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EPILOGUE: Two Years Late r

SOUNDTRACK: The Cross (with Chris Tomlin) by Anne Wilson

~ brIDGET ~

Sam stood behind the podium at the front of the church, with a death grip on the sides Because he’d rolled his sleeves up. I could see his tattoos and all those delicious lines that played up and down his forearms when he was holding onto something.

My favorite was when he gripped me.

As discreetly as I could, I slipped my phone out of my pocket and tapped out a quick, silent text for him to find when he was done.

ME: Is it your sin or mine when you display shameless forearm porn that makes me horny? There are children here, sir. I think I need to confess.

I smiled as I slipped the phone back into my pocket, hoping he’d read it while we were still here talking to people so I could watch his eyes go hot—then watch him squirm as he tried to pretend he wasn’t horny.

It was only fair. He made me squirm every day.

These moments were my only payback.

“…the world will tell you that your savior, your God is a bigot. A judgmental, partisan, wrathful dictator who holds your sin over your head and asks you to toil your way through this life to pay it back. But they’re wrong.

“When Jesus was asked why we should forgive those who harm us, he didn’t say because it makes up for the awful things you did. He didn’t say because your brother would respond and stop doing what he was doing. He didn’t say “because he’s better than you, so he deserves it.”

Sam lifted his eyes from his notes and locked on me. My breath grew shallower.

“He said we must forgive because we are forgiven first. Even before we knew we needed it. Even while we still hated God, He made it possible for us to be washed clean. To be made right no matter what.”

This was the part he’d been nervous about. I held his gaze and nodded once and gave him a smile. But down where he couldn’t see them, my hands were tight on my thighs and inside I was praying, begging these people to hear his heart, rather than just the words he was about to say.

We’d been attending here for six months. Some people knew our story, and some didn’t. We’d had a lot of acceptance, and a lot of encouragement. I hadn’t met a pearl clutcher here yet. But still. You never knew.

“Jesus preached pure forgiveness, regardless of a person’s response, because only he could,” Sam said, straightening from where he’d been gripping the podium and putting his shoulders back. He wasn’t ashamed of this. He was worried that they wouldn’t hear it from him. “When we’ve been hurt really bad it can feel like we should never forgive—after all, we didn’t do the hurting right? But God isn’t like us. It’s important to remember that Jesus never did anything he had to be forgiven for. Because he comes to forgiveness from a blameless place. None of us can say that. All of us have done things that needed forgiving. Even the best among us have done wrong—some awful wrong. In fact, the Apostle Paul said, “Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners—and I am the worst of them all.

“So why would a God who’d never done anything wrong, preach forgiveness? Surely He was the one who needed to forgive us? Yes…” Sam said, his breath heavy. “Yes, exactly that. He had to forgive us first. Jesus stood in front of a judge and was convicted of things He hadn’t done. He was punished for crimes he’d never committed. He was beaten, abused, lied about, mocked, and eventually murdered. So he knows darkness. He knows the worst of what men do to each other. And His response to that is… as long as you understand that you need it, you are forgiven. All of it. Completely. Now… go and forgive others.”

Sam looked down again and cleared his throat. “You serve a God who took a man who was selfish, dark, and predatory and made him capable of love and protection.” He looked up and found me again. I teared up at the love in those gorgeous eyes as he spoke directly to me. “He took a woman who’d been hurt beyond what any person should endure, and healed her so she would never be defined by the darkness in her life. He found her precious . Beautiful. Valuable enough to give up his life for. And He brought those two together so that they could give His love and forgiveness to each other again and again, every day.”

I swallowed hard as he turned to look at the rest of the congregation.

“Life leaves marks,” he said. I didn’t know if he was conscious of rubbing the scars on his arm, or not. But I hoped everyone understood why he’d chosen to roll up his sleeves today. “Relationships leave wounds. Families hurt. This world is broken and it breaks us in return. But Jesus heals. Jesus changes. Jesus redeems.”

His eyes were so earnest, so desperate for them to hear him.

“I am here today as a living testament to what God can do in a man’s heart. In his life. In his marriage. And I still get things wrong. And sometimes my wife has to forgive me. Actually, a lot of times.”

I huffed and blinked back tears as the hum of laughter rippled through the people listening. But then the room went quiet again—silent. Intent.

“Sometimes… sometimes when someone has hurt you more than you’ve hurt them, it feels imbalanced to forgive. It feels like letting them off the hook—especially when they haven’t recognized how much they hurt you. Believe me, I get it. If the women I hurt in my early years were to be faced with me and asked to forgive… well, I know better than anyone how difficult that would be .

