Chapter Three

“NO, MOM, C’MON. I’ve got enough to cover my own food.” Diego leaned against the front bumper on his father’s truck, nursing a wrinkled cigarette. His mother hummed disapprovingly through the speaker. “Look, we’re working on the roof now, okay? Should be done in a few weeks.”

“It’s been a week already.”

“You’re the one who signed me up for this, remember? No fue mi idea.”

Another irritated hum. “And you still have money, yes? You’re not taking advantage of the caretaker—”

“Mamá.”

“He’s a nice man—”

“Ay Dios mio… Yes, he’s very nice. I chipped in for groceries this week, and I’ll keep paying for my half until we’re done, okay? Relax.”

Elena scoffed, laughing cruelly under her breath. “Now you have money, huh? Since when—”

“I’m hanging up.”

“Mijo, don’t you dare.”

“Then don’t,” he hissed. He took a long, hard drag off the cigarette and blew plumes into the air. Exhaustion filled his voice. “Just don’t, all right?”

Silence lingered. Finally, she spoke. “So, the church is moving along, then?”

“Yeah, Mamá, it’s goin’. How’s Leticia?”

“She’s good. A little stressed from school, but muy bien.”

“Good,” he said, then again, quieter, “good.”

“Call her sometime, okay?”

“Sí, haré.”

“I’ll talk to you later.”

“Yeah, okay, bye.”

The call ended, the absent goodbye lacking I love you. Diego swallowed around a jagged lump, stuffed his phone into his pocket, then sucked on his cigarette until the filter burned his fingers. The last five days had passed in a blur. He’d taken direction from Ariel—ripped up the floor in the nave, repaired the salvageable furniture, resealed the windows, replaced the front doors—and Catedral de Nuestra Señora de Guadalupe was beginning to look alive again. He gazed at the roof, eyes shielded by dark sunglasses, and watched Ariel climb a ladder propped against the side of the building. Afternoon sun bronzed Ariel’s radiant, sweat-slicked torso. His rosary swung as he angled fresh shingles onto the slanted surface, trapping them with a nail gun. In the past days, Diego had found himself turning toward Ariel; his eyes had roamed rooms, looking for him. He’d jolted awake in the dead of night with a runaway heartbeat, listening to prayer float through the air, spoken by a voice—several voices—in languages he knew and didn’t.

Diego feared him like a night terror, something he knew he could wake from if he tried. But the longer he stayed at the church, the more asleep he felt, as if he waded through the same dream day after day, chasing lucidity and never quite grasping it. The dream was always the same: Ariel at the edge of his fingertips, and Ariel saying words backward, and Ariel skewered with hollow bones, and Ariel pulled into different shapes. Feathers, falling. Eyes—jaguar, dolphin, human, goat—blinking. Diego on his knees, tasting salt and skin. The dream was always the same, and Diego felt Ariel like a hand around his ankle, pulling him beneath the surface of somewhere he’d never been. I’m awake, he thought, and crushed the cigarette under his boot. But while he worked, consciousness seemed to slip, and when he spoke, his mind felt suspended in lukewarm water.

I’m awake, right?

Desire had never knocked him the fuck out before, but he found himself apprehended—by Ariel, faith, belief in something, in anything. And he wanted—a stranger, a God, to believe.

“Hey,” Ariel called, seated on the roof with his wrists flopped lazily atop his kneecaps. “Can you hold the ladder steady?”

Diego pushed away from the truck and loped to the church. He gripped each side of the ladder. “Okay, you’re good,” he hollered.

As Ariel placed his dusty boots on each rung, Diego glimpsed a displacement in the air. The space around Ariel’s body throbbed, undulating like an aura. It shifted with his movements, fluttering outward from the center of his spine, floating like a helmet above his skull, there and gone in a blink. It dazed Diego, his chest weighty with anxiety, stomach flipped and knotted. When Ariel landed with a thud on the dirt, Diego swallowed around a woozy heatwave, trying desperately to shake away the feeling.

