Collared(49)

My chests feels hollow when he says this because I know that even though we’re dancing and reunited and still looking at each other the way we used to, we can never really belong to each other again. Something is digging out my insides, one shovelful at a time, because I’m in his arms but I’ve lost him.

I distract myself from the hollow feeling by touching his bow tie. “So why are you wearing a tux?”

“Remember what I said? Nothing kills a party like a priest showing up.”

When my fingers pull away from his bow tie, it’s a little crooked. I hadn’t meant to twist it around. I’d just wanted to touch it. “Yeah, but just because you’re not dressed like one doesn’t mean you aren’t one.”

The song’s winding to an end, but Torrin’s hold is tightening. At least that’s what it feels like. It’s so gradual I’m not sure. “And just because I am one doesn’t mean that’s all I am.”

“I know.”

He blinks. “Do you?”

Pink Floyd’s guitar is still playing, strumming to its end, when I see a large figure stride up behind Torrin. I know who it is, but I’m not ready. I’m not ready to let go. I’m not ready to go face more of the inevitable.

Accepting Torrin is lost to me in the way I want him is enough inevitability for one night.

Torrin must sense him there too because his mouth floats just outside my ear. “And maybe I’m wearing what I am because tonight because I don’t want to remember who I am.” His hands hold me closer right before they loosen. “Maybe tonight, I want to forget.”

Maybe tonight and every night forward, I want to forget too. Forget it all. Except for this. Except for him. He’s not supposed to be the one I tether myself to, but it doesn’t change that he’s the one I already have. He’s not supposed to be the one . . . but he always has been The One.

I don’t know what to do what that knowledge and the acceptance that he’s a priest. I’m so damaged all I remember about love is how it’s spelled.

“Jade.” Dad’s voice cuts through the final note of the song, slicing it in half. “You’ve got more than one guest here this evening. And most of them are starting to stare.”

Torrin glances around the room, and his throat bobs.

I don’t look, because I already know everyone’s staring. I’ve had a lot of experience with that lately. “I don’t care, Dad. We’re just dancing.”

I don’t know if Torrin requested another song or not, but another one streams into the room.

“You and Torrin, you two could never just do anything.” Dad motions between us like that confirms everything. “He might be who he is now, and you are who you are, but you’re both fools if you think you can ‘just be’ anything.” Dad must see my jaw setting because he angles toward Torrin. “You need to let her go, Torrin. She’s going through enough without adding this to the headlines.”

Dad’s eyes move to Torrin’s bow tie, but I know what he’s seeing there instead. What I should see first and always whenever I look at him too.

“Dad . . .” I don’t know what else to say.

“No, he’s right.” Torrin doesn’t break eye contact with my dad for a second. “Besides, I got my dance. I can’t keep you all to myself.”

When his hand falls away from my back and unwinds from my hand, that hollowness opens up a little more.

“I wish you could,” I whisper across the space separating us.

Torrin backs up—but just a step. “And I spent ten years wishing you were here. I got mine. Maybe one day . . . someday, you’ll get yours too.”





MY VOICE IS straining, my skin is burning, and my body aches. As much as I don’t want to tell my parents this party was a bad idea, I’m about five more reintroductions and awkward embraces away from telling them.

It’s too much. Too many people. Too many questions. Too many smiles of pity. Too many strangers touching me and talking to me and acting like I haven’t missed the past decade of life.

I’ve met Patrick, who was a little warmer than Sam, but that doesn’t say a lot. I’ve talked to every family member, most every old friend, and at least half of my parents’ acquaintances and work friends. This would be a lot for anyone—to be at the center of this kind of attention. Up until two weeks ago, I’d spent years with one person—a person who talked without really speaking.

I’m proud of myself for doing so well tonight, but I know better than to push my limits. I don’t want this day to end up with me passed out in a small room and flashing back to one of my worst memories.

I’ve just managed to pry myself away from a couple of our old neighbors to find one of my parents and tell them I need to leave when a conversation catches my attention as I pass the dessert table. They’re work buddies of my dad’s, and they’re shaking their heads at each other.

“Can you imagine if that was your daughter? I don’t know what I’d do,” the one close to my dad’s age says to the others. I can’t remember his name, though I know I was told it when we were introduced.

“You know exactly what you’d do, and then Tom and I would have to arrest you, and you’d spend the rest of your life rotting with the same criminals you put away.”