Sweetest Sin: A Forbidden Priest Romance (24 page)

She found my hand
under the table.

Squeezed.

I squeezed back.

“Miss Thomas, your
mother took too much of her blood pressure medications.”

Honor blinked. “And
it…causes a high?”

I hadn’t expected
that. I leaned closer to her. “Honor, the doctor is saying this was an
accident
.”

She didn’t
understand. “An accident?”

Doctor Bartlett
flipped through the charts. “Her prescriptions look similar in size, shape, and
color. Tell me, has she experienced any confusion lately? Forgetfulness maybe?”

“Yes. She’s…”
Honor shrugged. “The drug use scrambled her a bit.”

“Has she displayed
any behaviors which would lead you to believe she wanted to hurt herself?”

Her lip trembled.
“No…but we had a f-fight…”

I answered for her.
“No, Doctor. Donna’s a member of my parish. I didn’t know her when she was sick,
but she’s nothing but vivacious and lively now. I never sensed any emotional
distress in our conversations.”

Or confessions,
though I couldn’t speak of those, even to Honor, even when Donna confessed her
every sin to clear her soul so she could finally be a good enough mother to her
daughter.  

The doctor nodded.
“Most likely, she didn’t realize she took her dose for the day. Or she assumed
it was a different pill. Miss Thomas, does she take her medication at night?”

“Yes. Before bed.”

“Then I believe you
found her in time. She’s still under right now. We’re keeping her in the ICU
tonight. Tomorrow morning we’ll move her to a regular room just for observation.”

“She’s…okay?”

“We’ll monitor her
through the night, take EKGs and other toxicology screens, but she is stable
and should be fine.” He gathered his stethoscope and coat. “I’d recommend going
home for the night. Your mother will be sleeping, and you can come back in the
morning during visiting hours. Once she’s out of the ICU, you can stay as long
as you wish.”

Honor didn’t move.
I shook the doctor’s hand for her and thanked him on behalf of the family. He
bustled off, downing the rest of the coffee before answering a page in a brisk
run.

My angel stared at
the table before covering her face.

“It wasn’t Oxy. Oh,
God.”

I rubbed her back.
“It’s good news, Honor.”

“But I told the
paramedics, the doctors when we got here…I kept saying it’d be Oxy or
painkillers. For all I know, they spent all that time on the wrong diagnosis.
If something had happened—”

“
Nothing
happened.” I knelt beside her chair. “Nothing. She’s okay. She’ll be okay.”

Her eyes brimmed
with tears. She blinked them away with a grunt. “I can’t believe I thought…am I
a horrible person?”

I pulled her into
a hug. “Absolutely not.”

“But I assumed the
worst.”

“And now it’s time
to start counting blessings. The worst has passed.” I took her hand. “Let me
get you home.”

“Are you sure?”

No. I had the
phone tree for this. The women’s group. Emergency contacts to take care of my
flock when it was inappropriate for me to take that step.

But I couldn’t
leave her. Not now. Not when she needed me.

I’d already
tarnished her soul.

I wasn’t leaving
her with a broken heart.

I welcomed Father
Raphael into my apartment.

This was the one
place I hadn’t wanted him to see, even if it was by his letter of
recommendation that we could afford the one-bedroom apartment in a bad
neighborhood.

If he cared, he
said nothing. He closed the door behind us and waited for the moment I’d speak.

I didn’t know what
to say.

I had visited his
home, but so had most of the parish. But here? The apartment was private. He
could see into our kitchen, read from the stack of overdue bills, or study the mattress
in the corner I’d adopted as my room. This was a humbling experience.

Twice now, we had
been together, as physically intimate as two people could be. But this was
different. I let him into my life now.

I feared the day
he’d leave it.

I moved my course
books from the couch, marking my place with a pencil before closing the covers.
I’d have to remember to email my professor. I couldn’t go to class tomorrow.

I sat. He didn’t.
It was probably for the best.

“Your summer
classes?” Father Raphael read the book’s cover.
Race, Class, Gender and
Sexuality in U.S. Law and Society
. “How are they?”

“Expensive.” No
need to lie. “I wanted to finish my degree. I think I was being selfish.”

“Why?”

“Mom needs more
help than I’ve been giving.” I lowered my gaze. “I don’t think I’m a good
daughter.”

He took the chair at
my side. “You put a lot of pressure on yourself.”