Awake, he thought, and reminded himself to breathe. Get the job done, get paid, go home.

“You’re pale,” Ariel said. He set his knuckles against Diego’s forehead, then his cheek. “Are you feeling okay?”

“It’s just hot,” he assured. I saw your wings. “Need some water, I think.”

“And something to eat. C’mon.”

Ariel took him by the wrist, and Diego tried to slow his heartbeat, fixated on Ariel’s palm snug around his pulse. In the nave, Ariel didn’t let him go, and down the hall, Ariel didn’t let him go. It wasn’t until they were in the kitchen, and Ariel had guided him toward a plastic chair next to their makeshift table—an old, rickety patio set— that he took Diego by the shoulders and eased him into the seat. Diego tried to blink through the haze, listened to a cabinet squeak, to ice clank, to the fridge open and close.

“Drink,” Ariel said and placed a cool glass in Diego’s hand.

Diego set the glass against his parted lips. He relaxed as ice knocked his teeth and cold water soothed his throat. When he paused, Ariel curled his fingers around the bottom of the cup and tipped it toward him.

“Drink,” he said again.

Diego opened his eyes, then his mouth. He drank greedily, hyperaware of the stream dribbling from the corner of his lips, over his chin, down his neck. He blushed horribly at the thought of Ariel holding the glass, sending water across his tongue, into his body, knowing the caretaker watched him swallow, paying mind to his stunted breath. Everything beneath his navel tightened, and Diego pushed his thighs together, eyelashes fluttering as Ariel swiped at the wetness on his chin.

When only ice was left, Ariel set the glass on the table. “Feel better?”

Reality tilted into place again, obscured, enhanced, but familiar. “Yeah,” Diego rasped, nodding slowly. “Probably just dehydrated.”

They ate cold chicken salad sandwiches with pickles and sliced tomatoes. Diego drank more water, then cracked open an amber bottle and nursed a skunky beer. Fans whirled in every room. The monotonous sound of their blades pulsed through the church. Hot air circulated, but summer was still oppressive, and the artificial breeze did nothing to shoo the fog behind Diego’s eyes. He tried to distract himself, to think of something besides water on his chin and Ariel’s heavy gaze, the otherworldly outline of appendages shimmering on the roof, and the tightness growing hot between his legs.

Being alone with someone, being close with someone, being contained with someone made Diego wonder about consequences. Made him consider opportunities. What would it feel like to be with him? He had fantasized about strangers. Bared himself for a quick fuck outside a gay bar in Austin, gone down on people in bathroom stalls and backseats, fallen into bed with acquaintances at parties. But he’d never felt like this before. Apprehended. Completely and utterly at someone else’s whim.

Ariel scooped mustard onto his finger and sucked the digit clean. “Tell me about yourself.”

Diego startled. “What…?”

“We’ve worked together for a while, and I don’t know much about you,” he said, filling a mug with steaming water. He added a teabag scented like bergamot and vanilla. “So, tell me.”

“I…” Diego opened and closed his mouth, searching for something brave. Something interesting. Something true. I’m the family fuckup. Total black sheep. “I read a lot,” he said. “Literary, mostly.” I’ve never been alone with someone like you. “I studied creative writing before I dropped out, but I still follow free workshops online. I don’t really…I don’t really do anything, honestly.” I fuck myself on camera sometimes. “Work odd jobs, you know. Like this one.”

“Odd jobs,” Ariel parroted quietly, as if he knew better. “Why’d you drop out?”

Diego rubbed his fingers together. “Big price tag on education.”

“American dreams are expensive, querido.”

Querido. Heat rushed into his face. “That’s what we come here for. Land of milk and honey, no?”

Amber eyes flicked around his face. “No,” Ariel whispered, shaking his head. “Just the land someone took. Tell me about your odd jobs.”

“I bartend.”

“And?”

“Construction, obviously.”

