“All I am saying”—he turned and looked over his shoulder at Cantrell—“is to be mindful. I’ve known that boy since he was young. He reeks of trouble.” Rier eyed Cantrell with distrust. “It would be unwise of you, given yourhistory, to make a habit of speaking to him alone.”
Before Cantrell had a chance to defend himself, Rier left the office. Tension wrapped around Cantrell’s head, squeezing his temples like a balloon ready to burst. He slowly closed the door to his office then rested his forehead against the rough wood.Lord forgive me, he prayed,for I am a weak man filled with wrath and lust.Please lend me your strength and guidance. Whatever comfort or relief he sought from such a weak prayer did not come. Prayer rarely brought him the comfort it once did. Not since that night. Not since Illias.
Chapter Twenty
Illias
“But whoso hath this world's good, and seeth his brother have need, and shutteth up his bowels of compassion from him, how dwelleth the love of God in him?”
- 1 John 3:17 KJV
Illias parked in front of the same cafe he met his mom the last time they went for brunch, however, this time he wasn’t just meeting her, but Henry too. Per Illias’ request. Illias wanted toattemptto have, at the very least, a civil conversation with Henry to see if it was even possible. Illias drummed his fingers against the steering wheel while looking through the large front windows of the cafe. Inside, he could see his mom and Henry sitting at one of the tables with pastries and coffee cups in front of them while they talked. There wasn’t a phone in sight, which was a massive change for Henry. When Illias was younger,Henry’s phone was always on the table. He claimed it was because at any point work could call and he wouldhaveto take the call. Over half of their dinners were ruined because Henry had to leave in the middle of them, and when they went out he would often leave before their food even arrived at the table.
Henry seemed to actually be engaged in the conversation with Illias’ mom though. Letting her speak uninterrupted. Nodding along to whatever she was saying. He even reached across the table and placed his hand on hers. For the first time in a while, they lookedhappy. Like they did in the photos before Illias was old enough to remember anything but the chronic late-night fights and tense atmosphere.
Taking a small breath, Illias got out of the car.Everything will be fine, he assured himself.Don’t think about it too hard and it will be fine. Think about…think about Cantrell. I should ask Cantrell out for coffee. His stomach lurched to his throat.Not the time, brain.Not the time, he scolded.Cantrell might not even like coffee. The small bell above the cafe door jingled.He might not even like—
His parents looked over at him. Henry’s expression wavered for a fraction of a second. Illias grew a knot at the base of his throat.
You.
He put on his best happy face and walked over. His mom stood up to greet him with a hug. Henry stayed seated, offering a short nod and stiff smile instead. Illias sat without going to the counter to order. Stomach empty but appetite gone.
“Do you want anything from the counter, hon? I can go—”
“I’m good, thanks, Mom. I’m usually not hungry after waking up,” he lied, the knot in his throat making his words come out strained. He twisted his mood ring. “I’m, uh, glad you could make it Henry.”
“Of course. I can see why you both liked this place so much. The pastries are delicious. If I remember correctly, you like to bake, right?” Henry glanced quickly at Illias’ mom as if to check that he was saying the right thing. “Have you tried recreating any?”
“And I remember how much you used to make fun of me for it,” Illias mumbled beneath his breath, dropping his eyes to his hands.
His mom sighed. “Illias—”
“No, it’s okay,” Henry interrupted, patting her hand. “He’s right. I did. And I’m sorry, I should have never done that to you.”
Bitter, acidic anger burned Illias’ throat. He twisted his mood ring, focusing on the sensation of the metal rubbing against his skin. “You say that like it fixes everything.”
Fuck.
“Can we not do this right now?” Exhaustion intertwined his mom’s words.
“And just pretend that he’s magically changed?” Illias snapped. Regret flooded through him the minute his mom flinched. The knot in his throat grew larger. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m sorry. I didn’t—fuck, Mom, I’m sorry,” he rambled, grabbing her free hand. “I didn’t mean to—”
“I know,” she said, her smile weak. “That’s something you two share.” She glanced between him and Henry. “That nasty temper.”
Dread shot down Illias’ spine, sharp and cold. He looked at Henry, and for a fleeting second, Illias saw an older version of himself. Clinging to the remnants of a broken marriage. Holding onto the jagged pieces of every relationship he shattered. If he didn't control his temper, would he end up like Henry? Destined to a relentless cycle of apologizing?
Illias pressed his lips together then looked at Henry. “What I meant to say was thank you. For apologizing.”
Henry nodded. “I understand. It’ll take us both time to move forward.”
“But at least this is a start.” Illias’ mom squeezed his hand. “Right, hon?”
“Yeah.” Illias gave a tight smile, determined to becivil,like he planned when he arrived. “It’s a start.”
Saint Anthony’s offered a much-needed distraction after brunch. The volunteer in charge when Illias arrived sent him to the fenced area behind the shelter to do yard work. Pull weeds, push mow, fix anything broken. Whatever needed to be done. No one else had the time nor the energy. Illias had both and pulling weeds sounded like the perfect way to direct his anger.
While he worked, a few of the teenagers came outside. Illias always considered himself bad with people when not at work, but after a few hours under the hot sun and sharing an overall annoyance with the lack of maintenance, he found that he wasn’t too bad at people-ing.