“But I know Jesus. I received His forgiveness. It freed me from the very real bondage of the life I’d been living. Bondage to selfish gain. Bondage to fear. Bondage to rage . And it also made me see the true treasure of forgiveness.”

He looked at me again, then away. I took a deep breath.

“I couldn’t be more grateful for the freedom I live today—spiritually and physically. But I literally couldn’t have gotten here without forgiveness. I needed it. I received it. And now it’s my job to offer it. Just like He did. Regardless of whether it is appreciated. Regardless of whether it is recognized. Whether they think they need it or not.

“That is how Jesus forgave. And that’s the kind of forgiveness He calls me to. And you as well. I will never tell you it’s easy. I’ll never say I can offer it without wrestling with it first. I’ll never claim that I haven’t been hurt or angry when I tried to offer it, and it was rejected. But I can tell you this: When I truly forgive—whether they ask for it or not—I am free. And if I had the choice of that freedom inside the walls of a prison, or walking around outside without it, I’d choose the freedom of forgiveness. Because the people that hurt me can still wound my body, but if I forgive them, they have no power over me. Forgiveness is the most powerful weapon in this world—it can redeem a man capable of the worst violations in this world. And it can save a child from fear.

“I urge you, brothers and sisters… never stop forgiving. Embrace it. Live free.”

He paused, then, “Let’s pray…”

As everyone bowed their heads, I slipped out of my seat and walked briskly up the aisle to the side-door, praying it wouldn’t clang and give me away. There was a small room behind the stage that Sam would go to while they sang, but the only other entry was from the walkway outside, and I would be waiting for him when he got there.

Sure enough, seconds after I made it into that little square room with floor to ceiling shelves that housed everything from microphones to tinsel halos for the Christmas nativity—ugh, I was still struggling with the church’s fascination with Christmas—I wiped the tears I’d had, and clasped my hands together to keep them still, putting my back to the wall just inside the door, so if anyone looked from the congregation they wouldn’t see that I was there.

As the music swelled and the people began to sing, the door opened to let in light, music, shrill voices, and then a very hot, very dutiful husband.

Sam walked in with his head low, pulling the door closed behind him. But as he turned for the external door, I piped up.

“Not so fast, Mister Priestley.”

Sam whirled in surprise, then smiled when he saw me. “Hey, what—”

I launched myself on him and pulled his head down into a deep kiss, then pulled back to look at him. “There’s no pointy hat or weird gowns in here unfortunately, so we’re going to have to make do with… I looked to the shelves for inspiration, then frowned. “Is that a hemorrhoid pillow?” I whispered.

“God, I love you,” he whispered. My heart squeezed and I looked back up at him, staring down at me, his eyes reddened, but bright.

I beamed. “You did so good, Sam. And they were listening.”

“Babe… thank you.”

I shook my head because I was so damn proud of him and how seriously he took all this that if I tried to talk about it, I’d cry. And crying was not the goal here.

I reached for his belt. “Hurry, we don’t have long until—”

“Whoa, Bridget—”

“C’mon, Pastor Priestley— that still makes me laugh every time I say it—I said, we don’t have much time.”

“Bridget, we can’t—”

Light suddenly cut through the dim little room. “Sam, that was— oh!”

I leaped away as Sam spluttered and one of the elders, the sweet, gray-haired guy who’d asked Sam to start preaching some and to tell the church about the prison ministry, turned half away, shading his eyes, and chuckling.

“I’m sorry to interrupt, but it’s probably for the best. The children will be released from Sunday School soon.”

“Richard, I’m so sorry,” Sam started.

“No, no. It was me. He didn’t know I’d be here!” I wailed .

But Richard—who I definitely didn’t call Dick— waved us both off, smiling. “Stop, both of you. There’s no better gift in this world than a wife who wants you. Trust me, I know.”

I buried my face in my hands.

“I’m just saying, this might have been divine intervention. The kids are going to come looking for you, Sam. I heard something about coloring?” He winked.

Sam ran a hand through his hair and looked at me with a sheepish smile. He’d been letting the kids color in the lines of his tattoos and they loved it. I was less excited when I got him home and took his clothes off, only to be smeared in rainbows. But it was a small price to pay for the twinkle in his eyes right now.

He nodded at Richard. “I’ll be right out.”

“Very good. Both of you have a wonderful day. God bless you.” He turned to walk out, then caught himself, peering quickly out the door before turning back to us and lowering his voice. “Can I offer a word of advice?”

Sam swallowed and nodded. “Of course.”

