CHAPTER 13

CHAPTER 13

EZRA 

The bus pulled up a long dirt road, tires crunching gravel until the trees broke open into a clearing. Cabins lined the slope, wooden and plain, with smoke curling from one chimney. The air was colder here, sharp against my cheeks when I stepped down.

“Welcome to holy isolation,” Lily whispered, hugging her sweater tight.

Jordan snorted. “Three days. We’ll survive.”

Behind us, Father Nico hopped off the bus, stretching his arms wide like he’d just discovered a vacation resort. “Ahh, smell that air. Pure. Holy. Almost makes you forget Wi-Fi exists.”

A few people laughed politely. I didn’t. Something about his tone was too slick, like a salesman trying too hard.

Lily leaned close. “Why does he sound like he’s auditioning for a commercial?”

“Shh,” I whispered, though I agreed.

Sister Anne clapped her hands. “Cabin assignments! Everyone, gather.”

We shuffled toward her. She held a clipboard, eyes bright as she called names.

“Ryan and Ezra.”

I exhaled in relief. Ryan was harmless—quiet, nerdy, liked crossword puzzles. I could handle that.

“Lily and Jordan.”

The girls fist-bumped.

“Father Vale and Andrew.”

Andrew, a broad-shouldered guy from the men’s choir, stepped forward… then hesitated. “Uh, Sister? I don’t think I should bunk with Father Vale.”

I froze. Not me. Not me. Please God, I’ll fast for a week. Anything but that.

 “I, uh… I’d rather stay with Ryan.”

My stomach dropped.

Ryan blinked. “Wait, but I’m with Ezra—”

“Exactly,” Andrew said sheepishly. “Ezra and I don’t… mesh well. Ryan and I do.”

I opened my mouth. “I can—”

But Genevieve’s gaze snapped to me.

One sharp look. 

My throat closed. The words died in my mouth.

Sister Anne smiled, oblivious. “Perfect, then. Ezra and Father Vale.”

The world tilted.

Lily’s mouth dropped open. “No way.”

Jordan elbowed her. “Shut up.”

I wanted to argue, beg, throw myself into the river nearby. But Genevieve’s stare pinned me in place like nails to wood.

“Yes, Sister,” I said faintly.

Father Dorian didn’t react. Not a blink. Not a sigh. Just nodded once, his expression unreadable.

“Excellent,” Sister Anne chirped. “Everyone, find your cabins. Dinner at six.”

The group dispersed, chatter filling the air. Lily grabbed my arm before I could collapse.

“You’re dead,” she whispered. “Dead, Ezra. Buried.”

“Don’t remind me,” I groaned.

Jordan looked half-amused, half-sympathetic. “It’s only three nights. Maybe he snores. That’ll kill the vibe.”

I shot her a glare. “You think I care about snoring when I have to—” I lowered my voice. “—breathe the same air as him?”

Lily was practically vibrating. “Oh my God, this is fate. Holy, forbidden, sexy fate.”

“Shut up before I smother you,” I hissed.

Genevieve passed behind us just then, spine straight as a ruler. “Ezra. Don’t dawdle.”

“Yes, ma’am,” I muttered.

When she was gone, I buried my face in my hands. “I’m done for. Actually done for.”

Jordan patted my shoulder. “Look at it this way. At least it’s not Nico.”

I shivered. “Don’t even joke about that.”

From the corner of my eye, I saw Father Dorian heading toward the cabin with his bag, posture calm, unbothered, like none of this meant anything.

Meanwhile, my soul was already writing my obituary.

Three nights.

With him.

I wasn’t going to survive this retreat.

Our cabin looked harmless from the outside—just another wooden lodge with two windows and a creaky porch. Inside, it was even smaller than I feared: two twin beds, a desk, a wardrobe, and a bathroom in the corner. Cozy, if you were staying with a friend. Suffocating, if you were me.

Dorian set his bag neatly by one bed. He didn’t even hesitate. He belonged everywhere he walked, like the cabin was already his.

I, meanwhile, stood in the doorway clutching my bag like it was a life raft.

“Pick a bed,” he said simply.

I dropped mine on the other side. “This one.”

“Fine.”

He started unpacking, precise and silent. His collar, his black shirt, folded clothes stacked with military neatness. I tried not to watch. I failed.

Then he reached for his belt.

My throat closed. He’s not—

He shrugged off his clerical shirt and dropped it on the bed. White undershirt. Then he pulled that off too.

I choked. Literally choked.

It started as a cough, but then another followed, and suddenly I was hacking like I’d swallowed smoke.

Dorian turned, frowning. “What’s wrong?”

What was wrong? Everything. Absolutely everything.

Because for the first time, I saw him. Not the faint glimpse in the vestry. Not shadows half-hidden. This was full daylight, no filter, no mercy.

Ink covered him. Black swirls, lines, scripture, symbols across his back, arms, even curling over his chest. Every inch of his skin spoke of another life, another man, someone who had lived before the priest’s collar.

And I couldn’t breathe.

He stepped closer, concern in his voice. “Ezra?”

“Don’t—” I wheezed, stumbling back. “Don’t come close!”

He froze. His brow furrowed.

I waved my hands like that would push him back. “Why would you—why would you change in front of me?”

His expression flickered between confusion and something darker. “What?”

“You’re—you’re a priest! You can’t just—” My words tangled, my chest still hiccupping with coughs. “That’s indecent!”

He tilted his head, eyes narrowing slightly. “I didn’t realize I needed to ask your permission to change my shirt.”

Heat flooded my face. “That’s not what I meant!”

“Then what did you mean?”

I opened my mouth. Nothing came out.

He just looked at me, calm but curious, like he was waiting for me to dig my own grave. Which I absolutely was.

Finally, I blurted the only thing my brain could string together. “You can’t just be shirtless around people, Father. It’s… distracting.”

The word slipped out before I could stop it.

His eyebrows lifted, just slightly.

I wanted to sink into the floor. “Forget I said that! I didn’t mean—oh my God, I didn’t mean that.”

Silence stretched. He didn’t move. He didn’t laugh. He just watched me with those dark eyes that saw way too much.

My face burned hotter than fire. “I—I need water,” I stammered. “Or air. Or both.”

I bolted to the bathroom, slammed the door, and leaned against it, heart pounding so loud I swore he could hear.

In the mirror, my face was bright red, my hair sticking in every direction.

“Great, Ezra,” I muttered to my reflection. “Just great. He changes his shirt and you nearly die of a coughing fit. Real smooth.”

I splashed water on my face, gripping the sink. But no amount of cold water could erase the image burned into my mind: the ink crawling across his muscles, the way he looked

standing in that tiny room, larger than life.

I pressed my forehead to the mirror and groaned.

Three nights. Three nights in the same cabin with him.

I was already doomed.