My Favorite Sin Page 4

  CONTINUE

  Lawrence is doing something on his computer—unbearably slowly, but whatever it is, I feel like it would be crossing a line to ask him if he wants help. Students have come in and out of his office all morning. He has helped some of them with deciding which classes to pick, since those would align with his goals, and there has been at least two that burst out crying in his office because of some sort of personal tragedy.

  I’m enjoying learning from him, the way he handles every crisis, every different personality. That said, his day is exhausting. I don’t know how he does it. I’ve only been here for around three hours and I can already feel the weight off other people’s problems on my shoulders.

  As if he’s read my mind, he looks me up and down. “Are you doing okay?”

  “Yes,” I say. “I mean, I’m a little awed. This is what you do every day?”

  He raises his eyebrows. “Today is a little busier than most days, truthfully,” he says. “But yes, it should give you a good idea of what I do every day.”

  I blink. “You help people.”

  He nods, but doesn’t smile. “I like to think so.”

  “And you’re not a priest,” I say, more to him than to myself.

  He laughs quietly. “Not as far as I’m aware.”

  I shake my head and look out the window. I can see the sloping, grassy hill outside his window, with students milling around the courtyard and catching the sunlight. Some are studying, some are playing sports. I’m certain a few of them are taking naps. I know all of them have no idea what they’re doing, but it feels like I’m the only one who seems to be having this much of a problem with it. Then again, they can change their careers. If I decide to go to seminary to become a priest, I know I’m going to stick it out. I know it’s what I’ll do for the rest of my life. I don’t want to be stuck doing something I hate. “I think you might be right,” I say under my breath.

  Lawrence doesn’t say anything to me. He’s twirling a pencil in his hands, his wedding band making a click-click-click sound with every spin.

  “About why I want to do this,” I say. “I mean, you’re just helping people choose classes and I’m already emotionally spent. I can’t imagine doing this in confession.”

  “But you wouldn’t be alone during confession,” he says after a long pause.

  “Right,” I say. “And maybe that would make a difference. But what if I want to do it for the wrong reasons?”

  He raises his eyebrows and says nothing.

  “I don’t know if my family would forgive me if I didn’t pursue this,” I say.

  “So this is about your family,” he replies.

  “No,” I say. “I mean, a little, I guess. Fuck, I just don’t know, I—”

  I put my hand over my mouth when I realize I’ve sworn in front of Lawrence Faulkner. He’s biting his lower lip and I can tell he’s trying not to laugh.

  I clear my throat. Hopefully we’ll both move past that and ignore it ever happened. “I just thought that I was one of the few people in the world who truly knew what they wanted ever since they were kids,” I say. “But now that I’m getting so close to it happening, I’m reconsidering everything. And it’s making me question all of my decisions up to now.”

  “Why?” he asks, cocking his head.

  I sigh and look down at my lap. “Because everything I ever did was supposed to lead to this,” I say. “And I thought I would be so happy.”

  He watches me.

  I can feel my throat closing before I speak again. “But I’m not happy,” I say. “I’m so afraid.”

  Lawrence looks me up and down. “Do you mind if I touch you?”

  I look at him, my eyes wide and my heart beating fast in my chest. I blink a couple of times, and then finally, finally, I manage to shake my head. “No,” I say. “That’s okay.”

  He gets off his chair and walks over to me. I don’t stand up, because I have no idea why I should. He’s towering over me. I think he’s going to put a hand on my shoulder, but he doesn’t. He leans down slightly and wraps his arms around me, holding me close.

  My eyes widen. I didn’t expect him to hug me. I react belatedly, maybe a millisecond after his arms around me. I put my arms around him too and bury my face into his shoulder. He smells like expensive cologne, like sandalwood and lavender.

  “It’s going to be okay,” he says. “You’re going to be okay.”

  I try to blink the tears away from my eyes, but I can’t do it. I can feel them streaming down my cheeks and I burrow my face in his shoulder, caring very little about how wet and disgusting I’m getting his shirt.