“Stay in love with each other,” Richard said, eyes twinkling. “Forgiveness is easier when you… want to stay connected.” He winked. I was mortified. Then he lowered his voice to a whisper. “Also, if you’re here after hours, it’s a lot more comfortable over in the gym—they have mats. But Bev and I also discovered the delights of being on the rotation for cleaning and refilling the baptismal.”

My mouth dropped open.

Sam’s eyes bulged.

Richard chuckled. “Making love to your wife is an act of worship, Sam. It’s in the bible. Read Song of Solomon. It’s… daring . And inspired by God. Never forget that.” Then he disappeared out the door.

I was still staring, half-embarrassed, half- delighted. Sam coughed, but then he laughed. “Well, I think we found the place they won’t judge us, babe,” he said softly.

“You think?” I spluttered. “At least I feel better about being horny for you while you were preaching. I wondered if that was a sin, or not.”

Sam’s eyes widened and his grin grew wider. “I mean, if you’re already ready, I might have an idea? ”

I tipped my head. “He said the kids would be looking for you.”

I whooped in surprise as he picked me up and pinned me back against the door so no one could open it and see us, then he kissed me. But when I lifted a leg to curl around him, there was some shrieking outside the door, which meant the kids were coming. We both groaned.

Sam dropped his head and traced a finger down the V-neck of my very vanilla button down that I was wearing. “I have to go be with children, ” he said with an amused huff. But even that simple touch had me quivering…

I blew out a breath. “Sam is this ever going to stop?”

He lifted his head suddenly, frowning at me. “What?”

“This… need? I mean, how many times have we had sex? How many positions? And I swear, I can’t look at you without getting wet. It doesn’t help me be godly.”

“Apparently it does—act of worship, remember?” he quipped, arching one brow.

I traced the lines out of his forehead and leaned in to kiss him. “I hope it never stops.”

“It won’t. It was God’s idea.”

I pulled back to stare at him. “Thou shalt always want thine husband?”

“No, um…” he met my eyes and his gaze grew dark as he quoted. “May your fountain be blessed,” he murmured, dropping a hand to slide it between my legs so I gasped. “And may you rejoice in the wife of your youth. A loving doe, a graceful deer—” I snorted, but he lifted that hand back to my neckline. “May her breasts satisfy you always.” He leaned down, nuzzling between my breasts and I let my head fall back to thunk against the door. Then he lifted his head to meet my eyes again. “May you ever be intoxicated with her love,” he murmured in that dark, low gravel I’d loved since the first time I heard it.

“Oh my God, my husband is hot,” I gasped.

“My wife is hotter,” he rasped.

We both stared and I knew he was thinking the same thing I was. We could be quick, and—

There was another shriek, and a bang somewhere on the wall outside. The little terrors were coming .

“Is that why Christians have so many kids?” I groaned. “Because they can’t stop banging each other?”

“Not usually, honestly… but more than you’d think. I mean, who do you think came up with sex and passion in the first place? God made everything that’s beautiful. It’s people who fuck it up. No pun intended.”

He grinned and I kissed him again, then let my legs drop so I could get a back on my feet.

“If it matters, I want to fuck you up for the rest of my life.”

Sam’s best wicked grin flashed. “Ditto, and with that in mind…” He leaned into my ear and that crackle happened between us, his voice dropping to the deep, ragged bass of Cain. “I will be here for maybe another half an hour. I’m thinking… maybe you should go for a walk. To the park or… something?”

He pulled back, eyes blazing.

A thrill shot through me and I smiled. “Why, Pastor Samuel… are you suggesting what I thinkyou’re suggesting?”

“Can you think of a better way to celebrate forgiveness? I can’t,” he laughed.

“No, definitely not,” I said, then started brushing down my clothes and his. “But even if people are getting freaky in the baptismal—which, by the way, gross!— doesn’t mean we should traumatize children.”

“It’s definitely frowned upon,” Sam said. Then kissed me one last time quickly, before turning me around whispering in my ear, “Half an hour,” before opening the door and grabbing my ass as he nudged me to walk out first.

The pinch was unexpected and I squeaked, then slapped at him as he laughed.

When I walked out, some of the kids saw me and knew that meant Sam was close, so they ran past me, screaming hellos, then off to grab Sam to color his tattoos with their felt pens, which was fucking adorable.

I thought I did an excellent job of saying a very normal hello to the ladies at the cookie table, and greeting the new woman from the office that I’d talked to a couple of times as I made my way out to our car, because I had some clothes in the trunk.

Sam wouldn’t expect me to be in my athletic gear, so it would be harder for him to find me .

