"Oh?" Saint tilts his head, "What are you going to do, Ed? You going to punch me in the face? You going to finally give in to the insecurities that crawl inside of you as much as the rest of us? You going to finally get your head out of your arse and do something about your life that’s been stalled since the incident?" He takes a step forward and I throw up a hand.
"I’m holding onto my temper with great difficulty here."
"I’m sooo scared." He grins. "What are you going to do about it, Ed? You going to get off your high horse and finally accept that you can’t stay separate from reality. That you are like the rest of us. That you’re in lust with—"
Something inside of me snaps. My vision narrows; my pores pop. I swipe out and bury my fist in his face. Saint stumbles back as blood spurts from his face. He straightens, shakes his head, then bares his teeth. "Finally," he growls, "fucking finally, you show what’s there under that exterior."
"I haven’t even started." I take a step forward, swipe out my fist. He ducks, then jumps forward. He lowers his head, charges, catches me in the chest. I hit the ground, Saint on top of me. He raises his fist and I laugh. "Hit me. Go ahead, I deserve this and more."
Saint blinks. He scowls down at me, "What the hell?"
"Why did you stop?" I growl. "Hit me," I command.
"You lost it, man?" He frowns.
"You’ve lost it." I strike out with my fist and he evades it. Anger seizes me; frustration thrums at my temples. I rear up, smash my forehead into his chin and he yells.
"What the bloody fuck?" He pulls back his fist and I laugh and laugh.
"Do it," I spit out. "Hit me in the face."
He hesitates.
"Or have you lost your nerve?"
Saint’s gaze narrows; his nostrils flare. His fist descends toward me. I close my eyes and wait. Wait. The next second, his weight is pulled off of me.
"What the—?" I snap my eyes open, just as Sinner hauls me to my feet.
Arpad and Damian restrain Saint as he glares at me, chest heaving.
"Stop this." Weston frowns. "You should know better than to rise to the bait, Saint." He turns on me, "And you, Father? What’s gotten into you? You taunted him, knowing he was going to lose his temper, and of all the places, in Church."
"The Church?" I blink. "I am in the House of God," I whisper in horror. I squeeze my hands into fists. I’ve done it. I’ve sullied the one place that is more holy to me than anywhere else. I’ve tarnished the most sacred of spaces. I’ve given in to temptation. Again. What is wrong with me? I hang my head. "Get out of here, all of you," I whisper. "Out."
That’s when the ringing of a phone breaks the silence.
Sinclair answers his phone, then glances up at me. "It’s for you."
"Me?"
I take the phone from him, "Hello?"
"Edward? It’s Isla speaking. I am calling about Ava."
"Ava?" My fingers tighten, "What’s wrong with Ava?" My heart begins to race. "Tell me right now."
"She’s fine…" Isla hesitates, "but not for much longer."
I hear the sound of music in the background, then something crashes to the floor. A man swears in the background. There’s the sound of cheering, then Isla gasps.
"Isla, what’s happening?" I frown.
"We are at the National Portrait Gallery bar. You’d better get here fast."
I toss the phone back at Sinner, turn and race for the door, when he calls out, "Better change out of your priestly garb first, Father."
I pause to stare down at myself. Should I take it off? No way, am I going to a bar dressed like this… And yet… Why does it seem like I am making some kind of choice? Does it mean that I am forsaking Him? No. Of course, not. All I’m doing is going to help out a friend. That’s allowed, right?
