Chapter 8 The Pier

The wind was sharp and cold on my face as it whipped my hair across my face and some hair entered my mouth. I pulled my coat closer to my body as I walked quickly.

And there he was.

Daniel sat at the very end of the wooden planks, looking like he didn't have a home to get to. He wasn't moving. He looked like a part of the pier itself, just dark and solemn.

Maggie's text came in and I didn't imagine what I'd see.

"Lou told me he's seen the Padre by the pier. What the hell is going on Elena? Don't even answer that right now.. can you come get him? It's cold and raining and it doesn't seem like he wants to go anywhere."

I approached slowly, my boots echoing on the wet wood. He didn't turn but I know he must have heard me. He always heard everything.

"Go away, Elena." He whispered.

"Can't," I said, my voice barely a whisper. "It's cold. You'll freeze out here."

"A befitting end for someone like me."

The words were so quiet I almost missed them and they sent a jolt of fear straight through my heart. I walked until I stood beside him, looking down at his head, his dark hair messy from the wind.

"Sterling's an asshole," I said, the wind causing me to shiver. "You can't let him get to you."

He finally lifted his head and stared at me. I didn't say anything. Couldn't.

"He's not wrong Elena, and that's the worst of it. He's not wrong."

"About what? That I'm some kind of temptation? That's bullshit, Daniel, and you know it."

"Don't you see?" He looked up at me, and the sheer torment in his eyes was really heavy. "It doesn't matter if it's true. It only matters that it could be true. The doubt... the suspicion... It's stinging and it spreads. It's spreading on me, Elena. I can feel it."

He was shaking. Not from the cold.

"Come home," I pleaded, my own voice starting to break. "Please. Just come home."

He looked back at the water, defeated. "I don't have a home."

"You have mine." The words were out before I could stop them. "For now. You have mine. So get up."

I held out my hand.

He stared at it like it was a snake. A test he was destined to fail.

After a he was silent for a while, he slowly, hesitantly, reached up. His fingers, icy cold, brushed against mine. A jolt, shot up my arm and I closed my hand around his and pulled.

He was heavier than he looked, all solid muscle and dead weight. He stumbled as he got to his feet, unsteady. Our bodies collided in the dark, my shoulder against his chest, my hip against his. We both swayed, fighting for balance on the slippery wood.

For one heart-stopping second, we were pressed together from chest to knee. I could feel the frantic beat of his heart against mine, the heat of his body through our clothes, the ragged catch of his breath in my ear.

Time stopped. The wind died. There were only the two of us, clinging to each other in the dark.

His eyes found mine. The anger and pain were gone, replaced by something else. Something terrified. Something hungry.

We were falling. Not off the pier. Into each other.

And then we broke apart like we'd been electrocuted. He took a hurried step back, his breath clouding in the air between us.

"Elena..." My name was a prayer and a curse on his lips.

"Don't," I whispered, hugging myself. "Just... Let's just go please."

The walk back was silent, the air between us crackling with everything that had almost happened. It didn't take too long before we got home. The house was dark and blessedly warm. We shed our jackets in the hallway, the silence screaming louder than any words. I moved to the kitchen to put the kettle on, needing something, anything, to do with my hands.

He followed me.

I felt him behind me before I heard him. A presence at my back. I turned, and he was there, too close, his eyes dark pools in the dim light. The kettle forgotten in my hand.

"I can't do this," he breathed, the words ragged.

"I know," I whispered. "I know."

"It's not you. It's... everything." His hand came up, not to touch me, but to grip the counter next to my hip, caging me in. "I am... coming apart."

My own resolve was shattering. "Daniel..."

His other hand lifted, hovering near my face. I could feel the heat from his skin. He was going to touch me. He was going to cross a line there was no coming back from.

And I was going to let him.

My foot slipped on a wet spot on the tile a drop of water from our jackets. I gasped, lurching forward.

He moved instantly, his reflexes kicking in. His arms shot out to catch me, to stop my fall.

But we collided with him too hard and we crashed together, stumbling backward. His grip was iron around my waist, mine clutching at his shoulders as we fought for balance. We spun, and his back hit the refrigerator with a dull thud, jolting us to a stop.

We were frozen.

Pressed together from chest to thigh, breathing each other's air, hearts hammering against each other's ribs. His arms were locked around me. My fingers were curled into the fabric of his shirt.

Daniel brushed the hair from my face as his gaze dropped to my lips. I knew what was coming and I was prepared for it. Unfortunately...

The front door swung open.

Light from the porch flooded the kitchen, illuminating the position Daniel and I were in.

Mr. Sterling stood in the doorway, his hand still on the knob, his keys in the other. His cold eyes took in the scene in one swift gaze, smiling like he'd been given a trophy. Daniel's back against the fridge, me pinned against him, our bodies fused, our faces inches apart.

His expression didn't change. It just hardened into something triumphant and utterly vicious.

"Am I," he said, his voice like ice, "interrupting something?"

We sprang apart as if something burned us.

Daniel straightened his shirt, his face a pale, stony mask. "Mr. Sterling. What are you doing here? Don't you know how to knock?"

"I forgot my notebook," Sterling said smoothly, his eyes never leaving us. He walked to the living room and retrieved a black leather journal from the couch. He held it up. "Essential for my reports. It seems it was fortuitous that I returned."

He paused by the door, his gaze sweeping over me with contempt before landing on Daniel.

"This is exactly the kind of... 'compromising situation' I was tasked to prevent, Father. It seems my concerns were not unfounded. I will be filing my report with the bishop first thing in the morning."

He didn't wait for a response. The door clicked shut, leaving a silence more devastating than any explosion. Daniel didn't look at me. He just stood there, staring at the spot where Sterling had been, his hands clenched into white-knuckled fists at his sides.

When he finally spoke, his voice was dead. Hollow.

"You see?" he whispered. "The stain spreads."

He turned and walked away, and this time, the click of his bedroom lock sounded like a tomb sealing shut.

The next morning, a formal letter from the diocese was slipped under the front door. It was addressed to me. The subject line: "Formal cease Directive Regarding Fr. Moretti." The first line read: You are hereby ordered to sever all contact...