A Beautiful Sin (17 page)

“What do you have there?”

“It’s nothing.” I shoved the pad under the covers.

“It’s something, or you wouldn’t have tried to hide it. Hand it over.” His huge paw extended, waiting for me to give him my sketchpad.

Since I had no choice, I pulled it from beneath my blanket where I’d hastily hidden it and handed it to him.

He looked at it and asked, “Where’d you get these?”

“They’re mine. I drew them.”

“No, you didn’t. Don’t lie. You stole these.”

“No! I would never do that.”

“Don’t you back talk me, girl.”

“I didn’t. I’m telling you the truth. Those are my drawings. See? It’s Mom.”

“Yeah, well, that’s your take. This is mine.”

“No! Don’t do that! Please!” I begged him to stop over and over.

Only he didn’t. And I stood there and watched as he tore each sketch up into tiny fragments, leaving them scattered all over the floor. The tiny pieces were like shattered memories of Mom I could never get back.

“Look at this mess. I told you to keep this room clean. I’m gonna have to punish you. Get up.”

Slowly, I stood as my arms and legs trembled. His lips were pressed together forming a thin line, but it was his eyes that were the scariest. They were dark and angry. I knew whatever he had planned couldn’t be good.

“Turn around and pull your pants down.”

“No!” I said, horrified. “I won’t!” I tried to run from the room, but his thick arm wrapped around me in no time flat. That cop training of his must have given him fast reflexes or something.

“You can’t get away from me, Haven. Now drop your pants for your punishment. You know I hate when you hide things from me.”

The sound of his belt coming off brought bile burning up to my throat. I tried to escape from the room. But he was so huge, tall, and stout, there wasn’t a chance in a million I could get away. My dead heart hammered in terror as he grabbed my hair and yanked. I screamed as I fell backward into his arms. And then he worked so fast I could barely track. My pajama bottoms came down as I was tossed on my bed when I heard the hiss of the belt. He didn’t beat me with the leather end. He used the end with the buckle. My scream jammed in my trachea because another blow landed immediately after the first, and the second, and the third. I soon lost count because the belt hit me all over my back, shoulders, butt, and thighs, and I was sure I even took a few on the back of the head.

Uncle Kent made sure I paid for my mess that morning. I wasn’t sure how many times he hit me because I lost count after seven. Afterward, I lay curled in my bed, whimpering.

Eventually, I heard his car leave the driveway. I closed my eyes in relief, knowing he must’ve gone to work. Even though it was Sunday that meant he’d be gone all day because he was a cop.

My aunt didn’t come to check on me. Then again, she could have been nursing her own wounds. I dragged my beaten body out of bed and down the hall into the tiny shower. I held hope it would help me feel better. Only it didn’t. Fighting him had only made it worse. And seeing thin rivulets of blood flow down the drain confirmed my fears. But it was the first of many times to come.

Hours later, a hand touched my shoulder, and I glanced up to see his beautiful eyes. I muttered a few answers to his questions before I just admitted the truth. Then he guided me to the rectory, back to his home.

“I don’t remember much about walking here, to be honest.” My voice was barely above a whisper.

Canaan dabbed at my cheek and lip with a damp cloth. He didn’t say a word or interrupt as I spoke about what had happened. I supposed he was as shocked as I was. He didn’t have to tell me how angry he was. His steely posture explained it all to me.

“When Kent hit me, it was like all those years between then and now disintegrated. And I was that scared kid again. Powerless.” My shoulders curled inward, like they used to, as I folded my arms around myself.

“You’re not powerless, Haven. You’re an adult and you have options here. Do you want me to call the police?” His teeth clenched and it wasn’t hard to see he was trying to control his anger.

I let out a laugh that bordered on hysteria. “Kent
is
the police. Aunt Kathy was right all those years ago. He’d use his connections to make this go away. And it would be my word against his and who would they believe?”

“A priest.”

“Canaan, you weren’t there. What help would you be?”

“I could use his display of bad temper at the hospital as an example.”

He handed me a baggie filled with ice, and I pressed it to my cheek. “It would never work. Trust me.”

