Forgive Me Father (The Shadows of Darkness Universe #1)

2. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Eden

S unday.

The Lord’s Day.

“It’s the day we have gratitude for family and faith,” My Mother’s reverent voice echoes down the hall, “let's be thankful that we can gather together as a family and go to church. Not everyone has that blessing.” It’s hard to tell whether she’s trying to convince us or herself more that we’re anything but dysfunctional.

One day a week, this family acts as if Dad isn't cheating on Mom, I am not a screw-up, and Aiden isn’t a massive pothead.

What a shame my pitiful ass had to come home indefinitely from college and ruin it for all of them.

On paper, we look like a picture-perfect family. A son, set to get a full-ride scholarship for his accomplishments on the high school football team, a husband running one of the most successful law firms in this small, good-for-nothing town, and a wife always the first to participate in all of the neighborhood socials.

To anyone not looking too closely, our lives reflect the epitome of a loving and stable nuclear family. Even down to the goddamn white picket fence home in the middle of who fucking cares, suburbia.

But there are cracks in the veneer. I see them when I look at my mother. I'm not sure how burying her sorrows in a bottle of wine every Saturday night and watching reruns of The Office fixes a life devoid of love from the man who stole away her twenties. I suppose I too might be able to drown out my pain over Friday martinis with the girls in the backyard, pretending as if all husbands don't get a rise out of seeing who can pin down the girl still young enough to get mistaken for a teenager in the bar.

They were perfectly happy living in denial, laying their sins to rest before breakfast each day under a framed picture of the Ten Commandments.

Honour thy father and thy mother.

Thou shalt not commit acts of adultery.

Thou shalt not bear false witness against thy neighbor.

What fucking hypocrites.

But, for one day a week, we can act like everything is fine. We can pretend like we show face in the cathedral as role models in faith instead of the vain need to present to everyone else that we are perfectly normal.

"Mom says you have five minutes," Aiden sighs, looking over at the boxes stacked haphazardly in the corner of my room. I still hadn’t gotten around to unpacking them since throwing everything in my car and fleeing from my dorm to come home.

"I can drive myself," I mutter, messing with the settings on my camera, feeling unsettled the longer Aiden watches me from the doorway.

Aiden’s brown hair is tousled effortlessly. His freshly ironed dress shirt and slacks have a slightly disheveled look — his tie loosened, shirt untucked, and his blazer is nonchalantly draped over his shoulders. The stereotypical catholic schoolboy attitude is a threat to any girl’s chastity, which I'm sure he takes advantage of.

"Good for you. Mom wants to make sure you actually show," He yawns, nudging one of the lighter boxes down from the stack next to him.

Toiletries and other non-essentials spill out of the box and roll under my barely made bed. I look up to see a shit-eating grin plastered across his face.

"Oops."

Slamming my camera down on my desk, I snag my car keys from my bed, ready to kick my brother so hard in the ass that he walks funny during Communion.

"Get the fuck out, so help me God-" I start, ready to slam his smug face right into the door.

"Language, Eden!" Mom yells, scolding me as if I haven't heard considerably worse coming from her each time she dresses up for my father, doing whatever she can to get an ounce of his affection. "We are leaving now!" She continues, slamming the door with a great deal of anger .

"You're not seriously wearing that?" He questions, my eyes following his down to my oversized dark blue sweater and worn black sweats.

"I’m going to be sitting, kneeling, and holding hands with a fuck ton of strangers for an hour and a half, and you want me to dress like it's my goddamn wedding?" I question, nudging Aiden out of the way. "Piss off."

"Wedding?" He laughs. "I forgot you believe in unrealistic things. Weddings, becoming a photographer, making it through a year of college-"

Drowning out my brother's incessant need to bring me down in any way he can, I cover my ears, letting the jangle of my keys clacking together become my primary focus. A deep-rooted craving to dull the tidal wave of emotions rolling through me threatens to consume me as I walk out of the room. I bite back the urge to grab the cloth-wrapped blade I keep hidden in my room, my mind already conjuring images of me dragging the fine metal edge across my skin until the red drowns out the pain. Double-checking to ensure all parts of my body are concealed in the mirror closest to the front door, I hold up my middle finger to my brother, praying that for once God hears my message and flips my car before I can make it to the church parking lot.

As much as I dread being surrounded by unfamiliar faces demanding to know why I’ve come home, the cathedral has never ceased to amaze me .

