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He made me uncomfortable. Sure, I might owe him my life, but there was something about him I didn’t like. There might be times when he wasn’t too bad, but he was too cocky, and if there was one thing I didn’t appreciate, it was cockiness.
Mass was only an hour normally, sometimes a bit shorter, depending on how big the church was and how long the sermon was. This time, it felt so much longer than that—for one very obvious reason.
When I had to kneel, I had to do it beside Damian. When the congregation prayed, I had to listen along beside Damian. When it was time to wish the people around you peace, I had to do it towards an expectant Damian. And when everyone else got up and went to the front to take their eucharist, Damian stayed behind with me.
Neither of us were Catholics, apparently.
Since the church was full of song, and everyone else was either standing in line or waiting to go up front to Ezekiel, Damian decided to speak, “Why do you come to these things if you don’t go up?”
“I’m not Catholic,” I muttered, wishing he would just drop it and leave. But that would make things too easy. Heaven forbid that.
“Okay, my question still stands. Why come to church at all, then?”
I turned my head to look at him, finding his dark eyes were zeroed in on me. Such an intense stare; I could see how he held his own in a room full of people like my father and the ones on the Hand. There was something about him that I didn’t like, yes, but there was also something else about him that made me curious.
“My mother was religious.”
“Where’s she now?”
“She’s dead,” I whispered. “She died a long time ago. I started going to church because I wanted to be closer to her.” Yes, to be closer to my mother in a desperate attempt to find a reason to live—and I’d found one, thanks to Father Charlie.
And now the man was dead.
For a split second, I imagined myself back in that church, in front of Father Charlie’s body. The blood that oozed out of him, how his body had crumpled in the confessional. The soul-shattering heartache that had spread through me when I’d realized I couldn’t save him.
“A lot of people find something special in religion,” Damian spoke, nodding once, as if he understood completely. I found that hard to believe. “I don’t, and I suspect you don’t, either.” Something in the back of his eyes twinkled, the smirk returning to his face as he went on, “You won’t find what you’re looking for here, baby girl.”
There was that nickname again. I was wondering how long it would take for it to make its appearance here. “If you don’t believe, why are you here?”
“I heard a rumor a pretty girl liked coming to church, and I wanted to see if it was you.” He shrugged, as if it was no big deal. “I wanted to see you. How are you feeling? Any news on who might’ve shot you?”
A part of me instantly wondered if he was packing. He had to be. I didn’t imagine Damian would go anywhere without at least one gun tucked somewhere on his body. Just because this was a church didn’t mean shit to someone like him.
“Why do you care?” I asked. The song went on in the air around us; half of the church had gone up already. The sooner this part of mass ended, the sooner this chat between Damian and I could be done with.
“What? Am I not allowed to care about who shot you?” Damian asked with a smirk. “I care more than you know, Giselle.”
What in the world was that supposed to mean? I opened my mouth to ask him, but no words came out. Just when I thought I had Damian nailed down, he went and said something I wasn’t expecting.
Damian must’ve sensed that he made me temporarily speechless, for his smirk turned into a full-blown smile. “Look at you. At a loss for words. I bet that doesn’t happen often.” He leaned closer to me, his face mere inches from mine. For a strange, bizarre second, I thought he was going to kiss me, but he didn’t. All he said was, “I guess I’ll go, then. Leave you to your religion. I’d watch out for that priest, though. From what I hear, he’s not a very saintly man.”
He pulled away from me after that, exiting my pew and leaving me alone to wonder just what that was all about. He came here for me, obviously.
And why the fuck did I think he was going to kiss me? Ugh, my hormones must be to blame. They were going haywire in Cypress, to the point where I could swear that Damian had touched me before he left—but he didn’t. That whole time, he didn’t touch me once, save for when we had to wish each other peace.
That had to be it. I should’ve refused to touch him. I should’ve ignored him the entire time, not given him any attention whatsoever.
I debated on getting up and going, but a part of me wondered if Damian waited outside for me. I didn’t. I should wait until the rest of the congregation left and leave with them, blend in with the crowd. Do whatever I had to do in order to avoid talking more with Damian. That chat between us had left more questions than answers.
When it was finally time for Ezekiel to proceed down the long carpet that divided the church and the pews to end the mass, I couldn’t have been more relieved. I didn’t know if I’d be coming to another mass; it just wasn’t the same here. Father Charlie was the only priest that could speak to me on a deep level. No offense to Ezekiel, but he just didn’t have it.
Plus, if coming here was a way for Damian to find me, I wanted to make it harder for the asshole to jump on me when I wasn’t expecting it.
Most of the people left right after Ezekiel walked out, while a few of the others lingered, kneeling down to pray again. I stood there, listening to the music tapering off, immobile. Zander was just outside; if he was watching, he had to have seen Damian walk in. I didn’t doubt he would jump on me about it and demand to know what the man had said to me. It had taken an argument between us to let me come inside by myself.
Where did I have to go after this besides back home, where my father was expecting me? Hmm. I supposed I didn’t have to be in any rush to get out of here. What was the harm in staying a while longer?
So, in the end, I stayed. Even after the music was over. I checked my phone and saw a few missed messages from Zander, along with a call from him. I texted him back, telling him I wanted to stay here and talk to Ezekiel for a few. A lie, but what else could I say? He wouldn’t believe me if I said I wanted to stay and pray like a few of the other church goers.