“But it’s true. I
know I haven’t been a good person. Why do you think I’ve spent so much time at
the church?”

His eyebrow
arched. “Maybe you ought to answer that.”

Another damning
mark on my soul. “It wasn’t just to spend time with you, Father. I wanted to
stay away from here. From her.”

“Why?”

“I’ve told you
why.”

“No. You haven’t.”

I should have
offered him tea or coffee or something. That’s what people did with visitors.

We never had
visitors when I was young. No family. No friends.

It was amazing Mom
survived as long as she did.

“Let me get you
something to drink,” I said.

He took my hand,
preventing me from escaping. “Honor, I’m fine. I want you to answer the question.”

“What question?”

“Why are you
avoiding your mother?”

He leaned forward,
watching me, listening to me. Was everything about this man so intense? Even
when he comforted, he demanded so much. I met his gaze, and the thrill almost
blinded me to everything but the damning bit of white on his collar. It
strangled us both. Him in his responsibilities, me in my own feelings.

“It’s not that I
avoided her,” I said.

“No?”

“I just…I didn’t
have faith in her. I thought for so long she’d relapse and prove everyone right.
I couldn’t watch her destroy her body and mind again, not after everything that
happened. It scared me so much, I just assumed that was why she collapsed. I
told the EMTs, the nurses, the doctors to look for Oxy. And it
wasn’t
.
What kind of person does that make me?”

He studied me.
“What kind of person do you think you are? What do you hope to be?”

“A realist.”

“It’s not that
great, I can tell you that much.”

“Well I don’t feel
very idealistic. I remember the past sixteen years. I know what happened, and I
saw how hard it was for her to stop. Her addiction didn’t end when Dad died.
She finally kicked it when she went to
prison
for vehicular manslaughter.
Dad couldn’t enable her then, and she couldn’t get a fix. She sobered up alone
and
widowed
in a tiny jail cell.”

My words embittered,
broken with a quiet whimper. The momentary weakness trembled my lip.

“I didn’t visit
her in prison,” I said. “I couldn’t. I left after the funeral, and I went on
with my life. I tried so
hard
to forget my own mother—my own
sick
mother—because I couldn’t look at her anymore. I felt nothing for her but grief
and loss and this…this…”

“Tell me, Honor.”

“
Anger
.” I
pointed to the apartment. The wretched walls became cells of my own guilt. “You
asked me why I didn’t want you to write the letter of recommendation? It’s the
same reason I didn’t want my mother getting groceries from the food pantry. She
doesn’t
deserve
help!”

I covered my
mouth, silencing the awful, terrible, damning truth. Father Raphael and I might
have committed the worst of our sins together, but speaking those words felt
worse than our forbidden relationship.

We didn’t share
this sin.

This pain came
from me.

Inside me.

Dark and secret
and absolutely consuming me in a terrible rage. The truth ate at me. It
festered, and those awful feelings would forever destroy any relationship I’d
have with my mother.

Whoever she was.

The words poured
from me. I didn’t look at Father Raphael, and I wished desperately for the confessional
screen between us, the stark imposition of the church, the curse of the saints
as they judged me.

This confession
shredded my soul, and I wasn’t sure I deserved forgiveness.

“I blame her for
everything. Her addiction ruined our lives. I never had a mother. Because of
her we lost our homes and our friends and our families.” I met his gaze, losing
myself in the comforting dark of his eyes. “Because of her my father is
dead
.”

I stood, tossing
aside a box of empty tissues and rubbing my face raw with a paper towel
instead. I hic-upped. Once. Twice. Too many times.

He came to my side
and reached for a glass in the cabinet, as if he already knew the layout to our
apartment. Or maybe it was so small and pathetic we only had one place where we
could keep our glassware.

He filled the cup
and held it for me.

I took the glass
from his hands before I sipped, before I committed any more blasphemy. The
water was cool. It helped to ease some of the ache.

Not all.

“She’s not that
woman anymore.” The cup trembled in my hands. “No matter what I feel or
remember or
hate
…she’s changed, Father. Completely. Totally. And even
when I think she’s relapsed...” I pitched it in the sink. “She’s still sober.”

“You must talk
with her.”

“I knew you’d say
that.”

He shrugged, the
dark cassock and collar taunting me. “Comes with the territory. And it helps.
It works. Both of you still suffer from that horrible past. She needs to know
how you feel.”

