Page 81 of Priest (Priest 1)
He glanced up, clearly expecting one of his employees, and then seeing
me instead, his mouth fell open. I expected him to be angry or triumphant—ask me to leave, maybe—but I didn’t expect him to stand up, walk over to me and then extend his hand for a shake, like we were old business partners.
I ignored the proffered hand. I may have been a priest, but even I have my limits.
However, my rudeness didn’t seem to bother him in the least. “Tyler Bell—sorry, Father Bell,” he exclaimed, pulling back to look me in the face. “How the fuck are you?”
I rubbed the back of my neck, uncomfortable. I’d prepared for every possible shade of Sterling’s assholery on the train ride here, but not once had I considered the possibility that he could be, well, friendly. “It’s actually not Father anymore. I left the clergy.”
Sterling grinned. “I hope it wasn’t because of those pictures. I did feel a bit bad after I released them, I’ll be honest. Do you want something to drink? I’ve got this amazing Lagavulin 21.”
Um… “Sure.”
Sterling went over to the bar, and I hated to admit it to myself, but right now, now that he no longer considered me his enemy, I could see what Poppy once saw in him. There was a specific kind of charisma in his manner, coupled with the kind of sophistication that made you feel like you were sophisticated too, just by being around it.
“So I imagine you came to gloat, which I deserve, I admit. I’ll be a man about it.” He unstoppered the Lagavulin and poured us both a healthy glass. He walked over and handed it to me. “I’m surprised you didn’t come sooner.”
I literally had no idea what the hell he was talking about. I took a sip of the Scotch to hide my confusion.
Sterling leaned against the edge of his desk, swirling the Scotch with a practiced hand. “How is she?”
Was he talking about Poppy? He couldn’t be, he was with Poppy, but yet she was the only she that we both shared. “I came here to ask you the same question, actually.”
Sterling raised his eyebrows. “So you two…” he used his glass to gesture at me. “…You guys aren’t together?”
I narrowed my eyes at him. “I thought you were together with her.”
A shot of pain—real pain, not disappointment or anger—flashed through his face. “No. We aren’t…we weren’t. We weren’t what I thought.”
I found myself—ridiculously—feeling sorry for him. And then his words began to really sink in, and a small flower of hope bloomed in my chest…
“But I saw you two kiss.”
His brow crinkled. “You did? Oh, that must have been in her house.”
“The day you released those pictures.”
“I am sorry about that, you know.”
Yeah, yeah, yeah. It wasn’t water under the bridge exactly, but I was much more interested in how they’d gone from kissing in her bedroom to not being together. I should tamp down this hope now, before it truly blossomed, but I couldn’t bring myself to—although if she wasn’t with Sterling, then why hadn’t she tried to contact me?
One question at a time, I coached myself.
Sterling must have read the meaning behind my expression, because he took a sip and then set his glass down and explained. “That day, I had finally gotten tired of waiting, so I drove up to that craphole town—no offense—and told her I’d release those pictures if she didn’t promise to be with me. She was standing by the window, and then all of a sudden she shuffled me into her bedroom and tore my jacket off. I kissed her, thinking that’s what she wanted. But no. After one kiss, she shoved me away and kicked me out.” The way he rubbed his jaw just then made me wonder if kicked me out had involved a punch to his jaw. I really hoped it had. “I went ahead and released the pictures because I was pissed—understandably, I think, given the circumstances.”
I sat down in the nearest chair, staring at the whisky in my hand, trying to sort out what this all meant. “You only kissed that once? She didn’t leave Missouri to be with you?”
“Obviously not,” he said. “I assumed she’d gone running back to you.”
“No. No, she didn’t.”
“Oh, rough luck, old sport,” he said sympathetically.
I digested this. Poppy had kissed Sterling once and then demanded that he leave. Sterling was either a terrible kisser or she didn’t want to be with him at all—but if she didn’t want to be with him, then why hadn’t she stayed with me? And after those pictures, after I’d left the clergy, she hadn’t once reached out. I’d assumed it was because she was with Sterling, but now that I knew differently, that stung a bit more. She could have at least said goodbye or sorry or something, anything.
My heart twisted some more, a tired washcloth still being wrung out. Rosary, I reminded myself. This is about returning the rosary and giving her your forgiveness. And you can’t forgive her if you’re bitter about what happened.
Besides, at least she wasn’t with Sterling. And that was some small comfort.
