9. Chapter 9
Harley
Pain exploded in my nose at the same time my head snapped back.
Gravity took over, and I collided with the hard ground.
Groaning, I rolled over and covered my nose with my hands.
Blood gushed from it, tears pricking my eyes.
My head spun, and so did the soccer field, my vision blurring into a merry-go-round of green.
Oh, this wasn’t good.
“Harley! You okay?” Kingsley’s voice echoed in the distance, the worry in it unmistakable.
“Yeah.” Still covering my nose, I sat up.
The tears that kept coming distorted Kingsley into an unrecognizable form as he crouched before me.
I repeatedly wiped a hand under my burning nose.
Ugh, it was still spurting blood. And maybe my mouth bled too, because I tasted lead. “That was a pretty hard hit.”
“Didn’t mean to hurt you. Here.” He pulled something over his head, then held fabric to my face.
I grabbed it blindly and pressed it to my nose. That scent . . . It smelled familiar, yet I couldn’t place it.
“You need to pinch your nose.”
I did so and dipped my head back.
A hand cupped the back of my head and nudged it forward again. “Keep your head down, or the blood flows down your throat and into your stomach. That can provoke vomiting.”
“Oh.” I breathed through my mouth, my voice sounding nasally. “How do you know all this?”
“Grew up with four brothers.”
Right. “I bet that was wild. Did you get into trouble a lot?” As an only child, I’d always wished for siblings or cousins or anything, really.
“Miss Harley, are you okay?” Giuliana asked from somewhere beside me.
My eyes had finally stopped watering. I wiped the remaining moisture away and smiled up at her. “Yup, I’m good. Just a nosebleed.”
I met Kingsley’s gaze. He was squatting in front of me, his green eyes grave.
A chuckle escaped me. “Stop looking at me like that. It’s just my nose.”
“Do you have a headache?”
“Maybe a little.”
A muscle twitched in his bearded jaw. “You gotta keep pinching your nose for another five minutes to make sure the bleeding stops.”
“Mm-hmm.” My gaze landed on his upper body.
Apparently the piece of clothing he’d given me was his sweater, because he was now only wearing a black T-shirt.
It was a normal T-shirt, but boy oh boy, it stretched over the plain muscles of his chest, his biceps straining the sleeves.
The only reason this sight hit me harder than the soccer ball was because I was used to seeing him in a habit.
The teenagers gathered in a circle around us whispered and chatted, the girls pointing at Kingsley’s back and giggling as if something interesting stuck to it.
The deep crease etched between his brows made me grin. “Stop worrying, Brother Samuel. I’m okay.”
“And you stop talking.”
I laughed at the uncharacteristically harsh tone. “Or what?”
Now he cracked a smile, although a tortured one. Something was up with him. I was literally just having a nosebleed, yet he acted like he’d caved in my entire face.
“All right, let me take a look,” he said after another couple of minutes.
I let go of my nose and lowered his sweater.
Kingsley caught my chin and carefully lifted it while inspecting me. His fingers felt rough yet warm on my skin.
His gaze collided with mine, and for a moment, we were caught in a spell that slowed down the clock. The few days we’d known each other felt like a lifetime. He’d been my protector, inspired me with his devotion to Jesus like a godly man ought to, and taken care of me like I was . . . his .
And now he looked at me just like that. With the kind of longing that only meant one thing—he wanted to kiss me.
He’s a monk, Harley. Monks don’t kiss and monks don’t date and monks don’t marry.
Right.
I broke eye contact, lifting my gaze to the darkening sky. A few stars had come out, winking down on us. Why, God? Why do I always fall for the wrong men?
Whistling and catcalls came from around us. One of the boys started with, “Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!”, egging the other teenagers on to join in. Brother Matthew tried to calm them down, but they kept going.
The chant brought life back into Kingsley. Much to my disappointment, the soft pressure of his touch disappeared. “You’re good. Looks like your nose stopped bleeding.”
“Thank God.” I dropped my head, my gaze landing on his sweater I was still clutching in my hands. A lot of blood caked the gray fabric. “I’m so sorry. I totally ruined it.”
He shook his head. “Don’t worry about it. Can you stand up?”
“Yup.” I accepted his proffered hand—once again savoring his touch—and let him pull me to my feet. Once I stood on my own, he slowly let go. Then he turned to the still chanting kids. “All right, all right. Calm down. No kissing happening here.”
A few boos came in response, but the teens quieted.
I chuckled. “You guys can’t tell a monk to kiss. That’s not cool.”
“Have you ever kissed a woman, Brother Samuel?” Giuliana asked. “I mean, before you became a monk, obviously.”
“What are you going to do with that information?” he asked.
An innocent smile stole onto her pretty face. Hands clasped in front of her and swaying side to side, she shrugged. “I just wanna know.”
“Here’s some water.” Jenna, a quiet girl with glowing ebony skin and an Afro, passed me a bottle.
“Thank you.” I accepted it and washed my face. My head pounded, and my limbs felt like weights were tied to them. I was so ready to go to bed. The life of a monk was surprisingly exhausting.
“I didn’t know you were that ripped, Brother Samuel.” Jason clicked his tongue. “Before you took off that sweater I was one hundred percent straight. Now I’m really confused.”
Howling laughter echoed across the soccer field.
Kingsley wrapped an arm around Jason’s neck, pulling the teen’s head to his chest. “You need to watch your mouth, young man.”
