CHAPTER 12

CHAPTER 12

EZRA

 Sunlight slanted through the window beside me, too bright, making me squint.

I shifted uncomfortably, but before I could say anything, Father Dorian reached over me and slid the curtain down.

Close. Too close.

His shoulder brushed mine. His arm was right there, solid and unyielding. His cologne—or whatever priests wore—wrapped around me, clean and warm, edged with something sharper.

I froze. My throat tightened.

“Better?” he asked, his voice low.

I hiccupped.

Hiccuped.

“Oh my God,” I muttered, covering my face.

Lily leaned, whispering, “Are you seriously hiccuping right now?”

“Shut up,” I hissed.

Father Dorian’s lips curved, almost but not quite a smile. He turned his gaze back toward the aisle, like the moment meant nothing. Like my insides weren’t combusting.

Then I noticed something. His sleeves had rolled up when he reached for the curtain. His forearm stretched, the skin tight, and there—ink.

Without thinking, I blurted, “Is a priest even supposed to have tattoos?”

The words spilled out louder than intended. Lily choked on her water. Jordan snorted behind her hand.

Dorian’s head turned toward me slowly. His eyes locked on mine, unreadable, but his mouth curved into something faintly amused.

“I wasn’t always a priest,” he said.

That made me blink. “What were you, then?”

He paused. For a second, I thought he wouldn’t answer. But then, in that same calm, clipped tone, he said, “A lawyer.”

I blinked again. “A lawyer?”

“Yes.”

I stared at him like he’d just told me he used to be Batman. “Why—why would you leave that? That’s like… that’s money. Suits. Offices with big desks. Fancy cars. You gave that up for… this?”

Lily whispered under her breath, “Ezra, stop.”

But I couldn’t. My brain wouldn’t shut up. “No, seriously. People would kill to be lawyers. And you… just walked away? To wear robes and—” I gestured vaguely at his collar. “—do this?”

His eyes sharpened, though his expression stayed calm. “This,” he repeated.

“Yeah. I mean… yeah?”

Jordan leaned forward. “Ezra. He doesn’t owe you his life story.”

But I was too far gone. “Was it like a midlife crisis thing? Or guilt? Or—”

“Ezra.” His voice cut through mine. Not loud. Just firm.

I froze.

His gaze pinned me, and for a second, the bus seemed too small, too quiet. He leaned back against the seat, his arm brushing mine again.

“You ask too many questions,” he said.

I swallowed. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry.” His mouth curved, faint but deliberate. “Just know I’m not answering any more. I can already see the wheels turning in your head.”

My face burned. “I don’t have wheels.”

“You do.”

“I don’t.”

“You do,” he said again, certain.

Lily nudged me with her hand. “Ezra, you’re actually red right now. Like tomato red.”

“I’m not,” I muttered.

“You are,” Jordan said dryly.

I buried my face in my hands. “Why are you all ganging up on me?”

“Because you’re funny when you’re flustered,” Lily said sweetly.

I groaned.

Father Dorian didn’t say anything else after that. He just sat there, arms folded, gaze fixed ahead. But the faintest smile lingered on his lips. Like he knew exactly what kind of chaos he’d left in my chest.

And I hated him for it.

And maybe loved it, too.

This was going to be the longest bus ride of my life.