In the grand expanse of the cathedral, a vast pool of holy water glistens under the soft, filtered light streaming through the stained-glass windows. The water, undoubtedly tainted by the dirty hands of sinners creeping idly into the space, occupies a central place in the nave, its surface reflecting the intricate mosaics and ornate arches above. The pool’s edges are framed with elegant stonework that’s similar to the intricately carved birch pillars adorning the space.

Centered at the altar on a raised platform, the priest's and deacon's chairs are positioned before the Eucharist. Small seats and kneeling pads for the altar servers are arranged towards the back of the large podium, which is used for reading Scripture.

The choir sits toward the back wall, hidden and meant to be out of the disciples’ line of sight. Positioned to the left of the grand space, a separate room meant for confession remains unbothered. Its door will be unlocked and opened thirty minutes before Mass for people to cleanse their heavy souls. Unlike many catholic churches, Saint Michael’s chose a more direct approach to confession, positioning the priest's chair in front of the penitent, forcing you to look the man in the eyes while confessing your sins.

Over the years, confession has felt more like a game than an actual act of repentance. Lying to Father Kevin about my sins has become easier. He's old and frail, his best years behind him. Sometimes, I wonder if he looks forward to hearing my wild sins, eager to learn what temptations Satan has led me to.

Last week, I told him I tried meth for the first time, which was hilarious given the one time I tried pot, I vomited so much that I swore I’d never touch drugs again after that day.

The week before that, I told him I took part in an orgy, telling him it might be best if I didn’t drink from the communal chalice when receiving the blood of Christ.

Playing these games with the old man has given me something to look forward to while I avoid the real demons at play inside my soul.

My mom thinks confession will eventually give me the courage to tell her why I came home.

My father could care less that I dropped out. Less money for him to spend on a deadbeat child. He’s barely spoken twenty words to me since I made my way back to this small woodland town.

Shame.

I see Aiden talking to a few of his friends from the football team. Aiden has always been popular at school, but I’m not sure anyone knows the real him.

Drinking my third cup of complimentary lemonade, I isolate myself from the gaggle of overdressed members of the congregation, keeping to myself on one of the couches in the gathering space meant to be utilized before Mass.

Scrolling through social media on my phone, I nervously skim the posts from my friends back at college, turning my phone off entirely when I see his face in one of the group photos posted over Spring Break.

Downing what's left of my drink, I toss the cup into a nearby trashcan, frowning when it misses the rim.

"She shoots, she misses," Her familiar voice chimes. The couch shifts under the added weight as she joins me with a wide grin on her face .

With dark curled hair, golden honey eyes, and rich olive skin, Zoey Lee is the epitome of human perfection. Unlike my unmanaged brown locks, murky hazel eyes, and freckled pale skin, she always looks full of life, kissed by the sun, her teeth as white as snow.

If she weren't a childhood friend who hated organized religion as much as me, I’m not sure we’d have anything in common.

"How many women have gossiped about my mom today?" I question, leaning into her. Her curvy body and full breasts are accentuated by the beautiful, flower-printed dress she’s wearing.

"Six. Dahlia always has something to say after your dad gives her the flirty eyes," She hisses, pointing to the young woman my dad stands uncomfortably close to.

"And what’s Aiden been saying?"

I know damn well he’s already led the charge on starting rumors about me, in the church and out of it.

"Apparently, your meth joke has gained some traction," She says contritely, patting me on the back. "But I know it's not true," She whispers, giving her cross necklace a small kiss. "As does the big man," She smiles. I feel the cold metal of my own cross pressed to the center of my chest nagging for attention.

Rolling my fingers over the rosary in my pocket, I use the sacramental meant for prayer as a distraction, keeping my thoughts away from the scars on my wrists.

"I should go light a candle," I mutter, the feeling of people's searing gazes suddenly much more apparent.

"I meant to tell you something," Zoey smiles, shifting her eyes around the room. Tugging my arm, she gets me to sit back down, her lips pressing to my ear. "Father Kevin is retiring. "

"Father Kevin? The man who said he would “die at the altar before leaving” is retiring?"

Zoey nods her head excitedly.

"He went forward to the clergy, requesting an early retirement to enjoy some time in Jerusalem. They approved his request and appointed a new priest. The announcement is supposed to happen today-"

"Hey, Eden," One of Aiden's friends, an altar server, yells from across the room. His evil little grin is more than enough to tell me where this is going. "You think the Lord would approve of you using meth?" I see my brother's elbow drive into his side.

