Page 63 of Priest

“But,” she continues, and there it is, “you still don’t want babies. I already knew that. Even Sadie knew that. She said it.” Her gaze drops to her belly, then comes back to me, steadier than I deserve. “You’ve got your stupid, ridiculous rules, and they don’t fit my life. They don’t fit what I want or need anymore.”

She sets her fork down with care.

“This just doesn’t work anymore.”

“No,” I say immediately, the word tearing out of me before I can stop it. I shove my chair back and stand, heart hammering so hard it makes me lightheaded. “No. Stop.”

She stills.

“God,” I choke, dragging a hand through my hair. “The moment I saw you, saw that rounded belly, a switch flipped in me. This possessive, god-awful caveman switch I didn’t even know I had.”

Her eyes widen slightly.

“I was so damn proud,” I keep going, voice breaking now. “So proud that that was my baby in your belly. That you were tied to me permanently.” I swallow hard, and there’s no hiding from it now. No rules left to stand behind. No pride thick enough to cover what she’s doing to me. “I want this baby more than I want sunlight on my skin. I want you more than I want air to breathe.”

The words feel ripped straight out of my chest.

“No rules,” I say hoarsely. “No nothin’. Equal partners. You as my Old Lady. Back home where you belong.”

She stands.

Somehow that movement guts me worse than if she’d thrown another vase.

“That still isn’t going to work for me, Priest,” she says quietly. “I built a life for myself here. I like my job. I like my friends. I am happy.”

Each sentence lands like a measured blow.

“I am not going to uproot my life because you’ve had a sudden revelation.”

She steps closer and presses my cut into my chest like it burns. I take it because I don’t have the right to make this easier on myself.

“Now you’re going to have to go by my rules.”

She walks me to the door without touching me again.

“Thank you for dinner,” she says evenly. “Goodnight.”

The door closes in my face.

The click of the lock sounds final.

I stand there for a long moment, staring at wood and paint and the truth I can’t force open no matter how badly I want to. The part of me that breaks locks and bends rooms to my will has no power here. Wanting her doesn’t give me a way forward. Loving her doesn’t give me the right to decide what her life should look like.

All it gives me is the truth.

I don’t get to decide this alone.

21

Priest

A few days pass, and somehow the waiting becomes a pattern.

Ink and I end up at the hospital every night after shift change, long after visiting hours thin out and the halls quiet to that low, humming half-life hospitals settle into when the world outside keeps moving and the people inside can’t. The lights dim just enough to make everything feel unreal, like time has narrowed down to Deacon, the machines, and the steady ache of still not knowing when he’ll open his eyes.

I stay close to his bed, closer than I ever sat to my own blood brother when he was still breathing. There’s something about keeping watch that feels like penance. Like if I sit here long enough, if I don’t leave Deacon alone with the silence, maybe it’ll count for something later.

Ink leans against the wall, arms crossed, eyes tracking monitors without staring. He doesn’t talk much here. Neither do I. Silence has always been easier for men like us. It doesn’t ask for confessions, and it doesn’t make promises it can’t keep.