The Angel (The Original Sinners) (34 page)

“Tell me the truth, little one. Have you made your peace with
Wesley?”

Nora exhaled. She and Wesley would never be together. And she
could live with that. For this man and what they had, she would live with
that.

“Yes, sir.”

He then spoke the words she’d been waiting all summer to
hear.

“Come home to me.”

24

Nora nearly broke the sound barrier driving back to
Griffin’s estate. Once there she took only three seconds to listen at the door
to Griffin’s bedroom. She heard Michael laugh and then silence, heavy silence.
She’d let the boys have their privacy. Scribbling a note, she pushed it under
the door, letting them know Søren had given her the all clear to come home.

She packed fast and hit the road faster. After nearly two
months apart, Nora couldn’t wait another minute to see Søren. She had to touch
him, kiss him, let his arms remind her that she belonged to him and him alone.
Once she felt him inside her again, Nora could let go of those traitorous
thoughts about Wesley and her regret that she’d let him go too easily, too
soon.

When she arrived at the rectory, night had already fallen. She
parked her car in the copse of trees that shielded her and the house from prying
eyes.

Into the house and up the stairs she ran, her shoes clicking
loudly on the hardwood. Her heart thudded against her rib cage, her blood burned
in her veins. After almost twenty years, Søren could still stir her passions
like no one else she had ever or would ever love.

She didn’t even get all the way to his bedroom. He must have
heard her shoes on the hardwood because he stepped into the hallway and met her
halfway. Without any words they came to each other, arms holding, hands
grasping, lips and tongues seeking and finding. She dragged her fingers through
his hair. His shirt tore in her frenzy to get to his skin. Søren bit at her
collarbone and gripped her thighs so furiously she cried out. Pain…of course
pain. He had to hurt her before he could make love to her. Søren didn’t have a
vanilla side. He had to play hard to get hard, as she’d told Kingsley years ago.
And she was okay with that.

Søren slammed her against the wall and wrenched her skirt up.
In seconds he was deep inside her. Nora wrapped her arms around his shoulders
and held on to him as if her life depended on it, and in that moment she knew it
did. If she ever let Søren go again…if she ever walked away from him again, she
didn’t know if she’d be strong enough to come back. So she held on tight, dug
her fingernails into his shoulders, gasped his name in his ear and gave herself
over to the brutal thrusts that would leave her bruised, inside and out.

When she came, she breathed his name with her eyes closed. And
even after he’d spent himself inside her, he still held her in his arms, pinned
to the wall.

“My little one,” he whispered as he kissed her cheek, her
eyes.

Slowly he pulled out of her and lowered her to the floor. They
straightened their clothes as their bodies disentangled. Holding her breath,
Nora waited.

She didn’t have to wait long.

Søren took a step backward. And then another.

“Hands and knees,” he said and Nora knelt gracefully on the
floor.

He’d asked her two years ago on their anniversary how she would
come back to him if she ever returned to his bed.

If you come back to me, little one, will
you run, or will you crawl?

I’ll fly,
she’d answered.

Tonight as she returned to him, she crawled.

* * *

Michael spent nearly three days in Griffin’s bedroom.
They came up for air only for food and showers and the occasional glimpse of
sunlight before retreating back into bed. The second night together, Griffin
strung Michael to the bedpost and flogged him for the first time. And Michael
had thought Nora had a vicious flogging arm. Even getting his wrists tattooed
hadn’t hurt that much.

He loved every single second of it. Nothing scared him anymore
about being with Griffin. The sex part took a little getting used to but the
incredible pleasure of having Griffin inside him was worth all the work and
occasional grimacing. The S&M they would figure out. The love…the love he
had no complaints about. Michael basked in Griffin’s love, wallowed it in, let
his heart that had been so thirsty for affection drink in every drop. Every
morning Griffin told him, “I love you.” Every night he said the same. And all
Michael had to do was come anywhere near Griffin’s reach if he wanted to be
pulled into the two most wicked-strong arms he’d ever encountered in his life.
Ever since his suicide attempt, Michael had felt near-constant loneliness,
anxiety, and a sense that while people like Father S and Nora would understand
him, no one ever truly loved him. But with Griffin he finally felt loved, at
peace and safe.

But on day three, Griffin did and said the one thing guaranteed
to shatter Michael’s bliss.

“I don’t do secret relationships, Mick. If we’re going to do
this, I want to meet your mom. Pack up. We’re out of here.”

