Page 47 of Forgive Me Father
He was horny and powerful.
And now, it's over.
I barrel through the double doors, nearly slipping on the mix of blood and holy water. Running into the altar servers’ changing area, I quickly remove the robe and put on my clothes from earlier. I gather the rest of my things and make my way back to the front of the church, luckily making it to the front doors without seeing Roman again. I spot my Kia in the parking lot, Aiden waiting in the driver’s seat.
As I get to the car, I throw my things in the backseat before opening the passenger door. I don’t know why I did it, but I looked up to the front of the church as I moved to get in the car. I pause, seeing Roman standing under the portico just outside the entryway, his hands balled into fists at his side, the fading light of the day catching on the gold ring on his finger.
Glaring at him, I hold up my middle finger as I slide into the car.
“What was that about?” Aiden closes the book in his lap and reaches to turn down the music he’d been blasting before I got in the car.
“Nothing. Let’s go.”
Roman Briar.
My priest.
My secret.
The biggest sin I’ve ever committed.
Chapter 13
Roman
Six Weeks Prior
Welcome to Idlewood.
Population: Twelve thousand.
Nestled in the Rocky Mountains, this small town feels like it’s been swallowed whole by the forest—thick, unyielding trees that make it damn near impossible to remember there’s a world out there beyond the pines. The mountains are beautiful, sure, but they’re also a trap, locking you in with no way out. Life here drags on, slow and suffocating, like you’re stuck in some kind of purgatory.
The people here are friendly enough, but they’ve got a taste for gossip that never quits. Every little secret is like gold, and they’ll dig until they’ve unearthed every bit. It’s strange, really—I’ve been in some hellish places, seen things that would turn most people inside out, but there’s something about this quiet, stagnant life that feels like its own kind of hell. Like I’ve traded onewar for another, only this time, the battles with the silence, the sameness, and the ghosts of what I left behind.
But this is my home for the foreseeable future.
Enjoying the piping hot cup of dark roast, I watch the people of Idlewood roam the streets, each face giving me some new insight into the people here.
There’s a woman who glides out of the boutique across the way, her blonde hair perfectly styled, not a strand out of place. She’s got a purse that probably costs more than most people’s rent, and she’s walking like she’s got somewhere important to be, even if it’s just the café for a latte. She’s one of those who’ll show up at church dressed to the nines, all smiles and grace, but I can see it in her eyes—there’s something darker underneath, something she’s trying to bury under all that polish.
As I take another sip of my coffee, I notice a man in a worn denim jacket, boots scuffed from hard work. He stops to chat with an older woman, probably a neighbor, tipping his cap, his smile warm and genuine. There’s a kindness in his face, the kind you don’t see much these days—a real, honest warmth that comes from living a life grounded in something real. This is the kind of man who doesn’t need to flaunt his faith; it’s written in the way he lives.
In Seminary, no one tells you how hard it is to truly stay judgment-free.
Kevin warned me not to explore Idlewood, saying the charm of living here would grow on me through my service in the church.
Bullshit.
The best way to understand this town is to see it for what it is, not just through sermons and sacraments. Tolerating the fake smiles and questioning looks is easier when I feel like I’ve figured these people out.
In a month, I’m supposed to start my work, proving my worth through the followers I can gather. But sitting here now, I wonder what made me step into this line of work. My relationship with religion was always shaky at best, never fully committed.
If it weren't for the church at basic training, I'm sure I’d have turned away from religion entirely.
Initially, the idea of giving myself up to any religion felt odd.
Snorting coke off my barracks coffee table while learning how to kill a man as efficiently as possible seemed like the way to go.
