by Autumn Grey
He clears his throat. “No.”
I try to process that piece of information. “So, you’re still a vir—”
“You do realize you’re asking your uncle, who happens to be a priest, about sex, right?”
I laugh. “Okay, okay, fine.”
We chat for a few more minutes. By the time I end the call, I feel lighter. I toss the phone on the nightstand and strip down to my boxers, then climb in bed. I fold my arms behind my head and wait for sleep to claim me.
Thump.
Thump.
“Yes, Ivan, yes!”
That snaps me out of my thoughts. Realizing what I’m hearing, I groan. These two are going to be the death of me.
Thump.
“Yes, kitten.”
Kitten? I gulp down a snort.
Thump.
“Give it to me.”
Oh, God, I think, before quickly apologizing for using the Lord’s name in such an instance.
Lying on my side, I clutch the corner of my pillow and press it around my ears. A desperate attempt to block out the sounds of Ivan’s bed hitting our shared wall. Still, I can hear the muffled sounds through the fabric of my pillow. I throw the useless thing aside and bang a fist on our connecting wall.
“Tone it down, would you?” I yell in frustration.
“Go to hell!” Ivan growls.
Asshole.
I snatch my phone from the nightstand along with the headphones, slap them on my head, and scroll through my playlist. I tap the screen and “Think About You” by Guns N’ Roses blasts into my ears, efficiently blocking out the moans and groans coming through the wall.
Finally.
I flop back on the pillow and close my eyes, letting the lyrics roll around in my head.
The image of Grace at the wedding, dancing and laughing, flashes inside my head without warning. The thoughts have me sweating and my body aching.
I flip on my stomach, pressing my pelvis into the mattress to curb my raging need. But my hand sneaks down my stomach, fingers lifting the elastic band of my shorts, and I push them down my thighs. I’m so hard, and my body is coiled tight, begging for release. I grab my hard length, stroking my palm up and down.
Shit.
Shit.
I yank my hand away from my pants, breathing hard. I squeeze my eyes shut as guilt cuts through me. I can control myself.
Cold shower.
Definitely a cold shower will help.
I swing my legs over the side of the bed and bolt for the bathroom. I turn the water to cold and hop in, closing my eyes as the water hits my skin.
Fifteen minutes later, I’m lying in bed, listening to my favorite relaxing meditation music through my headphones.
Sunday morning, Mom and I arrive at St. Peter’s Church. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t more than a little eager to see Sol.
It’s funny how you can know someone for years and observe them from a distance but live your lives on parallel lines. Then one day, they walk up to you, and words are finally exchanged. And it hits you that someone has been missing in your life all along without you even knowing it.
And now all I want—no, need—is for him to notice me sitting in the congregation.
I watch Sol as he performs his usual altar server duties next to Father Foster. Sol’s eyes subtly scan the crowd. The second they meet mine, one side of his mouth hitches up slightly. I glance around to check if anyone else noticed, then face forward again when I realize I’m the only one who did. Maybe because I’m massively obsessed with his cute half-smiles.
He bites his bottom lip between his teeth and looks away. I look down at my hands folded in my lap, pressing my lips together to fight a smile.
When it’s time to offer the sign of peace, Mom leans into my side and whispers in my ear, “What’s going on between you two?”
“Nothing,” I mutter too quickly.
“Really?” She pauses. “That seemed like more than just a friendly smile to me.”
My gaze whips up to the front of the church just as Sol walks toward the first row, shaking hands with the people sitting there. I realize with much regret that I should’ve dragged my mom to sit in that row. His eyes drift in my direction once more, lips pulled at one side in a subtle, crooked smile. It’s kind of weird because he hardly ever smiles during Mass.
“Doesn’t look like nothing to me, sweetheart,” Mom whispers, pulling me out of the web of fascination I’m wrapped in.
“Mom . . . we’re just friends.”
The heat of my mom’s stare burns the side of my face. I ignore it. I can’t look at her. If I did, I know I’d end up telling her everything. The thing is, there’s really nothing to tell.
