12. Chapter 12 #2
“Maybe you should give it back. He looks pretty cross about it.” I ducked down in the pew a little, hiding behind his ridiculously huge muscled arm. “I think he’s going to throw that heavy censer at us.”
I froze when his face turned, his nose and then cheek grazing mine as he leaned in to whisper in my ear, “We’ll throw it back at him.”
He didn’t even blink through the entire sermon, fixing his empty eyes at a corner of the Basilica.
The window overhead had framed his face and the faint sunlight glistened as it hit his golden hair, giving him an oneiric halo.
He looked like something from a distant, hazy dream.
Something you only saw once, briefly, and would never be able to forget.
There was something about Logan Duncan that was comforting, peaceful.
That made you feel safe. I wondered if Piper knew she was the most well-protected person in the entirety of Epiron.
As the sermon went quiet and the exarch left, and everyone lowered their heads in prayer, his attention slowly turned in my direction, probably getting a headache from how hard I’d been staring at him. He raised a hand to my face, wiping the blood under my nose with his thumb.
“Sorry,” I whispered, wincing a little when it echoed through the quiet nave.
“Why does that happen only when I look at you?”
My gaze rolled over the pews behind us when everyone shifted uncomfortably, clearly having heard every single word of our exchange.
With a sigh, he leaned back against the pew. “Get them all out,” he said to Arthur who was sitting right behind us.
I didn’t understand what he’d meant until the church emptied like a burst pipe, like at our wedding.
Logan’s head was tipped up in the direction of the glass window. With his eyes shut, he looked like a God in agony.
The permanent tension gathered between his brows finally flattened. His shoulders relaxed. And it was the most at peace I’d ever seen him be.
We were alone. Him. I. And the God who he’d forsaken.
What had his God done to deserve exile from his heart?
“Logan?” I asked, my voice ricocheting against the colourless stone walls.
I frowned, leaning in to stare at him closer.
Was he…sleeping?
I was almost convinced he was not able to sleep. That he didn’t need it. I’d only seen him in and out of his room when he changed or showered. He was always coming and going. He’d sit for five minutes and be gone for five hours.
His eyelashes fluttered. His chest rose faster and faster as he slightly stirred, still asleep.
Was he dreaming?
“What does Logan Duncan even dream of?” I murmured to myself.
I startled back when his eyes peeled open, resting emptily ahead.
“Let’s negotiate that deal,” he quietly said. “As you proposed. You help me figure out what caused the Madness, and I won’t stop you from finding out what you came here to find out.”
My heart was beating too many times a second, my pulse stumbling all over itself. I had him just where I wanted him. It shouldn’t be hard at all to agree.
“Why do you come to church if you don’t believe in anything?”
His head slowly turned in my direction. “The same reason everyone does. To pray, to repent. It’s easier when you do it somewhere where it doesn’t feel wrong to pray and repent.”
I knew he probably had a lot to repent for, but what did Logan Duncan pray for?
The question sat at the tip of my tongue.
“You said you didn’t believe in your God.”
“Must I have a God to have remorse, to desire? Was I born capable or did he make me capable?” He looked at the carved stone saints and immortals lining the chancel. “I wish it was him. It would be easier to blame him for the way I am.”
“The deal,” I said, my gaze sliding down the strong, gentle frame of his profile. “I will agree to it. But I have a condition.”
I shrank back a little when he reached to swipe his thumb over the new trail of blood from the top of my lip. “What is it?”
Even if there had been any sun, I wouldn’t have blamed it for what I said next. “I want you.”
His thumb paused over the top of my lips and his eyes lifted to mine.
I pulled back a little, letting his thumb slide off my lips. “You don’t have to want me back. Just let me want you.”
The dusty silence echoed about the nave, crashing against the narthex, begging to be set free from the torture we were inflicting upon it. “Why?”
Because I am dying and this might just be the last thing I do.
“I might never get to do this again. I want to do it right. I want to have this. You, Piper—a family. Somewhere I belong. I want to know how that feels. At least once.” I looked away, lifting my face to the strings of light pouring from the tinted window overhead.
“Never had one of those before. Even with Ethel, Agnes never let us have the chance to be closer than she allowed us to be. I want to care without having to be careful. I want to fuss over you and Piper without being afraid. I want to worry about you. I want to fight with you. I want to get angry at you. I want to forgive you. I want to listen to you. I cannot guarantee I will obey, but I will listen. I always listen. You know I do.” If a wound felt like something, it felt like I did. Especially now.
“I could get you a lover,” he said, sticking his fingers in that wound.
The back of my throat burned, growing heavy and swollen.
Humiliation burned in the pit of my stomach.
I hadn’t asked him to want me, to love me, so why did I still feel sick with shame?
Why did my teeth hurt, why were my lungs breathing in silt?
“I would have asked for one if I wanted one,” I said, steeling my voice, refusing to show my shame.
“It is not totally off the table, so keep an eye out for one anyway.”
The corner of his mouth twitched as he turned to face ahead. “You won’t be getting a lover.”
The pressure released from the wound. Maybe because I was now bleeding out, maybe I hadn’t been bleeding at all to begin with. “You suggested it.”