Page 65 of Please Open Me
And it killed me.
Still, I couldn’t just come clean. Because while Cameronmightunderstand the reach of Dale and the Sons of Christ, he’d never understand how I fell into it. More than that, he’d never forgive me.
And I loved him too much to risk losing him.
I blew out a shaky breath, and the door behind me banged open, too large for its frame. Like it belonged to a tomb that didn’t want to be disturbed.
In flooded the heavy, cloying scent of frankincense. The smoke was so thick it looked like it pooled on the floor, rolling in intangible waves, curling around my ankles like fog and anchoring me in place.
“Good morning, Father Castillo.” Dale’s drawl hit me like a bucket of slime.
It oozed down my skin, clinging to every inch of me like cold sweat—though realistically, that’s exactly what it was.
I winced and tilted my head to the side.
“Just Sebastian,” I whispered.
“Well then, Sebastian,” Dale said, his shoes echoing on the hardwood as he stepped inside, each footfall softening as he crossed the rug beneath the desk.
A liver-spotted hand appeared on my shoulder, its weight featherlight and with all the warmth of a corpse.
True to his story, Dale’s health had begun to fail over the past few months. But while I prayed for his death every day, deep down I wasn’t sure even that would be enough to end the Sons of Christ.
“Do you have any good news for the congregation today, son?” His grip tightened to the point of pain, but I muscled through it.
He wanted a reaction, and that was the one thing I’d never give him. Well, that, and the second coming he so craved.
Slowly, I shook my head.
“I told you on Thursday, nothing.” And that was what I’d cling to.
Nothing had changed between then and now… well, other than an almost incurable case of baby fever. Never in my life had I yearned for a child like this, but ever since Sophia brought it up… I couldn’t stop thinking about it.
Mason with a bump, Rosie in hand, and another baby on her hip. Fuck, I wanted that. I wanted that level of domestic bliss so badly it hurt, and I wondered ifthiswas how Cameron felt for the two decades he’d been denied his happily ever after.
“I’m well aware of what you told me, son.” Dale let go before circling around the desk and sinking into the high back chair.
He looked up at me, hands steepled on the desk.
“Why don’t you take a seat? You look pale.” He gestured toward the metal chairs beside me.
“I’m always pale. It’s just my complexion.”
His lips fell into the slightest frown.
“You should allow your hair to go back to blonde,” he said, gesturing toward my shitty dye job. “It’s more fitting for a man of your stature.” Dale leaned back, eyes warm and predatory. “God built you in the image of Michael, one of his finest archangels, because he knew your life would serve a greater purpose.”
“I’ll consider it.”
Dale nodded, satisfied, and I made a mental note to grab another box of black hair dye on my way home.
“Continuing on,” he said, voice smooth, “I’m aware of what was said. But children are such marvelous things. As is life, on the whole.”
He tilted his head slightly, gaze drifting upward.
“One moment, nothing. And the next—” his expression shifted, eyes bright with something euphoric “—things change. Miracles happen. And everything shifts... in the best way possible.”
My breathing halted as his toxic-gaze swept over me. Saliva pooled in my mouth, but I forced it down. The paranoid part of me said he knew something I didn’t, while the logical part reminded me that Dale wanted a reaction. He wanted to confirm or deny that I was hiding something from him based on how I responded.