The hairs at the back of my neck tingle in awareness. I twist around, my eyes scanning the crowd, and freeze when I notice Gavin’s brown ones staring back at me.
What the hell is he doing in church? He hardly ever attends mass, so this is quite a surprise. And not a good one.
My stomach hurts as if someone punched me. I press my palm to my stomach, hoping to push back the pain.
Church is my haven. I hate that he’s here. It feels like he’s sullying the place.
I shake my head and face forward again, my hands clenched into fists on my lap. I hate him so much. God, forgive me, but I really do hate him. I wonder how long it takes for this feeling to fade.
Maybe never? Maybe it’s just one of those things in life that never really goes away. They remind us to guard our hearts and make sure the next person we give it to will protect it as if he or she is guarding the Holy Grail. Until then, mine is safely locked away behind a steel cage.
The rest of Mass goes well. I don’t turn around to look at him again, but I feel his eyes on me every second of the fifteen minutes.
When Mass ends, everyone heads outside. I search for Sol from where I’m standing, trying and failing to be subtle about it.
My mom is a few feet away, talking to some members of the congregation. She’s smiling and laughing despite the past few days being a bit rough for her. She’s doing better as time passes.
“Hey.” That familiar voice has me spinning around, almost losing my balance.
Gavin fucking Bachmann. And he’s extending his hand in my direction in what I believe is an attempt to steady me.
“Don’t touch me,” I whisper angrily.
He pulls his hand back, frowning.
“What are you doing here?”
He glances around before returning his gaze back to me. “Attending Mass, like every other person here.” He smirks, and I want to punch his face.
I clutch my purse tighter and force a smile. “Well, good for you.” I turn to go, but he grips my bicep, causing my whole body to tense. I could easily dislodge his hand from my arm, but I wouldn’t want to make a scene.
“I said don’t touch me.”
“Grace. Come on, don’t be like that. Can we forget about high school for a min—”
“Fuck off.” The words are low, meant for the two of us only. I’m about to pry his fingers off my arm the way I learned in self-defense class years ago when a familiar voice interrupts us.
“What’s going on here?”
I whip my head around to find Sol standing behind me, eyebrows furrowed. He looks at me, then at Gavin. His gaze drops to where Gavin’s hand is still gripping my arm, and his nostrils flare, his eyes bright with anger.
“Get your hand off her.”
Sol sounds calm. The only things betraying what he’s feeling are how his hands are now curled into fists and the way his body is locked tight as if he’s ready to go to war.
Gavin laughs, the sound grating in my ears. “This doesn’t concern you, Callan.” When Sol stays exactly where he is, eyes drilling into Gavin’s skull, Gavin’s eyes narrow, moving between Sol and me, and he says, “Wait. You two? Really?” He looks incredulous. Neither Sol nor I speak. “Since when are would-be priests allowed to bang chicks? I can’t say I blame you, man. She’s—”
“Walk away, Bachmann,” Sol grits out, stepping forward and partly shielding me from Gavin. “Before we make a scene in front of everyone.”
“I can handle him, Sol,” I say quietly. “People are starting to stare.”
“Or what?” Gavin scoffs, not even bothering to look at me. “You’re gonna strangle me with that rosary in your pocket? Oh, wait. Maybe you’re going to hit me again to teach me a lesson. Which one is it?”
Wait, wait a damn second. Sol hit him? My Sol? When? Why?
Oh my God!
I’m about to voice all these questions when Gavin opens his big mouth and laughs as if he just told a funny joke, eyeing me with interest.
“Let me guess. You didn’t know, huh?” He thumps Sol’s shoulder and winks. He freaking winks. “Brave Knight over here confronted me at the school parking lot after we broke up to your avenge your honor. He almost broke my nose with his giant fist. He didn’t get suspended, thanks to me for not reporting his ass to the principal,” he says, directing a sneer at Solomon. “Well, Callan. There goes your pristine reputation.”
