10. Hard Truths
Chapter ten
Hard Truths
Celeste
I blinked and spun around. “What do you mean I shouldn’t bring her home? She’s, my responsibility.”
Father Cassian’s chair creaked as he leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “She’s safe where she is, Celeste. The Cathedral and the Medical Mission Sisters are equipped to care for her in ways that you’re not.”
I frowned. “I messed up once okay—”
“You didn’t mess up—”
“She got out and I know—”
“That wasn’t your fault—”
“Listen. I can’t let her go to some home or whatever because. . .t-they’re strangers. They don’t know her the way I do. How can they possibly give her the care she needs?”
“They may not know her like you do, but they are experienced in helping people in her condition. They have the resources, the knowledge, and the compassion to handle this.”
“But it’s not their job to take care of her. It’s mine,” I grabbed two mugs and placed them on the counter. “I’ve been doing it for months. I know her moods, her triggers, what she needs when she’s scared or confused. They won’t understand her like I do.”
My pulse picked up.
My nerves flared.
“Celeste.”
Sighing, I turned back around and faced him.
He held my gaze. “You’re right—they won’t. But that doesn’t mean they can’t help her. Or you.”
I gripped the edge of the counter. “Help me? I don’t need help.”
“Yes, you do.” His tone softened, but his words cut deep. “Celeste, you’re exhausted. Every time you’ve come to service I see it in your eyes. In the way your hands shake when you think no one’s looking. You’ve been carrying this burden alone for far too long.”
“I-it’s not a burden,” I said defensively. “S-she’s, my mother.”
“And you’re her daughter,” he countered. “Not her nurse, not her doctor. You’ve done everything you can for her, but there’s a point where love alone isn’t enough.”
I blinked again.
The kettle began to whistle, the sharp sound cutting through the thick tension in the room.
Why am I arguing this? I do need the help, but. . .this scares me too. Why?
I turned off the burner and poured the hot water over the tea blend, watching as the leaves turned the color of the liquid into a rich amber.
“Father Cassian. . .” I took a steadying breath. “It feels wrong to just let her go. . .”
“Why?”
“If I do it then, will this be the last step? She goes with them and then what? She dies. . .” I shook my head. “No. I don’t like this. It’s wrong.”
“Celeste, this isn’t about what feels right or wrong. It’s about what’s best for her . And for you .”
I stared at the mugs. “I don’t see how leaving her in a place full of strangers is what’s best for either of us.”
“They’re not strangers,” he said firmly. “They’re family. We’ve loved your mother for decades. And even more, the Medical Mission Sisters have dedicated their lives to serving others. They don’t see her as just another patient. They see her as someone worthy of love and care.”
His words, though full of conviction, did little to assure me.
I tried to swallow down the lump in my throat.
He’s right. I know it. This just. . .hurts. . .
It should have been against the law for parents to age. I wanted my mother back to herself and everything normal again.
But that wasn’t life.
I lowered my voice. “It’s just. . .”
“Yes, Celeste?”
"I’ve spent my adult life holding things together," My voice broke. "If I let go of my mother, what’s left of me?”
"You’re still here, Celeste, and that’s more than enough."
Sadness hit me, I picked up the mugs and walked slowly to the table. “You’re. . .right.”
For some reason, I suddenly felt so alone.
I set the mug in front of Father Cassian, and my fingers lingered on the warm ceramic longer than necessary.
“Yeah. . .you’re right.” I turned, intending to walk to the other side of the table and put distance between us and my spiraling emotions.
But before I could take a step, his hand shot out and gently grasped my arm.
I raised my eyebrows.
The warmth of his touch stopped me in my tracks.
“Celeste.”
I trembled.
Slowly, he took the other mug from my hand and placed it on the table. His movements were careful, deliberate, as if he were afraid of shattering me.
Then, he slowly rose from the chair, and his imposing height and muscular frame made me feel so small, yet oddly safe. Although I stood in my kitchen, it was his presence that dictated the space, his words that shaped the air between us.
“You are a good woman.” He towered over me, enveloping the space between us. “And you’re a good daughter. You’ve given so much of yourself, Celeste. But it’s time to choose you .”
“But. . .”
“That’s enough.” His voice dipped lower, and became a command wrapped in softness. “You will let them help you, Celeste. You deserve to breathe again.”