“Obviously,” Ariel mumbled and rested the mug against his bottom lip. “And?”

Words wedged like a stone in his throat. Diego tried to swallow, but everything burned brightly, eagerly, as if he had no choice, as if Ariel had reached into his mouth and hooked his finger around the truth. “I’ve cam’d before. I don’t have a big following or anything, but I’ve got a few loyal subscribers. Low-key stuff. Nothin’ extravagant.”

Ariel tipped his head. “You sell yourself?” he asked. Kindly, somehow. Politely.

He laughed under his breath. “No, I sell videos of myself. Sometimes I livestream too. I know that’s not exactly godly—”

“You mean biblical?”

“Excuse me?”

“Biblical,” Ariel repeated. “I doubt God would take issue with what you do or don’t do with your body. The Bible was written by men—torn limb from limb and poorly sutured by the kings of Mysia. As much as I cherish the Gospel, it isn’t exactly godly anymore. Holy, yes. Important, yes. Inspirational, yes. But it’s the Bible that condemns promiscuity. Not God.”

What a strange thing for a man like you to say, Diego thought. He tilted his head, mirroring Ariel’s previous motion. “Aren’t you…aren’t you, like, a pastor or something?”

“No. I’m someone with an idea. That’s all.”

“Uh-huh. And rebuilding this church is your idea? Restoring faith?”

“Yes, and providing access.”

Diego finished his beer. “To God?”

“To faith. People don’t lose faith, Diego. They’re forced away from it. Ostracized from the very fabric of it. This place can change that.”

“I don’t know if I believe that, but I’m glad you do. Someone should.”

“Why is it hard to believe?” Ariel sipped his tea and met Diego’s eyes. “You pray, don’t you? You ask for forgiveness, you try to make amends, you ask for direction. What’s the difference between faith and tenacity?”

“Results, I think,” Diego said. “I’ve prayed, yeah, but not in a long time. Maybe that’s my problem.” He leaned on the back two legs of the chair, stretched out his arm, and dropped the empty bottle in a blue recycling bin. “Maybe God can’t hear me.”

“I doubt that,” Ariel said.

The desire that’d struck through Diego when Ariel had placed the chilly glass against his mouth lingered. It was a bowstring, pulling tighter as the evening deepened. He wanted another beer, but he couldn’t convince his legs to move; wanted fresh air but couldn’t fathom leaving the table. This strange, powerful man had him snared, caught like an animal with its foot in a noose.

“What about you, then? Cuéntame,” Diego said.

“¿Le dirá qué?”

“¿De dónde eres?”

“Lençóis. Very small town in Bahia.”

“Brazil? I thought so.”

“What gave me away?”

“Your accent, for one. You’ve got that Portuguese annunciation,” he said, then made a soft chuh sound. “Not border-Spanish, not Mexican Spanish, not fast-lipped Chilean Spanish. It’s easy to spot.”

Ariel hummed, nodding. “And you? Where are you from?”

“El Paso, born and raised. Mi familia es de Guanajuato. Parents are here, grandparents are there. How old are you?”

At that, his mouth split into a shy grin. “Why?”

“Humor me,” Diego said.

“How old do you think I am?”

“Thirty.”

“Good guess. How old are you?”

“Twenty-one.”

“You’re young,” he said reverently.

Diego steeled his expression. Young, maybe. But he’d fought against the world, against himself, to live long enough to become Diego López. Surviving a traitorous body, an unstable mind, and an unenthusiastic family made his quaint two decades feel a lot longer. He gave a curt nod and averted his eyes, scanning the plastic table. Wind rattled the roof and pushed hard against the small building, caused the windows to quiver and the doors to flex. It was a frightening thing, being in the middle of nowhere with someone who paid attention. Who saw him. Who listened.

“When’s the last time you prayed?” Ariel asked.

“When I got locked up.” He expected resistance, questions, judgement.

Ariel simply nodded. “And if I asked you to pray with me tonight, would you?”