So much for respecting thy neighbor.

Hearing the whispers in the room escalate, my dad looks over to where I'm standing, his eyes set in the same rigid and cold way that I used to fear as a child. Hearing the sound of his belt buckle in the back of my mind, I clear my throat and leave Zoey behind in the crowded gathering space.

I shove past the large oak doors, dipping my finger into the pool of holy water.

"In the name of the Father, the Son, and the-" I pause, looking to the empty pews, wondering what the point is if no one was watching.

"Fuck this," I hiss, stopping myself mid-blessing. My eyes peer toward the vacant confession room, deciding to confront Father Kevin.

Making my way toward the room, I throw back my shoulders, raise my head, and prepare to face the old man with as much courage as I can muster. Forcing the door wide open, I start to speak but pause, perplexed by the sight in front of me .

Ten minutes till Mass.

He should still be here.

He's always here.

But instead, I find someone else here.

Dressed in sleek black from head to toe, his tailored shirt and pants cling to a broad, imposing frame. Arms crossed over his chest, he towers above most of the men in the congregation, standing around 6'4. His dark hair, cut into a faded undercut, frames intense hazel eyes that lock onto mine, the green irises almost swallowing me whole. A chill runs through me—lying to Father Kevin is one thing, but I could never deceive this man. Black ink traces up the side of his neck, a silver cross glinting at his throat. Youthful yet hardened, he leans into the doorway, his gaze piercing until I’m forced to look away. Beautiful and haunting all at once, the man isn’t someone I've seen in the cathedral before. His mouth moves, but I can’t hear a sound.

"W-What?" I question, struggling to find my words, the large sweater hugging my body now considerably warmer.

As he pushes away from the wall, a gold wedding band flashes on his finger before he tucks his hands into his pockets.

"I asked if I can help you?" He reiterates, glancing toward Father Kevin's empty chair.

"Where is Father Kevin?" I question, keeping my focus on anything but the man's painfully striking eyes.

"Father Kevin wrapped up early today. Between you and me, I think he’s despondent about today being his final Mass," He sighs, pausing before me. "Was there something you needed from him?" The man’s jaw tenses the longer he watches me. "You looked fairly livid coming in here."

I try to catch my breath, but the man's presence is suffocating. His deep voice and large frame are enough to make anyone second guess their actions in the house of the Lord.

"I came here for confession," I lie, forcing my face into a neutral expression. "But I don’t plan to have a stranger absolve me of my sins," I snap, a small smirk spreading across the man's alluring face.

"Have a list of sins to share, do you?" He questions, almost as if he’s mocking me.

"Not as many as his altar servers," I grumble. "Do you suppose God knows how frequently Father Kevin has felt the need to share my confessions with his bottom-feeding sycophants?" I question, the man's brows raise at the comment.

"Sycophant?"

"Perfect little disciples, all dressed in white, kneeling at the man's feet as if he’s a deity, just begging to lick his feet and follow his every command. What would you call them if not servants?"

"I would call them children of God. Subservient to their Father," He whispers, taking a step closer. I feel the heat trapped behind my cheeks, my nails viciously clawing at my palms in my clenched hands.

"I've never been one to submit so blindly to anyone or anything," I hiss, not letting up on my position. "Perhaps that's why Father chooses to spill my secrets."

He surveys me, letting his eyes linger on my neck much longer than I'd like.

"Yet, you wear that cross?" He questions.

"Nominal faith is better than nothing."

Nodding, he glances behind me, the busy chatter of those beginning to funnel into the space breaching the quiet air between us.

"Eden Faulkner, I’m guessing?" He questions.

The way he says my name awakens every nerve in my body. My stomach rolls with anxiety, my skin flush with heat.

"So, I was right. He’s spoken about me?" I question. "You ready to judge me too?"

His head cocks to the side at the accusation in my tone.

"How could I have anything but empathy for an orgy-loving, meth junkie?" He asks sarcastically. "Although I can't say any of that fits the girl I see before me," He says, as if he has me entirely figured out.

"Then what do you see…" I trail off, giving him space to reveal his identity.

"Roman," He clarifies, his canines flashing as his lips curl into a smirk.

The low hum of the choir singing in praise catches my ear, the first warning to take a seat before Mass begins.

Wishing now more than ever I could escape and hide in the bathroom, I shake my head, letting my fingers touch my temples. The last thing I have the patience to do is stand next to Aiden for an hour and a half and play nice.