The words pierced through my carefully constructed walls.
Tears welled up in my eyes, and before I knew it. . .they spilled over.
A choked sob escaped my lips.
Fast, he wrapped his strong, muscular arms around my body and pulled me close.
Oh God. What am I going to do now?
I collapsed into his embrace, and my cheek rested against the solid plane of his chest.
Thank God, he’s here. I don’t know what I would do without him.
Father Cassian’s heartbeat had a steady rhythm in my ear, grounding me in a way I hadn’t realized I needed.
In fact, the heat of his chest seeped into my very soul.
“It’s okay, Celeste. I will always be here for you. Never think you will have to carry this or anything else on your own.” He held me tightly, as if shielding me from every pain and burden I carried, and for the first time in years, I felt completely protected.
I sobbed some more.
My hands moved of their own accord, clutching the fabric of his shirt as if afraid he might disappear.
His large hand began to rub my back in soothing strokes. The motion sent a warmth through me that chased away the cold tendrils of despair.
I shivered. “Thank you.”
“It’s okay,” he murmured against my hair. “Let it out.”
I closed my eyes, allowing myself to melt into his comfort.
His touch.
His voice.
It was all so overwhelming, yet so right.
My head tilted further against his chest, and I breathed him in. The scent of his designer cologne filled my senses. And instantly I could tell that the fragrance was expensive. It smelled like it belonged to another world entirely, one far removed from my modest kitchen.
I shouldn’t have been so comforted, but I was.
God help me, I was.
“I will do anything for you. Anything.” Slowly, he shifted the rubbing into slow, deliberate circles against my back, as if trying to map out every knot of tension and erase it one stroke at a time. “I never want you to be sad or in pain or even overwhelmed. I’m here for you. Only you.”
As we stood there, locked in an embrace, the world outside, with all its problems and complications, slowly ceased to exist. The only thing that mattered was the strength of his arms around me, the warmth of his chest against my cheek and the slow rhythm of his heartbeat that whispered secrets of calmness and resilience.
Because of that, I didn’t plan on leaving his arms anytime soon.
He would have to end this hug because I never would.
We could stand here for the rest of my life.
I could live in his arms and not need food or water.
Just his warmth.
I let out a long breath. “This is so. . .”
“Yes?”
“Perfect.”
“It is?”
“Your. . .arms. . .”
His body tensed, and I hoped I hadn’t been too disrespectful so I tried to explain. “Father. . .I could live in your arms. Take up residence within them. . .right here for the rest of my life.”
He remained silent, but his hold tightened.
“How does one do that, Father? Do you know?” I smirked through the sadness. “Do I have to go to the post office and change my address to ‘Father Cassian’s arms?’ Would the post man bring my packages to you?”
A dark chuckle left him.
“I’m serious. This is where I live now.” I cuddled up against him. “Whatever I need to do, I will figure it out and fill out the necessary documents.”
And just like that. . .everything shifted.
But I couldn’t put a finger on it.
Whatever it was, it spilled into the room, into us, and bound itself around my heart.
His hand continued moving up and down my back, and each stroke was a balm to the raw wounds of my soul.
I allowed myself to be held, allowed myself to feel the reassurance his presence brought.
Then. . .something. . .very different and. . .unexpected happened.
“Oh, Celeste.” Father Cassian tilted his head slightly, and buried his nose in my hair, breathing me in as if committing me to memory.
Uh. . .okay. . .
I opened my eyes and my tears were suddenly forgotten.
Next. . .a low, guttural groan escaped him, and that sound vibrated through his chest and into me.
Uh. . .so. . .he likes the smell of me. . .
“Celeste. . .”
I blinked.
“I shouldn’t be holding you,” His voice grew rough, laced with a hint of danger. “I shouldn’t. It’s too hard.”
I blinked again. “What’s too hard?”
He pulled back just enough for me to tilt my head up and meet his gaze.
When I did, those dark brown eyes burned with an intensity that made my knees weak. His jaw was tight, his expression torn, as though he were battling sins deep within himself.
"God forgive me," he murmured, his voice a low, ragged plea. The words barely had time to register before his lips crashed onto mine, stealing my breath.
OH SHIT!!!!!! HE’S KISSING ME!!!