“You still have many lessons to learn. Unfortunately, they’ll be the toughest you’ll face. Please…don’t do this alone. I know you, and I know how you sink into your head. If you find yourself struggling—”
“I won’t falter.”
“If you do…don’t internalize. Pray, seek guidance, and don’t be afraid to retreat. Life is not all action, and sometimes having faith means accepting what you can’t fight. During those times, let the Lord lead those battles for you.” Benjamin swallowed, his voice fading. “Where you lead, others will follow. The righteous choose their friends carefully, but the way of the wicked leads them astray.”
I didn’t need proverbs thrown at me. I’d spent the night reading anything that might have given me wisdom. When that hadn’t worked, I’d prayed in silence. When that made it worse, I depended on a cold shower to rid myself of Honor’s candied apple scent and mewed groan, captured by her bitten lip.
If I were a weaker man, I’d have tasted that lip.
Bitten it myself.
Caused that tiny gasp that cried for me as she slid her fingertips over that sacred secret.
I faked another smile for my friend. “Thank you, Father. You’ve…relieved me.”
“No, I haven’t.” He waved a hand. “Go, you have an evening mass. You know I hate when you’re late to your own celebrations.”
“I’ve been on time to all three this week.”
“I’ll nominate you for Pope.” He coughed. “Go. I’ll be here when you come back.”
He always said that, but I had no idea how much longer it’d be true. I squeezed his hand.
“Thank you,” I said.
“Stay out of trouble.”
“Always.”
Never.
Becoming a priest was never meant to be an easy path. We abandoned most earthly concerns to serve all of humanity, and the cost was too high to fail.
But I was close to failure now.
That meant I had to work harder, not just to protect myself, but to shield Honor from any further evil that would target a girl too innocent to realize when the world conspired beyond her control.
She was young—only a senior in college. And her family had endured enough tragedy without me inflicting any spiritual scars.
I drove back to the church, heart pounding as I thought of her. I wished the elevated pulse was my only concern. I had no idea how to soothe my uncomfortable, persistent erection. The only logical and sinful way to relieve the strain was forbidden to me. I wasn’t celebrating Mass distracted.
I slipped into the back of church and splashed cold water on my face. It was the best I could do in the church bathroom. But it worked well enough, especially as I only had ten minutes to prepare for the one evening Mass we held each a week.
Usually Mass comforted me, put me at peace. It didn’t matter if I celebrated it with the full congregation on Sunday, the fifteen or so people who attended during the evening’s mass, or the few lonely times when it was just me and the Lord.
Tonight, I didn’t enjoy the Mass.
I felt it. I believed in it. I concentrated on the words, read out the prayers, and delivered my homily as a dire warning.
The most important prayer and speech I’d ever given, and the congregation wasn’t in attendance to hear it.
But I could. And I’d learn from every word of it.
“No temptation has overtaken you that is not common to man - 1 Corinthians 10:13,” I recited to the church, the altar, the world, myself.
And to the woman hidden in the back of the sanctuary.
She waited. Watched. Honor threaded her rosary through her fingers as she stared at me, too torn to step foot within the sanctuary to take the gift of the Host that I offered to all penitent souls.
I caught her gaze. We both stilled, silent.
And she turned, leaving the church. Honor ran before the Mass had concluded and I could follow and find her, bless her as I blessed the others.
She left before she accepted forgiveness for the mistake last night.
I wouldn’t allow that. Not when she’d returned to me and sought that promised absolution.
It was mine to give, and she would receive it.
Honor Thomas was my greatest temptation, but I was her darkest sin.
Together we would heal.
Or together we would be damned.
Chapter Three – Honor
How many chocolate chip cookies did it take to redeem a sinner’s soul?
Probably more than the two dozen I baked for the weekly women’s group meeting. Good thing I also brought a carafe of coffee.
But was it really penance if I made the cookies and coffee because I knew the women’s group had a loose definition of medium roast and dessert? I had only attended one meeting so far, but once was enough to know I should serve my community with a plate of freshly baked guilt.