"I suppose that's your queue to leave," Roman says, extending his arm toward the open door.

I shoot him an annoyed glance, then slowly step back, letting out a dismissive scoff.

"And what about you?" I question, narrowing my focus .

"I’ll be participating, just in a different way," He shrugs, giving me little clarity on who he is.

"Right," I hiss, rolling my eyes at how relaxed and indifferent he seems.

Turning on my heels, I make my way toward the door, startled as an arm blocks my way. His body leans into the doorway, stopping me from going any farther.

"To answer your question, Eden," He whispers, his voice low as his breath brushes the back of my neck. "What I see is a girl who opens her mouth before thinking far too much," He snaps, his lips inches away from the back of my neck. "You'd benefit from learning how to close those lips of yours. Maybe try focusing all that emotional energy you’re spitting out on something more rewarding."

As I turn my head, he remains unmoved, his nose just inches from mine and his body towering over me in the doorway.

"Yeah?" I question, malicious thoughts toward this man festering in my mind. "Well, maybe you can come up with something for me to focus on, then."

I shake my head at him. Watching his eyes follow me as I walk away, his body creeps backward into the confession room until he’s no longer visible.

I make my way through the pews, ignoring the fire under my flesh, keeping my head lowered until I've locked eyes with my family who’ll forever be disappointed in me.

Forty- five minutes of scripture, thirty minutes of hymn, and twenty minutes of kneeling later, Father Kevin finally pulls his focus away from the altar servers. Clearing his throat, people begin to quiet as he moves toward the front of the room.

“Before we receive the Holy Spirit, take in the blood of Christ, and say our goodbyes for the evening, I want to address the elephant in the room,” The old man says with a smile, as whispers ripple through the pews.

He clasps his hands together in front of him as he looks solemnly over each section of the altar area, waiting for the excited chatter to die down.

"I'm sure many of you have heard a rumor revolving around my departure from the church-"

"Hey," Aiden snaps, grabbing my hair to get my attention, his mouth inches away from my ear. "I promised a few of my buddies I could smoke with them after Mass. You mind driving me to The Overlook?"

"Why the hell would I do that?" I swat his hand away from my hair, responding quietly enough to avoid my parent's listening ears.

"Wouldn't hurt to have me backing you when Mom and Dad decide to scream at you when we get home," He hisses, holding his position with my parents over my head like a fucking gold sticker. "Agree, or I will tell them all the rumors are true."

Jerking back, I make sure he can feel the iciness in my glare. "Fuck you."

"I'll take that as a yes," He snaps, swatting the back of my head before returning his focus back to Father Kevin .

Keeping my head down, a nagging presence begins to eat away at me. Unable to ignore it for long, I look around, turning to find Roman leaning against a wall at the back of the room, his eyes locking with mine instantly.

Glaring at the man, I tug at one of the sleeves of my sweater, thinking of Roman's gold wedding band, wondering where his wife could be.

How long has he been looking this way?

"I have sadly decided to move on from my time here and take a leap toward my next adventure brought by faith," Father Kevin exclaims. My focus is pulled away from Roman. "But do not think I have left you empty-handed."

Finding Zoey in the crowd, she gives me an "I told you so” look.

People around me begin clapping and sobbing in shock. A few even leave the room dramatically to hide their intense emotions after hearing the news.

Who the hell would want to take over-

"Father Briar," Father Kevin motions to the back of the room, my body going rigid as Roman pushes away from the wall and confidently makes his way to the front of the altar.

Zoey’s jaw drops as she takes in the sight of Roman, her eyes wide with awe. It’s clear that his striking looks have left her and the other women in the pews breathless. As he shakes hands with Father Kevin, the women’s attention is riveted on him, their gazes lingering with undisguised hunger. Meanwhile, their husbands sit seething with barely contained frustration, their hands clenched tightly in a mix of jealousy and anger as they watch their wives’ obvious fascination with him. "This is Father Briar," Father Kevin smiles. "He’s just finished his duties at a previous church and is thrilled to step into my shoes-"

"Is he not a little young for the role, Father Kevin?" My father questions, nudging my mother, whose eyes are glued to Roman.

