“Doesn’t look like nothing to me, sweetheart,” Mom whispers, pulling me out of the web of fascination I’m wrapped in.
“Mom . . . we’re just friends.”
The heat of my mom’s stare burns the side of my face. I ignore it. I can’t look at her. If I did, I know I’d end up telling her everything. The thing is, there’s really nothing to tell.
The hairs at the back of my neck tingle in awareness. I twist around, my eyes scanning the crowd, and freeze when I notice Gavin’s brown ones staring back at me.
What the hell is he doing in church? He hardly ever attends mass, so this is quite a surprise. And not a good one.
My stomach hurts as if someone punched me. I press my palm to my stomach, hoping to push back the pain.
Church is my haven. I hate that he’s here. It feels like he’s sullying the place.
I shake my head and face forward again, my hands clenched into fists on my lap. I hate him so much. God, forgive me, but I really do hate him. I wonder how long it takes for this feeling to fade.
Maybe never? Maybe it’s just one of those things in life that never really goes away. They remind us to guard our hearts and make sure the next person we give it to will protect it as if he or she is guarding the Holy Grail. Until then, mine is safely locked away behind a steel cage.
The rest of Mass goes well. I don’t turn around to look at him again, but I feel his eyes on me every second of the fifteen minutes.
When Mass ends, everyone heads outside. I search for Sol from where I’m standing, trying and failing to be subtle about it.
My mom is a few feet away, talking to some members of the congregation. She’s smiling and laughing despite the past few days being a bit rough for her. She’s doing better as time passes.
“Hey.” That familiar voice has me spinning around, almost losing my balance.
Gavin fucking Bachmann. And he’s extending his hand in my direction in what I believe is an attempt to steady me.
“Don’t touch me,” I whisper angrily.
He pulls his hand back, frowning.
“What are you doing here?”
He glances around before returning his gaze back to me. “Attending Mass, like every other person here.” He smirks, and I want to punch his face.
I clutch my purse tighter and force a smile. “Well, good for you.” I turn to go, but he grips my bicep, causing my whole body to tense. I could easily dislodge his hand from my arm, but I wouldn’t want to make a scene.
“I said don’t touch me.”
“Grace. Come on, don’t be like that. Can we forget about high school for a min—”
“Fuck off.” The words are low, meant for the two of us only. I’m about to pry his fingers off my arm the way I learned in self-defense class years ago when a familiar voice interrupts us.
“What’s going on here?”
I whip my head around to find Sol standing behind me, eyebrows furrowed. He looks at me, then at Gavin. His gaze drops to where Gavin’s hand is still gripping my arm, and his nostrils flare, his eyes bright with anger.
“Get your hand off her.”
Sol sounds calm. The only things betraying what he’s feeling are how his hands are now curled into fists and the way his body is locked tight as if he’s ready to go to war.
Gavin laughs, the sound grating in my ears. “This doesn’t concern you, Callan.” When Sol stays exactly where he is, eyes drilling into Gavin’s skull, Gavin’s eyes narrow, moving between Sol and me, and he says, “Wait. You two? Really?” He looks incredulous. Neither Sol nor I speak. “Since when are would-be priests allowed to bang chicks? I can’t say I blame you, man. She’s—”
“Walk away, Bachmann,” Sol grits out, stepping forward and partly shielding me from Gavin. “Before we make a scene in front of everyone.”
“I can handle him, Sol,” I say quietly. “People are starting to stare.”
“Or what?” Gavin scoffs, not even bothering to look at me. “You’re gonna strangle me with that rosary in your pocket? Oh, wait. Maybe you’re going to hit me again to teach me a lesson. Which one is it?”
Wait, wait a damn second. Sol hit him? My Sol? When? Why?
Oh my God!
I’m about to voice all these questions when Gavin opens his big mouth and laughs as if he just told a funny joke, eyeing me with interest.
“Let me guess. You didn’t know, huh?” He thumps Sol’s shoulder and winks. He freaking winks. “Brave Knight over here confronted me at the school parking lot after we broke up to your avenge your honor. He almost broke my nose with his giant fist. He didn’t get suspended, thanks to me for not reporting his ass to the principal,” he says, directing a sneer at Solomon. “Well, Callan. There goes your pristine reputation.”
I think back on the time after the incident. Gavin showed up in school with dark bruises around his nose and under his eyes. He told everyone he’d hurt himself while trying to tackle one of his team mates during football practice.
Oh, my gosh.
Sol continues to stand there, unmovable as a mountain, his jaw twitching as he stares Gavin down. Sol’s almost a foot taller than Gavin, so he towers over him easily. His usually peaceful demeanor is replaced by anger as it pours off him in waves. I’ve never seen him like this. I’m still trying to wrap my head around this whole revelation.
Gavin drops his hand and steps back, glaring at Sol. “Wouldn’t want Church Boy to get into a fight in front of the Lord himself, now would we?” His lips curl into a sneer before he stalks away.
Sol whirls around and dips his head to meet my gaze. He reaches forward as if he wants to touch me but freezes. “Are you okay?”
“I’m good. Thank you for standing up for me.” I give him a smile, but he doesn’t smile back. Instead, his eyes leave mine and trail after Gavin, his jaw clenched tight. “He wouldn’t have done anything to me. Not in front of everyone. Besides”—my smile widens into a grin—“I can handle him.”
He eyes my petite frame doubtfully, the crease between his eyes deepening. “How?”
“I’ve got a few tricks up my sleeve.” I wink at him playfully, hoping to ease the concerned look in his eyes.
He sighs and rakes his fingers through his tousled hair, which seems to have a mind of its own. “I gotta go. Luke’s having some guys over for lunch at the rectory. He needs help with some stuff.” He studies me, really studies me, taking in every feature of my face before asking, “Are you sure you’re okay?”
Gosh, he’s so sweet. “Yes. I swear, I’m okay.”
He nods. “All right. I guess I’ll see you around?”
“Sure.”
He looks like he wants to say something else. Instead, he shakes his head and walks toward the rectory in long, powerful strides.
I watch him until he disappears around the corner, then walk over to where my mom’s still chatting with one of the parishioners, oblivious to what just happened.
“Are you sure you’ll be okay?” Mom asks me as we head for our car a few minutes later. She’s leaving for Port Elizabeth for a three-day meditation retreat later this afternoon.
“I’ll be fine.”
“What about the diner?” She bites her bottom lip worriedly.