Chapter Two
Illias
“For nothing is secret, that shall not be made manifest; neither any thing hid, that shall not be known and come abroad.”
Sharp, shrill bells woke Illias up far too early on Sunday morning.
He blindly slapped at his nightstand until his hand came down on his phone.
The alarm cut off and he groaned with relief.
Fighting the desire to roll over and go back to sleep, Illias threw back the blankets and forced himself to sit up.
He pressed the heel of his palms into his eyes until colorful spots swirled behind his eyelids.
It was going to be a long, miserable Sunday.
Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he got out of bed and stumbled to the bathroom to take a quick shower.
The light hissed on and the vent cried in distress as the blades started turning.
Water sputtered from the showerhead twice before a steady stream began to run.
He hoped a hot shower would be enough to wash off last night.
Christ, last night, he thought as he stepped into the tub.
What was I thinking? Illias ran his hands over his face in frustration. How fucking embarrassing.
He pictured the man’s panicked expression before he bolted because Illias went too far, too fast. Leave it to him to fuck up what could’ve been a fun night with a handsome man.
He wouldn’t even be able to apologize because a man who panics that bad never returns to the same bar.
It was probably for the best though. Between the cross necklace and turtle-neck paired with a cardigan, the man didn’t really seem like the type to do one-night stands anyways.
All talk and no game. Illias was familiar with the type that enjoyed the chase more than the finish line.
Cold water spit across his back, alerting him that he had been in the shower far longer than he realized.
Fumbling over the edge of the tub, he wrapped a towel haphazardly around his waist before heading to his room.
He went straight to the closet, determined to find a somewhat decent outfit.
As it was the first time in nearly a decade since he had been to church, he didn’t have much to choose from.
If he really was going to try and mend his relationship with his mom, he was going to have to at least look like he cared about Mass.
It was the least he could do, and he’d do just about anything for his mom.
Settling on a pair of non-ripped black jeans and the sole white, long-sleeved dress shirt he owned, Illias got dressed.
He made sure to tuck his shirt properly then found a non-distressed faux leather belt.
He gave himself a once-over in the closet door mirror.
Wet hair hung in loose curls around his face and he could see the exhaustion in his eyes.
Here Comes the Sun, his mom’s favorite song, began to play. He walked over to his nightstand and picked up his phone. Putting on a chipper voice, he answered, “Hey Mom.”
“Hey honey.” Her voice was distorted through the speaker but still held its usual softness. “Just calling to make sure you were still coming.”
He stepped over to his dresser to grab socks. “Yeah. I’m getting dressed now.”
“Good. Henry will be with me, is that okay?”
By the tone of her voice, he could tell she wanted him to be okay with it. To be fine being around the man who was the reason Illias never felt safe being who he was. For her sake, he shoved his personal feelings to the side. “That’s fine. I’ll meet y’all there. Love you.”
“Love you too hon.”
The call died and he took a long, deep breath and held it until his chest began to burn then exhaled as slowly as he could. It will be fine, he thought, standing up, It will have to be fine.
He pulled into the parking lot with ten minutes to spare.
Heart hammering, he sat for a few seconds and admired the grandiose building known as Revived Faith Catholic Church.
Made of white stone that glimmered when the sunlight hit it just right.
Tall, arched, stained-glass windows depicting the Trinity sat on both sides of the large oak doors.
A stream of people made their way through the double doors.
If he wanted to enter unnoticed, his best bet would be to blend in with the herd.
With a small sigh, Illias left the safety of his car and joined the crowd.
Despite joining Revived Faith as a toddler after his mom remarried Henry, Illias felt like an outsider encroaching on private space.
People grouped together, talking in hushed whispers that crawled beneath his skin and made it itch.
It brought back memories from when he was younger, convinced they were talking about him.
That they could see sinner written across his forehead.
He was only a child, but scared of eternal damnation nonetheless.
A small part of him still was and it bloomed in his throat—thick and tacky.
Illias forced out a small greeting when he shuffled into the pew where his mom and Henry sat.
His mom greeted him with a smile and a kiss—she was never shy with affection—and Henry, his stepfather, only offered a stiff nod of acknowledgement.
He had always been a man of few words and fewer affectionate actions.
Gentle, instrumental music played from the speakers, signaling the start of Mass.
People settled into the pews and fussed with their children to be quiet until the only remaining sound was the music.
Routine etched into his subconscious took hold as he followed along with everyone else and looked over his shoulder to the back of the nave.
Illias’ breath caught in his throat. That can’t be—there’s no way—that’s—
Cantrell.
Head high and eyes forward, Cantrell walked alongside the other priest towards the sanctuary. Illias sunk down into the pew, eyes trained on Cantrell’s back. Illias flirted with the goddamn priest. A man of cloth. Someone who was a symbol of faith and devotion.
And Illias asked Cantrell to fuck him in the back of his car.
I really am going to Hell, Illias thought with a raw sense of irony. How could he have known though? All he had to go by was a golden cross necklace. Plenty of people wore cross necklaces without being priests. Surely, Illias couldn’t be blamed for not realizing.
A nudge to his arm yanked him out of his own head and he glanced to his left at his mom. Her wide, dark eyes filled with concern. “Are you okay?” she whispered.
