Chapter Nineteen
Cantrell
“With my whole heart have I sought thee: O let me not wander from thy commandments.”
In the days that followed his encounter with Illias, Cantrell’s mind was in a constant state of battle.
The knowledge that what he had done was sinful and inappropriate clashed with the guilt he felt for not being kinder.
For not providing the proper care he knew he should have.
If granted another chance, if gifted another opportunity, he would take better care of Illias.
Give him the attention and tender care Cantrell knew Illias needed, despite his rough exterior walls.
Cantrell breathed out until his lungs were empty, wishing he could do the same to his mind.
He couldn’t afford to be distracted. Mass started soon; he needed his focus to be on his sermon.
Nothing else. Lord forbid Rier notice his mind was elsewhere.
The absolute last thing Cantrell needed was for Rier to have another reason to make life difficult.
As if it isn’t difficult enough, Cantrell thought, taking his spot in the procession next to Rier.
“Something troubling you?” Rier asked, not even bothering to look at Cantrell.
“Nothing out of the ordinary I’m afraid.” Cantrell laced his fingers in front of him. “More and more at the shelter seems to need repairing or replacing.”
Rier side-eyed Cantrell. The corners of the older priest’s mouth turned down. “Hm, well try not to let that distract you from your purpose today.”
Cantrell forced a polite smile despite the spike of anger in his chest. “My focus is solely on delivering a sermon to our congregation.”
“As it should be. The church should be your sole focus at all times, Cantrell. I know Saint Anthony’s is your little pet project—”
“Rier,” Cantrell interrupted, feeling the familiar thorns of anger pricking his nerves, “I would appreciate it if we didn’t discuss this before Mass. I have enough on my mind as it is. Please do not add to it.”
Rier stiffened with a scoff but wasn’t granted the opportunity to say anything else before the music began.
As they walked down the aisle towards the sanctuary, Cantrell felt eyes on him.
He pushed down the urge to search out those familiar dark eyes, continuing his path to the sanctuary.
Stepping behind the pulpit, Cantrell looked out across his congregation.
A sea of familiar faces that knew him as nothing more than their priest. Knew nothing of his past, of his sins.
Sins that haunted him while he stood in God’s domain, ready to give them a sermon on temptation in spite of falling to his.
The very source sat among them, dark eyes pinned on him.
Cantrell’s rosary hung heavy around his neck, a chain of his own making.
After the conclusion of Mass, Cantrell stood by the doorway leading to the narthex.
Wished everyone a blessed day as they passed.
He scanned the sea of people, searching for someone he knew he shouldn’t.
His attention bounced between members of the congregation saying farewell and looking for Illias.
Then Cantrell caught a glimpse of him just a few short feet away, talking animatedly to Charity about something that was drowned out by the church music mixed with idle chatter.
This Sunday, Illias wore a short sleeve button up that displayed all his arm tattoos that had previously been covered by long sleeves and jackets.
Desire tied around the base of Cantrell’s spine.
With one short-lived glance in his direction, Illias pulled on that rope.
Beckoned Cantrell closer. The corners of Illias’ mouth turned upward as his attention returned to Charity.
Her eyes—full of a knowledge that chilled Cantrell to his core—flashed in his direction.
Cantrell’s stomach plummeted to his feet.
Another member of the congregation wrenched his attention away from the duo.
He engaged in small talk with the woman whose name escaped him.
Offered a few words of advice paired with Bible scripture.
Illias walked up and Cantrell wished he had the ability to ignore Illias’ presence.
Cantrell nodded and made noises of acknowledgement as the small woman talked.
Eyes flickering just over her shoulder ever so often to catch sight of that devilish smirk.
The woman finished at last, wishing Cantrell a good day before leaving.
The normal relief that Cantrell usually felt after being trapped in conversation was nowhere to be found as Illias stepped in front of him.
“Father Cantrell,” Illias greeted, persona cool and indifferent as though nothing had ever transpired between them.
Cantrell only hoped to mimic Illias’ facade. “Illias.” Cantrell felt his diplomatic smile waver. “A pleasure as always to see you at Mass.”
Up close, Cantrell could make out Illias’ tattoos more clearly.
