“A fag.”
Illias didn’t think. Red coated his vision. The sound of skin making contact with skin echoed in his ears. His knuckles throbbed. Red blossomed across Henry’s cheek and jaw.
“Get out of my house,” Henry spat, holding his jaw.
Illias bolted, heart pulsing in his temples. His mom called after him but nothing she said to him right then mattered. All that mattered was getting out of that fucking house.
Chapter Five
Cantrell
“These things I have spoken unto you, that in me ye might have peace. In the world ye shall have tribulation: but be of good cheer; I have overcome the world.”
- John 16:33 KJV
Sitting on the steps of the church, Cantrell admired the orange and red sky, basking in the warm embrace of the sun as it sank lower and lower. He watched the clouds drift, enamored by God’s artistry. It wasn’t often that Cantrell got to truly enjoy the small things that God created for man. Sometimes, he forgot there was a life outside the church. That God could be found in all things. As the sun dipped behind the horizon, Cantrell brought his gaze from the darkening sky to the road just in time to see a silver coupe turn into the empty parking lot. Tires squealed against the pavement as the car whippedinto one of the parking spots carelessly. Corners of his lips turning downwards, Cantrell grabbed ahold of the handrail and lifted himself off the stairs. He adjusted his glasses higher on his nose. The door of the coupe swung open with force, then out stepped Illias. From where Cantrell stood, he could see the storm hovering over Illias’ head. He walked towards the church with his head down.
“I wasn’t expecting to see you so soon after your confession just the other week,” Cantrell said, making Illias look up.
Illias dropped his eyes to his feet, kicking at loose rocks. “I wasn’t expecting you to be here, Father.”
A frown threatened to surface.Did he not come for me?Cantrell pushed the selfish thought to the side and clasped his hands in front of him. “Well, the church needs a priest at all hours and Father Rier was feeling under the weather, so I’m covering his hours.” He turned to the side and gestured towards the doors. “Let’s sit inside and talk.”
Illias didn’t bring his eyes up from the ground as he walked up the stairs. In the brief movement he stood in front of Cantrell, he noted the glossy nature of Illias’ eyes. Cantrell’s chest ached, knowing what the likely cause was.
The nave was silent and void of any parishioners. Just this once, Cantrell was thankful that there was no one seeking God other than Illias. As wrong as it may be, as wrong as itwas, Cantrell couldn’t help but feel happy that Illias came here, of all places, in his distress. Perhaps there was still a chance of redemption as his priest.
They sat in one of the middle pews, Illias with his elbows on his knees, twisting one of the many rings he wore. Cantrell sat quietly next to him, waiting for him to break the silence. Seconds inched into minutes. Yet Cantrell knew better than to pry with someone who was guarded. Better to let them broach the conversation first. In the meantime, Cantrell relaxed in thepew and took in the man by his side. Even in his sadness, Illias was devastatingly beautiful. Curls pulled back in a hastily done ponytail, strands falling loose around his face. Dark beard freshly trimmed, highlighting his strong jawline.Is it possible, Cantrell thought, as he reached towards Illias,to find God in man?He jerked his hand back into his lap and forced his gaze away. Guilt flooded Cantrell’s chest, sitting heavy on his heart. The last thing he needed was for his wandering eye to get the best of him again, especially with Illias in a vulnerable state.
“I got into another argument with my stepdad.” Illias’ voice echoed through the empty nave.
Cantrell dared to look at Illias again. “Would you like to tell me about it?”
“My mom invited me to a fancy dinner. I didn’t want to go, but I promised her I would do at least one family dinner. I didn’t know it was a set up.” Illias took off one of the rings he had been twisting. A tarnished mood ring. “My old best friend was invited too. We spent two hours talking and catching up like nothing ever happened.” His voice wavered and he clamped his mouth shut. His inhale was shaky, the exhale worse. “Then when we left, I went over to their house and they started talking about how I should ask Charity out and one thing led to another and I, um, I got physical,” he whispered at the end of his sentence as though terrified of what he had done.
Cantrell frowned at the state Illias was in. A far cry from the confident man Cantrell met at the bar. He wanted to console Illias, offer him some form of comfort that wasn’t just words.A small touch,nothing more, Cantrell thought. His heart hammered in his chest as he laid his hand on Illias’ knee. He turned his head slightly and their eyes met. Cantrell’s fingers curled around Illias’ knee, digging ever so softly into the tender flesh beneath his pants.It is only an innocent touch, Cantrellthought, eyes falling to Illias’ lips for a breath. They sat for what felt like an eternity, frozen in each other’s gaze.
“Is it too late for a confession, Father?” Illias asked, voice a hoarse whisper.
Cantrell jerked his hand back into his lap, Illias’ words a stark reminder of all the things Cantrell shouldn’t want, couldn’t have. And how selfish he was for thinking of anything other than offering comfort in Illias’ time of need. “There is always time for a confessional.”
Cantrell rose from the pew and stepped into the aisle. He wondered if Illias’ confession would go the same path as his first or if there was a chance for Cantrell to establish a proper relationship. Illias headed towards the booths. Cantrell crossed his chest then followed. Their combined footsteps reverberated off the walls, filling the open space until it was all Cantrell could focus on.
Within the confines of the confessional, Cantrell removed his rosary, holding it in his lap, and took a steadying breath. “In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit.”
“Amen. Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. It has been almost two weeks since my last confession. I confess to the following sins.” Illias took a shuddering breath. “Wrath towards Henry for what he said and myself for what I did. I didn’t even think twice before I swung. He just looked straightthroughme and I couldn’t… I couldn’t take it anymore.” A choked back sob echoed in the confessional. “I’m so sick of him looking at me like I’mnothing. Like he finds the very idea of me repulsive.”
Cantrell’s heart ached. The confession felt too similar to one he gave decades ago about his mother. “There comes a point where we have to stop living for those around us and live for ourselves and God, especially when their presence in our life drives us into sin.”
“That’s why I left,” Illias’ voice was barely a whisper. “I never wanted to come back to this God-awful fucking town.”
The raw nature of Illias’ words left Cantrell grasping for something to say. Never in the years that he worked at Revived Faith had a confession left him speechless.
“God,” Illias sniffled.
Cantrell heard the sound of the bench creaking as Illias shifted.
“Why am I even telling you all this?”
