Crossed: Chapter 22

“GET OUT OF BED.”

Dalia’s voice trickles into my room, and I throw the covers over my head, pretending I don’t hear her. I dropped off Quinten at school this morning and headed right back here, diving into my covers and wallowing in despair.

I’m stuck between a rock and a hard place, and I’m cursing God— if he even exists—for placing me in this predicament. I try so fucking hard, would do anything for Quinten, and yet here I am, lost and drowning with no way out.

Ideally, there’d be no reason for me to worry about things. I’m innocent, and if I had any faith left in humanity, I would believe people could see the overwhelming evidence pointing toward me not being the guilty party and actually try to find the real person.

But I know better than anyone that most people will take the easy way out when given the opportunity, and an exotic dancer with a low income and a lot of enemies is easier to pin things on than admitting you have no leads.

Failing at your job doesn’t look good on paper. Unless you’re Florence and your personal vendetta against your client supersedes your need to win. I’m under no illusion she’d go to bat for me. In fact, I’m pretty sure seeing me locked up and called a murderer would give her more joy than winning a case ever could.

“Maybe she’ll surprise us,” Dalia said when I told her. I laughed, knowing she was full of shit and trying to be optimistic. That optimism disappeared as soon as I filled her in on our conversation.

I knew the minute I saw Florence that it was hopeless, so I latched on to the only thing that’s given me any kind of peace, the one person I know I should stay away from but never do. Because like the naive, ridiculous person I am, I trusted him. Trusted the way he showed Quinten decency and was clearly mistaken that him giving me attention meant we’d become almost friends.

And then I fucked that up too.

Or maybe he did.

Honestly, I’m not sure how to rectify the two different halves of Cade Frédéric in my head. The God-loving priest and the filthy Frenchman who had me coming on his fingers. They seem the same, but that’s impossible.

Either way, the safety net I cast around him disappeared in an instant, like it was ripped away in a storm.

Cade Frédéric isn’t safe.

He’s the danger.

“Amaya, come on, girl. You can’t wallow in misery all day,” Dalia tries again.

“Bet,” I mumble back.

Dalia rips the covers from my head, and I grapple to find them. She gets to me before I can, pulling me into her arms and rocking me back and forth. A pathetic sob tears from my throat, puncturing the air.

“I know you’re scared,” she whispers. “But I’ve got you. We’ll figure it out.”

I pull back, pinching my eyes closed to try and stem the tears. I feel like a crybaby. “I’m not scared for me. I just…”

Dalia knows. Of course she does. Out of anyone in the world, she’s the only one who gets me fully.

No matter what happens, I’ll survive. I’ll persevere, the way I always do.

But I worry for Quinten. He’s my whole heart, and if I’m not around to be with him, how can I protect him? Nurture him? Make sure he’s able to thrive and be the fucking phenomenal human I know he is?

“Can’t wait to see how Quinten fares in foster care.”

Emotion chokes my throat, and I slide my hands down from Dalia’s shoulders until they’re gripping her hands, and I squeeze tightly. “If things don’t work out… Promise me you’ll take care of Quin, Dal,” I plead.

She protests, shaking her head, her eyes sorrowful and wide.

“No,” I say sharply. “Promise me.”

“Amaya…” She trails off, looking to the side. “I can’t.” I rear back, my eyes growing round as disbelief pours through me.

“I want to,” she rushes out. “But how can I promise something I don’t know I can do? People like us? We don’t have the power here, you know that. And I don’t want you to hate me forever if I’m not able to stop things.”

Her face crumples, and my chest caves in along with it.

I know she’s right. I hate that she is, but the odds aren’t in our favor. They’re with the rich. The prosperous. The lucky.

“I’ll already hate myself enough,” she adds, her voice breaking. “But I promise you I’ll try. I’ll fight with everything I am to keep Quin safe and with me.”

She says it like a reassurance, but her earlier words have already branded their truths on me like a tattoo.

We don’t have the power.

But I know someone who does.

Steely determination locks into place like a vault, one agonizing click at a time until my spine is ramrod straight and my salty tears are drying on my cheeks.

I sniff, nodding as my tongue runs over the front of my teeth. “Everything will be okay, Dalia.”

Dalia’s head cocks, and she wipes beneath her eyes with the back of her hand. “Wh- what?”

Jumping out of bed, I run my palms down my crumpled clothes, resignation thrumming in my veins.

I know what I have to do.

“You said it yourself. We don’t have any power.” My jaw sets. “So I’m going to someone who does.”

SELLING my soul feels different than I thought it would.

I’m not sure what I expected. Maybe despair. For depression to sink its devastating claws in and pin me down. But instead, there’s…nothing.

No pain left from Father Cade turning out to be a complete toxic waste.

No fear of what will happen to Quinten if I don’t get to stick around.

Just a smooth, clear path for me to walk down. Shiny, fortified, bulletproof glass. My hands aren’t even shaking as I sit patiently in the waiting room of Errien Enterprises, Parker’s personal assistant sneering at me as she click- clacks on her computer.

