Chapter Four
Wren
Seven Years Ago
It’s probably not normal that I can’t stop thinking about the priest. It’s not a sexual thing. That would be crazy. I’m a married woman. Married women are only allowed to be turned on by their husbands and book boyfriends.
That’s the rule.
That said, I truly enjoyed the conversation I had with the priest earlier.
So much so that it’s all that’s on my mind.
I keep telling myself that he’s trained to listen and to ask probing questions.
It’s his job to make a person feel heard, but if that’s the case, then maybe I do need the church, because I haven’t felt that good in ages.
That, or maybe I need an antidepressant. Tough to tell at this point. Either way, I’m on the little church’s website to see what Father Anderson looks like when Zane walks into the room.
“Who’s that?”
My chest tightens as I stare toward the broad-shouldered, inked-up man on the screen.
I don’t know why I thought priests weren’t allowed to be tattooed, and I don’t remember them ever wearing jeans in the movies I’ve watched.
I also don’t know why I wanted to know what he looks like.
It doesn’t really matter what he looks like.
“Father Anderson,” I say. “He’s a priest.”
“A priest?” Zane groans and grabs a tie out of the top drawer of the dresser. “He looks like a biker.”
“I know.” I slap the laptop screen shut and twist toward my husband, whose tone sounds like he’s in a bad mood already. Then again, when is he not in a bad mood? “What’s up?”
“What’s up? That’s all you’ve got to say?”
My stomach clenches, and I know I’m in for a special kind of night if I don’t tread lightly. He wasn’t always like this. If he had been, I would have never have married him. “I’m sorry. You ready for the debate?”
He ignores my question and loops the tie. “Why were you looking at the church website? You religious now? You know,” he tilts his head to the side as he pops his collar to tuck the tie into place, “that might be good for my campaign.”
“Church?”
“Yes. People love that religious shit. They eat it up.”
“I think people respect genuine intention over everything else. We shouldn’t pretend to be religious.
” I regret my comment the second I finish the sentence.
No good ever comes from standing up for something with Zane.
He’s a contrarian at heart, and he’ll fight tooth and nail to prove just about anything and anyone wrong.
I suppose that’s what made him want to be a lawyer, and what makes him so good at debate, though I still don’t understand how he’s leading as the people’s vote for mayor of the Springs.
He’s young, he’s not nearly as experienced as his counterpart, and he comes from money.
People usually hate all of those things when it comes to politics, but for some reason, no one can see through the charming act he’s so good at portraying.
I swear, he has the whole damn city thinking he’s some kind of saint.
If they only knew.
He looks in the mirror to straighten the black tie he’s just squared. “We aren’t pretending. You’re interested in church. Why else would you be looking at the website? Open it back up.”
“What?”
“Open that website back up. There was a banner at the top. What’s it about?”
I’m not sure why my stomach is churning like I’m nervous he’ll find out I was there today by viewing the website.
Hell, I don’t even know why I’m nervous.
Who cares that I was there? I should be allowed to take a drive and stop at a church.
I should be allowed to have conversations with other human beings.
Even if I don’t feel like it, I’m my own person. I don’t belong to Zane Harlow.
He sighs loudly and grabs the laptop off my desk and flips it open, the website for the church still on display, Father Anderson looking straight at us.
Another pang of guilt hits.
God, clearly, I’ve been brainwashed. I remind myself again that I’ve done nothing wrong as I draw in a deep breath and let it out slowly.
“See,” he points toward a yellow banner at the top of the screen, “they’re looking for bakers. You can make cupcakes and whatnot. You should go do this.”
“What?” I narrow my gaze and stare up at him. “I thought you didn’t like it when I left the house.”
“I don’t like it when you leave the house looking like a bum. You’re the wife of the future mayor. You need to start acting like it, and this church thing is the perfect choice. People look past what you look like if you’re kind.”
Oh.
I’d love to say this comment comes as a surprise, but it doesn’t.
I’d also love to break down and start a fight, but what’s the point?
