CHAPTER 18

CHAPTER 18

DORIAN

I woke up before dawn.

It wasn’t because of habit. Or duty. Or God.

It was because Ezra’s ass was pressed against me, and if I didn’t move, I was going to lose every shred of control I had left.

I shifted back a little. Didn’t help. His body curved perfectly into mine, soft and warm, and my thoughts went dark fast. Too fast.

Stop. He’s a boy. He’s your ward. He’s under your care. You’re a priest now.

Didn’t matter. My body didn’t care what my head said. My body wanted.

I needed air.

I slipped out of the bed, careful not to wake him. The room was cold, still filled with night shadows.

And then I heard it. A soft squeak.

The rat.

The damn rat that shoved us into the same bed in the first place.

It darted across the floor near the wall.

I grabbed the broom leaning in the corner. Tracked it. My chest still heavy with the memory of Ezra pressed against me.

It froze in the corner, whiskers twitching. Easy to kill.

I raised the broom.

Stopped.

What was I doing?

It was just a rat. Harmless.

I lowered the broom. Instead, I crouched and managed to catch it by the tail. It squirmed in my grip, squealing.

“Father?”

Ezra’s voice. Soft. Sleep-heavy.

I turned. He was sitting up, hair a mess, eyes wide.

He squealed the second he saw the rat dangling from my hand. “Oh my God—Father!”

I almost smiled. Almost.

“It’s just a rat,” I said, calm.

“Just a rat?!” He scrambled back on the bed, clutching the blanket like it was armor. “Kill it!”

“No.”

“No?!” His voice cracked. “What do you mean no?”

“It’s harmless.”

“It’s disgusting!”

I sighed, walked to the window, pushed it open. Cold morning air swept in.

Ezra made a gagging noise behind me as I tossed the rat out into the grass.

I shut the window, turned back to him. He was still pressed against the wall, breathing hard.

“You can go back to your bed now,” I said evenly.

He blinked at me then nodded quickly and scrambled off my bed back to his own.

I watched him burrow under the blanket like a scared rabbit. His curls spilled over the pillow, his lips parted as his breathing evened again.

Too soft. Too pretty. Too dangerous.

I sat on the edge of my bed, head in my hands.

Get it together, Dorian. You’re not twenty-five anymore. You’re not a lawyer sleeping with anyone who looks at you twice. You made vows. You gave this up. So stop thinking about him. Stop thinking about his mouth. Stop thinking about—

I dragged a hand over my face and forced myself to breathe until the sun started to edge over the horizon.

By six-thirty, the bell rang for devotion.

The cabin stirred. Voices outside. Doors opening, footsteps crunching on gravel.

Ezra sat up groggily, rubbing his eyes. He looked younger like that. Innocent.

“Devotion time,” I said.

He yawned. “Already?”

“Yes.”

He groaned but stood, fumbling for his sweater. His curls stuck up in every direction. He caught me looking and flushed.

“What?” he asked quickly.

“Nothing,” I said. Too quickly.

We walked out together, joining the others in the small open-air chapel. Wooden benches lined the space, candles flickering at the front.

“Morning, Father Vale,” someone greeted.

I nodded. “Morning.”

Genevieve was already seated, spine straight as ever. Nico, too, his smile too smooth for this hour.

Ezra slid onto a bench beside Lily and Jordan. Lily immediately started whispering something in his ear, and he laughed quietly.

I turned back to the front, forcing my attention where it belonged.

Devotion. Scripture. Prayer.

Not the boy in the back who haunted me more than any sin I’d confessed.

“Father Vale?” Genevieve’s voice pulled me out of my thoughts. “Would you lead us this morning?”

I nodded, stood, and walked to the front.

All eyes on me.

I opened the Bible. Read the verses. Spoke the words. Told them about faith, about strength, about resisting temptation.

The irony didn’t escape me.

Because even as my lips shaped holy words, all I could think about was how close Ezra had been in the dark. His body brushing mine. His warmth.

I cleared my throat, forcing the words out steady.

“Let us pray.”

Everyone bowed their heads.

And I prayed harder than all of them combined—prayed not for them, but for myself.

Because God help me, I was losing this fight.