I think back on the time after the incident. Gavin showed up in school with dark bruises around his nose and under his eyes. He told everyone he’d hurt himself while trying to tackle one of his team mates during football practice.
Oh, my gosh.
Sol continues to stand there, unmovable as a mountain, his jaw twitching as he stares Gavin down. Sol’s almost a foot taller than Gavin, so he towers over him easily. His usually peaceful demeanor is replaced by anger as it pours off him in waves. I’ve never seen him like this. I’m still trying to wrap my head around this whole revelation.
Gavin drops his hand and steps back, glaring at Sol. “Wouldn’t want Church Boy to get into a fight in front of the Lord himself, now would we?” His lips curl into a sneer before he stalks away.
Sol whirls around and dips his head to meet my gaze. He reaches forward as if he wants to touch me but freezes. “Are you okay?”
“I’m good. Thank you for standing up for me.” I give him a smile, but he doesn’t smile back. Instead, his eyes leave mine and trail after Gavin, his jaw clenched tight. “He wouldn’t have done anything to me. Not in front of everyone. Besides”—my smile widens into a grin—“I can handle him.”
He eyes my petite frame doubtfully, the crease between his eyes deepening. “How?”
“I’ve got a few tricks up my sleeve.” I wink at him playfully, hoping to ease the concerned look in his eyes.
He sighs and rakes his fingers through his tousled hair, which seems to have a mind of its own. “I gotta go. Luke’s having some guys over for lunch at the rectory. He needs help with some stuff.” He studies me, really studies me, taking in every feature of my face before asking, “Are you sure you’re okay?”
Gosh, he’s so sweet. “Yes. I swear, I’m okay.”
He nods. “All right. I guess I’ll see you around?”
“Sure.”
He looks like he wants to say something else. Instead, he shakes his head and walks toward the rectory in long, powerful strides.
I watch him until he disappears around the corner, then walk over to where my mom’s still chatting with one of the parishioners, oblivious to what just happened.
“Are you sure you’ll be okay?” Mom asks me as we head for our car a few minutes later. She’s leaving for Port Elizabeth for a three-day meditation retreat later this afternoon.
“I’ll be fine.”
“What about the diner?” She bites her bottom lip worriedly.
I roll my eyes, which makes her smile. “Mom, please don’t worry. I literally grew up in that diner. I know my way around it with my eyes closed. I’ll manage.”
Just before we get inside the car, she hugs me tight.
“Was that Gavin back there?”
I pull back and meet her gaze with a chuckle. “You never miss anything, do you?”
She rolls her eyes playfully as if to say, are you seriously asking me that. “You’re my daughter. I notice everything.”
I take her in. Her skin glows under the midday sun. Her dreadlocks are tied in a low bun, bringing her cheekbones and jawline in stark focus. It hits me all over again how beautiful she is. How blessed I am to have this woman as my mother.
“Sweetheart?” She nudges my shoulder to claim my attention.
“Uh, sorry,” I say, remembering what we were talking about before my mind wandered. “I have no idea what he wanted.”
“Sol swooped in like a gallant prince to the rescue.” Her brows shoot up, and I remember her words during Mass.
“I would’ve easily handled Gavin,” I declare vehemently.
Her eyes fill with pride. “I know. Come on, let’s go home. I’m starving.”
Warmth fills my chest at her words. I love that even though she’s concerned, she trusts me enough to give me space and let me handle my own shit, but I know I can always go to her if I need to talk.
“Mom, hang on a second.” I tug her hand before she can walk farther. She stops and turns to face me. “You know you’ll never lose me, no matter what, yeah?”
Her eyebrows bunch into a frown. “I do.”
I watch her closely when I say, “It’s just that, um, the other day, I overheard you telling Bev you thought you were going to lose me and, well. . .” I leave the sentence hanging, hoping she’ll open up to me.
“I’m sorry for worrying you, sweetheart. I was not myself and”—she takes my hands in hers and laces our fingers together—“let’s just enjoy today. We’ll talk, okay?”
