her face an hour later.
My eyes stung angrily. From the lavender-scented soap, I told myself.
“S-sorry. I shall replace all of it.” I tipped the last skims of wine past my lips and set the long-stemmed glass on the edge of the tub. “I came to church to escape the memories but they followed me, Luce,” I whined, words thick with actual wine.
“Let me get that for ya.” Lucy snatched the glass before my elbow made contact with the delicate, church-provided stemware.
What would Father Bastien think if he could see me now, drunk and floating in a tub of bubbles, trying to scrub the memory of his fingertips against my skin from my mind?
“Mmm…” A loopy smile curved my cheeks as I sank a little deeper into the hot suds.
“Mmm…what?” Lucy was still hovering over my shoulder, waiting with that expectant look on her face.
“The water feels nice.”
Her eyes narrowed, running up and down my tired body before hovering at my lips. “I bet the water feels nice, but I’ve got a feeling the good Father feels nicer.”
“Lucy!” I squealed, sloshing a wave of soap over the porcelain.
“Relax, I don’t care what you and Father get up to behind closed doors.”
“I swear nothing has happened.”
