8. Midnight Visitor
Chapter eight
Midnight Visitor
Celeste
I was deep in sleep, wrapped in the warm cocoon of my bed, when a loud knock jolted me awake.
What the fuck?!
My eyes shot open.
My heart hammered in my chest.
For a moment, I was disoriented, the shadows of my bedroom feeling darker, heavier, than they should.
Another knock boomed through the room.
Is that Mom?
She never knocked.
On her good days, she’d wander in without a word.
On her bad days. . .I didn’t even want to think about it.
What the fuck is going on?
Quietly sliding out of bed, I reached for the drawer of my nightstand and pulled it open to grab the knife I kept there.
Robbers don’t knock, but I still don’t feel comfortable opening the door without something to protect me.
My fingers trembled slightly as I wrapped them around the handle.
I had on nothing but a thin nightgown that just skimmed my mid-thighs. The delicate material shimmered faintly in the moonlight filtering through the window.
Surely, this wasn’t the sort of outfit to battle an intruder.
Another knock came, more insistent this time.
This is insane. Can I just have one day that doesn’t wreck my nervous system.
I crept toward the door, careful not to make a sound.
My bare feet barely brushed the floorboards.
The faint light of the moon spilled through my curtains.
I held my breath and approached the door.
The person knocked again.
Alright. I don’t know what is going on, but I won’t wait too long to stab the motherfucker.
Gripping the knife tighter and raising it in the air, I yanked the door open in one swift motion, ready to confront whoever—or whatever—was on the other side.
Oh shit.
I froze.
Father Cassian stood there, his broad shoulders nearly filling the doorway. His black t-shirt clung to his chest, highlighting every delicious ridge of muscle.
The sleeves even strained for dear life around his biceps.
Am I dreaming?
His matching black jogging pants hung low on his hips, emphasizing the lean, powerful build of his body.
Even in the faint glow of the hallway, Father Cassian looked like something carved out of shadow and light—sharp jawline, tousled hair, and eyes that seemed to hold all the secrets of the universe.
Oh wait. Maybe. I am still dreaming.
And just like in the Cathedral earlier he looked at me and then licked his lips.
But this time, he hissed at himself, looked away, and cleared his throat.
“Father Cassian?” Shocked out of my fucking mind, I lowered the knife. “What. . .are you doing here? In my. . .hallway? At. . .”
I checked my watch. “It’s almost five in the morning.”
Is this an odd booty call? Because I’m down. Wait a minute. Girl, wake up.
I blinked my eyes, shoving myself into reality.
He ran a hand through his dark hair and put his view back on me. “Celeste, I’m sorry to show up like this, but. . .your mother.”
“Oh no. What happened?” I rushed around him, and he caught me.
Fast.
Just like that.
He had his arm around my waist and pulled me close to him where there was barely an inch of space between us.
That was when I remembered the thinness of my gown, the slender straps on my shoulders, and the daring neckline that dipped low enough to give him a great view of my breasts.
It wasn’t designed for company and certainly not for standing so close to Father Cassian.
I didn’t leave his hold, but I did fold my arms across my chest.
"Your mother. . .she’s okay," he said quickly, as if realizing the panic that his earlier words must have induced. Still, he didn't let go of me just yet. "She's with our Medical Mission Sisters and is comfortably sleeping in her own room. The doctor wants her to remain there for assessment—"
“What? The Medical Mission Sisters? Doctor? How did she get there?”
“Your mother is safe now.” He let me go. “But she. . .snuck out tonight, took her car, and drove to the church.”
“Oh, God. She can’t drive!” I stepped back, leaving his hold and lowering my arms. “Did she cause an accident on the way?”
“I checked with the police and all was fine. However. . .”
“Oh, God.” I tilted my head to the side. “What?”
“She did crash into our front sign. Even more, the car is not in good shape. Also, when I found her, she had bleeding on her forehead and arms, but the cuts weren’t deep. She’s at the Cathedral hospital now, sleeping. The medical staff is taking care of her.”
“What the fuck?”
The hallway tilted again, and I gripped the doorframe, desperate for stability as my world spiraled out of control.
“Don’t worry. I’ve got you.” He grabbed my waist—firmly, both hands this time. His touch was deliberate, grounding. His voice shifted to a low, calming rumble that melted into my bones. “Celeste. . .all will be okay.”
“W-will it?” I trembled, and my pulse grew erratic. “Oh my God. What am I doing? I was just sleeping the whole time, and she was out and about—”
“Do not blame yourself.” His grip tightened slightly, just enough to quiet the chaotic storm inside my chest, threatening to tear me apart.
Fuck.
Thank God, Father Cassian kept talking to me because his words served as an anchor in the chaos. “This is not the first time we’ve had something like this happen with our elderly members—”
“She could have killed someone—”
“But she didn’t.” His fingers flexed against my waist, and for a brief, shocking moment, I wanted nothing more than to lean into him fully. “And that’s what matters, Celeste.”
