Illias drummed his fingers against the paper cup of his coffee. “Sort of. I, um, I started seeing someone,” he admitted as his leg began to bounce. “I have been for a while now, but things have gotten a little more serious? I guess?”
“Oh hon, that’s wonderful,” his mom smiled, but it was cautious and didn’t meet her eyes. “When will we get to meet him?”
“Um,” he chuckled slightly. He pulled his bottom lip between his teeth as he figured out what to say. How to explain the situation. That he was seeing their priest, of all people.
“If you don’t want me to meet him yet,” Henry spoke up. “I understand that. But I would like to be able to one day.”
An odd feeling surged through Illias that tightened his chest and filled his body with a static like heat. “It’s a little more…” he paused, staring down at his coffee. “Complicated. Than that.” He fought with the truth versus telling a version of the truth. “He works at Saint Anthony’s and if the church finds out that we’re together he wouldn’t be able to keep doing what he does for the shelter. And he does great work there, I mean, he dedicates his life to the shelter. I don’t want him to lose that because of me.” He tongued his cheek, resisting the urge to cry. “But I don’t want to lose him either,” he said softly, afraid his voice would crack.
“Saint Anthony’s is under Revived Faith, isn’t it?” Henry inquired. Illias nodded, not trusting his voice. “And you volunteer there as well?” Again, Illias nodded, picking his head up to look at Henry. “How would you describe the state of the shelter?”
“Poor,” Illias answered. “They barely provide the shelter with a budget that covers necessities.”
“I have been toying with the idea of opening a nonprofit.” Henry crossed his arms. “The legal team at my office can draft up the paperwork to switch ownership of the shelter from the church to an independent nonprofit.”
“How do we get the church to let go of Saint Anthony’s, though?” Illias asked, finally relieving the burning question from his mind.
“Easy,” Henry replied, slipping into business mode at a blink of an eye. “We give them an offer they can’t turn down and a contract already drawn up so they don’t have to do any thinking.”
“You think it will work?” Illias asked, hesitant to get his hopes up for something that may not come to fruition.
Henry picked up his coffee and pointed it towards Illias. “Trust me, I may not have been a good father for twenty-three years—”
Illias snorted, and Lauren smacked his arm. “Illias,” she scolded.
“Sorry, sorry. That was wrong of me,” he said, a slight laugh beneath his words. “Continue.”
Henry cracked a smile. “No, no, you were right to laugh. I said that hoping it would get a smile out of you,” he admitted. “But as I was saying, I’m a good businessman. I can even put you and Charity on the board of directors.”
“Give me one second,” Illias excused himself from the table and went outside. He pulled out his phone then dialed Charity. After a few rings, she picked up. “Hey,” he said, “how would you feel about helping me take Saint Anthony’s?”
“I’m sorry, what?” Charity asked.
Illias sucked in a breath, then quickly ran through Henry’s plan to buy the shelter from the church. The line went quiet for what felt like an eternity before a faint, muffled giggle crackled through the speakers.
“Are you—you’re being serious, aren’t you? Oh my God. Illias Koller is sodown bad, he’s trying to buy out the church.” She laughed. “You really will do anything but tell him how you feel, won’t you?”
“Is that a yes?” he asked with a huff.
“Answer me truthfully, and you’ve got my full support.”
“Shoot,” he said, knowing he might regret giving her the opportunity.
“Do you love him?”
The question knocked the air out of his lungs. He knew that he wanted to be with Cantrell. Spend as much time with him as possible. Learn about his past and his dreams for the future.Wake up next to him. See their belongings next to each other on the bathroom sink. Be together in public without the fear of being seen together. Illias looked into the cafe and watched his parents for a moment. They sat close to one another; hands overlapped on the table. He wanted nothing more than to do the same with Cantrell.
“Yeah, I do.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
Cantrell
“Because thy loving kindness is better than life, my lips shall praise thee. Thus will I bless thee while I live: I will lift up my hands in thy name.”
- Psalm 63:3-4 KJV
Cantrell blanched when he looked at himself in the mirror. Eyes going straight to his neck where his Roman collar should be. Somehow, in his haste to get into the rectory before Rier woke, Cantrell managed to misplace it. He knew it had to be somewhere in his car, but it was too late to go out to look. Rier was awake. He would see Cantrell rummaging in his car and know something was amiss. Left with no other choice, he bit the bullet and made his way to the church. If he was lucky, he would make it to the sacristy where they kept spare inserts without Rier spotting him.