“Maybe.” Diego cleared his throat, considering. “Yeah, I would.”

Ariel stood. His chair scraped the floor. “Get cleaned up. We’ll pray before bed.”

Diego didn’t move until Ariel crossed the hall and stepped into his bedroom. He blinked, turning over the last few hours in his mind: the fragmented light splintering away from Ariel’s body, wing-shaped, radiating like armor; the water behind his teeth, on his chin, following the length of his throat. Truth pulled from Diego by a force he didn’t recognize—unearned trust or sainthood or something worse.

What gave me away?

Fight-or-flight resurfaced and prodded Diego in the chest until he stood, unsure if he should slink into his bedroom and lock the door or go along with whatever Ariel had in mind. It was prayer, wasn’t it? Just prayer. He could handle that.

In the bathroom, Diego brushed his teeth and scrubbed his dirty skin with tea tree soap. He smoothed coconut lotion over his legs and arms, rubbed shea butter on his fading scars, and strung his Saint Christopher around his neck, staring at his reflection until footsteps filled the hall. He touched the piercing on his lip, then the patchy stubble on his jaw, and made a mental note to shave in the morning.

“Diego,” Ariel said, his voice echoing through the church.

Diego dressed in nightclothes—gray joggers, ratty white tank—and padded barefoot into the nave. The floor was scratchy and naked, torn apart from rough work. Soon, laminate boards would fit over the filth, covering the old, unkempt foundation. Ariel stood where the pulpit should’ve been and laid a bath towel on the ground.

“Kneel,” he said with the weight of a basic command.

The air shifted and everything paused as if the cracked baseboards and empty space held their breath. Diego took hesitant steps forward. He watched Ariel from beneath his lashes and lowered to his knees. Something new and impatient yawned inside him, akin to desire, abrasive and unhinged. His bones were like busted pipes, hunger gushing through his fractured skeleton. He swallowed hot saliva as Ariel knelt before him, carefully removing the rosary from his neck.

“Give me your hands,” Ariel said.

Again, Diego obeyed. He lifted them, paying mind to the fine tilt of Ariel’s mouth, the awkward bend of his lengthy fingers, and exhaled sharply as smooth beads wrapped around his knuckles. Ariel pressed the crucifix into Diego’s palm and sealed their hands together, shackling his smaller, scarred digits in an iron grip. Diego stared at him, wide-eyed and unblinking. His heart thundered. That woozy, dazed feeling returned, and he remembered to breathe. Inhale, exhale. He tried and failed to ignore the spasm between his legs when Ariel squeezed him.

“Lord Jesus, at the Last Supper, you knew Judas, one of your sacred twelve, would betray you,” Ariel said.

Diego couldn’t recall the prayer, but appropriate words tumbled out all the same, fed to him from somewhere, by someone. “Deliver us from false friends and treachery.”

“Close your eyes,” Ariel whispered, then continued. “There, our Lord, you washed the feet of your disciples.”

“Make us meek and humble.” Diego saw light cross the blackness on the backside of his eyelids. Tendrils moved and curled, undulating like snakes. He gripped the rosary hard, honing on a separate sense: Ariel’s calm breath, his warm voice.

“You gave us the Sacrament of your body and outpoured blood.”

“We stand in reverence before the—” Diego sucked in a trembling breath. “—the eternal…” Smooth, slender fingers slid past the waistband of his sweatpants, but he felt Ariel’s hands wrapped around his own; he knew the shape of Ariel’s boyish thumbs and strong palms, keeping him still. There was no possible way for Ariel to be in two places at once, yet the touch was deliberate, invisible fingers slipping between his thighs, tracing the soft curls around his cunt. “Ariel—”

“Eyes closed,” he said gently. “We stand in reverence before the eternal…”

Diego’s jaw slackened. “Covenant—eternal covenant,” he said, body flushed and trembling.

“You asked your disciples to pray with you in the garden.”

