me with a watery glare. “It only takes once or twice!”
At least she’s not crying.
I take her arms, and she reluctantly allows me to lift her up. “Let’s take a shower and then we can find Father Andrew.”
“Who?”
“The priest who married us.”
Her eyes widen in understanding.
“Unless you want to move in and make it official? I’m getting attached to this ring.”
Olivia’s hands find their way to her hips, her hair crackling with electricity. “It’s. Not. Funny.”
Smirking at her, I twirl the twine wedding ring around my finger. She stares at it as though it’s done her a serious ill.
The Fair Oaks Parish sits on a sloping hill overlooking town. Like everything else, it’s a ten-minute walk, but neither of us felt like walking in this heat.
A vicious hangover still buzzes in my head, reminding me of the giant fuck-up that was last night. Olivia is quiet, staring out the window of my Ford pickup, no doubt obsessing over whether or not she’s pregnant.
Unease clenches my guts. What if she is pregnant? Then what?
That would mean I become a father.
A quick, awkward discussion at home told me she would keep the baby—no matter what. She could be pregnant. There won’t be an answer for a couple weeks. And if it turns out she is pregnant, that baby is coming whether I’m ready to be a father or not.
“One crisis at a time,” I mutter under my breath.
Olivia hears, though, frowning into the reflection of the glass.
“Oh shit.” I slam my brakes as someone darts across the road right in front of my truck. I lay on the horn, sticking my head out of the window. “Fucking moron! I could’ve killed you!”
Before the man dives into the forest, he turns around, and a wave of puke sprays my car. Olivia recoils in disgust as the vomit splatters the side. He doubles over after projectile vomiting, clutching his stomach. Then he sprints toward the woods.
“Father Andrew?”
His belt flies off, and then his pants slowly fall down his legs as he runs. Thank God, the bastard is wearing underwear, but he seems in a hurry to get it off. Digging his thumbs into his tighty-whiteys, he pulls them down, revealing a cottage-cheese old man ass. Then he squats, and in full view of the car, he—
“EW!”
I would laugh at the revulsion on Olivia’s face if I didn’t feel a sharp tug of disgust myself at the sight of an old man shitting himself.
“Damn. Let’s just park at the church.”
Averting my head from the horrible sight, I climb up the last hundred feet and park in one of the empty lots. Olivia climbs out first, wrinkling her cute nose at my truck.
“That’s really disgusting.”
“Nothing a hose won’t fix in a few seconds.”
“You should probably check on him.”
“The man just shat himself!”
She shrugs, looking defensive. “He’s an old man. He could’ve ruptured his colon or something. Just ask if he needs help.”
“Ugh.” I gaze in the direction of where Father Andrew disappeared, hoping he’ll stumble out on his own. The old bastard is probably still voiding his insides. “I’m going to hate myself after this.”
But I walk toward there anyway, growing worried when I hear the sounds of his agonized moans. I step into the forest, whacking aside branches before I find him sitting on a rock still with his pants around his ankles. Ew. Old man cock.
“Father, you all right?”
He looks unsurprised to see me standing there. “I feel a lot better.”
Do not look at the piles of vomit surrounding him. “What happened?”
Grimacing, he touches his stomach. “Last night was a little too much for an old man’s digestion. I shouldn’t have had that fourth glass of wine.”
“You’re not the only one with a hangover.” Although thank God I’m not spewing out of both ends.
He gives me a weak chuckle. “Yes. I think a lot of us overindulged.”
There’s a soft crunch of leaves, and then I see Olivia’s dark head bending under a branch. “Father, are you okay—oh!” She covers her eyes immediately. “I’m so sorry to interrupt!”
“It’s fine, fine…I got most of it out, I think.”
I ball my hands into fists to keep myself from laughing at her. “Look, the reason why I came looking for you is—ah—we made a mistake last night. Things got a little out of hand with the alcohol and the dancing.” I don’t know why I’m tiptoeing around the subject. Maybe it feels weird to ask a priest for a divorce. “Anyway, we wondered if we could just tear