On his right arm was a skeletal jaw of a wolf around his elbow, and a snake with an apple in its mouth circled around his forearm.
On his left bicep was a rat with its tail tattooed into the shape of a heart and the words love the unloved written beneath it in all lower case.
Cantrell wondered if any of them were sentimental.
He knew the one he kept hidden beneath long sleeves and turtle necks was, but not everyone had a story behind the ink on their body.
“A pleasure to attend. I wanted to speak with you about—”
Rier walked by, looking at them with poorly disguised disgust.
Illias’ eyes hardened. He waited until Rier was well out of earshot but he resumed talking. “If we could talk privately?”
Illias rubbed the back of his neck, revealing the inside of his wrist. Eternity written in all capital letters with where will you spend it in all lower case was etched right below it.
There’s a story there, Cantrell thought, forcing himself not to stare at the words.
I hope one day—he met Illias’ eyes once more—he’ll tell me.
“Of course,” Cantrell agreed. “We can talk in my office. It’ll be quieter up there. ”
As they walked towards the entryway that gave way to the stairs, Cantrell could feel Rier’s eyes.
Cantrell knew he would have to explain himself later if Rier chose to ask.
Cantrell prayed that he would be able to slip out of the church unnoticed after his talk with Illias to avoid having to speak with Rier until absolutely necessary.
Inside the office, the noise of the congregation was muffled by the thick wooden door.
Cantrell settled into his chair and watched Illias do the same on the opposite side.
Uncertain where to start or what to say, Cantrell took the opportunity to admire Illias.
Appreciate the fresh trim of his beard, the delicate silver helix hoops he wore in both ears paired with small diamond stud earrings, the subtle strain of his shirt across his chest that indicated it was perhaps a size too small.
“I didn’t realize you were such an avid reader,” Illias said, breaking the stiff silence.
“When the church is slow and Saint Anthony’s doesn’t need me, I find myself between the pages occasionally.” Cantrell shifted in his chair, crossing one leg over the other. “What was it that you wanted to talk to me about?”
“I was thinking about what you said on Tuesday,” Illias confessed. “About keeping distance. I think we should establish boundaries if we’re going to continue seeing each other.”
Seeing each other, right, of course. Cantrell’s chest constricted around his lungs.
Warmth pooled in his core. Want and reality at war with one another.
Yet he knew reality would have to win despite his own selfish wants.
“About that,” he sighed, leaning back against the rickety office chair.
“I don’t think we should continue seeing one another.
This isn’t exactly appropriate given my position here at Revived Faith. ”
“You enjoy it though, right?” Illias questioned, a knowing glint in his eye. “If so, who cares about appropriate?”
“I care, I—” Cantrell clamped his mouth shut and blew a frustrated breath through his nose. “I worry about what may happen if we were to continue.”
Illias’ finely plucked eyebrows knitted together. “Because of the church?”
“That’s only partially why. I wasn’t always the man I am now.”
Cantrell touched his rosary, the beads warm and smooth beneath his fingers. His mind flashed the image of them shoved in Illias’ mouth, coated in spit. In sin. Cantrell dropped his hand, banishing the image from his mind.
“It took many years for me to become who I am today. It frightens me to think about what I might do to you.”
“Would it change anything if I said I trust you?” From the tone of Illias’ voice, it sounded as though he rarely extended the olive branch casually.
“You…trust me?” Hesitancy laced Cantrell’s words.
“Why else would I be here?” Illias relaxed into the chair, crossing his arms as if to challenge Cantrell.
Some wicked part of him yearned to put Illias’ bratty ways to rest. Show him that he didn’t have to push to get his way but ask with manners.
Teach him through discipline that left him teary eyed and bruised.
Cantrell gripped his hands together in his lap, praying the thought would leave him.
Wishing it did not feel like home to revisit that part of himself.
“It warms me to know that you trust me, but…” Cantrell frowned at the memories that surfaced. “You must know that I was not kind to my past partners.”
“I know my limits, and you know I’m mouthy.” Illias gave a small single-shouldered shrug. “So, I won’t have a problem telling you if something’s bothering me or if something’s too much.”
