Page 43 of Beneath His Robes

The heavy silence of the church wrapped around me as I stepped into Father Franklin’s office. My footsteps were soft against the stone floor, but my heart hammered in my chest. I’d been here countless times before, seeking solace in the familiar, aged walls.

But tonight?

Tonight was different.

The weight of my collar felt unbearable, like a chain I couldn’t shake, and the burden of my own feelings pressed in on me with a force I didn’t know how to handle.

I paused at the door, unsure whether I should even be here.

But when the door creaked open, I felt a strange sense of relief, as if stepping into his presence could ease the ache in my chest.

Father Franklin looked up from the worn prayer book he’d been reading, his deep-set eyes studying me with the same quiet understanding he’d always offered.

His age had done nothing to dull the wisdom that radiated from him. He was the only one who could hear my confessions without judgment, the only one who had witnessed my struggle and past without ever questioning my resolve.

Today, I wasn’t so sure my resolve would hold.

“Father Cross,” he greeted softly, a knowing look in his eyes. “Come in, my son. Have a seat. It’s been some time since you’ve been in my quarters. Is everything all right?”

I closed the door behind me and slowly made my way to the chair across from him. My hands clenched tightly in my lap, my fingertips leaning against my cage and flaming my cheeks with memories.

The fabric of my robe bunched uncomfortably against my skin, making me feel itchy and overheated.

I could already feel the fire of my own guilt creeping up my neck.

This was wrong.

I knew it was wrong.

But I couldn’t keep pretending. I had gone too far to act that way.

“I don’t know what to do, Father,” I whispered, my voice strained, tears silently streaming down my cheeks without permission. “I feel…torn. Between my vows, my faith, and what I want. What I feel.”

Father Franklin’s gaze never wavered. He leaned forward slightly, his weathered hands folding together on the desk in front of him. He didn’t press me, didn’t rush me. He simply waited, as he always did, for me to speak my truth.

“It’s Ronan,” I said. The name slipping from my mouth felt coated in sin and held the same weight as it always did. “He came back, and after all these years that I have worked to forget about him and the pain, I saw him, and it was like he’d never left. He is back in Monticello, and I can’t stop thinking about him. I…I can’t stop wanting him.”

There was no surprise in Father Franklin’s expression, only a slow, understanding nod. “You’ve loved him for a long time. These feelings and emotions are natural.”

I nodded, unable to say more. The memories of Ronan and us came flooding back in a rush, sharp and painful. Our shared history, the stolen moments, the way our love had burned so brightly, even though it was always a secret.

Father Franklin knew of my past in all its truth.

He’d picked my sorry ass off these very steps ten years ago and accepted me when I was a shell, just a man who wanted to die and rid the burden of my shadow.

He’d heard countless confessions, day after day, year after year. I shed my soul to my dear friend, and his unbiased acceptance of me had me adopting the robes as my own. I’d repented for my years of mindless sex and drugs. He’d helped me sober my body and cleanse my soul.

“Father,” I continued, my voice barely audible, a whisper to my ears. “I thought I’d buried those feelings. I thought I was beyond it. But now, seeing him again…I don’t know what’s happening to me. The temptation is too strong. Every time I’m near him, it’s like all my vows, everything I’ve sworn to God, vanish. I feel like I’m losing myself.”

Father Franklin nodded slowly.

“You’re not losing yourself, Elias,” he said, his gaze was a strong, powerful presence. “You’re only confronting what’s been buried within you for so long. The love you feel for him is real. That’s not something to deny. But you must also remember that you took a vow. You made a promise to God, to yourself, and your flock. The path we’ve chosen is not without its sacrifices.”

His words were measured, but they stung. Sacrifice. Always sacrifice.

“But what if it’s too much?” I said, my voice cracking slightly. “What if I can’t keep sacrificing everything for this life? For the faith, I thought I believed in so fully. How can I even be a true servant of God when my resolve crumbles so easily for him?”

Father Franklin leaned back in his chair, his gaze softening.

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