Cole waited at the light and watched the city walk past his windshield.
Women in sharp dresses and pencil skirts crossed the intersection in quick, efficient strides, umbrellas angled against the lingering drizzle. He smiled despite the dull ache behind his eyes. He really needed to get out more. There was an entire world of legs and perfume and lives that didn't revolve around ghosts, deadlines, and small-town politics.
The light flipped green sooner than he'd have liked. He eased his foot onto the accelerator and let the SUV roll forward, leaving the slow morning traffic of downtown behind for the quieter streets near the edge of town.
The gym lot was nearly empty. A single silver Nissan Sentra sat crooked near the door.
Dominic.
Cole grabbed his bag from the back seat and headed in. His membership tag beeped against the scanner. Inside, the gym lights cast a hard, clean glow over rows of empty machines. Music thumped low from a speaker in the corner. The only thing really moving was Dominic, already hammering away at the heavy bag.
Cole's black basketball shorts swayed with his stride. Dominic was shirtless and sweating, his lean frame slick with effort. Tattoos marked him—bicep, right shoulder, chest, right calf. Spanish script, crosses, roses, a stylized Lady of Guadalupe—devotion inked in black and color.
His coal-dark hair clung damply to his forehead.
"Será, you're early," Cole said.
"Or you just need to learn to tell time," Dominic shot back between rapid jabs, his accent softening the consonants. "Why are you late?"
"I had company."
Dominic snorted and let the bag sway away from him. "You have a girlfriend?" he asked in mock astonishment. "Good for you."
"No," Cole said. "I don't have a girlfriend."
"Fornication," Dominic declared, switching to a quick combination of hooks and crosses. "You know what they say about that?"
"No," Cole said, dragging the word out in a perfect imitation of Alex's tone when she thought he was being dramatic.
"Be safe. Use protection." Dominic grinned, light on his feet.
"You shouldn't condone fornication," Cole said. He set his bag down, pulled out his gloves and water bottle, and peeled off his gray tee. "You're a priest."
"Judge not, lest ye be judged," Dominic replied, stepping back from the bag to unfasten his gloves.
Cole laughed. Most people would have found Dominic strange for a priest. Cole had found him… necessary. When therapy with a stranger in Alexandria had stopped working, Dominic had stepped into the gap. Confessor, counselor, training partner. Hidden gem.
"You need connection," Dominic said, tugging his gloves off fully. "Being alone all the time is not good. If she fills some of that void and it brings you joy, I'm not going to throw stones."
"Sage advice," Cole said, rolling his shoulders through a slow stretch.
"I am supposed to be a man of sage advice," Dominic replied, walking around to stand behind the bag. "Come on. Warm up."
Cole slid his hands into his gloves and tightened the bindings, the leather snug around his knuckles. "Sorry I was late."
Bracing his hands against the bag, Dominic intoned, "You are forgiven, my son."
Cole stepped in and began his routine. Jabs, crosses, hooks, reset. The heavy bag thudded beneath his fists. He found the rhythm and let his breathing fall into it, each exhale sharp and deliberate. Sweat broke across his skin, muscles heating and loosening, endorphins smoothing the jagged edges of his thoughts.
He kept at it until his arms burned.
Enough of being a pussy, he told himself.
He stepped back, chest rising and falling in deep gulps. He tugged off his gloves and grabbed his water bottle. The water was warm from the gym air, but it still felt good as it hit the back of his throat. Sweat slid down his sternum and abdomen; he rubbed a hand over his chest, feeling the tight ache in his muscles.
"Instead of another round," he said, "can we talk?"
"Of course," Dominic said.
He picked up his shirt and moved away from the bag. They settled on the mat nearby—Dominic sitting cross-legged, Cole dropping beside him. Dominic gave him a moment to catch his breath.
Cole lay back on the mat and stared up at the exposed beams of the ceiling, collecting his thoughts.
"What's on your mind?" Dominic asked.
"I miss being married," Cole said, surprising himself with the honesty. "Having a wife. A place that felt like home, not a crash pad. Having a family that was…mine."
"You remember what we talked about last time?" Dominic asked.
"I do," Cole said.
Dominic pulled his shirt on, then wiped sweat from his face with his palm.
"Do you believe me?" Cole asked.
"Of course." Dominic's answer came without hesitation. "I would never think you'd lie about something like that."
Cole huffed a humorless laugh. "Why? I wouldn't believe me if it were the other way around."
"Faith, Cole."
Cole smiled despite himself. Most priests would have wrapped everything he'd confessed in lectures and guilt and penance. Dominic had offered him a water bottle and a heavy bag.
"Thanks for not making this harder than it already is," Cole whispered. "It doesn't bother you? Knowing? Sitting here, knowing that if I let my guard down, I can feel what you feel? That you can't stop it? That there are… exceptions to privacy you don't get to choose?"
