That was it, though. I hadn’t just lost Harley by feeding my flesh, I’d lost a part of my relationship with God.
And maybe I would even lose the monastic community, my brothers and fathers. Because I needed to tell Father Cruz. I couldn’t keep my sins a secret any longer.
Chapter 25
Harley
Down for breakfast after work?
Standing behind the bar in Golden Palace’s VIP section, I stared at the napkin a clubber had slipped me. We’d been eyeing each other through the bobbing crowd and strobe lights for the past hour while I’d been serving, and even now as I glanced at him sitting in one of the lounges with his buddies, the hip hop music and hubbub of voices faded into the background. I knew exactly why I was drawn to him—he looked like a less rugged version of Kingsley with his dark brown hair, green eyes, and broad shoulders.
Oh, I had no doubt what “breakfast” meant, and my hurting heart craved nothing more than that. It was a surefire way to erase Kingsley from my mind. The way his muscles flexed when I touched him. How he tasted. How he whispered my name.
Who are you kidding, girl? The man is seared into your memory. Your soul. You won’t be able to forget him.
Probably ever.
A week had gone by since I’d left him, and with each passing day, the urge to run back to him grew stronger. So much so that I had begged Rome to let me work again. He’d agreed, but not without ramming down my coworkers’ throats to keep an eye on me. And I knew for certain that he was watching me like a hawk over the security camera feed.
“What is this?”
I jumped and whirled around. “Sheesh, Rome. You can’t sneak up on me like that.”
“What did he write, Harley?” he barked over the music. The intensity rolling off him made me hand over the napkin without protest. He glared at me for a moment longer, then dropped his spearing gaze to the black ink. His jaw flexed. “You’re not going with that guy.”
“I think I’m old enough to make my own decisions.”
“He could be affiliated with Fuller—”
“Not everyone is involved with him.”
“I know you’re hurting, but a one-night-stand isn’t what you need right now. Trust me, okay?”
I rolled my eyes, even though he was right. I didn’t even know why I considered something so stupid.
“I swear, Harley—”
“Do you wanna chain me up or something?” I jutted my chin. Apparently heartache turned me into a petulant child. Ugh. Why did I have to be like this?
Rome crumpled the napkin. “Don’t make me.”
He pushed past me and through the crowd until he’d reached the guy. Whatever he said, the clubber raised his hands in a placating gesture and inched away from Rome. I wanted to go over there, grab the guy’s hand, and walk out of here. Just to prove that he wasn’t in cahoots with Craig.
Or maybe I wanted Craig to find me.
I closed my eyes.Why am I like this, God? Why on earth would I want to continue to damage myself? And why do I always run to men when I’m hurting or feel lonely? I thought I was past this.
Rome came back, looking like he wanted to send his fist through something.
“I’m sorry,” I yelled. “I’m sorry for behaving like this. I don’t know what’s gotten into me.”
“There’s a lot we do to quiet our pain. I tried everything a man can come up with, and let me tell you the only thing that worked: allowing the pain while sitting at Jesus’s feet. Gotta shovel down some humble pie for that.” He moved past me and disappeared in the secret passageway leading to his office.
I just stood there, staring holes into the stuffy air. Rome had made an excellent point. I never really sat down with Jesus when I was hurting. Usually I prayed, then distracted myself with who knew what. I wanted to try this. Instead of avoiding the pain I wanted to sit in it for a bit and see what God had to say.
“Hellooooo!” A lanky man waved his hand in front of me, yanking me out of my stupor. “I’m talking to you, sweetheart.”
Sweetheart.
