Hoping that God was listening to his fervent prayers, Cantrell slipped through the back entry of the church. Eyes peeled for any sight of Rier. Heart rattling his ribcage as he made his way into the nave. From the corner of his eye, he spotted Rier speaking with the mother from the other night. This time, she was without her squabbling children. Rier’s eyes flickered from the parishioner to Cantrell. He gave a quick nod of acknowledgement but didn’t slow his pace. He passed through the entry of the narthex and hooked an immediate left, snatched open the sacristy door and hurried into the small room. He flicked on the light, flooding the room with dim yellow light, then scanned the shelves, nearly crying out in relief when he found a box of Roman collars, he pulled the dusty box from the shelf and plucked an insert from it, immediately slotting it into place.
Mind and heart racing from how careless he had been Cantrell took a moment to collect himself. He knew he shouldn’t have tossed his collar aside, gone to Nirvana’s, or spent the night at Illias’. But in a moment of anger, of weakness, Cantrell became reckless. Risked being found out, and for what? A relationship he wasn’t supposed to have? If he could even call what he had with Illias a relationship. It wasn’t like Cantrell could actually provide Illias with what he deserved. Couldn’t hold his hand or claim him without fear-induced nausea. Cantrell would never be able to do such a thing while he was part of the church. And leaving the church wouldn’t magically fix the solution either; it would take years before he would ever feel a semblance of normalcy.
Raw, bitter laughter swelled in his throat. As if he would ever actually leave the church. Revived Faith provided him a fresh start, gave him back his life after he losteverything. But Illias showed Cantrell what it meant to trulylivethat life. Taught him that there was more to life than endless prayer. Life was aboutthe present. Holding it in the palm of his hands and cherishing it for what it was right then and there.
He was thankful for the church, thankful for the life he had, but he couldn’t deny how trulymiserablehe was before Illias. Cantrell didn’t think he could go back to that life. Back to an empty bed. An empty heart. But if God was all seeing and all knowing, He knew Cantrell wasn’t disobeying out of spite or malice. He understood how his longing warred with his devotion. Certainly, God would understand that it was possible to love someone so much that they would be willing to give up everything. Just as He had given His only begotten son in the name of love.
“Cantrell,” Rier’s voice shot ice through Cantrell’s bloodstream.
“Rier, how are you?” he greeted casually, turning around.
Rier's eyes went straight to the stark white collar insert. He knew. Of course he knew. Rier had eyes like a hawk. “Care to explain why you came in without your collar?”
Cantrell cleared his throat. “I believe I misplaced it last night. I got back late from Saint Anthony’s and must have dropped it while changing. I’m sure it’s somewhere within my room.”
Rier narrowed his eyes as he scoffed. “You expect me to believe that? Not once in all the years you’ve worked at Revived Faith have you misplaced such a valuable piece of your uniform.” He took a step closer, tilting his head up to look down his nose at Cantrell. “Perhaps you left it somewhere you weren’t supposed to be?”
“What exactly are you accusing me of, Rier?” Cantrell snapped, sick of tiptoeing on eggshells. “I would appreciate if you talked to me plainly, like an adult.”
Rier crossed his arms as he spoke. “I simply wonder if you have forgotten your vows to the church, Cantrell. Something has been occupying your attention as of late, something that is notSaint Anthony’s. Something that has you overly attached to your phone and visiting that grimy little bar.”
Walls closed in around Cantrell. His stomach soured. Someone took notice of his more frequent visits to Nirvana’s. He used to only visit once, maybe twice a month if he was lucky, before Illias. Someone must have seen him and Illias in the alley. Seen a priest commit sin in the faint glow of neon lights.
Rier’s lip curled in disgust. “Or should I saysomeone.” He stepped towards Cantrell, uncrossing an arm and pointing at him. “Ever since that Koller boy came back, you’ve been distracted.” Rier’s finger dug into Cantrell’s sternum. “You were never meant for priesthood, Cantrell. You are wicked at your very core, no matter how hard you try to bury it.”
Cantrell squared his shoulders and carefully removed Rier’s finger from his chest. “The only one wicked here is you, Rier. I haven’t forgotten how you turned a blind eye to Saint Anthony’s when the hot water went out. Or the time you told me that those that rely on Saint Anthony’s for a warm meal were undeserving of our help because they didn’t come to Mass. Only one of us has walked the path of Christ himself.” Cantrell stepped forward, putting himself toe-to-toe with Rier. “And it hasn’t been you.”