The words were said in a tone that brooked no challenge.
Michael had known it was too good to be true anyway. Once Griffin saw how truly
humble his origins were—the tiny house, the ten-year-old car in the driveway,
the shabby furniture—he’d realize how different they were and how little Michael
belonged in Griffin’s world.

In tense silence Michael stared out the window of Griffin’s
Porsche as they drove from the estate to Wakefield. Griffin seemed to sense
Michael’s anxiety and left him alone with his thoughts.

When they hit Wakefield, Griffin cruised by Sacred Heart but
they found the church empty. Michael guessed Father S and Nora were still in bed
enjoying their reunion. He wished he could say the same for him and Griffin.
Before leaving the church, Michael went to the shrine of the Virgin Mary in the
corner of the narthex and lit a candle in prayer.

Mary, Mother of God,
Michael prayed
in his heart.
Please help my mom. Please help me and
Griffin.
That was it. He had no idea what else to pray. He knew he
didn’t want to hurt his mother, but he didn’t want her hurting Griffin, either.
So many horrible scenarios ran through Michael’s mind as Griffin drove them to
Michael’s house. His mother would lose her shit, for sure. She’d probably forbid
Michael from seeing Griffin. And Michael would refuse. So what? Move out? Live
with Griffin? Seemed a little early for that. Of course, there’d be no Griffin
after all this shit with his family went down.

Griffin pulled onto the street and Michael swallowed a wave of
nausea. The nausea worsened with every house they passed on the way to his. When
they reached Michael’s home the nausea turned to dread, shock and panic.

“Oh, fuck,” Michael breathed as he noticed a familiar and truly
unwelcome sight.

“What, Mick?” Griffin asked, grabbing Michael’s knee.

“My dad’s here.”

* * *

Nora stretched across Søren’s chest and released a
blissful sigh.

“Thank you, sir,” she purred, turning her head to give him a
quick bite under his collarbone.

“Do I want to know what specifically you’re thanking me for or
should I simply say you’re welcome?”

Nora moved completely on top of Søren and pressed her entire
body into his as he wrapped his arms around her. She loved Søren’s height. At
six foot four he stood exactly one foot taller than her. She could lie on top of
him, stomach to stomach, and her head could tuck right under his chin.

“Well, I lost count after the seventh orgasm. And you also did
that thing I like with the thing.”

“No thanks necessary. I rather enjoyed it myself.”

Nora raised her head and looked Søren in the eyes.

“Just thank you…for being you,” she said. “The world is a
better, more interesting place with you in it.”

He smiled as he dropped a kiss on top of her head.

“And the world is certainly a wilder, more beautiful place with
you in it, little one.”

“Really?”

“Quite.”

“Say something else nice about me. I’m fishing for compliments,
if you haven’t noticed.”

“I did notice,” he said as he rolled over quickly, pinning Nora
onto her back. “Fishing for compliments is against the rules. Continue and I’ll
have to punish you.”

“I don’t remember that rule, sir.”

“I’ve just made it up.”

Laughing, Nora raised her head and graced Søren’s lips with a
kiss.

She pulled back and batted her eyelashes at him.

“Tell me more about my eyes.”

“Your eyes are…” he began before suddenly stopping and sliding
out of bed.

“What? My eyes are what?”

Søren started to get dressed.

“I’ll tell you after my meeting.” He bent over and kissed her
quick as he buttoned his shirt.

“Meeting?” Nora scrambled into a sitting position. “What
meeting? I thought you said the search committee had decided on Father Peterson.
No more meetings.”

Søren slipped his Roman collar into place.

“They did. Thank God. This meeting isn’t with any committee. I
promised Suzanne one more long talk.”

Nora narrowed her eyes.

“This reporter bitch is getting on my last damn nerve. Why
can’t she leave you alone?”

“She’s not the enemy. Especially now that she no longer thinks
I am the enemy.”

“Well, if we’ve got her fooled that much,” Nora began. Søren
shot her a vicious look that nearly set her giggling. “Then why’s she still
hanging around?”

“She has a few final questions for me. After all I’ve put her
through this summer, I feel she deserves some answers.”

Søren headed to the door. Nora had a sudden thought and bolted
upright in bed.

“Søren? Wait a sec. Let me go talk to her.”

* * *

“Mick? You okay?” Griffin laid his hand on Michael’s
knee and squeezed.

Michael shook his head.

“No.”

The hand on his knee moved to Michael’s face.

“Look at me,” Griffin said in almost a whisper. Michael
reluctantly turned his head to meet Griffin’s eyes. “I’ve got this. I won’t let
anything bad happen.”

