Page 1 of Sins of the Flesh
Prologue
Sign of the Times - Harry Styles
T
IME IS AN ENIGMA.Each second is a moment you can’t get back.That second could be the last time you laugh with a loved one.Or your final moment with a lover.We are only allotted the present moment to live before it all becomes a memory.
Seventeen were my allotted seconds before my world crumbled, and the only love I have ever known was blown away like dust in the wind.
One
Cole
15 Months Earlier
Nervous - Shawn Mendes
T
he early morning sun filtering through the windows creates a warm glow in the kitchen, highlighting the white cabinets and sparkling countertops.The table is set with mismatched placemats; a vase of brightly colored flowers sits in the center.Mom stands by the stove, wearing her favorite floral apron and humming a tune as she cooks.The rich, savory, and sweet scents of bacon, pancakes, and freshly brewed coffee fill the kitchen, making my mouth water and my stomach grumble.
Yawning and stretching, I lean in to kiss Mom on her temple."Morning, sleepyhead," she says with a warm smile, flipping a pancake."I was beginning to think you'd sleep right through church."
"Not a chance," I reply through a yawn, grabbing a mug and pouring some coffee.The bitter taste of the coffee helps chase away the last cobwebs of sleep."You know I never miss a Sunday," winking at her, I slide into my seat at the table.Not when I have a chance to see…him.
Mom and I attend St.Mary's, the local Episcopalian Church, and Father Nichols, the Priest, has been the constant subject of my secret fantasies and daydreams for the past five years.Just the thought of seeing him again sends a shiver down my spine.Mom gives me a knowing look as she slides a stack of pancakes onto my plate."I know what that wink is about.You're going to ogle that new girl who just started coming to the Church last month."I nearly choke on my coffee.If only she knewwhoI wasreallyogling.Instead, I shrug and dig into my breakfast, letting the sweet maple syrup coat my tongue.
My eyes drift to my father’s empty chair, three years without Dad’s booming laugh filling this kitchen, yet my memory of it is still fresh.Mom sets a plate overflowing with pancakes and bacon at his empty spot, following her daily ritual.The ritual breaks my heart a little, but I no longer point out the extra plate.
Who am I to question her after she lost the love of her life?I lost my hero, and the things we do to hold onto people we love are personal.Sometimes when I'm alone working on a job, I still catch myself turning to ask Dad a question.The answering silence that follows is always deafening.
"Eat up," she says, pushing the plate closer to me and ruffling my hair affectionately."You'll need your strength for all that daydreaming you do during Church."Heat rises to my cheeks.
"Mom!"I protest, shoving another forkful of pancake into my mouth to hide my embarrassment.If she only knew the nature of my “daydreams,” Father Nichols' strong hands blessing more than just my soul, his lips whispering prayers against my skin…
"Earth to Cole," Mom says, waving her hand in front of my face."You're a million miles away this morning."Almost choking on her words, I mutter an apology.She gives me a skeptical look but doesn't press further.We finish breakfast in comfortable silence, the clink of forks against plates filling the air.
Mom stands up and carries her plate to the sink, where she rinses it off before loading it into the dishwasher."Remember, we have to go in 30 minutes!"Mom shouts as she heads upstairs to get ready.
Polishing off the rest of my breakfast, my mind drifts back to Father Nichols.It's pathetic, really, a twenty-year-old man pining after a priest who's more than twice his age.But there's something about him that I can't shake, something that goes beyond his physical appearance, though God knows that's appealing enough.It's his kindness, the way he listens to everyone with such genuine interest.The way his eyes crinkle at the corners when he smiles.The way he remembers everyone's name and their troubles, carrying the weight of the town's sorrows on his broad shoulders.
As I stand to take my dishes to the sink, I gaze at my dad’s untouched plate with a sigh.Picking it up, I transfer the food to storage containers, wash the remaining dishes, and head upstairs.
Stepping into the shower, my thoughts return to Father Nichols.I'm sure you’re catching on to the pattern by now.How pathetic is it that my Sunday highlight is pinning after a man I can never have?
Who am I kidding, really, the list of why I shouldn’t have a crush on him alone is way longer than the list of why I do.I shouldn't because he’s older than me (by a lot), 23 years to be exact, married to a lovely woman, and a Priest to name a few.But the tall, gorgeous man's warm brown eyes manage to hypnotize me every time I'm within 5 feet of him.It's a problem really.
But this crush isn't my only secret.When I was fifteen, I realized I was Gay and in a town like Baylee, that can be very dangerous.I thought I would get a chance to explore my sexuality when I went to college, but leaving Mom after Dad's death was something I couldn't do.So, I’m stuck here.
Baylee embodies that small-town stereotype so closely I could swear it's the model used in books and TV shows.Baylee is known for three things: a rabid investment in our high school sports teams, strong religious convictions, and gossip that spreads faster than wildfire.
The one and only Gay kid I knew growing up was beaten so badly his parents left Baylee within a month of it coming out.So, protecting this secret was and is the most important thing to me.
I have given up a lot over the years to keep it.In high school, after I realized I was Gay at summer camp, I started isolating from my friends and my parents.I’d never felt more alone or depressed, if it weren't for Mason, I wouldn't have made it through those times.
Mason is my best friend, we've been close since we were in diapers, practically brothers.There's nothing I wouldn't tell him and nothing he wouldn't do for me.The idea of telling him terrified the shit out of me, but Mason knows me, and he knows when something is up.
So, when I started isolating and making excuses not to hang out, he pestered the crap out of me.Until one day, I broke down and poured my heart out.And what does he do?"Bro, you know I don't care who you like or what you identify as, right?I love you no matter what, man."Then he quickly followed it up with “Dude?Do you have a crush on me?”I punched him in the arm with a watery, snotty sneer, and we cracked up laughing.
