“I knew what I felt for you wasn’t friendship anymore, or even anything appropriate for friends with benefits,” I said. “I’ve been trying to pretend it is. For a while now. Trying to pretend like my feelings weren’t changing. But they have been.”
“Mal…”
“Then I thought I was dying,” I said with a shake of my head. “And I realized in that moment, that all my hang-ups were so fucking… trivial. And I’d wasted so much time. I don’t want to be friends with benefits with you, Priest.”
Priest moved to pull his hand away, but I caught him and tightened my grip. Even that small motion made my wound twinge with a fresh burst of pain, and I grimaced.
“I love you, Priest,” I said. “I’m in love with you.”
For a brief moment, Priest’s face opened into a soft expression I was more familiar with—kind, and caring, and warm. His lips parted, and he took a breath. “Mal,” he said softly.
And I thought for a moment that maybe he would—
But then he tugged his hand out of mine. My heart skipped, and then sank.
Priest’s face settled back into a stoic mask, his usually warm and attentive blue eyes unable to meet mine. His posture was stiff, and he had a deep furrow in his brow.
What had I expected?
I’d thought this experience would bring us together, in a terrible way. That Priest would have the same realization that I did—that we were wasting time dancing around each other, pretending not to want more, when we were so compatible. And when life was so short. But Priest didn’t smile at me the way I was used to, nor did he lean closer, nor did he touch me at all.
“I’m so glad you’re okay,” Priest said. “I was really…” He sighed, sat back in his chair, and raked his hands through his hair. “I was really worried. I really thought we were going to lose you. And I’m so fucking glad we didn’t.”
There was a ‘but’ coming. My heart was in my stomach. This wasn’t what was supposed to be happening. Not like this. “Priest, what—”
“It’s not working,” Priest said softly. “This arrangement. The friends-with-benefits thing. And I think we should go back to just being friends.”
It was like I hadn’t spoken at all.
“Just friends?” I asked incredulously.
“Yeah,” Priest said. “I think that’s best for us, and for the club.”
He still wasn’t meeting my eyes. I couldn’t believe this. My chest was in knots, the pain worsened by the throbbing in my gunshot wound, and I felt like I’d had cold water dumped unceremoniously on me. Just friends? After all of this, I was supposed to back to pretending like nothing had changed between us?
This whole time, Priest hadn’t felt anything for me? Nothing at all?
I was such a fucking idiot. I’d been right this entire time—there was no point in trying to commit again. Trying to find something real. Because right when I needed Priest most, he was leaving me behind. Just like Melanie had. Despite the club, I was truly on my own.
“Wow,” I said, with a cold, shocked laugh. I turned my gaze to the ceiling. “And you wonder why I have issues committing.”
Priest cleared his throat. “That’s not—”
“It is,” I interrupted. “I was stupid to ever let my emotions get involved. Especially after we’d agreed not to.”
“Mal.”
“Just go,” I said. I hurt all over, ached in my body and in my heart, and having Priest sitting here pitying me was only making it worse.
He did as I asked. He stood up, muttered a goodbye, and slipped out the door.
As soon as I was alone in the room, I missed him. Part of me had wanted Priest to push back—to demand to stay and talk this through. To change his mind.
But he’d just left. And that was proof, definitive proof, that whatever we may have had before was over.
24
Priest
A month passed.
Mal had spent ten days recovering in the hospital—I received regular updates, as did the rest of the inner circle, from Dante at our church meetings. He’d been out of the hospital for two weeks now, and apparently, also according to Dante, he was recovering well. He wasn’t going to be able to ride his bike anytime soon, nor was he going to have the same mobility in his shoulder that he’d had before the attack.
But that was a small price to pay for him being alive.
Not that I would know. Because the price I was paying was distance. I burned with