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“I’m a killer.”
“You are, but does that stain you forever?”
“You don’t know my past. You don’t know what I’ve done. I don’t deserve— The only way I can make it right is if I punish those who hurt the innocent.”
“No, I don’t know what you’ve done. But I’m here now. You can tell me.”
I haven’t had a truthful confession with another party that isn’t God in thirteen years. I lie to the bishop when he takes mine, and I do so with ease because she’s right.
I’m.
Not.
A.
Priest.
I’m a man just going through the motions of life. Sticking to a calling I once had because in the aftermath of a catastrophic life event, I had no idea which path to take next.
“Death has stained my soul since I was a child?—”
“Was it an accident? What happened with your bully, I mean?”
“Y-Yes. That’s the only reason I didn’t go to prison. He started a fight; I ended it. I beat him badly, but he fell and hithis head on a stone curb that lined the playground. I pushed him though?—”
“Savio,” she whispers, “you’ve shed blood for that boy. You shed it tonight. You shed it every time you hurt yourself. You’re a sinner seeking redemption, but you won’t find it on your current path.”
“You don’t know that!”
“I do! You’re giving your victims peace and torturing yourself even more.”
And at that, I have no words because this crazy angel with wings written in Aramaic has a point, and my entire life, I suddenly see, is a complete and utter lie.
CHAPTER 23
Andrea
Hallelujah - Rufus Wainwright
My mind races with his confession, but his misery is as tangible as the blood seeping from his wounds.
Rather than issue another blow, I ask, “Did you seek penance for your part in the boy’s death?”
“Yes.”
My heart aches for his pain, making me wish I could take it away, but it’s never that easy.
“And did you mean it?”
“Yes.”
“Then his death isn’t on your soul.”
He blows out a breath that gusts against my belly, pooling warmth there. “I’ve never been a popular priest.”
There’s no way I can stop myself from pressing a kiss to his temple. “Why do you say that?”
“I ask too much of parishioners.”