The Sinners of Saint Amos - Logan Fox Page 0,111

did put out the fire raging inside me.

You can soak shit in alcohol, but ultimately that just sets the stage for a world-class explosion.

“I know I allowed it, child, but you shouldn’t drink in excess. Or at your age.”

Irritation flickers inside me, threatening to ignite my earlier anger.

Yeah, and a celibate priest shouldn’t have condoms in his fucking drawer, but here we are.

I think I’m going to puke.

I stand, making contact with Gabriel on my way up. In an effort to veer away from him, I stumble over my own feet. If he hadn’t caught onto me, I’d probably have fallen into the hearth.

His hand is on my hip. Strong fingers dig into my flesh.

Into the drive hidden behind my underwear. He frowns, and moves his thumb over the device. I twist away from him, blinking furiously as I try to sober the fuck up.

“I have to go,” I state, holding up a finger. “But can—may?—I use your bathroom first?”

He frowns hard, and reaches for my hip again as he gets to his feet. “What is that?” he asks.

“Bathroom!” I yelp out, and then hurry away from him. I saw another door leading off his bedroom—it’s either a walk-in closet for the hundred-plus clerical robes he needs, or it’s the bathroom.

It turns out to be a bathroom.

I slam the door shut behind me, and because of that I don’t make it to the toilet. Instead, I puke into the basin.

This is a new record for me. The most I ever puked was that time Mrs. Brady undercooked the hot dogs at the church fete for handicapped people back when I was sixteen.

I half-expect Gabriel to come inside and hold back my hair like Reuben did.

But he doesn’t.

I spend a few minutes making sure there’s nothing left to come out, and then a minute more splashing cold water on my face.

Unfortunately, the purge did nothing to sober me up. I stumble out of the bathroom and have to hold onto the wall as I study the back of Gabriel’s head.

He’s at the window, staring into the darkness.

He turns his head a little, but then straightens again. “Do you need me to help you back to your room?”

My spine stiffens.

We need your help.

“No,” I say icily, crossing my arms over my chest despite how that makes me sway. “I’m p’fectly fine.”

Besides the slurring, of course.

“I like to think I’m blameless, child.”

It takes me a second to focus on him. “Wha’?”

He sighs, closes the window and turns to face me. There’s a cigarette in his hand, and he drags at it till the coal glows red as Satan’s horns.

“You asked if your parents were good people. And they are, Trinity. Truly…they are.”

He walks up to me, a sad smile on his face. “But they’re not blameless, and neither am I.”

His hand is on my shoulder. I don’t like it there, but I don’t want him to stop talking. “What are you sayin’?”

He takes another long drag at his cigarette. Although he ducks his head to blow out the smoke, it piles up between us and still hits my nose. “Why did you go through my things?”

My eyes widen. “I didn’t. I promise.”

He looks to the side, drawing my gaze with his.

The bag I’d shoved under the bed is on top of the mattress, contents spilled out. The laptop is open. Even from here, I can see the email program is open.

It didn’t shut down properly.

He knows I read the email.

But is that all he knows?

“I’m so sorry.” I press my hands to my face, trying to hide behind my fingers.

“Shh,” he murmurs.

An arm slides around my shoulder and draws me close.

I shudder against him, my hands still covering my face. “I’m sorry.”

“I understand. I left before I could answer your questions.”

He strokes my head and for some reason that’s all it takes for me to surrender. That, and the half a bottle of wine I’d guzzled before he got back.

For a ridiculously sweet moment, nothing has changed. I’m sixteen, and I’ve just admitted that I don’t believe in God. At least, not in the same way my parents do. And Gabriel’s holding me, just like this, letting me sob into his shoulder.

But the moment is only that—a single moment. Fragile as a wine glass. And it shatters as soon as he speaks.

“I would ask you not to judge me, but—” his lips quirk into a smile that’s warm, but so fucking sad. “You’re a better person than I am, so you would have