“Does she?” I
swallowed. “She spent sixteen years in the hell of addiction. Don’t you think
she’s suffered enough?”

“That’s up to
you.”

“That’s not what I
asked.”

“I can’t tell you
what to do.”

“You used to,
Father.”

It wasn’t fair to
turn the spite on him, but he was more patient than me.

“And that’s my own
sin, Honor.”

I looked away. “So
what am I supposed to do?”

“Forgive her.”

“
How
?”

“I can’t tell you
that either.”

“Well, open your
book!” I didn’t mean to raise my voice. “Quote some more scripture at me like
you always do. Tell me what Jesus would do. Act like a priest!”

He stiffened. “I
am
a priest, Honor.”

Yeah, and that was
another problem I had yet to face.

I pushed past him,
collapsing on the couch. I pulled my knees to my chest and lowered my gaze.

“Confronting her
feels selfish.”

And confronting
him was worse.

“It’s not selfish to
want to heal,” he said.

“At the expense of
another?”

“Ideally.” He
circled before me, kneeling at my feet to look in my eyes. “You’d heal each
other. Many people in this world hurt, Honor. And many more carry that burden
with them. The more severe the wound, the more likely it is to infect others.
Whether they intend it or not, that pain will hurt the innocent people who
surround them. Ones who don’t deserve that misery.”

“Father—”

“I wouldn’t have
you bear my pain, Honor. There’s no reason a soul as lovely as yours should be
tarnished with something that vulgar.”

“Even if I want to
carry it?” I whispered. “Even if I could help?”

“You can’t, my
angel.”

“Because you won’t
let me in.”

He didn’t answer.
I knew he wouldn’t. Somehow we could strip each other bare, kiss, touch, take
each other in the most animalistic and primal ways, and yet we couldn’t trust
each other with the truth aching our hearts.

He hadn’t moved,
and I reached for him, brushing my fingers along the hard line of his jaw.

Lower.

To his collar.

He stiffened in
more ways than one as I touched it.

“Why did you
become a priest, Rafe?”

The words pulled
from him, reluctantly. Heavy.

“I was looking for
reason in the world. A way to heal. Some hope.”

“Did you find it?”

“Now I did.”

My chest tightened
as he kissed my hand. But he released me almost as soon as his lips graced my
skin. It wasn’t fair. Every beat of my heart separated me from him.

“What are you
afraid of?” I asked.

“Things that have
already happened.”

“What things?”

He shook his head.
“Too many to count. The world is a vicious, repetitive cycle, Honor. And it’s
claimed you because of me. I fear too much what I’ve done to you.”

“And I’m blessed
that it happened.” I leaned forward, hoping for a kiss. Praying that he’d just
listen to me. “I’m
blessed
that I found you, Rafe.”

He stood. It was
the first time he pushed me away. The first time he ran. He didn’t trust his
pride, his faith, or his ability to deny me.

“I’m not the right
man for you.”

“What if you’re
the one I need? What if I’m the one—”

He silenced me
with a glance. “There is a temptation greater than lust, my angel. And I would
not challenge it. Not now. Not ever.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m not
strong enough to fight it.” He shook his head. “And I’m not the man who can
explore it with you.”

The broken parts
of me ached. He looked away, his expression drawn in the same remorse and
somber pain that beat in my chest.

“I should go,” he
said.

“Don’t.”

“Honor.”

“Please. Can you
stay? Just for a little longer?” Was it selfish to admit this weakness? “I
don’t want to be alone.”

Not now.

Not ever again.

But even I wasn’t
foolish enough to dream of the possibilities of what I asked.

I lost my
innocence to a priest. I lost my state of grace in the wicked games we played
and desires we tempted.

But I also lost my
heart to him.

And that was the
one gift I couldn’t reclaim. No confessions would heal it. No prayers would
save it. And no love would warm it.

Father Raphael
hesitated at the door. After a long moment, he nodded.

He returned to the
couch and welcomed me into his arms as I cradled against the warmth of his body
and strength of his chest.

And he held me
there. Protected. Safe.

Honored
.

I never should
have asked for such a wonderful and beautiful moment, but it was mine, and it
was all I would ever have of us.

We didn’t kiss. We
didn’t make love.

But still I
sinned. I dared to hope for a man who didn’t belong to me, and I imagined a
life he couldn’t offer.

But I slept in his
arms, safe and comforted.

And loving him
became my greatest sin.