Page 63 of Forgive Me Father
I’d kill to be attracted to one of them—to want them enough to let go, to drown in the heat of their bodies and forget everything else. But the thought of touching anyone who isn’t Eden… it’s revolting. It turns my stomach in ways I can’t fully explain, as if my body rejects the idea before my mind even has the chance to consider it.
Eden has ruined me for anyone else. There’s no other way to put it. Her memory clings to me, haunting every thought, every breath. The feel of her skin beneath my fingers, the taste of her on my lips—it’s burned into my mind, seared into my soul. And nothing, no matter how tempting or convenient, could ever compare to the raw intensity of that connection. It’s as if she’s imprinted on me, leaving no room for anyone else.
I glance at the women around me, and all I feel is emptiness. They might as well be shadows, faceless and unremarkable, compared to the vivid, all-consuming presence of Eden in my mind.
And that’s the problem. Eden is all I can think about, all I can feel. She’s the one I want, the one I crave, and no amount of liquor or empty encounters can change that. The priest in me knows this obsession is dangerous, that it’s leading me down a path I swore to avoid. But the man—the sinner—can’t help but revel in it, drawn to the darkness like a moth to a flame.
All I want is to bend her pretty ass over my chair on the altar and pound into her until her voice is ringing through the church louder than any chorus could –
"You okay?"
I glance down, noticing the subtle shake, and set the drink back on the bar, trying to steady myself. Clearing my throat, I muster a faint smile. "It’s been a long day. Even priests have those," I admit, the truth heavier than I’d like.
She leans against the bar, studying me with an air of seasoned wisdom. "In my experience, any man sitting at a bar this late on a Monday night has a head full of regrets, Father," She says, her tone direct but not unkind. "So, why not drown those thoughts in that glass and save the repentance for behind church doors?"
Her blunt honesty stings, but I can’t help but appreciate it. I stare at the drink in front of me, the amber liquid reflecting the dim light.
"It’s not a sin to drink, Father," She adds with a sigh. "You’ve already given your life to the Big Man upstairs," She continues, tapping the ring on my finger. "No need to punish yourself further by denying the few pleasures left to you, courtesy of Christ’s sacrifice."
She starts to step away, her attention drawn to another customer waving her down. But something compels me to stop her.
"What’s your name?"
"Renee," She nods. "You might know my daughter, Zoey."
I blink, surprised. The light, bubbly airhead who hovers around Eden before and after Mass seems a world apart from the woman standing in front of me. There’s little of Zoey’s grace in her mother’s demeanor—Renee is rougher around the edges, the kind of woman who’s seen life’s harsher side.
"My husband remarried. Cheated, then found a pretty replacement," She says bluntly, a flicker of bitterness in her eyes. "So, I linger in the back of the church now. Seems I don’t really fit in with the rest of the congregation anymore. Not that I care.”
My thoughts drift to the front pews of Saint Michael’s, always filled with Idlewood's wealthiest residents, their smiles polished but empty, their faith as much about appearances as it is about salvation.
Money and power—two forces that seem to hold sway even in the house of God.
A buzz in my pocket pulls me from my thoughts. I take a long drink from my glass before glancing at the screen. An unknown number flashes. I hesitate but answer anyway.
"Hello?" I say, the noise of distant chatter filling the line.
"Forget what I told you about Zack," Aiden's voice snaps, raw and shaking.
My grip on the glass tightens as I recall our brief, tense conversation—the one where Aiden spilled his guts about the vile things Zack and his friends had done to Eden. It had taken everything in me not to strangle the boy right then.
"Aiden, how did you get my number—"
"It was in my dad's phone," He hisses. "What the hell did you do to my sister in that church?" The accusation drips from his words like poison.
"Is Eden alright—"
"Alright?" Aiden scoffs, his disbelief sharp through the line. "She just fucking showed off the scars she gave herself to the whole damn group and then dropped a bomb on all of us – she told us why she came home from college. News flash, it’s worse than I could’ve imagined," He vents, the words spilling out in a chaotic rush.
He must be high. Or drunk, maybe? Or both. Great.
"What did she say?" I press, a gnawing sense of dread creeping in. The little I know of her past before she moved back is just that—a little. But I remember what she’d said that night when I found her in the park.
She was raped.
"I'm not fucking telling you," Aiden snaps, his tone bristling with defensiveness. "But I do know she barely lets anyone getclose to her, and now she's out there, pressed up against a tree, locking lips with Luca—"
Aiden’s words hit me like a punch to the gut, igniting a fury that surges through my veins. The thought of Eden,myEden, with another man—his hands on her, his lips claiming what should be mine—sends a wave of rage crashing over me. My fists clench, and my heart pounds, each beat fueling the jealousy that's quickly turning into something darker, something primal. How dare she let anyone else near her? The possessiveness I’ve tried to control now roars to life, demanding action. She belongs to me, and I’ll be damned if I let anyone else touch her.
