“I’m sorry,” he whispered, shaking harder. I could barely hear his words above the roar of the wind, and thunder joined in as lightning streaked in a jagged fork across the sky. “I just needed a place to stay out of the rain. I’ll leave.” His voice was so small and scared.
As he went to stand, he slipped, and I grabbed his arm, bringing him closer to me. He was too skinny, his beautiful face too pale. Beneath the blanket he had on a ragged gray T-shirt with a rip in it and an old pair of jeans. His skin was cold as ice. I couldn’t let him leave. I would fail as a priest if I allowed it.
“Come inside the church.” I didn’t wait for an answer, but I did release him and open the door, gesturing inside.
He swallowed and brushed at the hair stuck to his face. His bottom lip wobbled, and finally, to my relief, he stepped forward slowly. The sneaker on his right foot had a hole in the front and he had no socks.
“Come,” I said again, encouraging him to take bigger steps.
He glanced at me nervously, bottom lip caught between his front teeth, and I smiled because he had an adorable gap between them. It took me a moment to realize I was admiring him and I shook my head. Priests couldn’t hold on to ideas like that about other men. I wasn’t that person anymore.
When he finally stepped inside, I closed the door behind us and locked it. The vestibule and nave were warm because the thick, decorative pink granite walls kept any hint of the weather out. Rain hammered against the stained glass windows, but the church protected us from the storm.
“Come sit down.” I took his wrist and guided him past the vestibule and toward one of the pews, letting him sit before taking a seat beside him.
He trembled and wrapped the blanket tightly around himself, but it did little to help because he was so thoroughly soaked.
“What’s your name?” I asked quietly. He seemed like anything louder would scare him off. “You’re safe here.”
He swallowed and glanced at me, those strange, mismatched eyes unique and interesting. Now that I was closer to him and we were in the light, I noticed a faded scar on his chin and a mole on his right cheek. “Phoenix.”
I raised my eyebrows in surprise and it earned me a small chuckle.
“It’s my real name. Phoenix Crawford.” He licked his lips and let out another breath. “I shouldn’t be in here.”
“Why?” I couldn’t stop myself from sliding closer, but not enough to invade his personal space. He spoke too softly for me to hear him properly, and his teeth chattered a little. “You are God’s child and more than welcome here.”
His laughter was nice to hear, though it was shaky like the rest of him. “The only time I visited a church was for a funeral. I’ve never been religious.” He glanced at me, eyes watery, but I didn’t know if that was from the rain clinging to his hair and face or if he was crying. “I don’t even know what I’m supposed to call you.”
“Father. My name is Father Gian. I prefer to go by my first name.” I touched his shoulder carefully and he didn’t back away, so I took it as a sign of encouragement.
He laughed again, but this time there was fear in it, and he slouched forward, his head nearly touching the pew in front of us.
“What’s funny?” I asked.
“I have a father,” he whispered, staring at his feet. “Well, he’s my Daddy.”
I frowned. “I’m not sure I understand. We all have a father.”
“Not like mine.” He finally sat back, and I was able to stare at him again. A haunted look passed across his face and his gaze grew distant. Whatever he was thinking about, I didn’t like it. “I’m not supposed to be here.” He stared up at the ceiling, as though searching for an answer. We all got what we needed in a place of worship, and I was certain he would, too, with time. His answer would come. “By God’s standards, I’m wrong.”
“How?” I crossed my leg over my knee and rested my elbow against the back of the pew, giving him my full attention. “I am here to listen.”
“Don’t you have a confession box or something?” He glanced around, his stare stopping on the right side of the nave at the confessional.
“Do you wish to confess? You said you weren’t religious.”
He shook his head furiously and looked at me. “I’m not.” He leaned back against the pew. “I’m gay.” He chuckled. “More than that. I’m a boy for my Daddy.Was.I was a boy for my Daddy.” Something unhappy danced across his expression again as his brows furrowed. “I upset him. I was bad. Enough for him to throw me out.” His attention shot to me, pleading. “How did I upset my Daddy so much?”
I wished I was naïve enough to not know what he was talking about, but I’d been to BDSM clubs in my younger years, met Daddies and boys, and I knew exactly what he meant. At one time I’d been enamored with the power some men chose to give up to others.
I touched his shoulder again, and he leaned closer until his face was buried against my chest. It was strange how quickly he leaned into a stranger’s comfort, but this was clearly aboywho relied on his Daddy to steady him. A Daddy who, apparently, had abandoned him. Phoenix was a mess, and I wasn’t going to get any understandable truths out of him tonight, not in his state.
“Phoenix, I have a house a few streets from here. I was going to go home and read. Would you like to come with me? I could offer you a shower, food, and a spot to sleep.”
He stared at me for a moment and uncertainty gleamed in those mismatched irises. It took me longer than it might’ve in the past to realize what he was thinking.
“Oh no,” I said quickly. “I am a man of God, Phoenix. I am not asking to have sex with you, rather I am genuinely offering you a place to rest for the night, so we can talk in the morning. You can tell me what happened with your... Daddy.”
