3. Chapter 2
Chapter 2
Roman
I make my way into the vestibule. The women of the church linger, taking extra time to prod me on my life story, lust and hunger dripping from every word they say to me. Watching several husbands congregate toward the back of the gathering space, I see many eye me with disgust, too insecure with their fragile masculine egos to address how livid they are to see their wives are capable of whoring themselves out for someone.
Forcing on an appreciative smile, I glance around the gathering space, wondering at what point I'll stop trying to pinpoint her brown locks and underdressed figure in the wave of overly tight dresses and ironed dress shirts. Father Kevin looks peaceful, leaning into fond farewells and kind words from his loyal followers. I catch him glancing at me every time someone mentions how dearly he will be missed.
"I hate to see you go," One of the women in the choir bellows, her arms wrapping around the old man, while eying me down in the corner of her vision .
Patting her a few times, the old man excuses her and leans into me to shield his words.
"You'd think they could at least be truthful in two priests' presence," He jokes, raising a brow.
"She seemed genuine," I tease, smiling a little deeper once the man rolls his eyes.
"I don't think I even knew this many women were in the congregation prior to today," He smiles, doing his best to avoid the disciples using him as a way to get a closer look at me. "I may have devoted my life to God, as have you, but holy hell, a confidence boost like this would have been nice once or twice."
Patting him on the back, I try to ease his discomfort.
"I hope you’re not worried. I've never had an issue with temptation," I say with full honesty, kicking myself for the lack of control I had earlier with Eden. Her defiant attitude had done something to me that I wasn’t willing to explore yet.
Most of the time, looking past women has been simple, my mind always reverting back to my promise to God, my sinful and depraved thoughts locked away in the depths of my mind.
So why the hell can’t I shake how much her recalcitrant behavior rattles something loose inside of me?
Waving a large white paper in the air, one of the younger altar servers, Nathan, waltzes over with a smug look on his face.
"Is that the list?" Father Kevin asks, the boy's response merely a slight nod.
"You won't believe who signed up to serve this fall," The boy scoffs, looking me up and down.
Taking a deep breath, I catch the lingering scent of pot and let a smirk play across my lips .
"Big fan of medicinals?" I question, his smug look quickly fading.
"Eden Faulkner?" Father Kevin sounds surprised, but her name immediately sparks my interest quicker than any interaction I've had since ending Mass.
Still feeling the ghost of her lips wrapped around my thumb, I shift uncomfortably in place, clenching my jaw as I sense the increased blood flow making its way between my legs.
Shit. Maybe it’s time for a divine reset. Images of deep-rooted, evil sins make their way to the forefront of my mind, reminding me of the parts of myself I left behind after I was ordained.
I devoted my life to God to scathe my demons, not waltz right into their grasp.
Trying to figure out why she has been on my mind since our interaction in the confession room is better left unsolved.
Or maybe it's the fact that I know exactly why she is on my mind that's eating me alive.
"She willingly signed up?" Father Kevin questions, his feelings toward Eden something he didn’t hold back sharing with me.
Having been large contributors to the church's remodel, the Faulkners are well-known in this town. Her father, David, and mother, Morgan, are both some of the most devoted Catholics to the church. Their son, Aiden, is an engaged and effective youth coordinator and is one of the favorites here. Eden, however, is "Satan's greatest creation," according to Kevin.
"Not exactly-"
"I signed her up," A middle-aged man chimes. Both he and Kevin smile at each other, a woman similar in looks to Eden trails behind the man. The two men are clearly familiar, and my presence seems to be no consequence to whatever relationship these two have with each other.
"Your last attempt to help her find redemption?" Father Kevin jokes, my mouth opening before I've had the time to process my words.
"Is your grip on your daughter so weak that you had to enlist a priest to teach her some moral guidance?" I ask, watching as the man's eyes widen in surprise.
"Sorry, I can’t recall your name, Father," The man hisses, his hand outstretched between us.
I grin, taking his hand and clamping down as hard as I can. He winces as his face reddens with anger.
"Roman Briar, but here you will know me as Father Briar," I boast, watching the man scoff.
"David Faulkner," He snaps, glancing back at his wife. "This is Morgan." The woman’s head barely raises to acknowledge me.
It would seem she probably received an earful for her unabashed stare towards me during Mass.
"Eden and Aiden are yours?" I question, his head glancing around the space.
"Aiden, yes. Eden, regrettably," He sighs, his words making me squeeze his hand just a little tighter.
"And where is the golden boy?" I question, ready to meet the golden child of the Faulkner family.
"He's spending time with his sister at The Overlook. She wasn't feeling too good after Communion," David says, seeming unbothered by the state his daughter might be in or why.
Dropping his hand, I slowly nod, grabbing the list from the altar server. Her name is scrawled at the very bottom of the page .
"And she knows she’s been signed up?" I question, his eyes rolling.
"As if getting her to do anything altruistic is possible. This was the only way," He snaps. His ego is suffocating me.
"Okay, so, she’ll be made aware that serving requires hours outside of Sunday Mass, correct?" I question, his eyes narrowing.
"She won't have a choice in what she does. Father Kevin was hardly able to keep her in line. I'd like to see what you’re capable of."
"I assure you, David," Father Kevin smiles, sensing the tension, "Father Briar will turn your daughter into a woman deserving of being in the Lord's house."
Looking nowhere in particular, I find the sign to the office and politely excuse myself from the conversation.
"I have to finish filling out housing paperwork," I smile, still unsure how eager I am to live on the same grounds as the church.
With a slight nod, Father Kevin dismisses me, continuing to indulge in conversation with the Faulkners.
Tucking the sign-up paper in my pocket, I work my way through the crowd, ignoring people's attempts to speak to me, giving them a large enough smile to satiate their need to be recognized.
When I reach the office, I quickly close and lock the door. Sighing, I make my way to the desk, taking a seat in the polished leather chair behind it.
I flatten the paper on the desk. Feeling for my flask still tucked away in my pocket, I bite back the urge to have a drink as I take notice of the mandatory hours of training written after each server's name.
Having been in the church for years, Eden has the fewest hours.
Looking at the painting of Mary Magdeline hanging on the wall across from me, I grab a pen, tapping it against the corner of the desk.
"Well, since they think she’s irredeemable," I say, pointing the pen toward the painting, "What's a few more hours?"
Scrawling the most hours required for a server next to Edens's name, I tuck the paper back in my pocket, typing up an email for the church's newsletter to announce the altar server's commitments.
Matthew 6:11-13: "Give us today the food we need, and forgive us our sins, as we have forgiven those who sin against us. And don't let us yield to temptation, but rescue us from the evil one."