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Chapter Thirty

Elias

The church felt emptier than it ever had before.

I sat in the silence of the small room, my hands gripping the edge of the pew in front of me like a lifeline as if I could hold myself together alone by sheer will. The wooden walls seemed to press in, the dim light casting long shadows that stretched like ghosts, reminding me of all the moments I’d tried to bury. All the moments I’d tried to pretend didn’t happen.

But they did happen.

I could still feel the weight of Ronan’s body pressed against mine, the heat of his skin, the way he’d kissed me as if he had been waiting for it, as if I had been waiting for it, too. There was no denying that it had been real, no denying the closeness, the vulnerability we’d shared. But now, with the distance between us, now that he was showering in the next room, I felt the weight of the choices I’d made.

What have I done?

I was supposed to be a priest. A servant of God. A man of faith. But here I was, torn between the sacred and the profane, caught up in a sin that felt like it was eating me from the inside out.

I could feel the guilt curling in my stomach, a sickening knot that tightened every time I thought about it. Every time I thought about him. I didn’t want to feel this way. I made a choice. I chose to give myself to Ronan.

I had known from the moment Ronan stepped into my life that I shouldn’t have let myself get close. But I had. I had let myself love him in all the ways that mattered, in all the ways that a man of God should never love someone.

The guilt was suffocating. It was a constant hum in the back of my mind, always there, always reminding me that I had crossed a line I couldn’t uncross—a line I didn’t want to step back behind. I had taken something pure, something sacred, and turned it into something dangerous, something flawed. Something wrong.

So why did everything feel so absolutely right for the first time in my life?

I closed my eyes, pressing my hands to my face, my fingers brushing against the stubble I hadn’t shaved in days. The weight of it all…of being the priest and the man who had kissed him, who had touched him, who had allowed him to touch me…was crushing.

How could I have let this happen? How could I have allowed myself to be weak enough to give in to this temptation, to this desire I’d buried for so long? I damned him in the same breath I damned myself.

Ronan deserved better than this. He deserved someone who could be with him without the guilt, without the constant reminder of sin weighing on their shoulders.

But I hadn’t been able to stop myself.

And that was the thing—the hardest part of it all. I didn’t want to stop. I didn’t want to pull away, to hide, to tell him that it could never be anything more than a fleeting moment. No. I wanted him—more than I ever thought possible.

It wasn’t right, but it was my truth.

I opened my eyes again, my gaze drifting toward the stained glass window that cast multicolored light across the floor. The church had always been my sanctuary, my place of solace and prayer. But today, it felt different. Today, it felt like a prison.

I had tried to live my life by the vows I’d taken, tried to walk the path of righteousness. But every time I looked at Ronan and touched him, I was reminded of how easily I had strayed from that path.

Was I doomed to live with this guilt forever? To carry this weight on my shoulders, knowing that I had betrayed everything I had worked for and stood for? Or was it something more complicated than that?

Was there truly any possible way to have both?

The man and the God I love.

The truth was, I couldn’t make sense of any of it. I didn’t know what was right and what was wrong anymore. All I knew was that everything else disappeared when Ronan was near me. And the guilt, the overwhelming sense of shame all faded into the background like white noise.

But once he left, once the space between us grew, the reality of it all came crashing back. I let myself falter when his world became so broken. I let myself fall with him to hold him up so he wasn’t alone. But in doing so, I had lost myself in him. Lost my purpose.

I wanted to apologize. To tell him I was sorry for everything, for how I’d hurt him, for how I’d let myself fall into this. But I couldn’t. I couldn’t say it, couldn’t make him believe me. I had to protect him from the truth, from the burden of what we had done. The burden was something that I didn’t regret, but I couldn’t allow myself truly to accept it either.

He deserved so much better than me.

I heard the sound of water running in the next room, and it made my chest tighten. I couldn’t bear to look at him right now. Couldn’t watch our sins wash down the drain of my place of worship. Not while the weight of my own was still so fresh, so raw. Not while I was still battling with myself over what we had done.

Despite it all, guilt, shame, and confusion, I couldn’t help but wonder if this—what we shared—wasn’t a sin because of the love we shared. God wanted us all to love one another as we love him. Ronan was truly the only man in the world for whom I felt such adoration and affection. But where I was meant for reverence to my Savior…

It was Ronan I wanted to drop to my knees for and worship, and that terrified me.

I sat in the silence of the church, fingers still gripping the edge of the pew, my thoughts swirling. The weight of the guilt hadn’t gone away—it was like a fog I couldn’t shake, thick and suffocating.

The flicker of candlelight near the altar seemed to mock me, its gentle glow doing nothing to ease the confusion gnawing at me. I could almost hear the echoes of the vows I had taken, promises to live a life of purity, to guide others in faith, and to uphold the sanctity of the church in the house of God.

But what did that mean now? After everything that had happened?

I couldn’t even pray.

