Page 157 of The Love of Priest

Paula eyed Priest. A part of her missed him, but she knew there was just far too much damage to ever get him back. What she did was truly unforgivable, and now she was paying the price for it.

"I'm Paula. You are…?" She dismissed Priest and held her hand out to Britain.

Priest scoffed as he used his hand to push her extended hand away from Britain. "Like I said, Paula, I'm not about to do this with you. You like to put on a show, and I'm not rocking with that. Go about your business," he dismissed her.

Britain attempted to call him out with a sigh. "P?—"

Jazzy interjected her. "Pick your battles wisely," she advised Britain with a warning in her eye.

Britain glanced at Priest, who had his jaws clenched and his nostrils flared. She realized she really did have to pick her battles wisely when it came to this. She immediately retracted herself from easing Priest and just remained quiet.

"Priest, we really should talk about?—"

"Nothing, Paula. We don’t have shit to talk about. Don't worry about me and mines," he spat as he pulled Britain closer. "And I'm for damn sure not worried about you and what you have left." Priest shrugged his shoulders, dismissing Paula entirely.

Paula took in a curt breath. He had hit her deep, but she deserved it. Paula nodded her head, and moments later, she was being called on stage to speak her piece about gun violence within the community. She shot Priest a light smile, masking her guilt and pain before heading off toward the stage.

Priest leaned back in his seat, letting out a heavy sigh. "You still feel for her," Britain whispered to him with slight disappointment weighing down her voice.

Priest’s dark orbs bore into her feline ones. He wasn't going to lie to her, nor did he want to. Instead, he simply opted out of responding to her and fixed his eyes onto the stage that Paula had taken.

ChapterThirty-Nine

As the vehicleeased to a stop in front of her apartment, Britain eagerly reached for the door to exit the car herself.

"Don't do it," Priest warned her as he got out the car to make his way around to assist her out.

She took his hand, her other hand holding the length of her gown. She thanked him before clicking her heels against the pavement of the parking lot to get to her door.

Priest followed behind her. It was evident that Britain was feeling ill about him. Since the incident with Paula, she hadn’t uttered two words to him. As she searched her clutch for her key, he remained leaning against the wall behind her. He saw all the frustration etched into her face. She finally attained the key from her clutch, using it to enter her apartment.

"I'll see you tomorrow," she mumbled dryly as she stepped inside, immediately shutting the door behind her. Britain didn't even give Priest the chance to come in. She knew if she granted him access, things would snowball into something bigger.

Britain had fallen victim to his lack of response. She couldn't believe Priest never even attempted to tell her that she was wrong and that she was all in her head. All he did was cowardly opt out of the conversation, serving her absolutely no clarity about what his feelings were when it came to Paula. Britain was able to convince herself that there was no way he still loved Paula. He couldn't possibly love her the way he did and still love Paula. Priest took his love for Britain extremely seriously, so Britain knew better than to downplay it. However, his lack of response justified that there were still feelings or even sensitivity left behind for Paula.

Britain knew once she calmed herself down from the internal hysteria, she would realize that right now, she was the pot calling the kettle black. At one point, she found herself in a limbo of emotions about Cameron, and Priest had to ask where he stood in her life. Now, that the shoe was on the other foot, and she had to ask Priest about Paula. She felt like a hole had punctured her heart. She simply couldn't handle it.

No response, though?!

Britain inhaled a deep breath. She wanted to be rational about this, but it was taking so much out of her. She wanted to know. A simple yes or no would have sufficed. Now she had to deal with being oblivious until Priest came up with a response. By then, he may just have been telling her anything to keep her happy.

Britain took in another deep breath; this time her eyes were shuttered closed to keep herself calm. "He loves you, Britain," she affirmed herself. "There's just no way." She shook her head.

As she was calming herself down and convincing herself with what she wanted to hear, her doorbell rang. She hadn't made it too far into her apartment. Whisking around, she checked the peephole and just as she expected, Priest was standing on the other side of the door. The fishbowl view of him through the peephole allowed Britain to see the disappointment that masked his face.

Britain stood on the other side of the door, simply just eyeing him. She was contemplating whether she should let him in. A part of her felt like if she did, she would be hit with the truth that would leave her devastated, while the other part of her felt like if she didn’t, she could just keep running from her issues and eventually forget about them.

"I'm not leaving, Britain!" His baritone voice sent chills down her spine as he hung his head low in regret.

Britain swallowed down a pit of nerves that were beginning to accumulate in her throat. "I said I'll see you tomorrow!" she said to him from the other side of the door.

She wanted to run.

Priest shook his head. Going separate ways from Britain without being on good terms wasn't something he was willing to do. Since they’d gotten together, they'd never done such a thing, so he wasn't about to start now.

"You can either open up and say whatever you have to say in whatever manner you please, and I'll take it!" he suggested before stating his other option. "Or I can use my key, and this can be about some whole other shit!" He spoke loudly to make sure she could hear him through the thick door.

"Don't you dare fucking flip this on me!" Britain spat angrily.

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