Chapter 45 Adrian
ADRIAN
Bishop Carmine sits behind my desk like he owns it, his steel-gray hair catching the morning light streaming through the window. Sister Margaret stands by the door, not making eye contact as she prepares to take notes.
I sit across from the Bishop, and Marcus leans against the wall to my left, arms crossed, while Elijah perches on the edge of the chair beside me. We’re all trying to look calm, professional, like we’re not terrified of what’s about to happen.
The Bishop opens his leather-bound folder with deliberate precision, and I watch his ruby ring catch the light. My hands grip my rosary beads until they cut into my palm, using the pain to ground myself.
This is it.
The moment that determines whether we survive or whether everything we’ve built gets torn apart.
“After thorough investigation,” the Bishop begins, his voice measured and official, “I’m pleased to report that St. Michael’s Catholic Church is cleared of all allegations of misconduct.
” He looks up, his deep-set eyes moving between the three of us.
“The anonymous accusations were proven false. The evidence was fabricated. This parish is spiritually healthy and well-managed, and you handled the press conference well.”
The relief that floods through me is so intense it’s almost painful. I feel Marcus’s body relax slightly beside me, hear Elijah’s sharp exhale.
Sister Margaret’s pen scratches across her notebook, recording the official verdict that will go into the diocese records.
“Furthermore,” the Bishop continues, “the investigation into Brother Moreau’s conduct with Sarah Chen has been closed.
The allegations were determined to be false, the result of a teenage obsession rather than any inappropriate behavior on his part.
” His gaze finds Elijah. “You’re reinstated to full duties, effective immediately. ”
Elijah’s eyes fill with something that looks like tears, but he blinks them away quickly. “Thank you, Your Excellency.”
The Bishop closes his folder, and I think we’re done. Think we’ve somehow survived this nightmare intact. But then he looks at Sister Margaret, and something in his expression makes my stomach clench.
“Sister, please give us the room.”
Sister Margaret’s eyebrows rise slightly, but she doesn’t question the dismissal.
Just closes her notebook and slips out the door, leaving the four of us in weighted silence.
The moment the door clicks shut, the Bishop’s entire demeanor shifts. The official mask drops, replaced by something more human, more complicated.
“Now,” he says quietly, leaning back in my chair, “let’s talk about what I actually know.”
My throat tightens. Marcus goes rigid beside me. Elijah’s fingers still their nervous drumming against his thigh.
The Bishop’s steel-gray eyes hold mine with unnerving intensity. “I’ve been a priest for forty years. I’ve seen every variation of human weakness, every way people try to hide what they feel.” He pauses, letting the words sink in. “I know about Miss Davis.”
The confession hangs in the air like a noose. I force myself to remain still, to not confirm what he’s already guessed.
But my body betrays me. My jaw clenches, my hands tighten on the rosary beads, and I watch him catalog every tell.
“I don’t know the specifics,” he continues, his voice dropping lower.
“And I don’t want to know. But I see something real in your dedication to this parish.
To each other.” His gaze moves between the three of us.
“I’m protecting you this once because I believe you’re good men trying to navigate an impossible situation. ”
Marcus finds his voice first, his accent thickening with emotion. “Your Excellency, we—”
“Don’t.” The Bishop raises his hand, cutting him off. “Don’t confess. Don’t explain. Just listen.” He stands, moving to the window, his back to us. “The Church has eyes everywhere. What happened here, the investigation, the scrutiny, it won’t be the last time. You need to be smarter. More careful.”
He turns to face me directly, and something in his expression makes my chest tight.
“Father Cross, I’m going to tell you something I’ve never told anyone.
” His voice cracks slightly. “Forty years ago, I was in love. Deeply, completely in love with someone I couldn’t have.
I chose my vows over that love, and I’ve spent four decades wondering if I made the right choice. ”
The vulnerability in his confession is devastating. I see the weight of regret written across his face, the what-ifs that have haunted him for longer than I’ve been alive.
“I’m not telling you what to choose,” he says quietly. “But I am telling you that choosing obligation over love leaves scars that never fully heal.” His steel-gray eyes hold mine. “You’ve been given a second chance. Don’t waste it.”
He gathers his folder, preparing to leave. But he pauses at the door, his hand on the knob. “Miss Davis is pregnant, isn’t she?”
The question makes my blood run cold. I don’t answer, can’t answer, but my silence is confirmation enough.
“I thought so.” His expression softens slightly. “Congratulations. All of you.” He opens the door, then looks back one final time. “Be smart. Be careful. And for God’s sake, be happy.”
Then he’s gone, leaving the three of us sitting in stunned silence.
I stare at the door, my mind spinning through everything he just said. The mercy he’s shown us. The warning wrapped in understanding. The knowledge that we’ve been given something precious and rare, a second chance we don’t deserve but desperately need.
Marcus makes a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob. “Did that just happen?”
“I think so.” Elijah’s voice is shaky. “I think the Bishop just…blessed us?”
I can’t speak past the lump in my throat. Can’t process the magnitude of what just occurred. We were prepared for condemnation, for separation, for the destruction of everything we’ve built. Instead, we’ve been given permission to keep loving her. To keep being a family, however unconventional.
The door opens again, and my heart stops.
Charlie stands in the doorway, her hazel eyes wide with fear and hope in equal measure. “What happened?” Her voice trembles. “I’ve been waiting…”
I stand before I can think, before I can remember all the reasons I’m supposed to be careful, my feet carry me across the office then she’s in my arms, her body warm and soft against mine. I bury my face in her neck, breathing in the vanilla scent that’s become as necessary as air.
For the first time in weeks, I don’t care who might be watching.