Dominic was quiet for a beat, weighing his words.
"Before I answer, let me tell you something," he said. "Have I ever told you why I became a priest?"
"No," Cole said, turning his head to look at him.
"When I was little, my family came here from Spain. I remember some of it, but I was very young when we left. Growing up here was… difficult. We were poor, and I was stupid." He tapped a few of his scars through the cotton. "I haven't always been Father Perfect."
"What happened?" Cole asked.
Dominic's eyes went distant for a moment. "I got involved in a gang. Stupid, angry young men get drawn to stupid, angry groups. By fifteen, I had robbed someone. By sixteen I'd slept with a prostitute. That same year, I almost killed a man."
"You murdered someone?" Cole whispered.
"No." Dominic shook his head and made the sign of the cross, fingers brushing the small crucifix at his throat. "He lived. I thank God every day for that."
He drew in a slow breath. "In my late teens, we tried to rob a church. The priest caught us. The police arrested us. That priest came to the jail and told the officers he wouldn't press charges if we agreed to do community service there." Dominic smiled faintly. "The others laughed. I felt… something reaching for me. So I said yes."
He shrugged. "Working there changed everything. That priest treated me as if I was worth more than my mistakes. He helped me get my GED, then get into the seminary. I've never regretted it."
Cole stared up at the ceiling again, letting the story sink in.
"I've never committed a crime," he whispered.
"Never?" Dominic asked, one brow lifting.
"Okay," Cole conceded. "I may have downloaded some MP3s illegally growing up. But I'm reformed. I pay for my music now like a good consumer."
Dominic's mouth quirked.
"Your first time was with a prostitute, and you still got into the priesthood," Cole went on. "I don't think I'd admit that even in confession."
Dominic protested, "I did not say my first time was with a prostitute. I said I slept with my first prostitute at sixteen. My first girl was at fifteen."
"How in the hell did you get into the priesthood?" Cole blurted. "No offense, but I always thought priests were people who… didn't have that kind of past."
"I live a holy life now," Dominic said calmly. "That's what matters. All the Church requires is a sincere desire to dedicate your life to God. We acknowledge our pasts, not erase them, but they are not disqualifiers. He already knows all of us, Cole. Your not believing that doesn't make it less true."
There was no push in his tone. Just certainty.
"I get it," Cole said, surprised by how much of it he actually understood.
"Things change all the time," Dominic said. "Every experience shapes you. New doesn't automatically mean bad. You give it time, you taste what it has to teach, and you keep the parts that make you better. If I hadn't been willing to try something different at that church all those years ago, I wouldn't be here. With you. Right now."
He glanced at Cole. "Do you see?"
"Yes," Cole said. "I do."
Even the things he hated about himself—the ghosts, the voices, the constant edge of exhaustion—had pushed him into new places. New people. Into Purgatory. Into this gym with this ex-gangster priest who believed him.
"Good," Dominic said. "Now think about your marriage. The woman you loved couldn't accept the part of you that you needed her to accept most. Combine that with the distance your job created, and it pulled you apart." He lifted a hand before Cole could protest. "I know moving here has been hard. You've been lonely, miss her, and miss your sister. You miss your old life. But look at you now. You have a good job. You have friends. If you hadn't come to Purgatory, we would never have met. There are no meaningless events. You couldn't count on anyone before. You can count on me."
Cole swallowed around a tightness in his throat. "It's true," he said. "Meeting you has been… good."
Dominic could wrap himself in his holy armor and wade into the mess with him. Alex had always been his anchor, but he spent half his life trying to protect her. Dominic didn't need protecting.
"Do you mind if we talk about spirituality for a minute?" Dominic asked.
"Sure," Cole said, though the word came out cautiously. He shifted, sitting up with Dominic's help. His toes flexed inside his minimalist shoes, gripping the mat.
"Don't look so apprehensive," Dominic said, smiling. "We've been over this. You're disillusioned with the Church's view of God. You're trying to find your own balance. But we're more alike than you think."
"I have a very different view," Cole said. "I try to live by my internal sense of karma. Do unto others as you'd have them do unto you. It shows up in almost every religion. I don't have to share your theology to respect that you do."
"I agree," Dominic said. "Which is my point." He leaned back on his hands. "You stress over what you can do. Over your abilities. But from where I sit, you do not hold yourself unaccountable. At your core, you're a non-practicing Catholic with a very loud conscience."
Cole snorted. "You sure about that?"
"I'm very sure," Dominic said. "When someone comes to confession, what happens?"
"You assign them penance," Cole said.
"And that does what?"
"Make them acknowledge what they did wrong and amend it."
"Right." Dominic's eyes brightened with quiet checkmate satisfaction. "By your own ideology, who assigns you penance, Cole?"