Rier stared at Cantrell, eyes searing directly into his soul like Rierknew. Knew that Cantrell had cast his vows to the side the second he was tempted. That he was a weak man with fragile resolve that couldn’t turn away when presented with the apple.
“As the head priest of Revived Faith, I am willing to forgive this…lapse in judgement of yours. You have until the end of the day to decide what you wish to do with yourself, Cantrell. I suggest you take the time to reevaluate where your priorities are,” Rier said all too calmly.
Rier turned on his heel and walked away, taking all the air in the room with him. Cantrell’s heart pulsed in his head. His ears burned. Lightheaded, he leaned against the shelves to steadyhimself.What am I going to do?he thought, tears pricking his eyes.I can’t lose him. I can’t give up Saint Anthony’s. He closed his eyes and took slow, steady breaths, a slight tremor in every inhale and exhale. There was nothing he could do. Whatever he chose, whoever he chose, would lead to him having to pick one over the other.
Swallowing his emotions, Cantrell stood straight. Lifted his glasses and wiped his damp eyes. There was no sense in crying over something no longer within his control. Was any of it in his control to begin with? He ran his palms across his uniform, thinking back to the day he first put on his clerical blacks. The day he handed control over to the church. Willingly pledged himself to abide by a set of rules meant to keep him on the righteous path of Christ, rules that now acted more like chains than a way of life. Shackles that Illias chipped away at with every conversation, every heated look and that broke the day he lookedatCantrell instead of the collar. Cantrell held the broken ends, looking between the end that once held him to the life he chose to marry, and the life Illias offered him without stipulations. He knew which one he wanted and which one he would choose.
They would not be the same.
The sound of the church doors opening caught Cantrell’s ear. Forcing himself to set aside his turmoil, he left the safety of the sacristy. Standing in the narthex was the man responsible for it all. Illias Koller. Handsome as ever. Illias offered a light-hearted smile that fell the moment he truly looked at Cantrell. Cantrell’s chest ached with the longing to bring that smile back. To see it light up this dark moment before he extinguished it for good.
Footsteps echoed in the nave. Cantrell jerked his head towards the bathroom and mouthedhurry. Despite the furrow of his eyebrows, Illias moved noiselessly towards the bathroom without question. Cantrell strained his hearing. There was only one set of footsteps and they grew fainter the further they movedwithin the church. Determining that Rier was going either upstairs or to the blessed sacrament chapel, Cantrell prayed Rier would remain busy until Illias was gone.
He scanned the entry to the nave to confirm that Rier was nowhere in sight, then joined Illias in the bathroom. Rounding the corner, Cantrell spotted Illias leaning against the sinks. The sight of him dressed in a faded Motley Crue t-shirt, ripped jeans, and scuffed-up combat boots in the pristine bathroom threw Cantrell back to when he first met Zoe. Reminded him of the vicious, insatiable greed that took over his life. Greed that flexed its sharpened claws whenever Illias was around, ready to sink into whatever Cantrell was willing to give it. And, even with the knowledge of all that hung on the line, the desire to feed it by taking Illias rough and dirty in one of the stalls simmered low in Cantrell’s core.
Illias studied Cantrell’s face for a minute, a mischievous glint in his eye. He pushed himself off the sink and took a step closer to him. Cantrell could feel the heat radiating from Illias’ body, making the desire worse. “You’ve got that look in your eye, Father.”
“What do you mean?” Cantrell feigned cluelessness, trying to piece together what little remained of his self-restraint.
“Like you want to devour me.”
Illias took another step, placing a hand on Cantrell’s chest. They were too close. Someone could walk in at any moment. Rier could walk in and see for himself that he wasright. Cantrell didn’t move, heart thumping against his chest where Illias’ hand rested. Where it beat for him.
“Is that what you want, Father?” Illias asked, eyes dropping to Cantrell’s lips. “Do you want to eat me?”
“You have no idea what I want to do to you.”
“I think”—Illias forced Cantrell to take a step back—“I have an idea.”
Cantrell reached behind him, fingers briefly making contact with the stall door as Illias continued forward, guiding Cantrell in without complaint or objection. Cantrell was too caught up in the idea of whatcouldbe instead of what was. Infatuated with the possibility ofwhat if. Reluctant to let go of what he had because letting go meant losinganotherperson he loved.