“Stomach.” He doubted she believed him, but she didn’t say anything else and turned her attention back to the front of the church.
Illias attempted to focus on the monotonous, repetitive nature of Mass.
The movements, prayers, and songs flooded back despite years of absence.
Unfortunately, none of it pushed last night from the forefront of his thoughts.
Illias couldn’t shake the simple fact that Cantrell never outright told him to stop.
Which had to mean that, on some level, Cantrell was somewhat interested in him—or at the very least interested enough to entertain the idea. Illias didn’t know what was worse.
His mom tapped him on the shoulder, making him flinch, which earned him an odd look as she stood up.
Cold panic pricked the back of Illias’ neck.
Communion. Heat flooded his face. He was going to have to face Cantrell.
On his knees. It’ll be fine, he told himself as he shuffled out of the pew.
He’d been on his knees before—be it for more nefarious reasons—so there was no reason why taking communion would be any different.
Except kneeling in front of a priest that he wanted to fuck just last night made his stomach hurt so bad he thought he might actually vomit.
Illias stepped up to the sanctuary in front of Cantrell. Recognition filled his eyes and he froze, face draining of color. His expression neutralized but pink tinged his cheeks when Illias knelt. With unsteady fingers, Cantrell placed the thin wafer on Illias’ tongue. “The body of Christ.”
Illias swallowed. “Amen.”
The small cup of wine was pressed to his lips. “And the blood.”
They locked eyes. The brief image of taking a different kind of sacrament flashed in Illias’ mind. “Amen.”
His heart thrummed in his chest like an enraged hummingbird as he walked back to the pew.
Feeling eyes on his back, he glanced over his shoulder and caught Cantrell’s eyes from across the nave.
Illias’ breath caught in his throat. Those steel blue eyes were filled with an unmistakable hunger.
Just like they were last night. Heat gathered in Illias’ stomach.
He looked away, casting his eyes down as he awkwardly sidestepped in front of the pew.
Don’t get your hopes up. He sat. He’s repressed, not interested.
Daring another glance at Cantrell, Illias saw the priest’s attention was elsewhere. Focused on seamlessly transitioning from communion to the end of Mass. Cantrell gave the after-communion prayer before stepping aside to allow the other priest to give the final blessing.
Illias tried to focus on the final blessing, but his attention drifted back to Cantrell.
Hoping he would catch Cantrell’s eye again.
Not once did he lift his eyes from the velvet carpet.
Feeling like a teen with a crush, Illias tore his eyes away from the priest once dismissal was finished and stood.
“Hon.” His mom grabbed his wrist. “Before you head out, I want to introduce you to the new priest. He started shortly after you stopped coming.”
He forced a tight-lipped smile that he knew she saw through. “Lead the way.”
Together, they walked towards the sanctuary where Cantrell remained after dismissal.
Surrounded by lingering congregation members and adorned in his church sanctioned vestments, he looked like a proper priest. However, in the bright light of the church, Illias could see the dark rings beneath Cantrell’s eyes and the age lines in his face that were hidden in the dingy lighting of Nirvana’s.
Seeing Cantrell standing at the sanctuary in his holy clothes stirred something devilish in Illias.
“Father Cantrell!” his mom beamed.
“Lauren,” Cantrell greeted her warmly. “How’s Henry doing?”
“He’s doing well, still battling some nasty reflux.” She took a small sidestep so that Illias was in full view. “I wanted to introduce you to my son, Illias.”
Cantrell looked past her at Illias and offered a polite nod of acknowledgement. His eyes darted down Illias’ body and back up. “It’s nice to meet you. Lauren has spoken very highly of you.”
Illias’ stomach churned but he forced himself to match Cantrell’s indifference. “Nice to meet you as well, Father.”
Illias’ mom placed a hand on his arm, smiling ear to ear. “He’s finally decided to start coming back to church.”
“That’s wonderful.” Cantrell’s smile was stiff and uneasy. “I’m assuming that I’ll be seeing you around more often then?”
Illias couldn’t help but eye the priest like he was The Last Supper. Dragging his eyes down Cantrell’s body, imagining what might be beneath all the layers he wore. Illias met Cantrell’s eyes again. “Every Sunday.”
Cantrell cleared his throat, shifted his weight. “Good. It’s important that one hears the word of God on a routine basis.”
“I couldn’t agree more.” Henry appeared next to Illias’ mom. “Sorry to cut in, Father, but we’ve got plans to meet with friends and if we want to get there in time, we need to head out.”
Cantrell gave a small nod. “Of course, have a blessed day and may God be with you.”
Illias watched his mom and Henry walk down the aisle towards the exit, and a bitter taste filled his mouth. He turned back to Cantrell. “Will you be providing next Sunday’s sermon?”
Cantrell clasped his hands in front of him. “I will.”
“What will the topic be?” Illias’ lip twitched upward. “Resisting temptation?”
Cantrell’s entire face flushed red. “Perhaps.”
“I look forward to seeing you—I mean, hearing,” Illias winked, “your sermon, Father.”
Somehow, Cantrell turned even redder and sputtered out a polite excuse then walked away. No longer having a reason to linger, Illias left the church with only one pressing question. Does Cantrell flush like that in bed too?