What’s the point in any of this anymore?
Zane doesn’t respond to breakdowns. He doesn’t respond to feelings or genuine cries for affection.
Zane is all about Zane, and anything you do to get in his way makes you an enemy.
Zane Harlow destroys his enemies.
“How’d you find out about this place?” He’s in the large walk-in closet in the back of the room as he talks, though everything he’s saying sounds like a blur of words.
“I used to drive past it, and there was always something unique about it that I liked.” I pinch my lips together as I talk, knowing for sure there’s a punishment coming.
“It’s a sign,” he says, voice much lighter than I expected. “You should go back and offer to bake those cupcakes you make. The ones with the gobs of fat you love so much. I’d bet simple people like the ones up in Whiskey Falls would love that shit.”
Yes, that was Zane’s idea of a compliment.
When we met in high school, I never would’ve imagined he’d be like this.
Back then, he used to tell me how beautiful I was, how much he loved the little creatures I sewed for him, how much he looked forward to the cookies I used to make and brought him every Monday morning.
Heck, I can even remember a time when Zane Harlow was my friend.
My good friend.
A guy I could’ve told anything to. A guy who genuinely cared about people and wanted the best for the world and the state of Colorado.
He had all these ideas, and, given his family’s political history, I always knew he’d run for office, but I never thought we’d have the distance we have today.
I never thought he’d talk down to me the way he does, and I know I never thought I’d be this girl.
The girl who accepted this behavior from anyone. The girl who thought so little of herself that she put up with all this, but nothing is that cut and dry. Nothing is that simple. Zane’s family has an image to protect, and they’ll pay whatever cost necessary to maintain it.
I stopped fighting that a while ago.
“Are you even listening to me?” He grips my arm with more strength than necessary and yanks me up from the wingback chair by the window where I’m lost in thought. “Tell me you’re going back to this church to do all the little suzie fucking homemaker shit that has no use anywhere else.”
“Or what, Zane?” A tear streaks down my cheek as I stare at the ghost of the boy I used to know. “You going to send your family after me? You going to make me disappear like your dad did to your sister? Doesn’t that bother you? Doesn’t that keep you up at night wondering what happened to her?”
He grips my arm tighter, his jaw clenched as he stares at me. “My sister was a waste of fucking space. Whatever he did, she deserved.”
A chill runs down my spine, and I know I need to go. I know I can’t stay here, but for the life of me, I don’t know how to get away.
His gaze holds steady with mine, and I swear I see the devil dancing behind his retinas just before he releases his grip. “I’ll send photographers over to the church tomorrow morning. I expect you to be there.”
Without another word, he steps out of the room, and I’m left in a stupid, awful, embarrassing puddle of tears.
I hate that he makes me cry. I hate that he makes me question myself. I hate that I don’t know who I am around him.
I stare toward the computer screen blankly as I wipe a quick succession of tears and try to reconcile my truth with reality.
I wouldn’t have gone back to that church, though deep down, I wanted to.
I want a community. I want a place where I belong.
I want to talk to Father Anderson again…
about everything. About life, love, time, space, and the meaning of it all.
I want to make him laugh that deep, throaty laugh I can tell he resists, and I want to feel like a good person, even if it only lasts for the few hours I’m at that little church on the hill.
So maybe today was a sign, and God sent Zane to push me into going back.
I’m contemplating my life and the existence of all things spiritual when my phone buzzes on the table beside me. It’s my friend Tilly. Technically, we’re not supposed to be talking. Zane thinks she’s a terrible stain on my image, but I sneak her calls in whenever I can.
“Hey, sweets,” I say, my arm throbbing in pain from where Zane gripped me as I reach for the phone. I don’t think I’ve processed what just happened yet. I’m not sure I ever will. How have things gotten this bad? “What’s up?”
“I miss you. Any chance you’re free for a secret meet up next week? I could use some girl time. We could hang out at my place. You miss the mountains, don’t you?”
“Of course. I hate living in the city. I just took a drive out to Whiskey Falls to remember what pine trees smelled like.”