  It’s only a minute or so, but everything feels like it has changed when he moves away from me. “Hey,” he says, his face inches away from mine. His eyes are dark blue, with little speckles of gray. “It’s going to be okay. You’re going to be fine.”

  I swallow and nod, wiping my face with the back of my hand. “Sorry,” I say. “I’m… I shouldn’t have done that.”

  “It’s okay,” he says, squeezing my shoulder. “You’re stressed. I get it. Are you embarrassed?”

  I nod. I want to say something, but I can’t find it in me to talk.

  “You’re going to be okay,” he says. “I promise. I’m here for you.”

  He squeezes my shoulder again, then moves away from me. He opens a drawer and grabs a packet of tissues from it. He tosses it at me and flashes me a smile.

  “Thank you,” I say as I fumble. The tissues fall on my lap and I don’t manage to catch them. “I appreciate it.”

  He nods, furrowing his brow slightly. “Of course,” he says. “You know I’m here for you.”

  CONTINUE

  I’m ignoring how much my foot hurts. Mostly, I’m thinking about how awkward it was to talk to Lawrence and how I shouldn’t have turned him down. Being a good friend is important to me, too, though, and I still have time to take Lawrence up on his offer.

  I find Cyrus in the park across the street. He’s sipping on a diet soda, sitting on a bench and looking at the cathedral next to the park. He sets his gaze on me, looking me up and down as I hop toward him. He waves at me and I wave back.

  “Hey,” he says as I sit down on the bench next to him.

  “Hey,” he replies. “How did it go?”

  “It was weird,” I say.

  “Like in a sexy way?”

  “Like in a ‘I think I might have burned a bridge’ way,” I reply, licking my lips.

  Cyrus tuts and shakes his head. “God, you’re so stressed lately,” he says. “Do you want a shoulder rub?”

  I scoff, a smile on my face. “Seriously?”

  Cyrus rolls his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest. “I’m just trying to help.”

  “I know,” I say and lean back on the bench. “It’s nothing you can help with, though. I’m just doing a really good job at fucking up my life lately.”

  He nods. “I’ve never known you to do things half-assed.”

  I laugh and shake my head. “Right,” I say. “I could stand being a little lazy right now.”

  “You could,” he says. “You need to relax. Take a beat, learn how to like yourself again.”

  I furrow my brow. “What does that mean?”

  “You have this idea that once you fulfill everything you set your mind to, you’re going to like yourself,” he says. “But that’s not how it works.”

  I turn to look at him and say nothing. He turns his body so he’s facing me. He’s lithe, a little shorter than me, with big brown eyes and apple-cheeks. “Trust me,” he says. “It’s good to reach your goals, but you also need to give permission to like yourself now.”

  I look him up and down. “What is there to like?” I say with a smile.

  I know he knows I’m joking, but he grabs my hands anyway and looks right into my eyes. “You’re incredible,” he says.

  “Cyrus—”

  “No,” he replies. “I know you’re joking, but I want you to know how people really
feel about you. You’re kind, and sweet, and selfless—”

  “This is completely unnecessary—”

  “And I want you to be happy,” he says, squeezing my hands. “You deserve to be happy. Whether you decide to be a priest or not.”

  I blink and swallow the knot in my throat. I certainly didn’t expect that. “Thank you,” I say, my voice strangled.

  “I mean it,” he replies. “I don’t know I could have survived the last few years without you.”

  I move my hands away from him. “You’re giving me too much credit,” I say, fidgeting. My hands are sweaty, I’m sweaty. I don’t know why I’m so nervous about this. I’m never nervous around Cyrus. He makes me feel comfortable, even when I’m having a hard time. He makes me feel like it’s okay to exist.

  “I’m not giving you enough,” he says. “And I don’t think I tell you as much as I should. I love you, Alex. I only want what’s best for you.”

  I smile at him, biting down on my lower lip. “Right,” I say. “If only we could figure out what that was.”

  He laughs. “If only.”

