And poor Lucy, caught between it all. I had faith that Tressa wouldn’t divulge the private drama simmering between us, Lucy was a perceptive young soul—I was sure she could feel the tension bouncing between our eyes from across the nave.
I groaned, lifting my eyes back to the watery stained glass just as a bolt of winter lightning streaked the sky, a tall figure, shadowed in dark light, sped down the foggy path in front of Tressa’s cottage. My heart leapt into a triple rhythm before I moved on quick feet through the sacristy, down the wall near the stations of the cross, and out through St. Mike’s vestibule doors.
I was about to call out into the night at the stranger, but they were gone, and instead I found Tressa, her arms cradling her body as she pushed through the doors of her cottage and sped down the path the figure had just been on.
I shook my head, sliding deeper into the shadows as I wondered if I’d really just seen a figure at all—it was impossible that it could be either Lucy or Tressa—this figure was broad-formed and hustled with the unmistakable gate of a man.
Before I could worry myself about that disappearing act, Tressa paused near the big evergreen that rooted the corner of the church yard and looked up, hands swiping at her face as if icy tears were freezing her skin.
I should stay away, everything in me should do the right thing and return to my place in the sacristy—head bowed in prayer. But instead I crossed the icy path to her, firstly afraid that she wasn’t out here alone—secondly I was worried that she wore no jacket, and thirdly—the shades of utter distraught helplessness lining her features made it impossible to turn away.
She shoved her hands in her jean pockets then, moving around the edge of the street to walk further down the sidewalk—further away from St. Mike’s. Had she seen the stranger lurking in the shadows just like I had and that’s what had brought her out? Or was it something else? A revelation? Something about her father?
Her feet sped up, sheets of thick rain crackling like fourth of July sparklers against the snow as it landed and disguising my footsteps a dozen yards behind. When she turned the block and followed along the back of the church property and into a neighborhood that wasn’t well-lit nor had a reputation for being safe late at night—a stray moonbeam caught the angles of her heart-stopping face and I realized what I was seeing: devastation.
Brokenhearted tears covered her cheeks in a frosted skating rink. Her cheeks were rosy with the bite of the wind and rain, dark licks of hair already soaked and freezing against her forehead and shoulders. She looked every part the lost lamb, and I did the only thing I knew how to do.
I went to her.
“What’s with the disappearing act?”
“I needed air.” She averted her eyes.
“Let’s go.” I gruffed, the frigid air crackling with energy between us.
“No, Bastien.” She said.
Irritation simmered. I was hopelessly drawn to her like a moth to a flame. “I won’t have you risking your life out here.” I spit.
“I’m risking something bigger in there.” She gestured to the church behind us.
“Tressa,” I growled, doing the only thing I’d been thinking of and pressed my lips to hers in a searing hot kiss. She opened her mouth and our tongues tangled together, my force slow and measured first and then dominant and controlling the next.
“What are you doing to me, Tressa?” I traced her bottom lip with the pad of my thumb. “Now please, inside.”
“No.” She shook her head violently, tears streaming as every ounce of me waged a war inside of myself. Take her into my arms, cover her in my protection, love her for as long as she’d let me, but I knew that life would never be ours to live. Time was precious. And I’d vowed mine to God.
“Just this once listen to me for your own good.”
She swallowed, eyes hanging heavy with drops of water, and in the shadowed light I wiped her tears away, molding her damp cheeks to my palms until I felt my own emotion simmer up, regret and loyalty weaving themselves inseparably together in my mind.
“I don’t know why I keep doing this to myself.” Her body finally deflated. I enveloped her, the warmth of my body radiating against her chilled form as I rubbed my palms up and down her bare arms to generate warmth.
“People have done crazier things than run into the rain to find themselves.” I offered as I led us back toward the church steps. She snake an arm around her waist and leaned the full weight of her body into me. And the closer she nested herself in my warmth the more violent the jolts of arousal I struggled to keep at bay.
“Look at me crying in the rain, you must think I’m insane.”
“Insanely brave.” I breathed at her ear as we reached the steps. “You’ve been forged in fire, there’s no shame in honoring the grit that brought you here, I’m grateful for it more than I can say.” My finger hovered at the dip of her chin.
A soft frown darted down her face before she breathed. “You’re kind to frame it like that—the truth is, I’ve always felt like a mess—incapable of running my own life.”
“Not everyone is given the tools to perform well from birth,” I teased, “you’re growing into them, lessons wouldn’t be lessons without growing pains.”
She took in my words, eyes trailing up the to tiny peaked roof that covered the front stoop of the church and sheltered us from the icy rain.
“I think I need to find him,” she finally announced.
I nodded. “I’ll help you in any way I can if you think it will help. You know I’m always here for you.”
