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And she didn’t fit the bill.
The little minx wasn’t like the women I’d encountered who chased suits, or the women who came to me for help with their addictions. There were brains in her head, not just empty space. There was more to her than met the eye, and the demons I tried to keep at bay wanted to know her.
They wanted to use her to cope, and then write poetry about her luscious curves. They wanted to own her; to know if she was like the women who trapped me, or was she the breath of fresh air I craved all those years ago… A woman sure of herself but willing to let me control her, instead of the other way around.
I needed the control, now more than ever.
I looked down at the napkin I scrawled my dirty little habit on before I swiftly crumpled it up and shoved it in my pocket.
All the ways I wanted to control Maggie, all the ways she never let me. Not because she didn’t see me as worthy of her submission, but because it was a sin. It was dirty and blasphemous.
I was a sinner when she met me, but she made me into a man of God.
A deacon.
It was supposed to be my saving grace, but now it all felt like one big practical joke.
My gaze drifted over to the pool table, and I clenched my fists to silence the need to punch the motherfucker Red was currently playing for, looking at her like she was a piece of fruit that was his for the plucking. She was young; much too young to be flipping her gorgeous copper hair and rolling her hips as she lined up her shots. Hell, she was too young for my decrepit eyes to be focused on her. That didn’t mean I was going to look away.
I watched as she twirled around the table, laughing and flirting with her opponents—because that’s what they were. She played like she was interested, but I could tell when she looked at the table that she was calculating her next move. What I didn’t understand was why she was wasting her time hustling. She should be getting ready for classes to start on Monday, or spending time with her boyfriend; not flaunting her ass for businessmen at a pub.
Not that I should care. Hours ago, I wouldn’t have batted an eye in her direction. She was easily half my age, and I was far too deep in my grief to see anything beyond my beloved wife.
But I was no longer that man. I wasn’t married to the love of my life. For a year I’d been a widow to a woman I didn’t even know.
Still, I knew it was wrong to be paying any attention to the way this woman’s smile made my cock twitch, or the desire to tangle my fist in her hair and fuck her mouth as a means to silence her bratty attitude. Not only was it wrong on so many levels that I didn’t want to dull my buzz considering, but she was a hustler. A liar.
Just like Maggie.
Fuck.
I lifted my hand and signaled to the bartender for another round of the same.
I should have listened to the small whisper in the back of my mind telling me to go find my best friend. Tristan was a priest and professor at the university with me—the yin to my yang as far as friends went. I should have gone straight to the rectory and told him just how close to the edge I was. He’d tell me to go to the church, to pray, to give the burdens that turned my heart to lead over to my God and savior. I was the beloved deacon of Saint Bartholomew’s, and favorite theology professor at Our Lady of Sorrows University. I had a reputation to uphold—never mind the vows I’d made before my God and my family.
But I didn’t get up off that bar stool. Instead, I allowed my mind to spiral further.
What were my vows without Maggie? The call to the diaconate wasn’t mine alone. We made that decision together… or so I thought. Maybe it was my grief talking, but the more I considered it, the more it seemed like it was Maggie that pushed me to dive deeper into my faith, all the while she was diving deeper into Bill. And now that she was gone, she’d ensured I would spend the rest of my days alone, honoring a vow I never intended to be mine to bear alone. Not at thirty-nine at least.
Deacon what-a-waste was what they called me. What a waste indeed. Had I known then what I know now, I’m not sure I would have taken those vows.
What did that say about me? I ran my fingers through my hair and tugged at the short length at the base of my skull.
How the fuck did I miss the signs?
Seek solace in your God. The thought niggled in the back of my mind.
Screw that.
God was supposed to be on my side. I’d given him my life. My time. As a deacon, I’d vowed to do his work and be a man of God, and this is how he rewarded me. He took my wife from me, and then twisted the knife and left me drowning.
God did nothing. Maggie had free will.
It was my own voice playing devil's advocate this time, whispering the answer I didn’t want to hear. That was the problem with being a deacon and going through heartache. I was usually the one people sought to guide them through their hardest times. I knew the answers and understood the process, but that didn’t unsheathe the dagger lodged in my heart.
That’s okay. I didn’t need the useless organ anyways.
Go home, my conscience whispered louder.