Father Kevin’s eyes sparkle with pride as he introduces the new priest. “Father Briar has shown extraordinary promise from a young age,” He begins, his voice tinged with admiration. “His brilliance in seminary was matched only by his unwavering faith and dedication. He overcame significant personal trials, including the loss of his family at a young age, which deepened his compassion and resolve. Despite his youth, he has already demonstrated a profound understanding of God’s will and a rare gift for guiding others. His journey has been one of remarkable resilience and divine purpose, and he is uniquely prepared to lead this congregation with wisdom beyond his years."

In this light, Roman looks much more approachable than he did in the confession room, feeding the audience his warm smile and soft, welcoming eyes.

Taking the mic from Father Kevin, he clears his throat, the low rumble of his voice making my stomach somersault.

"Thank you, Father," Roman smiles, taking in a deep breath. "I know what you all must be thinking right now. Who the hell is this kid standing up here?" Audible gasps slip out from some of the more traditional congregation members at the crude language.

Feeling a smile creep along my lips, I force the expression back down, eyeing the gold band wrapped around his finger.

So, it’s not a woman he’s devoted to, but rather God .

"I know I have big shoes to fill following in Father Kevin’s footsteps, and I cannot hope to match the legacy he has built. However, I promise to lead this congregation with unwavering faith and dedication. I am committed to getting to know each of you personally and guiding you with sincerity and compassion. Together, we will seek to follow God’s path and strengthen our faith.” His eyes linger on mine as he surveys the room.

Feeling as if the last part was a personal attack, I react without thinking, holding up my middle finger in the center of my chest.

Seeing a smirk spread across his lips moments after the gesture, I quickly lower my hand, feeling more exposed under his gaze than I have all evening, despite the lingering stares I've faced throughout the service. Lowering my head, I stare at my feet, keeping my focus far away from Father Briar and his aggravating, cocky attitude.

"With that," Father Kevin interjects, "I suppose it's time to begin Communion."

Our family is one of the last to funnel our way to the altar. Trailing behind Aiden, I step on his heels every chance I get. Biting back the need to scream at me out of frustration, he continues to follow our father dutifully without saying a word. Meanwhile, I watch as the congregation passes baskets around, the church persistently collecting donations as if it were still in need despite the apparent wealth displayed all around us .

Stepping on his heel so hard he nearly loses his shoe, Aiden finally turns around, raising his fist. I point my finger to the large cross hanging above the altar.

"What would Christ say?" I question, forcing a sympathetic tone.

"That you should have been aborted," He hisses, his insult doing nothing to pierce my hollow insides. When it’s finally our turn to receive Communion, Aiden quickly puts on a kind smile as our parents take their places before the altar servers holding the chalice. My brother steps up to Father Kevin, who gently places a piece of bread on his tongue. I move to the one empty spot, intentionally avoiding the chalice due to my complex relationship with alcohol. When I stand before the altar server, I open my mouth to receive the Eucharist, only to be startled when a hand, commanding and impressive, with long, strong fingers that taper to firm, square tips, unexpectedly grasps the shoulder of the young altar server beside him.

"I'll take over." Roman smiles, grabbing the metal bowl filled with bread. He moves to stand in front of me, and I’m only slightly aware that I might be gaping up at him.

"Not one for the blood?" He questions, my mouth snapping shut.

Saying nothing, I don't feed into his teasing remark. At that, I’m ready to reject all of Christ's sacrifices. At this point, it feels like I'm already damned.

As I begin to step down from the altar, a sudden, unexpected pressure on my bottom lip makes me freeze. His hand finds my face, his thumb slipping between my lips with a commanding touch. He gently but firmly drags my lower jaw downward, forcing my mouth open. As he maintains a steady pressure on my jaw, his gaze lowers, studying me intently. I stare back at him, my eyes wide with a mixture of confusion and intrigue. "Stick out your tongue," He demands. My family is too focused on receiving Communion to realize what's happening.

Hesitantly, I do as he says. Roman places the bread on my tongue, his thumb slightly tugging on my lower lip before his hand slowly moves away. A dizzy haze creeps over my senses, pressure coiling between my thighs at the gesture.

"The body of Christ," Roman whispers, my mouth quickly closing.

"Amen," I say instinctively, still shocked by the feel of his finger on my lip.

"Good girl. See, you can submit. Try to remember that the next time you feel inclined to open that pretty mouth out of anger," He whispers, his lowered eyes quickly lightening the moment my mother approaches him.

Backing away, I touch the parts of my face he’d touched, unsettled by how easily he was able to get me to do what he wanted.

Unable to shake my nerves, I take a deep breath, making the executive decision to leave the building and spend the rest of Mass overthinking in my car.