“Yeah, we’d better jet. You’re a hot property in this place.”
“The car is waiting outside. We’ll spend the weekend at Kingsley’s. Father O’Neil had planned to take over my Masses through Monday.”
“Can we do something first before we go to Kingsley’s? It’ll be quick.”
“Anything.”
Eleanor gave him her request and Søren turned his head and stared out the window as he considered it.
“I’m not sure that would be appropriate given our relationship,” he said at last.
“It’s you or no one else.”
Søren paused before answering.
“Very well, then.”
He pulled a small leather case from his jacket pocket and unzipped it. From it he unfurled a purple stole that he kissed before draping it around his neck. He sat back in the chair and looked away to give her privacy.
Eleanor closed her eyes, took a deep breath and began to speak.
“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.” She crossed herself and began to confess. She confessed everything she’d kept in her heart her entire life. She didn’t bother with her venial sins—lust, lies and self-pity. Instead she told Søren about the phone call she didn’t answer that left her father on his own to face the consequences of his choices. She told him about hurting Wyatt and worse, loving Wyatt. She confessed to using a guy last night out of despair. She confessed to everything.
She poured her sins into Søren’s hands, and then, like magic, he made them disappear. But it wasn’t magic and she knew her sins weren’t gone, only forgiven, and for that she was grateful. She didn’t want her sins gone. She’d miss them too much.
After her confession and absolution, Eleanor’s soul felt clean again. All she needed now was for the outside to match the inside.
At Kingsley’s, he gave her the guest room with the largest bathroom. She stripped out of her clothes, stepped into the shower and let the heat and the water wash away the last of her regret, the last of her grief and the last of her pain. She shaved her legs and scrubbed herself down with a loofah, wanting to scrape away the top layer of skin that felt tainted by the drinking and the sadness and the pain she’d caused. After an hour she turned off the taps and stepped out of the shower into a plush white towel held open by Søren.
“I thought you were never getting out.” He wrapped the towel tight around her and she laughed as he swaddled her.
“Were you in the bathroom the whole time, you creeper?”
“Only the last fifteen hours of your shower. I thought you might have washed down the drain.”
He’d changed from his clerics into normal clothes—jeans and a long-sleeved black T-shirt. He had the sleeves pulled up enough that she could see his wrists and forearms. Muscular forearms and large, manly adult hands. No playful tattoos or punk nail polish for him. His hands were serious and dignified—all work and no play. And now those hands toweled the water out of her hair, swiped droplets off her face. She imagined they were a normal couple in their own house. But they weren’t a normal couple and never would be and whether the world understood or not, that was what she loved about them.
Søren picked her up off her feet and sat her on the bathroom counter.
“You’re really drying me off?”
“And dressing you in your pajamas and putting you to bed.”
“Do I get a bedtime story, too?”
“If you want one.”
She grinned at the thought of Søren reading her a bedtime story. Could life get any weirder? Any better? As Søren dried her hair, her face, even her legs and feet, the residue of the past week with Wyatt evaporated. She’d adored Wyatt, yes, but now that Søren had come back she saw Wyatt as nothing but a detour, temporary and unexpected. Søren was the path she’d chosen. In his presence she remembered why she’d picked him and why she would never wander off that path again.
“Sam provided the pajamas,” Søren said, holding up a little white nightgown. “She picked them out for you.”
“I want to make out with her.”
“Later. You’re mine now.”
She stepped into the white shorty bottoms that Søren dragged up her legs and pulled on the camisole top.
“You know, the last time anybody helped me get ready for bed, I was eight and was getting over the flu.” Eleanor remembered her mom bathing her tired body and putting her into pajamas. She’d been so limp, so tired then, helpless from the illness that her mother had rocked in her arms like she was still a baby.
Now Eleanor felt tired, tired and happy. And clean, so clean in Søren’s presence. Clean and safe. She wasn’t helpless anymore, wasn’t weak. Out of pleasure and love alone she submitted to his ministrations and let herself become as dependent as a child.