Chapter 14
Chapter Fourteen
Illias
“Peace I leave with you, my peace I give unto you: not as the world giveth, give I unto you. Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid.”
Nothing was worse than edging. Denial, Illias could handle all day long.
Being able to touch himself but not allowed to come?
Torture. Cruel and unusual punishment. Illias didn’t even bother taking care of his morning wood—well, afternoon wood, considering he didn’t wake up before two most days—since doing so would only make him more frustrated than not doing anything at all.
To make matters worse, his days were melding together from lack of sleep.
The time between Tuesday and early Sunday morning all melted together in a blur of reckless flirtation and Maverick scolding him for spending too much time with certain customers.
Illias didn’t slip off with any more customers though.
Not after Cantrell caught Illias coming out of the bathroom and branded him with a hickey so dark it was only just now fading.
Somewhere between being unconscious and partially awake, Illias groaned softly at the memory of Cantrell’s teeth against his neck.
He rolled over to face the back of the couch, subconsciously grinding against the cushion.
Maybe if he could relieve himself then he could actually get some sleep.
Fuck the penance, he thought, slipping his hand down his pants.
His mind replayed the night Cantrell caught him at the bar.
How close they had been to doing something right then and there.
Illias wondered what would have happened if Maverick hadn’t interrupted.
Maybe Cantrell would’ve kissed Illias with the desperation of a starved man.
Or maybe Cantrell would’ve lingered just out of reach so that Illias begged for something as simple as a kiss.
A knock pierced the air and jerked him violently from his fantasies.
He swore as he got off the couch and wrapped the blanket around him.
Ready to rip into whoever had disturbed him, he yanked open the door.
Bright, hot sunlight killed any colorful words he was ready to spit before they reached his tongue.
“Jesus fuck—” He shielded his eyes only to see Charity standing on his steps. “Oh, hey.”
“Oh hey? That’s the greeting I get after you don’t answer my texts all morning?” She pushed her way into his house as if she owned the place.
“What happened to are you okay, Eli? How are you, Eli?” he grumbled, closing the door and going back to the couch.
“My sincerest apologies.” Charity rolled her eyes. “I’ve got other things on my mind, like figuring out why”—she held up a folded piece of paper and shook it—“I got handed this by our priest.”
Illias’ blood ran cold.
“Eli, what in God’s name is this?”
His mouth filled with sand. “I don’t know, Charity, what is it?”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “Why is Father Cantrell giving you notes?” Illias opened his mouth to answer and she held up a finger, silencing him. “And the truth, Eli.”
“I honestly don’t know. But,” he added, holding out his hand, “if you let me see it, I can tell you.”
Charity handed the note over to him but there was a reservation in her movements, like she didn’t trust him to tell her the truth. He snatched the note from between her fingers, scared she’d withhold and open it herself.
Illias,
I pray you are well and whatever has prevented you from attending today does not deter your future attendance.
If you find that you are unable to attend service, the rite of confession is always available.
On Tuesdays, I am in the booth all day. Father Rier is available on Fridays if you would feel more comfortable with him.
- Father Cantrell
“Illias,” Charity deadpanned from behind him, causing him to jump. “Why is Father Cantrell passing you notes over one missed Mass?”
When he didn’t provide an answer, she lifted herself over the back of the couch and fell into the cushion next to him.
“Gymnastics paid off well,” he choked out in a half-hearted attempt to divert the conversation.
“Eli, you have to be honest with me. What is going on? You’ve been acting weird at church, weirder than normal. And you look awful.”
“Geez, thanks for your love and support.”
Her expression softened. “Dude, I’m worried about you. I’ve barely heard from you and just want to know what’s going on so I can help.” She looked down at her hands and whispered, “I…I don’t want to lose you again.”
He frowned, realizing how much he must’ve been worrying her because he was being a tad self-absorbed. He nudged her with his elbow. “You’re not going to lose me again, promise. I’ve just been…preoccupied, so to speak.”
