Elijah makes a sound somewhere between a gasp and a prayer, his blue eyes filling with something I can’t name.
“About eight weeks along.” My voice cracks, but I push through. “And I don’t…I don’t know which of you is the father.”
The confession hangs in the air between us, heavy with implications none of us are ready to face.
I watch their faces, trying to read their reactions, terrified of what I’ll see.
Anger? Disgust? Rejection?
The fear that’s been my constant companion since childhood rises up, choking me.Everyone leaves. This will make them leave.
Adrian’s hands curl into fists at his sides, his rosary beads cutting into his palm.
I can see him fighting himself, fighting the violence that’s always simmering beneath his priestly exterior.
Marcus’s jaw clenches so hard I hear his teeth grind, his dark eyes burning with emotions too complicated to name.
Elijah’s angel face has gone carefully blank, but his hands shake where they grip the edge of the bed.
“Say something,” I whisper, my voice breaking completely. “Please. Say anything.”
The silence that follows feels eternal.
41
ADRIAN
The silence stretches until I can’t bear it anymore. Charlie stands in the center of my quarters, her hands twisted together, her hazel eyes swimming with tears she’s trying not to shed. The words she just spoke hang in the air like thunder cloud.“I’m pregnant. And I don’t know which of you is the father.”
My chest tightens with emotions too complicated to name. Terror. Wonder. Fierce protectiveness. And underneath it all, a possessive certainty that makes my hands shake. Mine.
She’s carrying my child. Or Marcus’s. Or Elijah’s.
The uncertainty should bother me more than it does, but all I can focus on is the way her hand moves unconsciously to rest on her still-flat stomach, protective and tender.
“Charlie.” My voice comes out rougher than I intend. I cross to her, my hands framing her face despite knowing I shouldn’t touch her, shouldn’t give in to the need burning through my veins. “We’ll figure this out.”
“Will we?” Her laugh is bitter, broken. “The Bishop is investigating us. Sarah Chen is accusing Elijah of grooming. My mother is threatening blackmail. And now I’m pregnant with a baby that could belong to any of you.” Her voice cracks completely. “How do we figure that out?”
Marcus moves closer, his tattooed arms reaching for her before he catches himself. I watch the battle play across his face, the need to comfort her warring with the careful distance we’re supposed to maintain.
His dark eyes find mine, and I see my own conflict reflected there. We’re priests and deacons and brothers, men who took vows of celibacy. And we’re about to become fathers.
The thought should terrify me. Instead, I feel something that looks dangerously like joy trying to break through the fear.
Elijah stands from the bed, his gaze tracking Charlie’s every movement. “We protect you,” he says quietly, his French accent thickening with emotion. “Both of you. Whatever it takes.”
Before any of us can respond, a sharp knock on my door makes us all freeze. Sister Margaret’s voice cuts through the heavy silence. “Father Cross? The Bishop needs to see you immediately. All of you.”
My stomach drops. Charlie’s face goes pale, and I watch her hand tighten protectively over her stomach. Marcus’s jaw clenches so hard I hear his teeth grind. This is it.
The moment we’ve been dreading. The Bishop has made his decision, and we’re about to face the consequences of everything we’ve done.
We file into my office like condemned prisoners walking to our execution.
The Bishop sits behind my desk, his steel-gray hair catching the afternoon light streaming through the window. But something about his expression makes me almost falter. He doesn’t look angry or disappointed.
He looks…calculating. Like a man who’s just solved a complicated puzzle.
