“His choice. It’s you,” he repeated. “You just weren’t looking.”
“Right, sure. So what do you suggest? I just turn up at his door?”
Lachlan shrugged. “I prefer to climb through a window, but yeah, doors work. What’s the worst he could do? Turn you away?”
22
RAFAEL
ILAY ON my bed that evening, still fully clothed and staring at the ceiling. Tonight the rectory felt too small. The walls pressed in on me, suffocating, making it hard to take a good breath.
Then again, I hadn’t been able to breathe since I’d walked into the café earlier and seen Alessio. The way he’d looked at me… It was seared into my mind. Shock at first, clearly neither of us expecting the other on a casual coffee run. But then the surprise in his eyes morphed into nonchalance—which hurt even worse than the anger that came after.
My stomach felt hollow, and not just from skipping dinner with the others. Alessio’s words haunted me. “I did you a favor—I removed temptation. I removed myself. From confession, church…you. You’re welcome.”
I closed my eyes like I could erase them. I’d spent the day trying to keep busy, but now I was alone with only my thoughts to keep me company…and I hated it.
I hated that Alessio had walked in during the homily that night.
I hated that I’d been the one to drive him away.
And most of all, I hated that seeing him again today after so many days without him felt like the oxygen I needed to live.
My mind and my heart were at war, and if I were honest with myself, they had been for a long time now. Going through the motions had become my normal, but I hadn’t realized it until Alessio’s confession.
Now he was all I could think about…and he wanted nothing to do with me.
I turned my head on the pillow, looking at the drawn curtain and feeling the urge to open it. But I wouldn’t. Mostly because I didn’t want to look up and see Alessio shutting me out. There was always that nigglingwhat if,though. What if he changed his mind? What if he opened the curtain? What would I do?
A knock sounded on my door, and I sighed. I didn’t want to put on an act tonight for whichever of my fellow brothers in Christ was stopping by. Maybe I could just pretend to be asleep.
You signed up for this,my conscience reminded me.
The knock came again, more insistent this time, and it had me sitting up, wondering if something was wrong. I got to my feet, glad I was still dressed, and headed to the door, pulling it open.
I froze, even as my pulse spiked and my breath caught in my chest. Alessio, the last person I’d expected to see, stood on my doorstep, and for a moment I thought I was imagining him. The way his hair was slightly windblown. His t-shirt molding to every muscle of his chest and dotted with the light sprinkles falling down on him. The fit of his jeans, low on his hips.
It was his eyes, though, that held my attention, because there wasn’t anger or accusation in them like there had been hours ago. Instead, they were sharp and burning with something dangerously close to resolve…and need.
Relief and fear crashed through me, and I was terrified to admit even to myself which was winning out.
“You shouldn’t be here,” I said, because the words were familiar and I didn’t trust myself to say anything else.
“I tried not to be,” he replied quietly. “I really did.”
All I could do was stare, unable to speak, not caring about how he’d gotten past the locked gates. He was here.
Alessio took a step toward me, sending my pulse skyrocketing.
“You want me to forget,” he said. “To move on. To pretend this doesn’t exist. But I can’t do that, Rafael. And neither can you.”
My entire body went up in flames and I swallowed.
“This—” I choked on my words and tried again. “This ends with you hurt.”
“It already did,” he said. “I survived.”
The words landed heavier than any accusation could. Surviving wasn’t living, and I’d done this to him. To us.