“Are you sure that’s it?” She glanced at him. “I talked to your mom and she said you’ve been a little short with her lately too.”
Illias thought back on his texts with his mom since their failed brunch a couple weeks ago.
How he pulled every excuse under the sun to not see her again, afraid of what she might say once they were together.
Terrified of the fact she might be disappointed in him for not, at the very least, accepting Henry’s apology.
He pulled the blanket tighter around his body. “Yeah, I’m sure.”
She shuffled closer to him so that their arms pressed against each other and laid her head on his shoulder. “You know, whatever you’re dealing with, you don’t have to handle it alone.”
He shifted so that his head laid on top of hers. Everything sat on top of his chest, an unbearable weight he didn’t know what to do with. “I know, I guess I’m just not sure what to say right now.”
“When you are, I’m right here.”
He shifted closer to her, muscles relaxing for the first time since Tuesday. Exhaustion took hold of his body and he yawned. “Thank you.”
Illias woke up to the smell of bacon and fresh coffee.
Praying he didn’t sleep through his shift, he sat up and rubbed the crust from his eyes.
He glanced towards the kitchen to see Charity with her head stuck in the fridge.
A small smile rose and he shook his head.
Leave it to her to act like a mom. He grabbed his phone from the coffee table to check the time.
Luckily, he still had an hour before he needed to get ready and leave for work.
Forcing himself off the couch, he let the blanket fall from his shoulders and headed towards the kitchen. Charity closed the fridge door and looked at him with an emotionless face. “You talk in your sleep. A lot.”
“Oh really?” he yawned, grabbing a World’s Best Son mug from the cabinets.
She handed him the coffee creamer she grabbed from the fridge. “I’ve never been more uncomfortable my entire life.”
He sidestepped over to the ancient coffee pot that sat next to the stove. “Not uncomfortable enough to leave, apparently.” Steam curled towards the ceiling as he poured fresh coffee. “Thanks, by the way.”
“One of us has to take care of you.”
“I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself.”
“Mm-hmm, and I’m the Queen of England.”
Scoffing, Illias sat down at the small, circular table shoved against the far-left wall of the compact kitchen and sipped on his coffee.
Charity joined him a moment later and passed him a plate.
Fried egg eyes and a bacon smile. The corner of his lips twitched.
Just like Mom used to make when Charity came over in the mornings.
They ate in silence but it wasn’t long before Charity began to fidget in her chair.
He waited for her to say something; ask a question, try to get him to explain what was going on.
He dropped his fork against his plate with a clank.
“I can practically see the gears in your head spinning. What’s up? ”
She laid her fork on a napkin next to her plate. “Are you going to be honest with me?”
He shifted and crossed his arms with a shrug. “As honest as I can be.”
“Are you okay?”
Of all the things she could have asked, Illias hadn’t expected that.
A question about his parents or about what was going on with Cantrell, and he could’ve given a response that resembled the truth.
Explained that there was nothing to worry about and the good Father was helping him work through family issues.
Yet she asked him the one question that there was no way to answer without her knowing he was lying.
He swallowed, lowering his shoulders as he stared down at the table. “I don’t know, actually.”
“Do you think you’ll go talk to Father Cantrell?”
He looked at her funny. “Why do you ask?”
“Because I think you should.” She picked up her fork and cut into her uneaten egg. “Like I said, you talk in your sleep and I’m not an idiot. I can put two and two together.” She gave him a small, almost motherly, smile. “Just be careful, he is kinda a priest.”
Illias picked up his fork and pushed his food around on his plate. “I will be.”
She pointed her fork at him, egg nearly falling off the prongs. “Also, if you do anything stupid, you tell me first. Got it?”
He raised his eyebrows and looked at her. “You sure about that?”
Narrowing her eyes, she shoved the fork into her mouth, which meant one of two things; Illias was in the clear or he was going to have to tell his best friend that he was screwing around with their priest. Unfortunately, he knew he wasn’t in the clear.