Page 69 of King of Pain (Damaged Hearts #1)
He exhales again, heavier this time. “And I know how these things go. The Church will ride out the headlines, pay-off who they have to, move the priests around, and pretend it’s been handled.”
His eyes meet mine. “Is it worth unwinding all the work I’ve done? All the peace I’ve gained?”
I rub my hand over his bicep. “Hey. You don’t need to do anything you’re not ready for. That peace you’ve found? That’s worth more than any amount of blood money they could throw at this.”
He nods, lips tight. “Yeah. I wouldn’t want a dime from them anyway. I just—” He trails off and looks away, voice breaking a little. “The guilt creeps in when I think about the next kid. Hiding in the back of a wardrobe.”
I slide off my chair and kneel in front of him, cradling his face in both hands and locking eyes with him.
“Hey. It’s awful. I know. But you can’t solve the world’s problems. You can’t save everyone.”
He picks at the fabric of his jeans; his face etched with conflict. “Yeah, but what if my voice makes a difference?”
I study him for a long second, then ask gently, “Do you think it will?”
He shakes his head. “Honestly? No.”
“Then fight another way.”
He blinks. “What do you mean?”
I hold his gaze. “The non-profit you want to start with your agency. You said you wanted to support survivors—queer kids, female athletes, people who've been through it. What if you had a sector that focused specifically on this kind of abuse? Gave survivors a place to go. A person who gets it.”
Something shifts in his expression. A glint of clarity behind the grief.
He nods slowly, eyes dropping to his hands again. I lift his chin gently so he’s looking at me.
“Everything you just told me,” I say, “about reclaiming your body, your identity, your peace… that’s power, Ant. That’s yours. And they can’t take it. You could teach others to take theirs back too.”
His lips part just slightly, and an almost relieved look washes over his face.
“Fuck, I love you,” he whispers. “That— that’s exactly what I want to do.”
I climb back into my chair and lean toward him, press a kiss to his lips.
“I love you too, Beautiful.”
We finish eating and clean the kitchen together. “I think it’s a Rob Lowe night,” I say, tossing the dish towel over my shoulder. “ St. Elmo’s Fire ?”
Ant grins, eyes lighting up. “Ooh, Rob Lowe. Yum. Yes. I’ll make the popcorn.”
I cue up the movie on the TV, humming the theme song under my breath while Ant disappears into the kitchen. A few minutes later he returns with a heaping bowl of popcorn in one hand and a pack of Red Vines in the other, setting both in front of us.
Just as he’s about to sink into the couch beside me, his phone buzzes from the coffee table. We both glance over. Unknown number.
Ant sighs. “Probably that attorney. Might as well get it over with and tell him I don’t want to be involved.”
I reach up and rub his arm. “I’m right here.”
He gives me a small nod and reaches down to answer it.
“Hello. Listen, I—”
Then his face changes.
The shift is slow but unmistakable. His mouth goes slack. The color drains from his face until he’s pale as chalk, his eyes wide with a terror I’ve never seen in him before. He doesn’t say another word.
He just... listens.
Then, without a word, he lowers the phone from his ear. He drops onto the couch and stares ahead, frozen in place.
“Ant?” I scramble off the couch and onto the floor and slide between his knees so I can see his face. “Ant, what is it? What happened? Who was that?”
Nothing.
Just vacant eyes. Hollow. Haunted.
I start rubbing his legs, trying to bring him back. “Baby, you have to talk to me. Who was that?”
His eyes finally shift. They find mine.
“Father Tommy Klass,” he whispers.
My stomach twists.
“What? Wait—he’s...?” I trail off.
Ant nods once. “He was the main one. The first one to do anything. The one who offered me to others.” His voice cracks, just a whisper now. “The one who hit me with his car.”
My vision scrambles and my blood burns hot with rage, but I keep it on a tight leash. For him. For now .
I squeeze his thighs gently. “Ant. What did he say? How did he even get your number?”
He lets out a humorless scoff, cold and bitter. “You think the groups you run with have resources? There’s no bigger mob in the world than the Catholic church.”
He’s not wrong.
“I guess I shouldn’t be surprised,” I say. “But, Ant, I need to know what he said.”
He looks down at his lap. He won’t meet my eyes.
“He said... ‘Don’t do it, Little Tony.’”
I wait. There’s more. I can feel it.
“And then he said... ‘We have eyes everywhere, Little Tony. Stay silent or everything you love will perish.’” His voice drops to a broken whisper. “Then he hung up.”
The dam bursts.
Ant shudders and sobs, shoulders shaking uncontrollably as he falls apart right in front of me. I crawl up onto the couch and pull him into my chest, wrapping my arms around him.
“Shh. I got you,” I whisper. “No one’s coming near you. I promise you that.”
I rock him, holding him through the storm.
An hour later his breathing evens out and he mumbles, “Let’s just go to bed.”
“Okay,” I say gently, and release him before standing up. “I’m going to take Guinness out. Will you be alright for a few?”
He nods, hollow, and walks toward the bedroom. I press my lips to the top of his head as he passes.
I grab Guinness’s leash and clip him in. “Come on, Little G.”
We take the elevator down, the building’s quiet echoing in my ears. The air outside is cool against my skin as I lead Guinness to the right, toward the corner of the building.
The black SUV is parked in its usual spot at the curb. I stop in front of it and tap on the tinted window.
It glides down smoothly.
“What’s up, boss?” Deacon says, voice low and calm.
“There’s a viable threat,” I say, my voice hard. “Gather your stuff. You’re staying in the condo tonight.”
He nods once, no questions asked.
“I’m going to let him do his business,” I continue, “then I’ll brief you on the way back up.”
“You got it, boss.” He nods again and rolls the window up.
I take a breath and look down at Guinness.
“Let’s make it quick, little man. We’ve got work to do.”