“Keep us awake and watchful.” His knees shook, spine bowing as the phantom touch grew more insistent, framing his swollen clit, diving downward, rubbing tenderly where he was wet and open.

Ariel spoke evenly, each word coasting across Diego’s cheek. “Lord, at the time of your arrest, at the moment of your betrayal, your friends fled.”

“Give us…” Diego swallowed, fumbling with the rosary. “Give us courage in times of trial.”

“You were falsely accused and condemned for speaking the truth.”

“May we choose honesty in the face of injustice,” Diego said weakly. His lips quaked. He wanted to understand, to say stop. No, don’t stop. To open his eyes and be face-to-face with the man who’d turned prayer into promiscuity. But he didn’t know if Ariel was responsible. If it was him or a divine force or if Diego was losing his mind. Soft skin pressed against his stomach—wrist, forearm—and whatever was touching him leaned closer, pitting him like a peach. He was too afraid to open his eyes. Too enraptured. Instead, he widened his legs and silenced a pitiful moan.

“In the courtyard, Simon Peter swore he did not know you three times.” Ariel dug his fingers between Diego’s tight knuckles, absently plucking at a rosary bead.

“Make us faithful in times of…of temptation,” Diego choked out, enduring confident, slow strokes to his front wall.

“Pontius Pilate handed you over for crucifixion.”

“Have mercy,” Diego gasped out. His lower half throbbed, coiling into heated knots. “Have mercy on us sinners.”

“You were beaten, mocked, and humiliated.”

“May we suffer…” His voice cracked, broken by a whimper.

“Gladly,” Ariel supplied.

“Gladly. May we suffer gladly.”

“On the cross, you were taunted, and yet you forgave.”

Fuck. Another finger pushed inside him, sinking deep alongside the first two. “May we always live in…in…”

“Obedience.”

“Obedience,” Diego blurted. His body relented, giving over to the pleasure pulsing in his groin. His cunt clenched and spasmed. Everything below his bellybutton tightened. Shockwaves traveled into each limb, causing his hands to jerk and his body to go rigid. He breathed like a runner, like someone in the midst of escape.

“From the cross, you promised paradise,” Ariel cooed. He coaxed the rosary free from Diego’s hands, toyed with his trembling fingers, and followed the lines on his sweaty palms.

“Make us long for eternal bliss.” Diego sighed.

The ghostly appendage removed itself, leaving him slick and empty. He wanted to crumble into a heap, strip away his clothes and babble through another prayer. Beg God or Ariel or whoever had been inside him to use him like a whetstone. But when he opened his eyes, Ariel was easing backward, and Diego dropped his hands into his lap.

“See,” Ariel said. “God provides.”

For a moment, Diego considered agreeing. His mind was humid, fogged with yes and please and again, but reality registered, came to him in starts and stops. There he was, kneeling in a church, half-fucked and flushed from nose to toe. There he was, on display, completely and utterly known. He stumbled to his feet and made for the hall, glancing over his shoulder as wobbly legs carried him to his bedroom. Whatever had just happened, whatever had been done to him, he’d wanted it. Encouraged it. Prayed for it. And he didn’t know how to feel about Ariel Azevedo witnessing it or…or influencing it…or…

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Diego whispered. He twisted the lock. Raked his hand through his hair. Paced from the window to the door, again and again. Waited until the hall light clicked to take a deep, audible breath.

He couldn’t think. Couldn’t sit still. Certainly couldn’t sleep.

In all his life, he’d never experienced something like that—unhinged desire, pleasure from an unseen place. He wanted to reach into his mind and uproot the memory, rip it out, and bury it. He couldn’t close his eyes without thinking about Ariel’s voice, and he couldn’t get comfortable without rubbing his thighs together, reminiscing on how he’d convulsed around an invisible hand. And he couldn’t divorce his thoughts from more and now and need. Hours passed, and his skin still burned, and his heart still quickened.