He’s right. No one died, including her. That counts for something.
My eyes fluttered shut as his words settled over me, like a soft blanket against the sharp edges of my rising fear and swelling guilt.
Honestly, I was about to drown in the nauseating swirl of everything that had gone wrong—until his touch pulled me out.
In fact, his hold wasn’t just steadying; it was consuming. It wasn’t gentle, but that only made it more effective. There was a dark kind of safety in his strength, a quiet promise that he could carry me through this, no matter how bad it got.
“It will all be fine, Celeste.” His fingers pressed into my sides, not enough to hurt, but enough to remind me how solid he was, how he was still here, holding me together when I couldn’t do it myself. “Breathe.”
All I could do was listen to him.
I forced myself to breathe, shallow and shaky at first, but slowly, my lungs began to expand fully.
Little by little, the panic in my chest loosened its grip and retreated into the dark corners of my mind where it belonged.
“Good,” he whispered. “You’re doing good, Celeste.”
I opened my eyes.
His gaze was locked onto mine, and it was dark.
Too intimate.
Too piercing.
Like he could see through every fragile piece of me.
Yet, I couldn’t look away.
“Talk to me, Celeste.”
“I messed up.”
“You did not.”
“You’re just saying that because it’s your job to calm people down. You don’t have to lie to me. Keep it real. I know I messed up.”
“You didn’t mess up.”
“I did.”
“You think my job is to lie to people? No. And even more. . .you think my being here right now is my job too?” His voice dipped, taking on a darker edge. “You think I wouldn’t hold you right here, saying these words right now, if I didn’t mean it?”
The air between us thickened, charged with something I couldn’t name but felt down to my core.
“I. . .” My words faltered.
My thoughts slipped through my fingers like water.
The warmth of his hands seeped through the thin fabric of my nightgown, and I hated how badly I wanted him to keep holding me.
I steadied my breathing. “I don’t know what to think.”
He leaned in slightly, not enough to invade my space, but enough that I could feel the heat of him. “Then stop thinking. Just breathe.”
I wanted to argue, to push him away and insist I was fine.
But I wasn’t fine.
And I didn’t want him to let go.
His grip, his voice, the way his presence consumed the space—it was too much and not enough all at once.
“You are not alone in this. Whatever you’re feeling—fear, guilt, anger—you don’t have to carry it by yourself. Do you understand?”
I nodded, though my mind was a chaotic mess of emotions I couldn’t untangle.
His hands didn’t shake.
His breathing didn’t waver.
And somehow, his calm infected me, stealing just enough of my panic to let me breathe again.
The stress that had coiled around my chest like a vice began to loosen, inch by agonizing inch. He didn’t let me go, didn’t even pretend to, as if he knew I’d fall apart the second he did.
I swallowed. "She's, okay?"
"Yes. She's also safe, comfortable, and asleep." His right hand traced small, soothing circles on my side with his thumb.
The touch sent shivers up my spine.
Feeling more calm, I let out a long sigh. “Thank you.”
His gaze dropped to my breasts sitting right there for his viewing pleasure. A low groan left him and then he quickly pulled away as if he'd been scalded.
He groaned. Right? I didn’t imagine that.
For a moment, I stood frozen in the aftermath of his retreat.
His hands no longer steadied me, no longer traced those soothing circles on my sides, but the memory of his touch lingered like a ghost that had whispered against my skin.
I mean. . .you don’t have to run from these titties. They won’t hurt you.
I shouldn’t have been thinking like this.
Not now.
Not after what he’d just done for me. But the way his gaze had dropped—swift, instinctual, and then so very guilty—lingered in my mind.
Father Cassian had looked at me.
Really looked.
And it had turned him the fuck on.
I swallowed hard, glancing down at my nightgown. The straps still hung precariously on my shoulders, the thin fabric clinging to my body in a way that left very little to the imagination. His gaze might have only lingered for a second, but it had seared into me, leaving behind an inexplicable sense of power.
My mother was safe.
Comfortable.
Sleeping.
So why did a part of me want to press just a little harder, test that boundary he seemed so desperate to maintain?
I shouldn’t.
But I wanted to.
I shifted my weight, the movement causing the hem of my nightgown to rise slightly. His eyes darted to the side, focusing somewhere over my shoulder, but his jaw tightened, and I swore I saw a muscle tick there.
You better stop, girl.
This was Father Cassian.
A man of the cloth.
A man who had gone out of his way to help me and my mother when we needed it most, and in the middle of the night.
I owed him my gratitude, not. . .whatever this was.
Oh, God. I should put on a robe or something. The night is bad enough without adding more sins to the Hell scoreboard.
“Uh. . .give me a minute to put something on.” I left the hallway and didn't look back at Father Cassian, but I could feel his gaze burning into my back.
He cleared his throat. “I’ll be out here.”
I shut the door behind me.