CHAPTER 33

CHAPTER 33

EZRA

I woke up with my face glued to my notes. Literally glued. My cheek had that weird imprint from the spiral binding of my math notebook. Attractive.

I blinked at the clock. My heart stopped.

7:40 p.m.

Choir practice.

“Oh, crap.” I shot upright, grabbing my hoodie and my bag. My legs were jelly from sitting too long but I still bolted out the door like someone had set fire to my ass.

Why hadn’t Genevieve woken me? She always reminded me, always hovered about “discipline” and “church duties.” But today? Nothing. Not even a knock.

I muttered under my breath as I half-jogged toward the church. “Of course, the one time I actually need her nagging—poof, she vanishes. Typical.”

The church doors were locked.

Empty.

My stomach dropped.

“Great. Fantastic. Perfect timing, Ezra Vale, you’re officially useless.”

I pressed my forehead against the wooden door. It was still warm from the sun that had set hours ago. But no voices inside. No hymns. Just silence.

The worst part? I had no excuse. If anyone asked, I couldn’t even lie. Sorry, Father, I was too busy face-planting into trigonometry functions to serve the Lord tonight.

I sighed, shoving my hands in my hoodie pocket, and started walking home.

Halfway down the road, the sky opened up.

“Oh, come on!”

Raindrops smacked my face, heavy and cold, soaking through my hoodie instantly. I hunched my shoulders, but it was useless. No umbrella. No jacket. Just me, a wet rat trudging down the road.

“This is punishment,” I muttered. “Heaven’s like, oh, you thought you could sleep instead of choir? Here, have pneumonia.”

I didn’t even notice him until a hand landed on my shoulder.

I froze.

I turned.

Father Nico.

“Evening,” he said smoothly. Not a drop of water on him, like the rain didn’t dare touch him. His umbrella tilted just enough to cover himself but not me. Figures.

“Oh—hi, Father.” My voice cracked. I stepped back a little, but his hand stayed on my shoulder. Heavy. Firm.

“You’re out late.”

“I… fell asleep. Missed practice.”

He smiled, all teeth. “We all get tired sometimes.”

I nodded quickly. My stomach twisted. His hand hadn’t moved. If anything, it was sliding lower. From my shoulder to the edge of my chest. Down toward my side.

My throat closed.

“Uh…” I tried to shift away.

“Ah.” He pulled back instantly, fingers flicking up like he’d just touched a flame. “That was a mistake.”

He said it so casually. Like it really had been an accident. Like I hadn’t just felt his fingers too close to my ribs.

But his eyes—dark, gleaming, locked on me—told a different story.

A very different story.

I forced a laugh. It sounded fake. “Right. Mistake. Happens.”

“Of course.” He smiled thinly. “You should be careful walking alone this late. Anyone could be out here.”

“Yeah.” My voice was flat. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

The rain wasn’t stopping. My hoodie clung to me like wet paper, and Father Nico still hadn’t left.

He stood there under his umbrella, his eyes locked on me, unblinking. Too smooth. Too calm.

And then he started moving closer.

Step. Step. Step.

My heart stuttered. My feet wanted to move, but my body just… froze.

“Ezra,” he said softly, almost drowned out by the rain. “You look cold. Let me—”

“Ezra.”

That voice didn’t come from Nico.

It came from behind him. Deep. Firm. Commanding.

I whipped around.

Father Dorian was there, rain sliding down his dark hair, his black shirt plastered to his chest, his jaw clenched so hard I thought it might snap.

And he looked murderous.

“With me,” he said. No hesitation. No question. Just absolute command.

I didn’t think. I didn’t breathe. I just followed.

Nico’s smile flickered, like he wanted to protest, but Dorian didn’t even give him a glance. His hand brushed the small of my back, steady, guiding me away.

I walked dazed through the sheets of rain, steps splashing in puddles, my heart still pounding.

We didn’t stop until he pulled open a gate and ushered me into a small house nearby.

Warm air hit my frozen skin instantly. The smell of cedarwood and something faintly like coffee filled my nose.

Dorian closed the door behind us, the lock clicking.

I stood there dripping on the floor like a stray cat he’d dragged in.

“Sit.” His voice was still edged with that dangerous tone, but softer now.

I sat. My legs obeyed before my brain caught up.

He disappeared into another room, then came back with a towel. He dropped it over my shoulders, heavy and warm.

“Dry off.”

I tried, but my hands were shaking too much.

The towel was snatched out of my grip.

Then his large hands were in my hair, rubbing roughly, forcing the water out.

I squeaked. “I can—”

“Be still.”

So I sat there, stiff, while Father Dorian Vale of all people dried my hair like I was a child who’d gotten caught in the rain.

Except nothing about it felt innocent.

The silence stretched. The sound of the towel dragging over my scalp was loud. Too loud. My heart was louder.