He reached out his finger and touched my lip. “He hurt you, Haven. That’s wrong.” The tiny muscles on both sides of his jaws twitched.

“I’ve been around one severely angry man tonight. Please don’t be angry, too.”

The thousand different hues of green in his irises became flinty.

“It’s difficult to see you in this condition and
not
be angry.”

Without thinking, because looking into his eyes made it difficult
to
think, I placed my palm on his cheek. “You can’t worry about me.”

“How can I not?” Then he placed his hand over mine and removed it from his face. The expression he wore could have best been described as tragic.

“What?”

“I’m responsible for this.”

My brows furrowed. “Why…?”

His skin puckered around his eyes as he pounded his chest using the tips of his fingers. “I sent you back there. It’s all my fault.”

This was so fucked up. I almost didn’t know where to begin. “So, I know I blamed you for so much. But realistically, even if I had spoken with Father O’Brien, who’s to say he would’ve believed me? It’s anybody’s guess. You can’t shoulder the blame, and as for tonight, Aunt Kathy and I were careless. We shouldn’t have been talking so freely.”

“He shouldn’t have hit you. That’s domestic violence, and it’s a crime,” he said through gritted teeth.

This whole night had exhausted me to the point where I was hardly able to stay on my feet. I must’ve swayed, because Canaan grabbed my arm.

“You need to sit.”

“I’m sorry. I’m really tired.”

“Here,” he said, walking me to a couch in a small den. “Can I get you a drink?”

“Do you have any liquor?”

“We do. What would you like?”

“Anything strong. My face is on fire.”

He left and came back with some amber liquid in a glass, two ibuprofen, water, and some more ice in a baggie. I accepted all, but took a huge gulp of the liquor first.

“Whiskey?” I asked.

“Bourbon. Bill enjoys it. I’m more of a vodka guy.”

“Same here. That and beer.”

He chuckled. “It seems we share identical tastes in spirits.”

I wondered what else we shared. It was disturbing being this close to him but not to be able to touch him. Why did he have to be a fucking priest?

“Why the frown?”

My eyes burned from fatigue and I rubbed them, but in the process inadvertently hit my cheek and flinched.

“What is it?”

That error saved me from having to answer. I couldn’t very well tell him I was pissed at him for being a priest. “I accidentally hit my cheek. It’s a bit sore.”

“You’re lucky he missed your eye. What will you tell them at the gallery?”

“Oh, fuck. I hadn’t thought about that.” Then I realized what I said. My hand covered my mouth.

“Haven, it’s not like I haven’t heard it before. Just because I’m a priest and don’t speak those words or let anyone say it in the house of our Lord doesn’t mean my ears are unsullied.”

My mouth curved, or I should’ve said the half that wasn’t swollen and cut did. “I just have this idea in my head that you’re so good. You know, immaculate.”

It was weird because it looked like the blood drained from the capillaries in his cheeks. His flesh paled, turning him anemic-like.

“I’m miles from that, believe me. So, work?”

Downing more bourbon, I said, “Yeah. I have no idea. I guess I’ll say I fell. I can’t tell them the truth. I know it’s lying, but to tell what really happened would—”

“Be the best thing for you and Kathy,” he cut in, “not to mention Kent. He has to be stopped. And now, will Kathy want to go on with her plans?”

“Oh, God! I hadn’t thought of that. I was in such paralysis after he struck me, I scarcely remember how I got out of there. I’m surprised he didn’t chase me down.” I tossed back the remains of my drink. The liquor had gone to my head since all I’d had for dinner was ice cream. It was late and I was drowsy. I leaned my head on the back of the couch with the intention of closing my eyes for a minute. What would Kathy do? I hoped he hadn’t hit her after I left. The rat-faced dick.

Stretching, I rolled on my side and was disoriented. My hair was a tangled nest, sprigs shooting out of the knotted bun I’d had it in. I pulled it free of the elastic and tried my best to sort it out. But it was still dark, and when I became accustomed to the light—or lack of it, I didn’t recognize the bed, or the room I was in. My hands massaged my forehead and brushed across my cheek when pain exploded, reminding me of what happened last night. Then I remembered being in the rectory, and Canaan and I talking. But whose bed was this? I sat up and looked around. There was a bathroom on the other side of the room, so I went to use it. I noticed men’s items, such as shaving things. Was this Canaan’s room? Did he put me to bed? I glanced down and I was fully dressed.

