“And be ye kind one to another, tenderhearted, forgiving one another, even as God for Christ's sake hath forgiven you.”
- Ephesians 4:32 KJV
Tuesday’s incident looped in his mind like a broken record. No matter how loud the music was, how hectic the bar got, nothing drowned out Cantrell’s request fordistance. Illias slipped into his work persona—a facade he perfected over years of working as a server—and flirted with reckless abandon. Lost himself in drink orders, nameless faces that looked at him like he was their next meal, and curious hands that touched just a little too rough. None of it was enough to distract from the twisting, thorny pain in his gut or the remorse that had its claws hooked in his chest.
To make matters worse, his mom continued to ask to see him, and he was out of plausible excuses. Without a reason to decline her latest invite, Illias agreed to meet her at her favorite cafe. It was a small, family owned joint that his mom discovered before she became pregnant with him. She would bring him down to the cafe at least once a week when he was old enough to sit at the tables and color while she read. Being back in the rustic style coffee shop brought back memories of simpler times. Times before playing with other kids at Sunday school became sitting in hard wooden pews and being forced to sit still for an hour. Before he understood what damnation and sin was. Before Henry started looking and treating Illias like apest.
Illias spotted his mom in the back corner of the cafe and walked over to her. “Hey Mom.”
“There you are.” She stood and pulled him into a tight hug that made something in his chest hurt. “I’ve missed you.”
“I’ve missed you too.” Which was true, he hated avoiding his mom but he hadn’t been ready to talk to her about Henry. Still wasn’t. “How’re you?”
They parted and sat. “I’m okay, hon. Things are still rocky at home, but I think Henry and I are on the path to getting better.” She picked up her coffee but didn’t take a drink. “It’s been…difficult, to say the least.” She smiled sadly. “But we’re both trying our best to move forward and figure things out.”
Illias frowned, slumping in his chair. “I probably didn’t help any when I came over.”
“Don’t think for a second that any of this is your fault,” she scolded, the way mothers do. “You were a child, hon,” her voice softened. “And I was young and blind to a lot of things. But I promise, I won’t be blind to those things anymore. That’s why things are difficult. Not because of you or anything you’ve done.”
His eyes and face grew warm. A thick lump formed at the base of his neck. “I was such a pain in the ass growing up though. Always in some type of trouble and—”
“Because that’s what kids do,” his mom interjected. “Kids are meant to get into trouble and make a mess of things. Just because you were a little rougher around the edges doesn’t mean you were a bad kid.” She reached across the table and Illias took her hand, squeezing gently. “You were going through stuff that we didn’t know or didn’t understand. But”—she held his hand tighter—“I see you now.”
Illias turned his head to the side, blinking quickly. “I thought moms weren’t supposed to make you cry unless you were in trouble,” he joked, voice strained and watery.
“You used to cry a lot when you were little too.” She rubbed her thumb across his knuckles. “Glad to know some things haven’t changed about my baby.”
He let out a choked laugh and shook his head.Of course she’d bring that up. It was true though; he had always been a crier. Wore his heart on his sleeve for most of his life until he got it broken one too many times. Taking a shaky breath, he looked back at her and asked the one question that was weighing on his shoulders. “So, you’re not mad about the Henry situation?”
“No, I understand why things are the way they are between you two. It’s not my place to judge you or push you to have any sort of relationship with him. Not unless it’s somethingyouwant. Just know you’ll always have me on your side.”
He swiped the back of his hand across his eyes. “You have no idea how much I needed to hear that.”
“I’ll always be there for you baby, no matter what. Now”—she nodded towards the counter of the cafe—“go get us something to eat and get yourself a drink so we can do a proper catch up.”
He smiled and nodded, thankful to have something to do to calm himself down. At the counter, he ordered a lemon croissantfor his mom then a chocolate tart with caramel drizzle and a medium iced hazelnut coffee for himself. On his way back to the table, he wondered if Cantrell liked coffee and pastries. The thought of asking him out crossed Illias’ mind and he nearly tripped over his own two feet. His cheeks burned.
Oh, I am so fucked.
Chapter Seventeen
Cantrell
“For ye are bought with a price: therefore glorify God in your body, and in your spirit, which are God's.”
- 1 Corinthians 6:20 KJV
After years of dedication to the church, Cantrell forgot what it was like tostarvefor someone. What it meant to be hungry for another’s attention and devotion. As a young man, he satisfied that hunger with a rotation of pretty men and handsome women. Until it grew, demanding something more. Something that satiated the darkest parts of his mind that grew more feverish. That’s when he met her. Zoe Vincent. A tall, slender woman made of sharp edges with a penchant for pain.
Somewhere between first looks and her teeth against the pulse point of his neck, Cantrell fell in love. But he failed to cherish her the way she deserved. Blinded by his own selfish desire for more.Always more. Nothing was ever enough. He paid the price in the end. She left him more hollow than she found him.
He tried to drown her memory in alcohol, by crawling into bed with whoever would have him. Nothing could fill the gaping hole in his chest she left behind. Not until he was approached by Father Davidson, the current head priest of Revived Faith and overseer of Saint Anthony’s. He brought Cantrell to Saint Anthony’s, provided a hot shower and a place to sleep. Offered him the listening ear he didn’t know he needed. Over time, Father Davidson became a mentor to Cantrell. Guided him through recovery and towards the priesthood.
Working at the shelter and church nullified the hunger Cantrell had. He traded his wild tendencies for late night Bible study and early morning Mass. Comparatively boring to his previous life, but for the first time in years, Cantrell was content.
Then Illias came along. Stoked the long-extinguished embers Cantrell thought were too old to ignite. Exposed parts of him that were still empty. Made him question why he promised himself to the church and damned himself to a life without.
“Cantrell.” Rier’s voice pierced through Cantrell’s clouded head.
