Chapter 4
Four
Nathan
The steps of the old wooden stairs in the rectory creaked, betraying Nathan as he attempted to slip out.
His whole body tensed, his butthole clenching hard enough to turn a lump of coal into a diamond.
Not that he was on his way to do anything bad.
He just didn’t want to discuss his plans with Father McDonagh.
“Nate!” The pastor’s voice always had a subtle gurgling quality to it. It was disgusting, and Nathan only found it more so the longer he knew the man.
Dealing with Father McDonagh was a trial from God. He would endure it for the possibility of his own parish. Nathan would have his own church someday, and he’d never have to speak to the man again.
“Where are you going?” Father McDonagh appeared in the doorway to the living room. He’d changed out of his black shirt and collar into a pair of ratty shorts and a stained t-shirt that stretched across his round beer belly.
It’s like he never considered that he lived with another person.
“I’m heading over to the bar.” Nathan always went on Tuesday evening. Father McDonagh had some kind of commitment on Tuesdays he never spoke about, but he was always gone when Nathan left. Of course, today was Monday, which was why Nathan had tried to duck the interrogation.
Unsuccessfully.
“Why?” Father McDonagh brought a can of soda to his lips. Nathan hadn’t noticed it in his hand. The pastor chugged whatever was left in it and crushed the can, staring at Nathan. His eyes were small and beady. Nathan had always found them unnerving.
“They’ve opened an illegal gambling hall. I’ve heard about it from several parishioners. I’m going to speak to the owner, Tristan—”
“Tristan Ward.” Father McDonagh’s demeanor hardened. “He’s not part of the congregation.”
“No, but several parishioners have spoken to me about their financial troubles. I have to at least talk to him, to make him see he’s hurting the community.”
“You can waste your own time, I guess.” Father McDonagh waved him off and walked away, muttering under his breath. “Fucking idiot.”
Nathan sighed and headed out the door.
It was a quick walk over to the bar. The cool night air refreshed Nathan as he made his way.
It was possible Tristan would be open to hearing about the harm he was causing. Unlikely, maybe, but he’d never struck Nathan as a bad person. His father had been a kind man, and his son seemed the same.
Tristan had never looked askance at Nathan on the occasions when he had a few too many. A few weeks ago, he’d gotten Nathan home. Nathan had no memory of it, but he was grateful nonetheless.
The bar was quiet, it being a Monday night. Nathan had always enjoyed a drink or two, and he’d been going to Jim’s Garden Bar since he moved to Purgatory. As he entered, the scent of leather and alcohol enveloped him. He found it comforting.
He sat down at the bar, glancing over at Tristan, who was wiping down the counter. Tristan smiled when he caught sight of Nathan and sidled over to him.
Nathan’s chest clenched. He didn’t enjoy confrontation, but sometimes convictions were more important than comfort. That didn’t mean it would be easy.
“Father Roy, you’re here on a Monday night.”
Nathan swallowed, wiping his sweaty palms on his black trousers. “I am.”
“Well, what can I get you?”
He needed to rip the bandage off. “Nothing tonight, Tristan. I want to speak to you about something.”
Tristan looked at him with suspicion, and for a moment Nathan considered bailing. Out of the corner of his vision, he glimpsed Owen Hughes coming out of the swinging door to the back room. The man’s eyes widened when he saw Nathan, and he spun around and slipped back into the gaming hall.
No. Nathan would not allow Purgatory to be victims to this den of iniquity.
“It’s come to my attention you’ve opened up a gaming hall in your room back there.”
The intensity of Tristan’s glare was not something Nathan had expected. He had always been so cordial, but right now the bar owner was drying a glass at an infinitesimally slow rate, his jaw clenched tight.
“You are ill-informed, Father Roy.”
The man wouldn’t even acknowledge the operation’s existence? It was the most poorly kept secret in town. Between people admitting to gambling in confession and the old ladies whispering about it around every corner, it was nuts to deny it.