I washed my face as gently as I could stand it and used my finger to brush my teeth, borrowing his toothpaste. Then I walked out of the room, tiptoeing down the hall. I found my way into the den, where Canaan had contorted himself to fit on the couch. He was far too large to be sleeping there, but he gave up his bed for me. No doubt I must’ve conked out last night. It was only a little after five in the morning. I needed to get out of here. It would not do for anyone to see a woman leaving the rectory at this hour.

His face during sleep was even more perfect than while he was awake. Full lips, sculpted cheeks, high cheekbones—why did I have to find a man I wanted to touch my lips to over and over, only for him to be chaste and unable to be talked out of that decision because he was a priest to boot? I allowed myself the pleasure of staring at his innocent perfection for a few more minutes before waking him. He wore a short-sleeved T-shirt, and I’d never realized how muscular he was. I knew it was wrong, but I wanted to touch him, to slowly walk my fingers over his smooth flesh. His usually neat dark hair was tousled, out of place, making me want to smooth some order back into it.

Tapping his arm, I whispered, “Canaan.”

“Hmm.” He rose gracefully.

“You should’ve woken me up last night.”

He blinked, but I wasn’t sure if it was to shove the sleep away or to think. “You were weary. I didn’t want to.”

For a moment that was far too longer than it should’ve been, I swam in the forest green of his irises. It was only when he cleared his throat did I pull my gaze away from them.

“I have to go. It would not be good for someone to see me leaving.”

“Yes. Let me drive you.”

“No. I’ve been enough of an imposition.”

He slanted his head. “Why ever would you think that?”

“I should have never come here.” And I shouldn’t have. Canaan evoked too many things that were out of reach for me.

“I’m glad you did.” He bent to put on his shoes. “Come, I’ll take you home.”

I followed him out, knowing it was wrong. But I didn’t exactly feel safe going to the bus station alone at this time of early morning.

“I’ll let you take me to the L and that’s it. You have duties and I won’t take you from them. Don’t you have an early morning Mass to say?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Then the L.”

He didn’t argue. When we arrived, I sat for a second. “Thank you. Again.” But when he pinned me with his gaze, something came over me, and I reached for him. I meant to kiss his cheek in a chaste thank you. But the closer I got, the more pull I felt. And as if he felt it too, he turned in time for my lips to press to his. Foolishly, I wanted that contact again.

Again, he was the one to pull back, breaking that connection I felt. Hurriedly, he said, “Haven, we can’t. I can’t. I have…I’m married…”

He tripped over his words much like my heart skipped several beats.

“To the church. I know. I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”

I put my hand to my lips as I hurried away from his car. Why did it seem like his kiss burned a path straight to my soul? The rejection burned even though I knew a million reasons why he could never reciprocate. Even worse, he was the only man who ever made me feel good anyway. And not sexually either. He made me feel worthy of his tenderness and not like some harlot. I had taken advantage of him.

When I got home, the sun was poking its rays into our apartment. I put on a pot of coffee and waited for it to brew. What was wrong with me? Men had never been something I’d spent more than a fleeting thought on. Why now? Why Canaan? As I agonized over it, a hand landed on my shoulder and I screamed. Then Macie screamed.

“What the hell are you doing?” I asked.

“Nothing! I thought you heard me.”

“Well, I didn’t.”

“Jaysus, what the hell has you so jumpy?”

I had to tell her. It was something that needed to be discussed and I had to get it off of my chest.

But before I could say anything, she yelped, “What the fuck happened to you? Your cheek and lip?”

So I rolled it all out. “Kent nailed me last night. But that’s only part of it.”

“What?”

I gave her all the dirty details, up to where I ended up at Holy Cross Church.

“Holy Cross? Why’d you go there?”

I grabbed my head. “No idea other than that’s where I went that one time. I don’t even remember walking there. Or running.” And then I told her about the part with Canaan.