The Sinners of Saint Amos - Logan Fox Page 0,169

melts away into warm, cotton candy nothingness.

After that, there’s only bits and pieces floating around in my head.

A long car drive tainted with the stink of cigarette smoke.

Stopping in front of my old house.

The overwhelming conviction that everything was right with the world, and I was exactly where I belonged.

“What did you give me?” I ask him. Not angry, not even scared.

Gabriel studies me over the brim of his coffee cup for a moment, and then takes a small sip before setting it down.

“Heroin,” he says. Then he gives me a small, secretive little smile. “You’ll love it. Your mother did.”

“You must be getting cold,” Gabriel says as he starts washing his breakfast plate in the sink. I’m still where he put me, and I have a feeling I’ll stay here until he decides to move me again.

“No,” I tell him, and quite truthfully. It feels like I’m wrapped in a thick, invisible cocoon. I don’t even feel air moving against my skin.

“Let me just finish up here, then we’ll go get you cleaned up and into something warm.”

He’s so nice. Always thinking of others.

“I loved them both, you know,” Gabriel says, turning to me as he flicks soapy water off his hands. “It probably sounds strange.” He smiles, laughs softly. “How can you possibly love two people?” Wiping his hands against his jeans, he deepens his smile as he comes closer. “But truly, I did.”

He holds out his hand.

I take it.

It’s still a little damp, but so warm. His grip is tight as he pulls at me, urging me to slip off the stool and follow him upstairs.

“We met at Saint Amos. Of course, back then, it was called Friends of Faith.” He clicks his tongue. “Horrible place. Horrible.” Sighs. “Better now, after the church took over. The new administration was a breath of fresh air.”

He opens the bathroom door, pulls me through, and lowers me onto the closed toilet seat. I sit there and watch as he turns on the tub’s faucet.

“Bubbles?” he asks, holding out a bottle of purple liquid.

I shrug a little. “Sure.”

He tips some in and bubbles boil up and start spreading like a plague.

“You probably think I’m a hopeless romantic.” Gabriel toes off his shoes and goes onto his knees on the carpet in front of the bath. He sticks a hand in the water, agitating it so more bubbles form. “But truly, I was in love. I believe we all were.” He pauses. “That’s why we named you Trinity. Because you were our child. All three of us.”

I nod. Love is a wonderful thing.

He catches sight of the movement from the corner of his eye. “Have you ever been in love?”

“I am.”

He frowns a little at this. “Really? With who?”

“The Brotherhood.”

His frown deepens. He sits back on his heels, putting his head to one side. “I don’t follow.”

I shrug. “Weird. I know. But I am.” Talking is easy. Once I get going, I can’t seem to stop. “I’m not sure about Zach. He scares me. But I love Reuben. And Cass. And Apollo. Different, but the same, you know?”

Gabriel reaches over and turns off the faucet, his eyes not leaving mine. When he speaks, it’s slowly and carefully, like he wants to make sure I understand every word.

“You mean you like them. You were friends with them?”

“No. I slept with them. All of them.”

The slap comes out of nowhere. I don’t even realize it’s happened until after. Suddenly, I’m facing the wall by the bath, and there’s a fierce tingling ache on the side of my face. I turn back to face Gabriel, working a jaw that feels rusty.

White spots pop up on his cheeks. He turns back to the tub, twisting open the faucet so hard it squeaks.

“A whore,” he says quietly as if to himself. “Your father said this would happen. Said you’d take after your mother.”

I lift a hand to my cheek. I should be insulted, but it feels like I’m watching this all play out from the back of my mind. When my body moves, it’s like someone else is doing it. When I speak, I’m hearing those words for the first time. “But I love them.”

Gabriel swipes a hand through his hair, leaving a clump of bubbles on the side of his head. They start popping, and I swear it sounds like a hissing snake.

“She could have had her pick,” he says, shaking his head. “Any boy at that school would have been happy just to have her