Page 43 of Almost Priest

He should have worded that differently. “Samantha, I can’t.”

She nodded solemnly and he knew if he wanted her in that moment she’d be his. “I’m sorry.”

He turned and exited the car. By the time he reached the passenger side, she darted towards the house. He missed his chance to kiss her one last time.

The loss of that one last kiss was crushing. Screams of frustration stuck in his throat. For the first time since childhood, he wanted to cry. He needed that kiss and he’d never have it.

As she climbed the front steps in her bare feet he wondered if the pain of not having her would ever go away. If for the rest of his life he would always long for that last kiss, that extra caress, that final look back. She wouldn’t look at him now.

She waited by the door for him, head hung, gaze averted with a curtain of hair preventing him from reading her expression. It wasn’t fair for him to keep doing this to her. He was killing himself, but the idea of hurting her made his actions a thousand times worse.

He opened the door and flipped on the hall light. Slowly, she marched up the steps and he followed. Not a word was spoken. The air was thick with longing and regret. Enough. It had to be enough.

Her heart was something sacred that should not be abused. There was no excuse for hurting her anymore. It was obvious what this was doing to her—to them. No matter how much pleasure they drew from one another, there would always be a goodbye. And soon that goodbye would be final.

He stood at his bedroom door and she stood at his brother’s.

“Goodnight, Samantha.”

“Goodnight, Colin.”

He thought he heard tears in her voice, but by the time he looked back at her she was already in the room with the door closed. He sighed and went into his own room and shut the door behind him.

Tossing off his shirt perfumed by the smoky scent of campfire he forked his fingers through his hair and pressed his palms into his desk. Leaning over the surface, he played back the last half an hour in his mind and berated himself.

He tried to think back to his theology courses for the slightest anchor that would remind him of who he was. He fought to recall the way he felt the day he received his letter of acceptance into the Affiliation Program, but could not recreate the feeling of elation.

His mind recalled the first day he met his good friend and mentor, Father Tucker, but the memory played flat. The pride and satisfaction he experienced while in Dublin working as a missionary was still very real, but any man could do community service. He was not to be any man, but a holy man, yet he could not grasp the feeling of sacredness.

He allowed himself to become a profane example of all that he stood for and believed in. And the worst part was that he recognized his complete lack of concern for what was happening to him and didn’t know how to alter his perception, how to get back those old ideals.

“Fuck!” He shoved the desk against the wall and stood.

He paced for a few minutes and then decided that while he couldn’t correct all his faults at the moment he could at least calm his inner being and eradicate temptation with a cold shower. He went to the bathroom and opened the door and came up short when he saw Samantha, towel in hand, and face pink, with wet tracks of tears running down her cheeks.

Shit.

He suddenly thought of a verse from the Old Testament.Like a fire burning in my heart, imprisoned in my bones; I grow weary of holding it in.It was the verse that helped him recognize his call to the church, only now it had taken on new meaning.

Shehad become the fire burning in his heart, trapped by his bones and scalding every last bit of common sense and devotion to his cause from his mind. He was so, so weary of holding his desire for her in. He simply wanted to surrender and let it all out. To be freed, once and for all, of this agony.

She met his gaze and swallowed as if about to say something, but then came up short.

God, the pain was clear on her face.

He had done that to her and he was a bloody selfish prick for playing with her emotions. She shook her head and looked down. Another tear glided past her spiked lashes until it disappeared beneath her jaw and diluted to nothing upon her slender neck. Those tears should not be wasted.

Watching them fall was as sacrilegious as watching one dump holy water. Both, sacred waters wasted.

As they stood, facing off in silence, her arm dropped as if too weak to hold itself up anymore. The folded towel unraveled and touched the floor. Her fingers loosened and the cloth feathered out of her palm and to the ground beside her feet. And that was the moment he truly became undone.

Perhaps it was witnessing her complete surrender to sadness. Or perhaps it was that one lone tear. He would never know for certain, but he was pretty sure he realized he loved her the moment he spotted the polish upon her toes, pale pink, almost clear, like the inner soft side of a seashell.

He took two steady steps toward her and ignored her surprised gasp as he scooped her into his arms and carried her straight to her bed, hesitating before lying her down. The room was too much his brother’s. There was simply too many signs of Braydon there for him to face at the moment.

He turned and carried her back into his room and shut the bathroom door with the heel of his foot. Much better. He looked around, not quite sure if he should lay her on the bed or let her stand. Unsure of himself he looked down at her face and saw she was leaving all decisions up to him.

Right. The bed then. No, the floor. The floor is safer.

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