Something in Griffin’s tone made Michael almost believe it.

“Okay.”

Griffin smiled.

“Good. Let’s get this over with. I want to fuck you before
dinner.”

With a playful swat on Michael’s knee, Griffin exited the car
and came around to Michael’s side. With extreme reluctance, Michael opened the
door and stepped out onto the sidewalk. Griffin held out his hand. Michael
stared at it. They’d never been out in public before. In bed they’d held
hands…and every other body part. But here? On his street? In his house? In front
of his parents?

“We’re in this together, Mick. I love you.”

Michael started at the words. They seemed to come echoing from
deep inside a canyon. Or the canyon was inside him and the words filled it and
him and finally muted the voice inside him that warned he’d never be loved for
who and what he was.

Without further hesitation, Michael took Griffin’s hand as they
walked up to the house. Michael opened the door without knocking and he and
Griffin stepped inside.

He heard voices in the kitchen. Quiet, angry voices.

“They’re fighting,” Michael whispered. “They’re always
fighting.”

“They’re divorced,” Griffin whispered back. “What do they have
to fight about?”

Michael swallowed.

“Me.”

They stepped into the kitchen and both Michael’s mom and dad
immediately stopped talking. He mother’s face was a mask of shock. His father’s
face wore an expression of confusion that quickly turned to fury at the sight of
Michael’s hand in Griffin’s.

“Michael…” his father began.

“I’m Griffin Fiske, your son’s boyfriend,” Griffin said,
smiling hugely at Michael’s parents. “Nice to meet you both.”

“No. No way,” Michael’s father said. “No way in hell is this
happening. Michael, what are you—”

He rushed forward and Michael braced himself. But Griffin
stepped between them and raised his chin.

“I guess you didn’t hear me,” Griffin repeated. “I’m Griffin
Fiske. I’m your son’s boyfriend. Nice to meet you.”

This time he said the words without smiling and with the subtle
hint of a threat in this voice. Michael had always thought of his father as the
big bad dad—taller than him, more muscular—but compared to Griffin, he seemed
slight and short.

“Who the hell are you?” his father demanded.

Griffin smiled dangerously while Michael eased out from behind
Griffin and tried to get closer to his mother, who was still standing in stunned
silence.

“I feel like I’m repeating myself. Mick, am I repeating
myself?” Griffin asked.

“Mom, Dad.” Michael tried speaking up. “Griffin and I—”

“Shut up, Michael,” his father ordered, “or I swear to
God—”

What Michael’s father was about to swear the world would never
know as Griffin raised a hand and snapped his fingers loudly in Michael’s
father’s face.

The snap actually shut Michael’s father up momentarily.

“Don’t do that,” Griffin said in a tone of casual menace.
“Don’t tell him to shut up. Bad things will happen to people who don’t treat
Mick the way he deserves.”

“Don’t you dare tell me how to talk to my son. My fucked-up,
sick son.”

Michael flinched at his father’s words. And next to him his
mother also flinched.

“Ken, please,” Michael’s mother began. “Let’s stay calm and
talk about this. We’ve always known Michael wasn’t—”

“Normal?” his father said. “Obviously not. And it’s your fault,
Melissa. You let him grow his hair long. You kept him out of Catholic school.
You coddled him. Turned him into a goddamn fa—”

Michael and his mother again flinched in unison as Griffin
quickly and efficiently put Michael’s father into the wall. His shoulder hit the
tile with a dull thud.

“Griffin, don’t,” Michael pleaded, not wanting the cops to
come.

But Griffin didn’t pay any heed. He put his hand in the center
of Michael’s father’s chest and held him against the wall, pinned like an insect
in a shadowbox.

“I told you bad things happen when people don’t treat Mick
nicely,” Griffin said, stepping up to Michael’s father and eyeing him
menacingly. “I love your son. And I’ll break you if you ever even look at him
sideways again. Your ‘not normal’ son is the most talented untrained artist I’ve
ever seen. He’s intelligent, an amazing skater, has a great sense of humor and
is the kindest, most humble person I’ve ever met. I’m so in love with him I
can’t even think straight. Which is fine since obviously I’m not straight. And
neither is he. Anyway, I’m rambling. I do that sometimes. Hard to shut me up.
The point is…” Griffin said, and pointed hard at Michael’s father’s chest, hard
enough the tip of his finger would certainly leave a small round bruise. “Your
opinions on…everything really, are not welcome here. Michael’s fine. I’m taking
care of him now. Shoo.”