43. Chapter 42
Chapter 42
Keaton
My heart thumped in my chest as I closed the bedroom door behind me so Layne could get the rest she needed. Although it was one a.m., sleep wasn’t an option for me. I had to change things, and now. Already wasted too much time.
I headed to the garage and climbed into my TRX. The road to Saint James Cathedral was abandoned and dark. Despite sheets of rain limiting the view to six feet wherever the jungle didn’t cover the route, I made it there in record time. The few steps up the stairs and to the heavy oak doors left me drenched, my clothes sticking to my skin.
As always, incense enveloped me as I entered. Soft candlelight cast flickering shadows across the marble floor and stone walls. The pews were eerily empty, my footsteps echoing off the domed ceiling as I walked down the aisle toward the sanctuary. I slipped past the first row and sank on one of the kneelers at the front. Folded my hands on the armrest and lowered my head.
“God.” My voice cracked, and I cleared my throat. “If it’s true what the Bible says and I’m not too far gone, I want to be saved. I know I’ve made a lot of mistakes. I know that I’m messed up. That my thoughts are rotten. And that’s why I need You.”
A rush of emotions hit me. Vulnerability. Remorse. Anger. Shame.
“I’ve also read in the Bible that if I confess my sins, You will forgive me and cleanse me from all unrighteousness.” I started telling God about everything I’d done wrong. How I’d manipulated people with my charm, power, and money. Pushed loved ones away. Ruined Ian. Exploited an endless list of women to satisfy my lust. I no longer deemed any of those acts transactional.
By the time I was done, my knees hurt from the hard wood. It felt like a fraction of the punishment I deserved.
I remained in that position, staring at the flickering candles. Breathed in the cool air heavy with incense. Listened to the rain pelt against the mosaic windows.
Then I lowered my head back down. “God, this is all I have. Please forgive me.”
Despite the wet clothes plastered to my body, a sensation I couldn’t quite place warmed me from the inside. It wasn’t something I’d ever felt before, not even when I was with Layne. It felt akin to dropping the weights after a hard set with too many reps, yet completely different. Was this what unmerited forgiveness felt like?
A thud brought my head up. Footfalls followed. I looked over my shoulder, seeing a figure coming down the nave aisle.
Kingsley. His habit was plastered to his chest, water dripping from his hair and beard. “Figured it was your TRX. You okay?”
“Yeah. Just . . . talking with God.” My knees cracked when I straightened. “Why you awake?”
“Couldn’t sleep.” He pointed at the bench behind us. “Sit with me?”
I nodded, and we settled next to each other.
“Have you been praying?” Kingsley asked.
Stretching one arm along the backrest, I stared at the altar. “Yeah.”
“For Layne?”
“Not now, but the past three weeks.”
“Do you see a difference?”
“Not much.”
“But some?”
I looked at my brother. “Yeah. She still struggles to eat. I think lifting a spoon and chewing is extremely exhausting and painful for her. And after every shower she lies in bed in her bathrobe and doesn’t move for thirty minutes.” I couldn’t even begin to imagine what she was going through. The fatigue. The pain.
“I’ll keep praying for her, and you do the same.” Kingsley’s gaze lingered on me, taking me in.
“I came here to repent of my sins,” I offered. “Still can’t believe God forgives me just like that. I indulged in a lot of immoral behavior.”
“That’s how He is. His love for us is hard to comprehend.”
“Yeah.”
“The thing is, we all sin and fall short of His grace.”
Sniffing, I looked at the altar again. “How on earth would you sin?”
Kingsley shifted next to me. “Believe it or not, I’m fighting my own battles.”
That drew my interest. I straightened in the pew and looked at him. “What battles?”
“I, um . . .” His gaze darted to the domed ceiling, then came back to me. “A woman comes to Midday Mass every Wednesday, and she, um . . . She’s very attractive and her clothing is . . . revealing.” Despite the soft candlelight I could see Kingsley’s face turn crimson. “Sometimes my thoughts wander.”
“Of course they do. Just because you’re a monk doesn’t mean you’re any less of a man.”
“That’s not how it’s supposed to be, though.” He raked a hand through his wet hair. “I can decide whether I keep entertaining the thoughts or shut them down.”
I pondered that for a moment. Not once had I shut down unsavory thoughts in the past. Didn’t matter anymore. All I could think about now was Layne’s suffering. And the fact that the Psycho was still out there.
“That works?” I asked, sensing that Kingsley needed someone to talk to who wouldn’t judge him.
He briefly closed his eyes. “For the most part. Had to confess several times and repent. It’s just so frustrating that I keep falling back into the same pit. Guess I’ll always be a Grady.”
The frustration in his voice took me aback. “Hey.” I squeezed his shoulder, drawing his gaze to me. “Our family is messed up, but that’s not you. What our parents do, what I or Kimball or any of us do, doesn’t define who you are. I mean, look at you. You’re about to become a priest.”
He made a face, and for a moment he reminded me of the eight-year-old kid who’d had a higher morale than me at fourteen. “That’s exactly the problem. I’m not sure I should be a priest with thoughts like that.”
“You just told me we all sin and fall short of grace. I don’t think priests are exempt from that. So cut yourself some slack.” My voice had taken on a sharp edge, which was fine with me. Wouldn’t let him talk smack about himself.
“Maybe you should become a priest,” Kingsley said, grinning. “That was a pretty good sermon.”
I chuckled. “Hold your horses, cowboy. I don’t know a thing about being a Christian.” Sobering, I looked my brother square in the eye. “Promise me you will keep going to seminary.”
His lips pressed into a thin line.
“Kingsley, promise me. I won’t let you quit.”
“Okay.” He nodded. “Yeah, I promise.”
I patted his chest. “Atta boy.”
My own words caught up with me, mixing with Dalton’s. You will fail her because you’re human. We all make mistakes.
He was right. Sooner or later I would fail Layne. But not even trying was downright idiotic. God was clearly working on me, so maybe I wasn’t too far gone and could become the husband she needed.
Not much longer, and the green card marriage interview was coming up. So far I hadn’t wasted much thought on it, but now that I wanted to get serious with Layne, it had me on edge. Hopefully we wouldn’t foul it up.