“Amaya, what a lovely surprise,” Parker says, his voice sounding muffled, like my head is underwater.

I stand up and force a smile so wide it strains the muscles in my cheeks, and when he moves close enough, I lean in, pressing a chaste kiss on his cheek and lingering.

It makes me want to vomit.

His body stiffens, most likely in surprise. I’ve never been the one to initiate closeness before.

“Can we talk in your office?” I glance at his personal assistant, then peer back at him through my lashes. “Or somewhere private?”

His eyes gleam, curiosity rimming the bright blue irises, and he nods, his hand pressing against the small of my back as he leads me through the doors.

Nausea cramps my stomach, slipping through the numbness, and I swallow around the sour tang in the back of my mouth.

His door is partially open, and it’s only once I’m fully inside his office that I stop short, realizing we aren’t alone.

Father Cade sits in a chair, his eyes blazing as they lock on to where Parker is touching me.

Of course he’s here. He seems to always be everywhere that I am.

His leg is crossed over the opposite knee, his stature completely relaxed. There’s a type of dominance he exudes simply by being, and I wonder if that’s something every priest has or if it’s uniquely him.

My heart— the traitorous bitch— flutters when our eyes lock.

I break our stare immediately, the reminder of him spitting harsh insults making me feel too much. Right now, I need to be a blank slate. I’m not sure I’ll survive what I’m about to do otherwise.

Besides, fuck Cade Frédéric. He’s a hypocrite. A bad priest and an even worse man.

And now I know better than to let him in.

But the way he’s looking at me right now makes it hard. His gaze reeks of concern. Of something dark and deep, like he’s tearing through my skin and staring directly into my soul. I wonder if he can tell my world has shifted like tectonic plates, leaving me hanging on a jagged cliff’s edge with no way out.

I wonder if he’d care.

“Is everything all right, Amaya?”

Cade’s voice skirts around me, tempting with its silky caress. I bat it away, my teeth clenching as I hold on to the flare of anger when I think of the things he said. The way he found out about my mother and then used her words against me, flinging them like a thousand blades into my heart.

“Father, you’ll have to forgive me for cutting this short,” Parker interrupts. “But when a beautiful woman shows up and wants some time, you always say yes. You know how it is.” He laughs. “Actually, maybe you don’t.”

I hold back a snort, and Cade’s brow quirks, like he finds this whole thing amusing. He chuckles low and dark, and the hurt morphs to rage, snapping like piranhas.

The audacity of this man. Of this fake in a clerical collar, pretending to have a direct line to the deity.

Good with his fingers though.

A sharp shot of desire rips through me, and my nostrils flare.

Cade’s face changes as he watches me. And somehow, I just know that he knows what’s going through my mind. His stare turns so intense it scorches up my side and melts into my skin.

There’s a few moments of silence, just long enough to be awkward, and then he smirks, the bastard, and stands up.

His every movement is smooth and controlled, and I ache to see what he’s like when he’s unrestrained. To see him unravel the way he made me, just so I can callously throw him in the dirt and stomp on his ego when it’s done.

“Of course, Parker. You can stop by the church. My doors are always open.”

I clench my jaw, not looking over, remembering how he’s said those words to me before.

Clearly, that’s another lie.

“I can come back,” I offer. But I know Parker won’t send me away. He never does, even when I would wish for him to.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Amaya,” Parker snips. “Father Cade was just trying to convince me that I should donate to the Festival of Fools instead of getting it shut down completely.”

Cade hums as he moves closer to where I am. I stiffen, his woodsy scent wafting through the air and little snaps of electricity sizzling off my skin.

He towers over me, and I hate how tall he is and how, even if I lift my chin, it only puts me further at his mercy.

“And can I expect to see you at Mass this Sunday, Miss Paquette?”

His voice curls around me like rope, and I imagine taking a knife and sawing through the threads.

“As long as Parker’s there,” I reply, a little too sweetly.

It’s petty, and I’m one hundred percent doing it to make him jealous. Or maybe to get the point across that what happened yesterday means nothing. Less than.

His eyes flare, but then he smiles and nods. “I’ll be looking for you then, petite pécheresse.”

My chest pulls when he leaves, wanting to follow him and demand an apology for what he’s said, but I spin toward where Parker is instead.

Parker leans against the lip of his desk, his ankles crossed and blond hair slicked back as he stares at me. He doesn’t speak, just waits patiently.

So I take a deep breath and exhale it slowly, coming to terms with the fact that from this moment forward, my life will change. It’s a risk, what I’m about to do. Dangerous, and maybe I’ll look back on this moment as the second I fucked everything up for good.

But he’s my best bet at making sure nothing happens to me. If I’m safe, then so is Quinten, and I’d rather die a thousand deaths than let anything bad ever happen to him.

Closing my eyes, I enjoy the last few moments of my freedom before opening my lids and staring Parker directly in the eyes, telling him everything.

Admitting that I’ve been working at the Chapel.

That a regular got too bold and ended up dead.

And then I say the one thing I never have.

I say yes to marrying him.