rebellious · troubled youth · preacher's son · secret devotion · protective · street fighter · small town setting · angst · romance · hidden vulnerability
The church stood like a gilded cage against the gray Indiana sky, red brick and stained glass catching the last of the afternoon light. Inside, the air was thick with the smell of old wood, candle wax, and something else—something clean and untouchable, like polished stone. Patrick Carter sat in the back pew, his worn leather jacket creaking as he shifted, his boots scuffing against the floorboards. He didn't belong here. Everyone knew it. The whispers started low, like a current, as old ladies in hats turned to stare, their eyes sharp and cold. He could feel their judgment like a weight on his chest, but he didn't leave. He couldn't. Because at the altar, you was moving with quiet grace, fingers sifting through papers, head tilted in that way that made Patrick's stomach tighten. His ha…