  CONTINUE

  After a couple of hours of shooting the shit and talking about very little, we decide to get lunch at a sandwich store nearby. It’s a local place and I think it has been around forever. It’s popular with students because it’s cheap and close to school, but it’s dark and it’s usually pretty packed. For some reason, it’s not really that full right now. The windows face the cathedral, so the sunlight is blocked by the imposing building. This place is very old, and I think it would be quaint if it didn’t feel like it was going to come down on us any minute now.

  After we order our food, an avocado cheese sandwich for Cyrus and a roast beef one for me, we sit in the corner of the shop, at the very back. It’s so dark it feels like it’s night time and the little hanging lamps are doing very little to help. They’re very pretty, but they don’t seem to do much.

  “So,” I say. “I’m sick of talking about my shit. What’s going on with you?”

  He smiles sweetly. I can see the glimmer in his eyes when I ask him how things are going. It might be dark, but I know him like the back of my hand. “You want to know, huh?”

  I laugh. “That’s why I’m asking.”

  “Okay,” he says. “So you’re the first person I’m telling and you have to promise you won’t say anything.”

  I tilt my head, waiting for him to say something else.

  “It’s just,” he continues, leaning back on the chair. “It might not pan out. I don’t want to deal with my disappointment and other people’s judgment, too.”

  I nod. “That makes sense to me,” I say. “But you have to tell me. This is torture.”

  “Sorry,” he says. “I’ll tell you. Okay, so a producer reached out to me after seeing my YouTube videos.”

  I smile at him. “That’s wonderful,” I say. “Did you vet them—”

  “Yes, thoroughly vetted,” he says. “They’re legit. I even called their office. You know, like on the phone.”

  “Wow,” I say.

  “Yes,” he replies. “They’re totally real. They want me to go to LA, do a recording there. If they like it and it’s well received, they might even sign me.”

  I blink. “That’s huge, Cyrus.”

  “I know,” he says. “It’s a big deal.”

  “I know,” I reply. “You were so worried about your voice.”

  “Yeah,” he says. “Everything was… when I went on T, it was super scary.”

  “Your voice is amazing,” I say. “Always has been, always will be.”

  “They love it,” he whispers, waving his hand in front of his face to dismiss me. “It’s so weird.”

  “Of course they love it,” I say. “Your voice is wonderful. You’re wonderful.”

  He rolls his eyes. “Stop it,” he says. “Anyway, the producer isn’t the only one I have to win over. They might hate me after they see me. But if they like me…”

  “That’s your big break,” I say. “And there’s no reason they wouldn’t like you.”

  “Well, there could be lots of reasons why they didn’t like me,” he says. “But—”

  I wave my hand in front of his face. “I can’t think of a single one.”

  “You’re sweet,” he says. “I don’t know, part of me didn’t want to jinx out by saying it aloud.”

  “You’re not jinxing it.”

  “How can you be sure?”

  “I can’t, but you’re a hard worker and an amazing artist,” I say. “I’m not surprised someone is poaching you. I mean, how many subscribers do you have at this point?”

  “I don’t know,” he replies and shrugs his shoulders. “Like two hundred thousand?”

  “You can’t say it like it’s no big deal,” I say. “It’s a huge deal, babe. I’m proud of you.”

  He smiles at me, his eyes shining.

  “Now, don’t forget me when you’re famous.”

  His expression darkens, just for a second, then he shakes his head. “No,” he says. “You know that I won’t.”

  CONTINUE

  Chapter FOUR

  Hanging out with Cyrus cheered me up. My life might be a mess, but his life is going well and he deserves all the happiness in the world. I don’t like the idea of seeing him go, but I was the one who was planning to leave first. It would be unfair to be upset with him for leaving me behind, especially because I know he is destined to do so much more.

  He drops me off at home. It’s kind of late by the time I get back to my apartment. It’s dark and empty. I wonder where Montgomery is. I don’t care that much, I’m just curious about where he could be. The moment I walk in the door, my phone buzzes in my pocket.

  It’s Montgomery.