“No! Let me go!” Jason’s attempt to break out of the choke hold was for naught, mainly because he was laughing too hard.
Smiling, I watched them wrestle a moment longer until Kingsley delivered Jason from his prison.
I loved how he interacted with the kids.
Sweet with the girls, and just the right amount of rough with the boys.
They clearly looked up to him. In a world crowded with bad role models, Kingsley was the kind of example teens needed.
“Seriously, though. Do you work out or something?” Jason shrugged his PSG jersey back into place, blond hair ruffled and face red.
Kingsley’s gaze flickered to me, then back to Jason. “Physical labor and swimming.”
Sensing how uncomfortable he was under the whole group’s scrutiny—even Brother Matthew seemed fascinated—I passed him his sweater.
He didn’t miss a beat and pulled the blood-caked piece of clothing over his head.
While doing so, he turned his back to me.
Now I understood what the girls had been staring at—more muscles strained the shirt, his wide shoulders a sight to behold.
“I think we’re done for today.” Brother Matthew spun the soccer ball on his index finger. “Off to bed.”
The teens groaned and grumbled their disapproval, but they scattered to gather their belongings.
Kingsley didn’t say a single word when the three of us walked back to the van. His gaze came to me over and over, as if to make sure I was okay.
“Something wrong?” I asked once we were buckled up and Brother Matthew pulled away from the soccer field. The teens had hopped on the bus driving back to the city.
Sitting in the passenger seat, Kingsley scraped a hand over his mouth and beard. “I think you were right about Giuliana. That’s not good. I’m way too old for her. She shouldn’t be looking at me like that.”
I chuckled. “Oh, come on. She has a crush on you. Every teenage girl has a crush at some point. You don’t even want to know what kind of crushes I had at that age.”
“I don’t want to make her fall into sin.”
You can most definitely make me fall into sin. I groaned inwardly at the rogue thought. Why couldn’t my filthy mind shut up?
Brother Matthew glanced over at me as if reading my thoughts. Or did he want to gauge my reaction to Kingsley’s statement?
No, it was too dark for that in this cab.
“You can only do so much,” I said. “And I don’t think there’s a whole lot more you can do than dressing modestly—which you do. What women think beyond that isn’t in your control.”
Like the things I thought about him. The last thing I wanted to do was objectify him, yet my thoughts constantly did exactly that. Lord, I’m sorry. Please give me pure thoughts.
Kingsley stared out the windshield at the road only illuminated by the Ford’s headlights. A few lonely houses surrounded by patches of grass or jungle rolled by.
“She’s right, man.” Brother Matthew stopped at an intersection, then turned right. “Being mindful is good, but there’s nothing you can do beyond that.”
“I just don’t want anyone else having to constantly battle their own flesh.”
His admission had me holding my breath. Was that the sin he’d hinted at? The one he was battling? Did this mean we struggled with the same sin?
Except he probably hadn’t crossed all of the lines I had.
“I wish all men were like you,” I muttered.
“The church always tells women to dress modestly, but no one bats an eye when men wear tight shirts that display all the muscles or tight jeans or their biceps are on full display or when their shirt rides up and the waistband of their boxers shows. And in youth group, us girls had to wear one piece swimsuits while the guys showed off their six-packs. Some of us women have a high sex drive, too, you know. We, too, struggle with porn addiction or reading spicy books or sexual sin, sometimes everything together”— hello, it’s me —“but the church only offers help to men. Do you see what a paradox this is? Men aren’t held accountable when it comes to dressing modestly, but the offered help is only geared toward them. ”
An eerie silence settled in the cab like heavy fog. I was probably preaching to the wrong crowd.
“That’s, um . . .” Brother Matthew cleared his throat. “I didn’t know that, but it makes sense.”
“You wouldn’t believe how many women struggle with lust and sexual sin. It’s just that no one talks about it.”
Kingsley shifted next to me. “I’m working on a homily about the desires of the flesh. I could include that.”
My head swiveled to him. “Seriously?”
“Very. It’s only fair.”
I huffed. “Thank you. That’s amazing.”
Headlights illuminated our cab from behind.
“What is that guy doing?” Brother Matthew muttered, gripping the wheel tighter. “He’s way too close.”
I turned on the bench and looked over my shoulder. The glare stabbed my corneas. What—
The vehicle swerved to the left and shot forward. Instead of passing us, the massive truck came dangerously close.
“Are you out of your mind?” Brother Matthew yelled.
Crash!
The truck hit us, sending us careening off the road toward a ditch separating the street from the jungle. Despite wearing a seat belt, I slid into Kingsley. He wrapped an arm around me to steady me.
Brother Matthew steered to the left and brought us back onto the road.
The truck rammed into us again, and this time, it didn’t back off. It steered us down the incline, all the way into the ditch. A sharp jolt brought us to a halt in a tilted position, the seatbelt cutting into my skin. My head pounded, my nose burning.
The charcoal truck had come to a stop ten yards away, facing us with glaring headlights. The doors swung open, and two beefy figures wearing hoods climbed out. They came for us, one of them swinging a baseball bat.
“I got you,” Kingsley whispered in my ear. He let me go and unbuckled. “Brother Matthew, lock the cab as soon as I’m out.”
“What are you doing?” I hissed.
But he’d already opened the passenger door and climbed out.
My heart pounded in my chest. Good Lord, was he crazy?