"I do," Cole said.
"How?" Dominic pressed, his smile widening. "Explain it to me."
"You know how," Cole muttered.
"Say it," Dominic insisted.
Cole sighed. "If I've done wrong, or someone has done wrong to me, I don't try to hurt them back. I find someone else and do something kind. Something that balances it out. So the bad gets… diluted."
"Exactly," Dominic said. "That is not so different from my way. You just do it without a priest telling you what to say or how many prayers to recite. That honesty about yourself is rare. It tells me who you are at your core."
"Thanks," Cole said, voice low.
Dominic's gaze stayed gentle. "To answer your question from earlier: no, it doesn't bother me. If anything, it makes me feel safer around you. How many people say the right words because they feel obligated? You don't have that luxury. If you felt me being false, you'd know."
Cole grimaced. "Can we talk about something else?"
"Of course," Dominic said. "Who's the girl?"
"This conversation stays between us?" Cole asked.
"I'd give it the same respect as confession."
"Amber Ryan," Cole said.
Dominic whistled. "Tread lightly," he said. "You know who she is, yes?"
"Yes," Cole said. "Her father is Eoghan Ryan. Her uncle is Seamus, my editor. He's also Brady's father."
"And Brady is…?"
"A cop. My best friend. My sister's partner back in Alexandria."
"Right." Dominic folded his arms loosely over his knees. "So. Remind me—why did Brady leave Purgatory?"
"He disagrees with how his family uses its influence," Cole said carefully. "They have… authority in areas that aren't exactly legal."
"Correct," Dominic said with a sigh. "So tell me again how being the paramour of daddy's little girl is wise?"
"I didn't say it was wise," Cole said. "I said that's who it is."
"Cole," Dominic said, closing his eyes briefly and shaking his head. When he looked up, his expression was halfway between fond and exasperated. "Do not start thinking nothing bad could come from this. Does anyone else know?"
"Seamus knows," Cole admitted.
Dominic's eyes widened. His face said you have got to be kidding me. "At least tell me you're in love with her."
"It's casual," Cole said, voice barely above a whisper. "For both of us."
"Cole."
"Hey," Cole said. "What happened to 'judge not'?"
"I'm not judging you," Dominic said. "I'm worried for you. She is a beautiful woman. I understand the temptation. My point is this: don't think being friends with her cousin will protect you from the power her family wields. Does Brady know?"
"No," Cole said, irritation edging his tone. "Why would it matter if he did?"
"It doesn't, in the practical sense," Dominic said. "But it tells me about you. It tells me about the way you hold your lovers. You say it's casual, yet you've told no one. Not Brady. Not Alex. Just me—a priest who is bound not to repeat it—and Amber herself, who told her uncle without telling him." He gave Cole a pointed look. "She didn't, did she?"
"No," Cole said. "She just said he knew. She didn't say how."
"And you know she feels like Brady does about her family," Dominic said. "She may be daddy's girl, but she doesn't condone his business."
"I do know that," Cole said. "Imagine how lonely that is. You're the rich girl with the last name everyone knows for all the wrong reasons. Your only actual family is your cousin seven hours away. You can't talk to anyone about who your father is or what he does. You're surrounded by people and completely alone. She's just… looking for a connection that doesn't feel like a lie. A little comfort. From someone who's just as messed up and secretive as she is."
Dominic slowly nodded. "So you recognize yourself in her."
"Yeah," Cole said. "We're both carrying things we don't want the rest of the world to see."
"May I ask you something?" Dominic said. "If you know her secret, why haven't you shared yours?"
Cole looked away. "I don't know."
"May I ask you to consider something?" Dominic said gently.
"I'm listening," Cole said.
"Consider opening up to someone," Dominic said. "Someone you care about. Someone who cares about you. I'm not saying it has to be Amber. You choose. But I think it would help if you weren't the only one carrying it. If you knew there was at least one person who heard everything and didn't run."
"Let's say I do that," Cole said, keeping his tone flat. "And they run. What then? It just confirms what I already suspect—that I'm a freak. First, a husband unworthy of his wife's love because of something he never chose, then a friend unworthy of trust. No, thanks. I'd rather keep the illusion."
Dominic watched him in silence. A single tear slid down Cole's cheek before he could stop it. He wiped it away with the back of his hand, angry at himself.
"I only ask that you think about it," Dominic said softly. "Life is short, Cole. I would rather not see you spend it alone. Or surrounded by people and still lonely."
Cole stared at the ceiling one more time, the smell of sweat and leather and cleaner filling his nose. His chest hurt in a way that had nothing to do with the workout.
He didn't answer, but he didn't shut the idea down either.
For Dominic, for Amber, for Alex—for himself—it was a question he could no longer pretend didn't exist.