  I blink a little, confused about why he would be calling me. “Hello?”

  “Hey, choirboy,” he says. “Are you busy?”

  “No?”

  “Good,” he says. “Because I need your help.”

  “You what?”

  “I. Need. Your. Help.”

  I blink. “You need my help to do what?”

  “I need someone to pick me up,” he says. “I’m in the drunk tank and they won’t release me if I haven’t got anyone to pick me up.”

  I cock my head. I’m trying very hard not to laugh at him. “You sound perfectly sober.”

  “Exactly,” he says. “I’M SOBER SO THIS IS BULLSHIT.”

  I hold my phone away from my face. “Yikes, okay,” I say. “There’s no need to scream in my ear.”

  “Can I count on you?”

  “I guess,” I say. “I could take a taxi or—”

  “No,” he says. “Just bring my bike.”

  “I don’t know how to drive a motorcycle.”

  “So learn,” he says. “The keys are in the plate by the door. Okay, choirboy. See you soon.”

  He hangs up and I’m left looking at my phone in my hand, wondering what the fuck I got myself into. There are many ways I foresee this going, and none of them are good. The police station isn’t too far, though, and I do need a vehicle to collect him.

  Maybe it’s not that hard. And I am just trying to help him. He did tell me to take his bike. I’ve seen him ride it before and if someone with all the wit and awareness of Montgomery can do it, then I’m pretty sure I can too. I grab his keys and his helmet and step outside the apartment.

  It’s already getting dark. The police station is only about half a mile away, so I don’t think it’s going to be that hard to get there, but I don’t want to accidentally hurt Montgomery’s bike and I definitely don’t want to take a spill.

  I tell myself it’s going to be okay. I get on the bike and position myself the same way I’ve seen Montgomery do it, all while I wonder if I should be wearing more layers. Probably, but I want to have this done as soon as possible.

  I turn the keys in the ignition and the bike purrs under me, vibrating so hard I feel like I’m about to be thrown off the damn thing.
I know how to drive a car, I just don’t do it often. This is different. Luckily, the streets look mostly empty. I put the helmet on and I’m surprised at how much darker it seems to be behind the visor. The helmet is snug on me. I think Montgomery’s head must be smaller. Talk about irony.

  It turns out riding a motorcycle is going to be surprising complex. Holding onto the damn handles is hard enough and the metal thing is unwieldy under me. I manage to turn it on, because I’ve heard Montgomery drone on about it for far too much time, but I have to idea how to reverse it and I don’t even know if I’m sitting on it properly.

  Why did I think this was a good idea? I don’t know how to ride a motorcycle. I get off the damn thing, take off the helmet and walk back in the house. I kick the door closed behind me.

  I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. I could try to walk over to the station and then wrangle Montgomery until I get him home. I could also ask Cyrus to give me a lift.

  I don’t want to do this alone, but I also don’t want to bother Cyrus again after he helped me today.

  I take my phone out of my pocket and sigh.

  Maybe it would be better to handle this myself, but…

  I don’t know if Cyrus would want to miss it. He loves seeing Montgomery make a fool of himself.

  Chapter FOUR

  Being around Lawrence all day cheered me up. My life might be a mess, but being around him does make me feel like maybe I don’t have to be a priest to be a good person. Things were a little weird after the hug, but I think I was the one who made it awkward. I think he was a little quieter than he had been before, but I can’t blame him for that.

  The moment was decidedly intimate, far more than any other moments I’ve had with him. His shirt got wet from my tears. He might have thought I was being an idiot, but he didn’t make me feel like that.

  He was just sweet and supportive. Somehow, that made it all worse. He already had so much to deal with. He needed need me to bother him on top of that.

  I go home during his lunch break, even though he asks me if I don’t want to stay for the rest of the day. I don’t. I need to go home and work hard on getting a grip. I spend my afternoon reading books I can’t focus on and trying to read into his motives. Maybe he was just doing his job by making me feel better, but I’m pretty sure he didn’t hug anyone else the same way he hugged me.