Tommy’s expression darkens. “Then I release the video. Show the world who you really are. The savage in the ring, enjoying every moment of violence.”
I meet his eyes, and something in my expression makes him falter. “Release it. I’m not the man I was twenty years ago, and I’m not ashamed of who I was and what I’ve become.” I take a step closer, and he actually backs up slightly. “You have no power over me anymore, Tommy. None.”
He stares at me for a long moment, his jaw working as he processes what I’ve said. Then he laughs, the sound bitter and sharp. “You think you’ve won? You think exposing Whitmore makes you safe?” He turns to leave, pausing at the door. “You’ve just painted a target on your backs. The diocese doesn’t like priests who make waves.”
He disappears into the hallway, his footsteps echoing away, and I know he’s right. We’ve won this battle, but the war is far from over.
45
ADRIAN
Bishop Carmine sits behind my desk like he owns it, his steel-gray hair catching the morning light streaming through the window. Sister Margaret stands by the door, not making eye contact as she prepares to take notes.
I sit across from the Bishop, and Marcus leans against the wall to my left, arms crossed, while Elijah perches on the edge of the chair beside me. We’re all trying to look calm, professional, like we’re not terrified of what’s about to happen.
The Bishop opens his leather-bound folder with deliberate precision, and I watch his ruby ring catch the light. My hands grip my rosary beads until they cut into my palm, using the pain to ground myself.
This is it.
The moment that determines whether we survive or whether everything we’ve built gets torn apart.
“After thorough investigation,” the Bishop begins, his voice measured and official, “I’m pleased to report that St. Michael’s Catholic Church is cleared of all allegations of misconduct.” He looks up, his deep-set eyes moving between the three of us. “The anonymous accusations were proven false. The evidence was fabricated. This parish is spiritually healthy and well-managed, and you handled the press conference well.”
The relief that floods through me is so intense it’s almost painful. I feel Marcus’s body relax slightly beside me, hear Elijah’s sharp exhale.
Sister Margaret’s pen scratches across her notebook, recording the official verdict that will go into the diocese records.
“Furthermore,” the Bishop continues, “the investigation into Brother Moreau’s conduct with Sarah Chen has been closed. The allegationswere determined to be false, the result of a teenage obsession rather than any inappropriate behavior on his part.” His gaze finds Elijah. “You’re reinstated to full duties, effective immediately.”
Elijah’s eyes fill with something that looks like tears, but he blinks them away quickly. “Thank you, Your Excellency.”
The Bishop closes his folder, and I think we’re done. Think we’ve somehow survived this nightmare intact. But then he looks at Sister Margaret, and something in his expression makes my stomach clench.
“Sister, please give us the room.”
Sister Margaret’s eyebrows rise slightly, but she doesn’t question the dismissal.
Just closes her notebook and slips out the door, leaving the four of us in weighted silence.
The moment the door clicks shut, the Bishop’s entire demeanor shifts. The official mask drops, replaced by something more human, more complicated.
“Now,” he says quietly, leaning back in my chair, “let’s talk about what I actually know.”
My throat tightens. Marcus goes rigid beside me. Elijah’s fingers still their nervous drumming against his thigh.
The Bishop’s steel-gray eyes hold mine with unnerving intensity. “I’ve been a priest for forty years. I’ve seen every variation of human weakness, every way people try to hide what they feel.” He pauses, letting the words sink in. “I know about Miss Davis.”
The confession hangs in the air like a noose. I force myself to remain still, to not confirm what he’s already guessed.
But my body betrays me. My jaw clenches, my hands tighten on the rosary beads, and I watch him catalog every tell.
“I don’t know the specifics,” he continues, his voice dropping lower. “And I don’t want to know. But I see something real in your dedication to this parish. To each other.” His gaze moves between the three of us. “I’m protecting you this once because I believe you’re good men trying to navigate an impossible situation.”
Marcus finds his voice first, his accent thickening with emotion. “Your Excellency, we?—”
“Don’t.” The Bishop raises his hand, cutting him off. “Don’t confess. Don’t explain. Just listen.” He stands, moving to the window, his back to us. “The Church has eyes everywhere. What happened here, the investigation, the scrutiny, it won’t be the last time. You need to be smarter. More careful.”
He turns to face me directly, and something in his expression makes my chest tight. “Father Cross, I’m going to tell you something I’ve never told anyone.” His voice cracks slightly. “Forty years ago, I was in love. Deeply, completely in love with someone I couldn’t have. I chose my vows over that love, and I’ve spent four decades wondering if I made the right choice.”