His touch wasn’t gentle, but it wasn’t harsh either. It was just… him. Strong. Steady. Too close.

I swallowed hard. My throat was dry despite being soaked head to toe.

Finally, he dropped the towel onto my lap and stepped back. His chest rose and fell with controlled breaths, like he was holding something in.

“Why were you out there alone?” His voice was quieter now, but sharp.

“I—I overslept,” I stammered. “Missed practice. I was walking home.”

His jaw ticked. “And Nico?”

I looked away. My lips pressed tight.

“Ezra.”

God, the way he said my name. I hated it. Loved it. Wanted to crawl into the floor and also into his arms at the same time.

“He… he just showed up,” I whispered. “Said it was a mistake when he—” I cut myself off.

Dorian’s eyes burned into me. “When he what?”

I shook my head fast. “Nothing. It’s fine.”

“It’s not fine.” His voice was low, dangerous.

I pulled the towel tighter around me. “It’s over now.”

The silence after that was unbearable.

The sound of the rain pounding outside. My wet clothes clinging to me. His eyes locked on me like he could see straight through my skin.

I couldn’t breathe.

Finally, I blurted, “Thank you. For… y’know. Saving me from—”

“Don’t thank me.” His voice cut me off sharp. “Just don’t let him near you again.”

I nodded quickly, clutching the towel like it was a shield.

But as I sat there, dripping and trembling in Father Dorian’s house, with him towering in front of me, every nerve in my body screamed the same truth:

I was not safe here either.

Not from him.

Not from myself.

The silence stretched too long. Too heavy.

I sat there in Father Dorian’s living room, towel still clutched around me, trying not to notice the way his shirt clung to his chest. The way the wet fabric made every line of muscle stand out. The way the black ink curled up his arm and disappeared beneath the collar.

I tried not to notice.

Failed miserably.

Because my eyes wouldn’t move. Not from the tattoos, not from the veins in his forearm, not from the way his mouth pressed into that hard line that I wanted to—

Stop. Stop it right now.

But I didn’t.

His eyes caught mine. Held them.

“Ezra.” My name was gravel in his mouth.

I swallowed. My voice cracked. “Y-yeah?”

“Stop staring.”

My face went up in flames. “I wasn’t—”

“You were.” He stepped closer.

The air thinned. My chest squeezed.

I should’ve looked away. Should’ve remembered the thousands of prayers I’d whispered this week alone. But I didn’t. I stayed locked on him, on the way a drop of rain slid down his temple, catching on his jaw.

And then his hand was cupping my jaw, rough and steady, tilting my face up.

Oh God. Oh God.

“This is wrong,” I whispered.

He didn’t answer.

Instead, he kissed me.

Hard.

My thoughts scattered. My body betrayed me. I kissed him back like I’d been starving for it. Because I had.

Our mouths clashed, messy, desperate, nothing holy about it. My fingers clutched his shirt, pulling him closer, while he tilted his head and kissed me deeper, like he wanted to own the air in my lungs.

A whimper slipped out of me. Embarrassing. Too real.

And then—I don’t even know how it happened—I ended up straddling his thigh.

He gripped my waist, steadying me. My hips jerked forward on instinct, grinding down against the hard muscle of his thigh. Sparks shot up my spine. My whole body shook.

“Dorian,” I gasped against his mouth.

He growled. Actually growled. The sound vibrated through me, made my skin prickle.

His hands tightened at my waist, pulling me closer, guiding me as I rocked down. The friction was unbearable, too much, too good. My head dropped to his shoulder, panting against his skin.

“God, Ezra…” he muttered. His voice cracked like he was breaking apart too.

That was it. The last straw.

Because somewhere in my brain, the alarms finally went off—loud, blaring.

SIN. SIN. SIN.

What the hell was I doing?

I froze mid-grind, heart hammering so hard it hurt. My face burned, my body screaming at me to keep moving, but my soul—my guilt—slammed the brakes.

“No—no, I can’t,” I gasped, shoving at his chest.

He froze instantly, like I’d shocked him. His eyes widened, his hands dropping away.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” I stammered, scrambling off his lap. My legs nearly gave out. “I shouldn’t—I can’t—I’m so sorry—”

“Ezra—” His voice was rough, desperate, but I didn’t let him finish.

Because I bolted.

Straight out of his house, towel slipping from my shoulders, rain hammering down on me—

Except.

The rain had stopped.

Like it knew my shame and didn’t even want to cover me anymore.

I stumbled down the road, soaked and shaking, the ghost of his mouth still burning against mine, my whole body trembling with how close I’d come to losing myself.

“God, forgive me,” I whispered, tears mixing with the leftover rain on my face.

But deep down, I already knew forgiveness wasn’t the first thing I wanted.