- Psalm 119:10 KJV
In the days that followed his encounter with Illias, Cantrell’s mind was in a constant state of battle. The knowledge that what he had done was sinful and inappropriate clashed with the guilt he felt for not being kinder. For not providing the proper care he knew he should have. If granted another chance, ifgiftedanother opportunity, he would take better care of Illias. Give him the attention and tender care Cantrell knew Illias needed, despite his rough exterior walls.
Cantrell breathed out until his lungs were empty, wishing he could do the same to his mind. He couldn’t afford to be distracted. Mass started soon; he needed his focus to be on his sermon. Nothing else. Lord forbid Rier notice his mind waselsewhere. The absolute last thing Cantrell needed was for Rier to have another reason to make life difficult.As if it isn’t difficult enough, Cantrell thought, taking his spot in the procession next to Rier.
“Something troubling you?” Rier asked, not even bothering to look at Cantrell.
“Nothing out of the ordinary I’m afraid.” Cantrell laced his fingers in front of him. “More and more at the shelter seems to need repairing or replacing.”
Rier side-eyed Cantrell. The corners of the older priest’s mouth turned down. “Hm, well try not to let that distract you from your purpose today.”
Cantrell forced a polite smile despite the spike of anger in his chest. “My focus is solely on delivering a sermon to our congregation.”
“As it should be. The church should be your sole focus at all times, Cantrell. I know Saint Anthony’s is your little pet project—”
“Rier,” Cantrell interrupted, feeling the familiar thorns of anger pricking his nerves, “I would appreciate it if we didn’t discuss this before Mass. I have enough on my mind as it is. Please do not add to it.”
Rier stiffened with a scoff but wasn’t granted the opportunity to say anything else before the music began. As they walked down the aisle towards the sanctuary, Cantrell felt eyes on him. He pushed down the urge to search out those familiar dark eyes, continuing his path to the sanctuary. Stepping behind the pulpit, Cantrell looked out across his congregation. A sea of familiar faces that knew him as nothing more than their priest. Knew nothing of his past, of his sins. Sins that haunted him while he stood in God’s domain, ready to give them a sermon on temptation in spite of falling to his. The very source sat amongthem, dark eyes pinned on him. Cantrell’s rosary hung heavy around his neck, a chain of his own making.
After the conclusion of Mass, Cantrell stood by the doorway leading to the narthex. Wished everyone a blessed day as they passed. He scanned the sea of people, searching for someone he knew he shouldn’t. His attention bounced between members of the congregation saying farewell and looking for Illias. Then Cantrell caught a glimpse of him just a few short feet away, talking animatedly to Charity about something that was drowned out by the church music mixed with idle chatter.
This Sunday, Illias wore a short sleeve button up that displayed all his arm tattoos that had previously been covered by long sleeves and jackets. Desire tied around the base of Cantrell’s spine. With one short-lived glance in his direction, Illias pulled on that rope. Beckoned Cantrell closer. The corners of Illias’ mouth turned upward as his attention returned to Charity. Her eyes—full of a knowledge that chilled Cantrell to his core—flashed in his direction. Cantrell’s stomach plummeted to his feet.
Another member of the congregation wrenched his attention away from the duo. He engaged in small talk with the woman whose name escaped him. Offered a few words of advice paired with Bible scripture. Illias walked up and Cantrell wished he hadthe ability to ignore Illias’ presence. Cantrell nodded and made noises of acknowledgement as the small woman talked. Eyes flickering just over her shoulder ever so often to catch sight of that devilish smirk. The woman finished at last, wishing Cantrell a good day before leaving. The normal relief that Cantrell usually felt after being trapped in conversation was nowhere to be found as Illias stepped in front of him.
“Father Cantrell,” Illias greeted, persona cool and indifferent as though nothing had ever transpired between them.
Cantrell only hoped to mimic Illias’ facade. “Illias.” Cantrell felt his diplomatic smile waver. “A pleasure as always to see you at Mass.”
Up close, Cantrell could make out Illias’ tattoos more clearly. On his right arm was a skeletal jaw of a wolf around his elbow, and a snake with an apple in its mouth circled around his forearm. On his left bicep was a rat with its tail tattooed into the shape of a heart and the wordslove the unlovedwritten beneath it in all lower case. Cantrell wondered if any of them were sentimental. He knew the one he kept hidden beneath long sleeves and turtle necks was, but not everyone had a story behind the ink on their body.
“A pleasure to attend. I wanted to speak with you about—”
Rier walked by, looking at them with poorly disguised disgust.
Illias’ eyes hardened. He waited until Rier was well out of earshot but he resumed talking. “If we could talk privately?”
Illias rubbed the back of his neck, revealing the inside of his wrist.Eternitywritten in all capital letters withwhere will you spendit in all lower case was etched right below it.There’s a story there,Cantrell thought, forcing himself not to stare at the words.I hope one day—he met Illias’ eyes once more—he’ll tell me. “Of course,” Cantrell agreed. “We can talk in my office. It’ll be quieter up there.”
As they walked towards the entryway that gave way to the stairs, Cantrell could feel Rier’s eyes. Cantrell knew he would have to explain himself later if Rier chose to ask. Cantrell prayed that he would be able to slip out of the church unnoticed after his talk with Illias to avoid having to speak with Rier until absolutely necessary.
Inside the office, the noise of the congregation was muffled by the thick wooden door. Cantrell settled into his chair and watched Illias do the same on the opposite side. Uncertain where to start or what to say, Cantrell took the opportunity to admire Illias. Appreciate the fresh trim of his beard, the delicate silver helix hoops he wore in both ears paired with small diamond stud earrings, the subtle strain of his shirt across his chest that indicated it was perhaps a size too small.
“I didn’t realize you were such an avid reader,” Illias said, breaking the stiff silence.
“When the church is slow and Saint Anthony’s doesn’t need me, I find myself between the pages occasionally.” Cantrell shifted in his chair, crossing one leg over the other. “What was it that you wanted to talk to me about?”
“I was thinking about what you said on Tuesday,” Illias confessed. “About keeping distance. I think we should establish boundaries if we’re going to continue seeing each other.”
Seeing each other, right, of course. Cantrell’s chest constricted around his lungs. Warmth pooled in his core. Want and reality at war with one another. Yet he knew reality would have to win despite his own selfish wants. “About that,” he sighed, leaning back against the rickety office chair. “I don’t think we should continue seeing one another. This isn’t exactly appropriate given my position here at Revived Faith.”
“You enjoy it though, right?” Illias questioned, a knowing glint in his eye. “If so, who cares about appropriate?”
“I care, I—” Cantrell clamped his mouth shut and blew a frustrated breath through his nose. “I worry about what may happen if we were to continue.”
Illias’ finely plucked eyebrows knitted together. “Because of the church?”
“That’s only partially why. I wasn’t always the man I am now.”
