Page 93 of Tortured Eyes
I sigh as I carry on, wondering what she’s doing now. Despite her not wanting me, I’m happy knowing she’s out there doing her thing now we’ve got some distance between us. She’s a good cop. Worthy. Her streets are safer with her on them. Doesn’t mean she’ll catch every killer in time, but she’ll try to protect. It’s in her blood. In her bones. And I’ve always got the tape to look back on, jack off to maybe. As has she. Still hurts like a bitch, though.
I hate to admit it, but I miss her. Miss her anger, her flare, and her fucking attitude. But mainly I miss the connection we shared, irrespective of the anger or the reasons we were ever part of each other’s lives in the first place. It was visceral. Something I felt in my blood when she challenged me. No one else does that to me. No one but the man I’m travelling to, anyway.
And that’s for entirely different reasons.
I eventually swing through the gates, under the cover of darkness, and open the garages, parking my car. So quiet here. Always is. I get out and stare into the distance, enjoying the sound of nothing and thanking the skies above that Samuel still wants me. Even the sea stays calm and relaxed here as if it’s never had a thing to get angry about in its life. It’s moody out there, though. A low hum of potential chaos should it think about getting pissed. It’s no wonder Samuel chose here to meet for the first time. It’s everything he is without the robes on. Serene, but with a nasty hint of hidden aggression hiding under the surface. I guess he just couldn’t bring himself to let me take him in a church back then, against God’s law so to speak. We must be making progress. Still not fucking sure why I’m trying, but I am. Always have with him, and just did with her. Not that she gave a damn for my attempt.
A few more minutes go by and I hear footsteps approaching behind me. “And you’re standing out here for what reason?” he asks.
“Thinking. Trying to work out what love means to me.”
He chuckles and stands by my side, a long sigh following the sound of his laughter ebbing away. “It took a woman for you to realise it needed thought? I’m offended.”
“No, you’re not. You’re probably amused and enjoying my anguish. How’s it feel to know you’ve got one over on me?”
“Definitely an ego boost. The great Logan Cane. Fucked up.”
“Language, Father. I’m not even inside you.”
The very fact that I’m not yet makes me turn to face him, wondering when that happened. It was all so fierce and direct with us at first. We got into it straight away, and then if he was lucky, I hung around and drank wine with him. Talked. But now, it’s different. I don’t have to think about whether that’s love or not; I know it is. How the hell I manage it, or deal with it, I don’t know because he’s not leaving the priesthood, and I’m not stopping what I do either.
He smiles and backs away a few steps, eyes full of warmth and care. “Come inside. I’ve missed you.”
I start following, watching his body move in black jeans and a t-shirt. Hot as fuck. Not that the robes aren’t. I mean, that’s kinky hot, but this is the man underneath them, and he’s all male aggression when we’re here. Loud. Entitled. Cocky even. We’ll fuck. Talk. And I'll try to find something I’ve kept from him so he knows how much he means to me. I’m not losing him, and if that means I have to give a bit more, then I will. “Also, we need to talk about your detective.”
“We do?”
“She means something to you. I want to know why, understand it.” My feet stop, everything in me tensing. He swings back to look at me, a wry smile on his face. “Keep moving.”
“Why?”
“Because, in spite of your insistence that she means nothing, I saw the way you looked at her. I recognise it, mainly because it's the same way you look at me. Are you coming in or not?” The last of his words makes me realise I’m still rooted to the spot, every part of me confused about why anything needs discussing.
“She told me to leave,” I mutter, climbing up the porch and walking in. “There's nothing to talk about. Said she wasn’t interested.”
“Have you seen yourself in a mirror? Everyone's interested in you. I daresay she just doesn’t know what to do with you. You’ve ruined everything she was, and I expect you’ve done absolutely nothing to put that right. Were you at least honest with her?”
“About what?”
“Your feelings.”
I turn to look back at the dimly lit view through the window, a smirk on my face. Feelings. I half laugh and dump my coat on a chair, wondering what tonight’s conversation might bring. I thought I was done with the hardship of emotional reactions for a while, other than with Samuel anyway. Seems I’m not.
"I spent time in a jail cell for her. Pretty sure that should've shown her any feelings I have."
He doesn't speak, just waits for me to offer more. There's nothing more to offer. She's made that plain. Him, though? He should know everything there is to know about who I am. Everything he doesn't know already. “You know I probably love you, right?” I murmur.
If he didn’t, he does now.
I turn my head over my shoulder,making sure he sees my face. He doesn't look surprised, nor does he make any move towards me. Priestly arrogance at its finest. I'm not even sure what I expected from him in response. "I'm just making that clear, Samuel. Being honest. Anything from this point forward involves me loving you. I'm not changing, though. Can't. Please don't ask me to."
He chuckles quietly, a few steps forward until he's up in my face. "Whether you change or not, you're everything I've ever wanted, Logan. You should know that." He blinks, translucent eyes staring into my heart and one hand reaching for my chest. "Set me as a seal upon your heart, as a seal upon your arm, for love is strong as death."
I smile and turn back for the view again, holding his hand tight against me. I don't need anything other than that from him. It's a good answer. An honest one. Sent from the lips of the only God I acknowledge, as far as I'm concerned.
And it's just what I needed to hear.