As I changed in the church bathroom, I chuckled and made a mental note about the baptismal, because ew, but when had I ever been one to shy away from something that was a bit taboo? Still, two years in, I was still surprised when I found out one of these people I used to refer to as bible thumpers were freaks.

I snorted because a Christian man had made me squirm more than a sex club. But that thought sent a shadow over my heart and for a moment I stumbled as my head went reeling back into those days when I’d thrown myself into bed with any man who would take me because it helped me escape the pain and fear for a while…

But then Sam’s precious face swam into my mind—his smile, his eyes, his heavy breath when we touched… and his voice. It seemed like I heard him with my ears, the memory was so tangible.

I’d been struggling with my past and the conflict of that with the church because everyone seemed so… good. It had taken Sam to remind me that they all had pasts—and sometimes present problems. And besides, it wasn’t the church I needed to worry about. It was Jesus.

When he took out his bible, I rolled my eyes. But he showed me the story in the book of John. Chapter eight. The promiscuous woman, ripped out of bed and taken to the temple leaders to be shamed.

Sam sat warm against my side and read the story in that delicious, deep voice of his, how the woman was ridiculed and judged by the people—especially the so-called spiritual leaders. But when she was thrown into the dirt at Jesus’ feet, he looked at the men who were challenging him to stone her to death for her sins and said, “He who is without sin, let him cast the first stone.”

One by one, the men slipped away until only Jesus was left in the middle of the crowd with the woman.

It had come alive to me—she was me. Kneeling in the dirt naked, tears on my cheeks, relieved and humiliated all once, while this man with kind eyes leaned down and said, “Where are your accusers? Didn’t they condemn you?”

“No, Lord.” In my mind it was my breathless hope in her voice, a voice shaky with tears .

Then Jesus smiled and said,“I don’t condemn you, either. Now, go and sin no more.”

I swallowed back the pinch that always rose in my throat when I remembered that moment that had touched me so deeply.

I’m trying, God, I thought, blinking back the tears of relief and joy that wanted to come. I’m trying.

I smiled as I left the church bathroom and started across the parking lot, towards the parkland down the road.

And when I reached the trees and started jogging, my body thrumming in anticipation of when Sam would appear, I thanked God for my husband who was so much like Jesus.

And I prayed he’d be intoxicated by my love for the rest of his life. Because I knew I would be drunk on him forever.

THE END… or is it?

This is the end of the Hide however, I believe we were cocky in our attempts last time. With the right instructions to the handlers, I believe we could keep our own humans safe.” Then Melek lifted his gaze to lock eyes with his King, and once again my breathing shallowed.

The man was stunning. Yet, something was wrong.

When a fallen angel mated a human woman, their children were born massive, and regardless of hair or skin color, their eyes were always a deep, pure gold that glowed like sunlight. All the Nephilim had those incredible eyes.

But because the Nephilim were always born male, their only recourse for reproduction was to mate another human woman—usually violently. That meant that each subsequent offspring in a line had less and less angelic blood running in his veins.

While their royal lines always possessed eyes of gold, the servants and lowborn of their people—furthest from the fallen angels—had eyes of deep emerald, with every shade between represented in the ranks of their society. Until, many branches down the family tree, the children were merely human with eyes of any normal color and none of the Nephilim’s size or power.

I had always been taught that only the golden-eyed among the Nephilim were allowed to carry significant rank. Yet, to my shock, Melek’s eyes were a startling, bright glow that was more green than gold. By every legend, those eyes should mean he was mostly human and lacking in the supernatural size and strength for which their kind were so feared. Though clearly that was not the case.

I gaped at this warrior of such renown, whose flesh carried the scars of battle on every inch. Even facing the King there was no hint of retreat in his posture.

Fascinating.

My breathing shallowed as the implications of that fact clicked into place: Was it possible this man had a soul?

And if so, did he possess a conscience to match?

Adrenaline rocketed through my veins, my breath stopping completely as my mind explored the potential as avidly as any hound of the dark.

And I saw it. All of it. What was needed of me. And how changing the plan could change the world.

There was no time to question. No room for doubt. I sent a silent prayer to the God against whom these creatures had rebelled before letting go of my tunic hem and slowly slipping my hand into the hidden sheath of my favorite blade strapped against my ribs.

The King began to speak at the same moment Melek’s eyes cut to the shadow in which I’d secreted myself for the past five hours, his attention caught by the flutter of my hem. The warrior reacted with the speed of a lion, and the precision of a bird of prey.

“THE ENEMY IS HERE! GUARDS TO THE KING!” he roared as he launched himself past the King’s lounge… and straight for me.