Chapter 18
RAFAEL
IPREPARED THE confessional the way I always did. It was a ritual for me, something that steadied me while waiting for Alessio and his brothers to arrive. Only now more than ever, I needed order to keep me focused, to help me stand against temptation.
Against Alessio.
It had been a week since I’d seen him at mass, and I’d spent more hours in prayer on my knees than I ever had in my life.
I didn’t understand the urge I felt to find him and apologize.
Apologize for what? The homily that had hit too close to home for us?
At least, it had for me. But that was God’s way, giving you what you needed when you needed it, and I’d been trying to remember who I was every day since.
I set my Bible inside the confessional and wondered if I was worthy to be there tonight.
It had never been an easy night for me anytime I was faced with Alessio and the men he was closest to now.
It wasn’t just that they were all extremely powerful—and sometimes dangerous—it was that they were more a part of Alessio’s life now, taking up the spot where I’d been.
I shouldn’t have felt resentful of that.
I should’ve felt comforted that he had people in his life that would protect him and be there for him that way.
Tell that to the sliver of jealousy that kept creeping into my brain. Yet another sin for me to pray away.
I heard the entrance to St. Andrews creak open, and suddenly my stomach exploded in a flutter of anxiety. It made my heart pound harder and faster, made my face feel like it was on fire.
Breathe, I told myself, and quickly recited Psalm 91:2. “This I declare about the Lord: He alone is my refuge, my place of safety; He is my God, and I trust Him.”
One by one, the Kings entered, moving through the nave with confidence, all of them wearing dark suits. Their leader, Tyrone Kingston, whom they all simply called “King,” entered first, his sharp eyes scanning the room.
“Good evening, father,” he said, and, just like always, added, “Thank you for seeing us so late.”
I nodded even as I struggled to take a good breath, my chest too tight. “You’re always welcome here.”
Lucien followed close behind him, smiling as he greeted me. Benoit, Shep, and Theo stopped beside them, and I finally gave myself permission to greet the last two men. Making sure to keep my face as neutral and pleasant as possible, I turned toward Lachlan and—
The door shut behind him, without their seventh member.
I knitted my brows together, unable to mask my confusion—and maybe even my disappointment.
“He’s not coming,” Lachlan said matter-of-factly, straightening his cuffs as he joined the others.
Oh. Wow. I hadn’t been expecting not to see him at all. I’d steeled myself for days to be able to face him tonight.
Get it together, Rafael, I told myself, remembering who was standing before me.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” I said, turning away from the door. “I hope he is well?”
Lachlan’s brow lifted ever so slightly, a curious look in his eyes. “Sure. You know Alessio.”
Something in the way he said it made me wonder if he knew more than he let on. I felt the shock of panic as his gaze lingered on me a second longer than necessary before he looked away.
Did he know something? Had Alessio confided in him? Did everyone here know? Was I a fraud now in their eyes?
“I’m sure he’ll be here next time,” King said, and I forced myself to nod.
“Of course. Are you ready?” I gestured to the confessional and King went first, entering one side while I took up the other.
I settled in the seat I had occupied for years, the hush before beginning familiar and settling my anxiety. I took a minute to breathe, in through my nose, out through my mouth, clearing my mind so I could focus on the man on the other side of the lattice and not the one who wasn’t here.
Then I began.
THE TIME PASSED by quickly enough, as one after another I heard each of Alessio’s brothers’ confessions, the distraction of listening to each of their transgressions exactly what I needed to get my mind off my own.
But as I closed the secret passage door behind Lucien and began to close up the church, my thoughts turned to the one who hadn’t been there.
Alessio.
I should’ve gone after him that night I’d seen him in church. I should’ve excused myself from the other parishioners and gone after the one person who’d needed me most. But instead of putting his needs first, I’d been busy thinking about myself.
I’d known the way Alessio would take that homily, and his absence here tonight merely solidified it. I should’ve followed him. Should’ve explained… What, exactly?
That I hadn’t planned it? That God had clearly known what I needed and given it to me? But again, how would that help Alessio? How could I help him when I barely even knew how to help myself?
I’d told him that I thought his coming back into my life was meant to be. That it was the sign I’d been waiting for to tell me I’d made the right choice—and back then, it had been.
Now, though? Now I wasn’t so sure.
I made my way through the gardens toward the rectory, more than ready for the night to be over. All I wanted was to close my eyes and turn off my brain. I wanted a moment of peace, and since I wasn’t finding that where I usually looked, it seemed sleep was my only other option.
How ironic. The Kings had come to me tonight to absolve themselves. Had come to St. Andrews, my usual place of sanctuary, to find a semblance of peace while I was all but running from its doors now.
I didn’t know how to fix this. Didn’t know how to stop the thoughts and—admit it, Rafael—feelings filling my head. I thought I’d laid that part of myself to rest. Thought I’d locked away the hunger, want, and desire, never to be thought about again.
But as I stepped inside the rectory and shut the door, my eyes immediately went to the window and I knew that for the lie it was.
I hadn’t laid it to rest. I’d merely pushed it aside.
I’d somehow convinced myself that if I kept Alessio at arm’s length, if I kept our meetings to once a month, I could have him in my life and be able to keep things platonic.
That, too, was a lie.
One that was starting to suffocate me.
My feet moved of their own accord then, one step in front of the other until I was standing directly in front of the window. There was no thought to it, no actual decision made; I merely found myself drawn to the opening where I knew I’d see—
Nothing.
The window I’d become accustomed to looking up at, the one with the soft glow that illuminated Alessio’s body, was dark.
Not dim. Not shadowed. Dark.
It hadn’t been that way since Lucien had told me to look up.
Maybe he was out. Or working. Or furious with me.
Or maybe he was just asleep.
I wasn’t sure how long I stood there staring. Minutes, hours—it honestly felt like days as I waited, and still the light never came on.
That was when it hit me: Alessio hadn’t just stopped coming to confession. He’d stopped watching.
I stumbled back a step and reached out to steady myself with a hand to the window frame.
He’s stopped watching me.
What did that mean? He was done? We were done?
No. That wasn’t right. There was no we. Not in that sense.
But as my heart started to race, and panic threatened to overwhelm me, it sure felt like there was. I couldn’t explain it, the absolute fear that overcame me at the idea that Alessio had washed his hands of me, the church, whatever we were. But I also knew I had no right to feel that way.
I walked back until my legs hit the bed, then fell down on it.
This silence, this complete absence of him in my life in any way, suddenly felt more isolating than when I’d left to go to Rome.
But I’d known back then where he was, that if I were to come home he’d be there and I’d be able to go to him.
Now? Now he’d made the choice to leave.
Alessio had removed himself from me.
There’d been no fight. No punishment. He’d just let go.
Absently, I removed my collar, letting it fall to the bed, the garment feeling out of place tonight as I mourned a man who wasn’t my God, but flesh and blood. A man I loved and had, in essence, erased from my life.
Where I should’ve drawn boundaries, I’d crossed them instead.
“Alessio…” I whispered, staring over at the dark void outside my window.
My life suddenly felt as still and lifeless as it now was.