“If we are to continue.” Cantrell approached the idea with equal amounts of wariness and hunger. “There are certain precautions that must be taken.”
“Couldn’t agree more.”
“One, is that this must remain a secret. I can’t risk this becoming public.
Which means we should remain polite but otherwise indifferent to each other outside of our meetings.
” Years of experience with negotiation resurfaced in a heartbeat.
Taking shape in his mouth and easing his jumpy nerves.
“Second, you should be aware that this may not get as physical as you are used to, given my vows. Lastly, you must tell me if any of this goes too far.”
“Deal,” Illias said with an easy smile as though nothing worried him.
“You understand what you’re agreeing to, yes?” Cantrell stood, then walked around the desk and leaned against the desk in front of Illias.
The position forced Illias to tilt his head back to look at Cantrell.
Sinful heat curled through him. He welcomed it, letting it sit warm and heavy in his core.
He didn’t understand what it was about Illias that made it so easy to shrug off the apprehension and shame Cantrell felt for years.
Or why he couldn’t control the way his heart raced when they met each other’s eyes from across the nave during Mass.
But it had been such a long time since someone made him feel this way.
Made him ache with want so badly it hurt bone deep.
“Yes,” Illias rasped.
Cantrell took a finger and traced Illias’ jawline until it rested right below his chin. Tilted his head back until there was a slight strain in his neck muscles. A soft whimper sounded from his tanned throat. A sound that nearly undid Cantrell’s resolve completely.
“You are so pretty when you blush,” he murmured. “Just how far down does it go?” He trailed his finger in a straight line down the center of Illias’ neck until it caught on the collar of his button down.
“Wouldn’t you like to know.” Illias went to lower his head.
“Ah, ah.” He tapped Illias’ chin. “Chin up, I didn’t say you could move.”
He rolled his eyes but resumed the previous position. “That’s not fair.”
“Who said anything about playing fair?” Cantrell wrapped his hand around Illias’ throat, pleased with how Illias’ pulse quickened. “One thing you should learn, and fast, is that I don’t play fair.”
Three sharp knocks pierced through the office. Cantrell snatched his hand away, heart pounding in his ears. Illias dropped his head into a neutral position before Cantrell stepped over to the door. Praying that he didn’t look as hot as he felt, Cantrell opened the door.
“My apologies, Cantrell, I didn’t realize you were still busy,” Rier lied, eyes immediately finding Illias’ over Cantrell’s shoulder.
“It’s fine, Illias was just leaving.” Cantrell stepped to the side. Illias stood then crossed the short distance from chair to door. “Have a blessed day, my child.” Cantrell grimaced internally, wishing he had chosen a different term to refer to Illias.
“Thank you, Father. Have a good evening.”
Cantrell listened to Illias’ footsteps echo through the stairwell then through the nave until there was silence in the air. Rier looked at Cantrell long and hard. Eyes narrowed, eyebrows drawn together in a scowl. He lifted his head, peering down his nose at Cantrell.
“Care to explain why you and that man were conversing privately?” Rier spat.
“It was nothing.” Cantrell hoped the thud of his heart against his ribcage wasn’t audible. “Illias simply asked if he could speak to me privately regarding some family issues he’s been having as of late.”
Rier made a deep, disgruntled noise. “Be careful who you speak to in private, brother. It may cause rumors to spark.”
Cantrell’s chest burned. “What are you implying, Rier?”
“All I am saying”—he turned and looked over his shoulder at Cantrell—“is to be mindful. I’ve known that boy since he was young. He reeks of trouble.” Rier eyed Cantrell with distrust. “It would be unwise of you, given your history, to make a habit of speaking to him alone.”
Before Cantrell had a chance to defend himself, Rier left the office.
Tension wrapped around Cantrell’s head, squeezing his temples like a balloon ready to burst. He slowly closed the door to his office then rested his forehead against the rough wood.
Lord forgive me, he prayed, for I am a weak man filled with wrath and lust. Please lend me your strength and guidance.
Whatever comfort or relief he sought from such a weak prayer did not come.
Prayer rarely brought him the comfort it once did. Not since that night. Not since Illias.