“Ugh, you should’ve told me. I’d have met you out there for lunch or something.”
“It was a last-minute thing. I needed to clear my head.”
“We need to find you one of those underground groups who make people disappear and get you on their list. Just promise you’ll make an exception to come see me.”
“Yeah right. Zane would still find me.” I roll my eyes. “Now he’s got me volunteering at the church up in Whiskey Falls. I’m sure photographers will be there bright and early.”
“The church in Whiskey Falls?” she pauses. “The one with the super-hot, silver fox, biker priest?”
I laugh a little at her description of the man. “Super-hot, silver fox, biker priest? That’s a mouthful.”
“I bet he is too.”
My jaw drops and I can’t stop laughing. “Oh my God, stop! The man is a priest! He’s devoted his life to God! You can’t think about him like that!”
“Every woman in town thinks about him like that. I’m surprised you don’t. Hell, I even heard Mrs. Robinson talking about how attractive the man is. I mean, come on. I realize you’re busy being deeply betrothed to the devil, but you have to admit, Father Anderson is hot.”
“I didn’t actually see him. I sat in the confession booth. I mean, I saw him online, but that’s all.”
“Sexy! The confession booth with Father Anderson. That’s one I’ve fantasized about a few times. I sort of want to be choked a little with that—”
“Stop,” I laugh. “Seriously. I’ve got to see this man tomorrow. I don’t want to be imagining you and all your weirdo kinks while I’m baking him cupcakes.”
“So, what did you go to confession for?”
“Nothing, really. I just talked. We ended up having a really nice conversation.”
“A nice conversation? Wow. How very PG.”
“What?” I laugh. “It felt good to talk to another human. I’m allowed to enjoy that.”
“I’m sure it did feel good to talk to someone. I mean, your husband keeps you locked in a tower.”
“Obviously, he doesn’t. I just got out, and I’ll totally go to lunch with you next week.”
“And you’ll totally be nervous that he’ll find out you went. I’m a little surprised he doesn’t have a tracker on you yet.”
“He does. I had to leave my phone behind and borrow a car from the lady that does the cleaning. She comes twice a week, and we have a little arrangement. I make her kids those hand sewn creatures I make, and she lets me use her car for the day while she’s here. It’s high risk, but it’s worth it.”
“Girl, that’s just messed up.”
“You don’t think I know that?”
“If you know that, why are you putting up with this? Do you really think Zane would hurt you?”
I glance down at my arm and stare at the bruises he’s left behind.
It’s not the first time this has happened, and I know it won’t be the last. That, and I know what his family is capable of.
His father made his own daughter disappear.
No one in that family would think twice about doing the same to me if I did anything to ruin Zane’s image, which includes divorce.
“Yeah, I do.”
Tilly sighs as though she’s annoyed with me, and I don’t blame her. I’d be annoyed with me too. “Then why not let me tell my brother. He has strings at the police station. He’ll—”
“He’ll ruin his career trying to help me. Trust me. If I thought I could leave, I’d leave. Look, I’ve gotta make this menu now for the cupcake thing. I’ll text you later about a day next week.”
“Fine,” she groans, “but at the very least have a little fun tomorrow. You need it. Maybe Father Anderson will take you for a ride on his motorcycle. I hear he likes taking it down to this little forest outside of town to fish.”
I forgot priests would have a real life outside of the church too.
“That would be weird.”
“Why? Why is it weird to go for a nice long ride with a big, burly man who makes you feel good? Nothing can come of it? The man is a priest. Plus, your husband ordered you there.”
“I gotta go.” I shake my head as I pace the room back and forth. I’m pretty sure I’ve worn a path in the hardwood at this point. “Love you!”
“Love you more!”
When the line disconnects, I sit down on the wingback I was pulled up from and stare at the computer screen.
I’m hovering over the search bar, ready to look for baking inspiration, but I’m stuck on the picture of the super-hot, silver fox, biker priest, and the tingle between my legs I didn’t see coming.