“Okay.” I can’t help the disappointment knotting my stomach. But at the same time, I don’t want to upset her now that she’s doing so much better even though there’s no way I’m going to let this go. “I’ll hold you to that.”
Dread flashes across her face before she pushes it back, nods, and smiles.
After lunch, Mom heads to the diner. Feeling restless, I sprawl on the couch and scroll through the TV channels. Of course, there’s nothing interesting on TV. Before Sol, I was satisfied with being alone. Keeping my own company. But now I need . . . more. I’m practically hemorrhaging desperation as the need to have someone to hang out with burns a hole in my chest.
I grab my phone from the coffee table and scroll through my contacts, pausing when MJ’s name pops on the screen. And before I can talk myself out of it, I tap her name and take a deep breath, then press the phone to my ear.
She answers the call on the fifth ring.
“Hello,” she greets in a tired voice.
“MJ? Grace here.” I pause. When she doesn’t say anything, I clear my throat, feeling nervous all of a sudden. “Did I call at a bad time?”
“Sorry, I’m a little distracted.” In the background, I hear the sharp crackle of an intercom, followed by a woman’s voice paging a doctor. “I’m at Mercy Medical Center visiting my grandmother. I brought her in this morning.”
She sounds completely drained, the complete opposite of the upbeat girl I officially met two weeks ago. I really don’t know her well, but the thought of her at the hospital, most probably on her own worrying about her grandmother, has me shooting up from the couch.
“I could drop by to keep you company, um, and visit your grandmother . . . is it okay?” I squeeze my eyes, hoping I’m not overstepping, and add softly, “That’s what friends do, right?”
She doesn’t answer for a few seconds. I’m about to tell her to forget I offered when she says, “I’d love that. Do me favor? Could you grab me a coffee from Fisher’s Gold? I need my fix. The one at the hospital cafeteria isn’t cutting it.”
I grab my purse and car keys and hurry toward the door. “Sure. How do you want it?”
“Ask the barista for a red eye. I need the extra shot of caffeine.”
“Got it. Please text me her room number. I’ll be there soon.”
“Okay,” she murmurs, sounding relieved.
MJ is sitting in the waiting room area when I arrive. S
he stands up and dashes in my direction, practically falling into my arms. I lean forward and place the bowl of chicken soup and coffee paper cup on the nearby table, then wrap my arms around her shoulders.
“Thank you for coming,” she says, stepping back and wiping the tears that have sprung in her eyes. “I feel like I’m going to go insane from worrying about her.”
“What happened to your grandmother?”
“Pneumonia. They’ve put her on a ventilator, and it’s fucking scary seeing her like that.” She sniffs. “She’s sleeping now. I needed a break, so I came to sit out here.”
She sits down on one of the black leather couches and motions me over to sit next to her. I do as she asks me, setting my purse on my lap.
“Do your parents know?”
She nods. “Mom will be here this evening.” She glances at me with tired eyes and smiles. “Now that you’re here, please distract me, or I might end up bawling again. I never thought I’d hear from you.”
“I planned to call you at some point—”
“Really?” She laughs. “You looked so overwhelmed after I left your booth that time at the diner.”
I roll my eyes and smile. “I called you today, didn’t I? Where’s your phone?”
She digs it out of her pocket and hands it over. I save my number in her contacts and give it back. “You have my number now. Which reminds me, you didn’t ask for my number in return when you gave me yours.”
She watches me cautiously as she says, “Honestly, I was scared. It took me a lot of guts to approach you. You’re a little intimidating, you know that? Anyway, you never hang out with anyone. You seem nice, and everyone needs a friend. Giving you my number was a way of letting you know I wanted to be your friend, so I left the ball in your court after that.”
I nod to let her know I understand her reasoning and settle deeper into the couch. As I’m sitting next to MJ, the hopeful feeling I felt the other day at the diner returns.
“What do you do for fun?” she asks.
“Well, let’s see. Cliff jumping, origami, swimming, working at the diner—”
