30. Caspian
Caspian
A week had gone by since the first time I scoped out Vince’s townhouse.
A week of missed opportunities that were close, but not perfect.
The following Sunday, for no reason in particular than I thought getting back into the confessional with the priest would help me get my head straight, I decided to go back to the church.
Also, because I’d seen the priest coming and going from Vince’s house on more than one occasion and I thought maybe the church would be the easiest place to find him again after all.
The hunch paid off, and I found Vince kneeling in front of the prayer candles, whispering something no one but the ghosts of the sanctuary were meant to hear.
He shoved a twenty in the box, lit a candle, then stood.
I stepped closer, deliberately, feigning a lack of balance when he bumped into me.
One of his hands came for my bicep to steady me, the other reached toward the small of his back, freezing before making it all the way around.
Recognition flashed in his eyes, and he was quick to stand me straight again and withdraw his hand.
“Oh,” I muttered, smiling weakly.
The intensity of Vince’s stare turned my bones to fucking Jell-O. The memory of his cock on my tongue had the opposite effect to other, more notable parts of my body.
“Caspian.”
There was the softest lilt up at the end of my name, like it was a question he was ninety-nine percent sure he knew the answer to.
“Vince.”
He worked his tongue across the front of his teeth, sizing me up. “I’m not one to judge, but cruising mass feels a little blasphemous.”
“I’m always interested in fucking,” I said, leaning in and lowering my voice. “But I’m not always looking for it.”
He sank his upper teeth into his lower lip. “Shame.”
My breath hitched and suddenly the massive sanctuary was too small, couldn’t have been larger than a closet. There was no air, no room, no peace to be found here. At least not for men like me, not for silly little men with murder in their back pockets.
“Maybe after confession,” I whispered.
Vince exhaled loudly through his nose, giving me one last look before stepping away. “Maybe.”
Then he turned on his heel and strode down the aisle, taking a seat in the second row of pews.
Vince was as Catholic as I was, Catholic as I suspected the priest himself to be, but the origins of our faith were problems for a later day.
I took a seat in one of the pews in the back, giving me the perfect view of Vince and the way the priest couldn’t stop looking at him throughout the delivery of mass.
They were definitely fucking, I realized, and a brutal wave of jealousy rolled over me, trying to take me straight to my knees.
Who was this man, this pretender, to get to touch and taste a man like Vince Angelini?
Who was he when I had to settle for back alley blow jobs that offered no promise of a return or repeat?
Who was he to take anything, when I was the one who’d waited so long…
I hated him, I decided, opting to skip the confessional entirely because while I hadn’t shown up with a gun, I did have a knife and I didn’t want to use it on him.
Vince seemed fond of the priest and injuring him wouldn’t do me any favors, I knew that for sure.
I thought about it, though, and when I went up for communion and he offered me the wine, he recognized me, just the same as Vince had earlier.
I went back to my seat, went through the rest of the motions with frustration pulsing through my veins.
When mass was finished, Vince was first up, giving the priest his back, which earned a deep frown.
I watched as he strode down the aisle, gasping as he reached out for me.
Long fingers wrapped around my bicep and he hauled me up out of the pew and into the aisle.
The priest’s frown turned into a scowl, and the frustration I’d been feeling for the last twenty minutes turned into something much more fun.
Trailing Vince out of the church, I caught sight of the gun holstered at the small of his back, and the reminder of who we both were, of what I was meant to do to him, took me out at the knees. I stumbled, falling into him just as he turned to catch me and hold me steady.
“You have a habit of losing your footing when I’m around,” he said, breath hot against my ear.
We were so close. I could pull out the knife and shove it up between his ribs, puncture his heart, and run.
I could leave him to bleed out for a second time on the steps of the church.
No one would know it was me, no one would care about retribution because after Vince took his last breath, it wouldn’t be long before I also took mine.
I didn’t want to live in a world without him, even if he didn’t know.
“Can you blame me?” I asked with a shaky laugh. “You’re…”
The words caught, and I cleared my throat.
“I’m what?” he prompted.
“You’re you,” I settled on, giving him a small smile. “You’re captivating.”
“That’s a word I don’t think anyone has used to describe me before.”
“Then I’m your first?”
“It seems you are,” he murmured, tongue darting out to lick the corner of his lips. He smiled down at me, brow raised in surprise at my forwardness, I imagined. “You know, for someone who isn’t Catholic, you spend a lot of time at church.”
“I could say the same about you,” I countered, glancing over Vince’s shoulder. The weight of the priest’s stare was heavy and it was all around me.
“Do you drink coffee?” Vince asked, and I made sure to smile wide enough for the priest to see.
“I do.”