The words wouldn’t come.

They felt empty, hollow.

How could I ask for forgiveness when I didn’t even know what I needed to be forgiven for?

Was I wrong to have wanted him?

Was I wrong for ever loving him? So much of our scripture was left for interpretation. How was I meant to unravel the meanings of this?

I wanted to believe it was okay, that it was a moment of weakness, a lapse in judgment, but one I could accept. That everything could go back to how it was when I held Ronan’s hand in the hospital.

But I knew better.

The way he had looked at me, the way he had kissed me, the way we fucked—it was too real. It was too raw to dismiss. And now, every time I closed my eyes, I could feel the heat of his body against mine, the warmth of his skin, the desperate way we had come undone together.

God help me. I didn’t want to let it go.

The sound of water running from the back of the church broke my reverie, pulling me out of my spiraling thoughts. Ronan was cleaning up, no doubt still processing what had happened himself. I could only imagine the confusion that must be flooding through him, too, the clash of emotions that came from his trauma and my back and forth in the way I handled this.

I felt awful.

I didn’t want to think I didn’t love him or that I didn’t absolutely love everything he did to me in that car.

He didn’t deserve any of this. He didn’t deserve the weight of my sin.

I rubbed my face, my palms pressing against my eyes as if I could will away the shame. I had to be strong for him. I had to protect him from the choices I had made. And yet, every time I thought I had a hold on it and felt strong in my conviction to accept this reality, the desperation to cling to my faith crept back in.

I stood up abruptly, needing movement, needing anything to stop the thoughts from consuming me. The stained glass windows shone dimly, casting long shadows over the pews. The steeple, high above the church, felt like it was watching me—reminding me of my role, my responsibility. I wasn’t supposed to be this person. I wasn’t supposed to feel this way about Ronan.

But I did.

I paced slowly toward the small side altar, fingers brushing lightly against the cool wood of the wall. The smell of incense lingered in the air, a familiar comfort, but it did nothing to settle my racing heart. I could feel the weight of my collar, the symbol of my commitment to this life, and it felt like a jail cell.

The confession stand brought a heat that seared into my bones, the very beginning of this long, painful journey of our love. I couldn’t look at the booths without biting my lip and being plagued by those images of his sinful hands stroking his cock so close to me yet so far.

The sound of footsteps in the hallway caught my attention, and my body went rigid, the thoughts evaporating in my mind like mist. I turned just in time to see Ronan stepping out of the small bathroom in the back of the church. His eyes were wary, his face flushed with a mix of confusion and something else. Maybe desire. Maybe regret. Maybe both.

He looked so…fragile. The way he stood there, trying to process everything that had just happened, the quiet desperation in his eyes for answers, for clarity—it killed me. I hated that I had brought him into this mess.

He took a step toward me, and for a moment, I thought maybe he was going to say something or ask for the answers. Instead, he just stopped, his gaze flicking to the floor, his towel snugly secured onto the curves my tongue knew so well.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered before I could stop myself.

The words felt empty, but I couldn’t help it. I was sorry. So sorry. For everything. For the confusion, for making him feel like he had to carry this weight with me.

Ronan’s eyes flicked up to meet mine, his expression unreadable for a moment. He didn’t say anything. Just let the silence stretch between us like an invisible thread. The tension was unbearable.

Finally, he spoke, his voice rough. “Don’t apologize unless you regret it, Elias,” he murmured. “Because I don’t…”

“But…” I said, shaking my head and stepping closer to him. “You deserve so much more than this, Ronan. I should be able to stick to my choices. I need to let go of the weight of my collar. I don’t deserve?—”

He cut me off, his hand coming up to stop me, his fingers brushing against my chest. “I don’t need you to be anything you aren’t, Elias. I just…I don’t know what this means. I don’t know what we are. I need to know you won’t run from me again.”

I swallowed hard, the lump in my throat making it difficult to speak.

“Neither do I.” The words tasted bitter on my tongue. “But I don’t want to lose you. I am not running. My soul be damned. I cannot run from you.”

For a long moment, he didn’t speak, his eyes searching mine. Then, slowly, he nodded, a small, tentative smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Okay. I trust you, Elias.”

I didn’t know what the future held. I didn’t know how to navigate the mess I had created or how to make this right. I didn’t know how to begin to confess to Father Franklin, but I did know one thing: Ronan wasn’t just some passing moment, some mistake to be swept away in the rush of guilt. He was real. He mattered.

And, damn it, I couldn’t lose the man I loved.

I reached for him then, my hands trembling, and he didn’t pull away. He let me pull him close and wrap my arms around him, and for a moment, everything felt okay. It felt like the world outside this church, back in the car, outside of this house of God, and nothing mattered but him.

For once, I didn’t care about the rules, the vows, or the shame.

All I cared about was him.

And maybe that was the worst sin of all.

Maybe I had already fallen too far into hell to climb out to reach any Heaven.