“I don’t think I am.” Nathan took a deep breath. This wasn’t how he’d hoped the conversation would go. But if he had to stand his ground, he would. “I’m a parish priest. I hear enough to know what’s true and what’s not.”
“This is my bar. If you continue along this line, I’ll ask you to leave.”
Nathan slid his hand along the solid wooden bar top, stealing some of its permanence to buoy his confidence.
“Tristan, listen to me, please. I’m sure it’s nice to have some extra income, but this will hurt people. Gambling can be an addiction for so many—”
“So can drinking,” Tristan said, cutting him off. “Yet you’re sitting here in my bar. Not drunk, which is a surprise considering the last few weeks.”
That stung, if Nathan was honest with himself. He didn’t consider himself an alcoholic, but drinking could be a coping mechanism for him. If he weren’t careful, it would grow into more.
But that didn’t mean he was wrong.
“I’m trying to protect my parishioners. Something like this could cause trouble for so many people in Purgatory. We don’t want people unable to pay their bills because they lost the rent money playing poker. Have a little compassion and—”
The glass slammed down so hard Nathan was surprised it didn’t shatter. As it was, he jumped in his seat at the loud sound. The rage in Tristan’s glare compounded the tightness blooming in his chest.
Tristan opened his mouth to speak, but suddenly someone was next to him behind the bar. Slim and wiry, with a streak of white in his shoulder-length dark hair, the man was devilishly handsome. He wore a navy cowl-neck sweater that spoke of a coziness at odds with the words coming out of his mouth.
“Jesus, Tristan, what are you doing? We could hear that in the back room. People can’t bluff at poker if they’re worried about a gunfight in the front bar.”
Tristan stared up at the ceiling with a frustrated glare, and Nathan took advantage of the pause.
“See, there’s no need to call me a liar. Please, just shut the whole thing down. This whole thing is going to ruin people’s lives.”
The new man’s attention snapped to Nathan, and suddenly he couldn’t breathe. The guy’s eyes were so beautiful, a deep blue framed by the longest lashes, containing a fierceness that was almost scary.
“Father Roy, nice to see you again. And lucid, this time.”
Furrowing his brow, Nathan stared at the guy. He couldn’t place him. The remark had caught him off guard, making him stumble over his next words.
“I…I’m sorry, I don’t know you.”
“You don’t remember our beautiful night together? Oh, forgotten and thrown aside like a trollop!” The man stepped closer, now standing directly across from Nathan at the bar.
“What are you talking about?”
“I carried you home the night you passed out at the bar.” A mischievous grin spread across the man’s face. “My name is Hunter.”
Warmth spread across Nathan’s neck and chest. Hunter’s smile had unsettled him. He didn’t want to look away, but he worried about his body’s reaction.
“You carried me home? What?”
Nathan glanced over at Tristan, who smirked and nodded. “You passed out from too many wine spritzers. Which was quite the feat. Hunter volunteered to get you home.”
Turning back to Hunter, Nathan studied his demeanor. “You called me a car?”
“No, Father Hottie. I carried you. It’s what, a half mile to the rectory? At most. You were light as a feather.”
If Nathan thought he was warm before, now his whole body was blazing.
He was not used to flirting, except with adorable old ladies who wanted nothing more than a peck on the cheek.
Before becoming a priest, he’d had a limited love life.
Yes, he’d been attracted to both men and women, but his faith kept him from acting on anything with a man.
And then he became a priest, which closed all the doors and locked them tight.
“Are you okay?” Hunter asked. Nathan couldn’t tell if he was mocking or sincere, a glint of mischief dancing in the man’s eyes. Hunter reached forward and touched Nathan on the forearm.
And the universe stopped. Even with this light brush, the intense warmth of the man’s fingers permeated his skin. The touch sent sparks of electricity racing up and down Nathan’s arm.
Words would not come, no matter what he did. He tried forcing air out of his body, but…nothing. Sensations sprang up in his body that had no business being there. He’d pushed them away long ago.
