CHAPTER 66

EZRA

I stepped out of the confessional like my lungs were on fire. My collar felt too tight. My heartbeat was still trying to slow down, but it wasn’t obeying me.

God, I shouldn’t have come this early.

I fixed my shirt, ran a hand through my hair, and tried to pretend I didn’t look like I’d just—well—committed another sin in the holiest place possible.

I barely made it out of the booth before I almost collided with Genevieve.

“Ezra.” Her voice was crisp and sharp, the kind that could freeze a demon mid-flight.

“ Genevieve,” I blurted, stepping back so fast I almost tripped over a pew. “Good morning.”

Her eyes narrowed immediately, like she’d just found something suspicious and shiny. “You’re here rather early.”

I forced a smile that felt more like a grimace. “Uh… yes, ma’am. I just—uh—came for confession.”

She tilted her head, the way a hawk tilts before it dives for a rabbit. “Confession?”

“Y-yes.” My voice cracked. “I… I haven’t, um, fasted for days, so I felt… guilty.”

I hated how the words stumbled out of my mouth. Guilty. Understatement of the century.

Genevieve crossed her arms. “That’s admirable of you, Ezra. Very devout. And the priest?”

I blinked, trying not to look like someone who’d just had his soul kissed out of him in that same booth. “Father Dorian was available,” I said quickly. “He, uh, helped.”

“Helped,” she repeated, each syllable stretched like she was tasting the word. “I see.”

Her eyes swept over me once, slowly, and I swear she could smell sin like perfume. My palms went slick.

“Your collar is crooked,” she said after a long silence.

“Oh.” I touched it. “Thank you.”

She didn’t move. Neither did I. The silence thickened until I thought I might drown in it.

Then, finally, she said, “Go home, Ezra. Rest. You look… flushed.”

I almost choked. “Flushed? Me? No, no, just—uh—the weather. It’s warm.”

“It’s eight in the morning,” she replied flatly.

“Right,” I said quickly. “Morning heat.”

She gave me one last stare that could have written my obituary and said, “Remember, a disciplined body honors a disciplined soul.”

I nodded like a bobblehead. “Yes, ma’am. I’ll keep that in mind.”

Then I bolted.

Once I was outside, the cold air slapped me like a blessing. I leaned against the nearest wall, sucking in a breath that actually felt like air and not shame.

“She knows,” I muttered to myself. “She definitely knows.”

A group of parish kids walked past, giggling about choir schedules. I quickly straightened and pretended to be scrolling through my phone.

Why did I even come this early? I could have stayed home, read, prayed quietly—done literally anything that didn’t involve temptation wrapped in black robes and a voice that could make me confess things that weren’t even sins yet.

And now, Genevieve.

I started walking home, fast. Maybe I could still make it before she decided to tell Dorian she’d seen me sneaking around.

The guilt in my chest was mixing with something worse—thrill.

I hated it. But it was there.

“Pull yourself together, Ezra,” I muttered under my breath. “You’re supposed to be holy, not horny.”

My phone buzzed. A text.

Father Dorian: Did you get home safely?

I stared at the message for a long time. My lips pressed together before I typed back:

Me: Yes, Father. Thank you.

Then deleted “Father” and re-sent it as

Me: Yes, Dorian. Thank you.

His reply came immediately.

Dorian: Good. You did well.

I nearly dropped the phone. My face went hot.

I slapped my own cheek lightly. “Nope. Nope. Not thinking about that.”

But my brain didn’t listen. It replayed his voice, his breath, the way he’d whispered my name like a prayer and a curse at once.

“Lord help me,” I groaned, dragging a hand down my face.

By the time I got home, my heart rate was still somewhere near chaos. I collapsed on my bed and stared at the ceiling, half-expecting Genevieve to burst through my door and start exorcising me with holy water.

Instead, I got another text.

Lily: Choir practice at five. Don’t you dare ghost again.

Me: Wouldn’t dream of it.

Lily: You okay? You sound weird.

Me: Just… spiritually confused.

Lily: You need Jesus and a nap.

Me: Already got one of them.

I tossed my phone aside and laughed into my pillow.

Maybe she was right. Maybe I needed a nap. Maybe I needed Jesus.

Or maybe what I needed was to stop lying to myself about why I kept running back to that confessional booth every chance I got.

Because it wasn’t for forgiveness.

It was for him.