Nathan had chosen his faith and his vocation, and one brief meeting with a strange man would not derail him. He had a plan. His own parish. A community of his own. None of that involved breaking his vows with a man.
So, Nathan took a breath, and once again shoved his desires down, deeper than they’d ever been, shrinking them into a dense ball and hiding it in the pit of his stomach.
Snatching his arm away, he broke the connection.
“Father Hottie? I’m a priest. That is not appropriate.”
Hunter leaned back against the counter behind him and crossed his arms, looking Nathan up and down. There was something exposing about his gaze, like Nathan was naked and vulnerable in front of a predator. It wasn’t okay. It stirred a need in him that—
No.
“If you want to talk to someone about the gambling, talk to Hunter. He’s the one in charge of it.” Tristan’s interjection broke whatever spell Hunter had over him.
“Fine.” Nathan stood, leaning forward over the bar top, his hands pressed against the smooth, slightly sticky veneer, gathering his sense of certainty. “I want you to close the casino. You’re hurting our community.”
“I am?” Hunter clicked his tongue. “Not as much as some misguided servant of Heaven making the citizens of Purgatory feel guilty about their masturbation and their little white lies.”
“What?” Nathan shook his head. That was such an odd way to describe his role as priest. He was a servant of Heaven, but it was an archaic turn of phrase. “I don’t make people feel guilty. I help them process their guilt.”
Hunter chuckled, a low, smooth sound that tickled the back of Nathan’s brain. “Okay, Father.”
Rubbing his eyes to clear his head of the fog Hunter’s presence seemed to cause, Nathan centered himself and pressed his case. He was in the right here. He wouldn’t let himself get distracted.
“What you think of me doesn’t matter. Folks are gambling away money they need to live. You’re making money off the backs of my people.”
“We don’t have slot machines or blackjack dealers, priest. It’s poker. The odds aren’t with the house. There is no house.” Hunter cocked his head. “Except for the one roulette table. I love roulette. All the red and black is so pretty. I couldn’t resist.”
What was wrong with this guy? He was alternatively intimidating and ridiculous. Nathan didn’t know what to make of him. Talking to him was like standing on a cliff during an earthquake.
“We’re not swindling anyone,” Hunter continued. “We take a percentage of the winnings. They’ve all chosen to be there. Why are you trying to take away their agency? Are you a dictator? Is Purgatory your little fiefdom?”
“It’s illegal!” Nathan was shouting now. Why was he losing control like this? He didn’t understand what was causing this reaction.
“Lots of things throughout time have been illegal, priest.” Hunter walked around the bar as he spoke. “In Delaware, it’s illegal to sell cat hair. In Kansas, it’s illegal to serve wine in teacups. In Blythe, California, it’s illegal to wear cowboy boots unless you own two cows.”
As Hunter stepped out from behind the bar and toward Nathan, he reflexively shrank away. Something about the man’s aura unsettled him.
“Do you have those memorized?” Nathan couldn’t keep the nervousness out of his voice. Why did this man make him so anxious?
To make matters worse, Hunter slid onto the bar stool next to him. The warmth poured off the man in waves, leeching into Nathan’s skin.
“I have lots of things memorized,” Hunter whispered with a flirty wink.
“The things you say mean absolutely nothing.”
“They mean whatever you want them to mean, priest.” Hunter stared deep into his eyes, and Nathan’s brain stopped functioning. This close, they were like deep pools, and Nathan was drowning.
Hunter jumped back, off his stool and away from Nathan, pulling him back to the surface, back to reality.
“Go home, priest. You have nothing to say I haven’t heard before.” Hunter’s voice was cold now, the honey replaced with flint.
Nathan didn’t understand what had just happened. Had he done something to provoke Hunter’s anger?
That was a stupid question. It didn’t matter what Hunter thought of him. Nathan steeled himself to try a more aggressive tack.
“This is an illegal gambling hall. If you don’t shut down, I’ll go to the police.”
“You can try.” Hunter’s glare was cold as he pointed toward the door. “Go home.”