At midnight, Diego propped his phone on the windowsill, angled it toward the bed, and crawled out of his clothes. He livestreamed for a little while. Rested his chest on the mattress and shoved a pillow beneath his hips, fingering himself hard and fast. He ground shamelessly against his palm, lifted onto his knees and worked his knuckles deeper, panting through another white-hot orgasm. Satisfaction was fleeting. Diego caught himself fantasizing about a bottle inside him, about someone’s fist or an oversized toy. He whined and twisted himself in the sheets, ashamed and hot and taken off guard at the thought of a cock jammed down his throat, wishing someone would fuck him until he cried, gagged, hurt. He tried to envision gentleness. Soft touches and lovemaking, but the imagery didn’t stick.

At two o’clock, Diego pulled on his joggers, grabbed his pack of smokes, and tiptoed through the church. The air was mild outside, clinging stubbornly to heat, and the white moon glowed above the desert. Stars formed a patchwork across the clear sky, suspended in the blackness like dew on a spider’s web.

Diego leaned against the side of the church and lit his cigarette. Smoke filled his lungs, prodding at his tightly wound muscles and lessening the anxiety worming under his skin. The world felt dreamy and unordinary. Fuckin’ upside down. He tipped his head against the building and exhaled. He was tired enough to close his eyes, to drift as he let the church take his weight, nursing a cigarette and listening to footsteps creak on the unfinished floor inside. A door opened. Dirt and pebbles crunched.

Ariel sighed, a relieved noise. “Those’re bad for you.”

Diego opened his eyes. He couldn’t parse this particular reality. Couldn’t peel back the layers and decide if he was trapped in a dream or awake and exhausted. He flicked his gaze around Ariel’s angular face. Beautiful, same as most Brazilian men. Wild though. As if he actively tried to blend in. Diego understood cloaking and masking in his depths, knew the range and restraint it took to perform as something palatable, something redeemable. He lolled his head against the wood paneling and sent smoke into the air.

“Am I awake?” Diego asked.

Ariel stepped closer. “You tell me.”

“And if I’m not?”

“Then you must be dreaming.”

He finished his cigarette and flicked it. Orange embers skipped across the dirt. “And if I am?”

“It’s your dream. You dictate what happens next.”

“Do you think we’re seen here?”

“By who?”

God. Diego didn’t answer. He didn’t have to. Tension ratcheted, and the night thickened, gorgeous and expansive and deserted, a space carved out for them, for this, for whatever they’d started together. His throat worked around a swallow. He stretched out his hand and looped his finger around Ariel’s knuckle. Anticipated a collision. Crashing; combusting. But Ariel eased toward him, crossed the minuscule space in a single step as if his boots hadn’t touched the ground, like his body had transferred from there to here. Near enough to taste his breath, to watch his chest stutter and his eyelids droop. You dictate what happens next. In the distance, a coyote yipped. Closer, Diego loosened the reins on his self-control and framed Ariel’s face in his palms.

“Do you see me?” Diego asked.

At that, Ariel’s mouth curved. “Sí, querido. Te veo.”

Do you want me? Diego wasn’t brave enough to ask. Instead, he stood on his tiptoes and pulled Ariel into a clumsy kiss. He hadn’t expected resistance—not in his own goddamn dream—but Ariel shied away, their lips disconnecting with a soft, familiar sound. The first thing Diego thought to do was apologize. He couldn’t move, though, couldn’t speak. Fear turned him to stone. He pressed himself backward, sealing his spine against the church, and blinked, inhaled shakily through his nose. When he finally convinced his body to react, Ariel swooped toward him again and seized his mouth in a deeper, harder kiss.

Like lightning, Diego López was emancipated, freed completely. He gasped between Ariel’s parted lips, tasted mint and copper on his tongue, felt a strong grip cuffing his waist, his ribcage, his waist, his ribcage, both at once. He inched his fingers into Ariel’s dark hair and clung to him. Head spinning, heart running, he kissed greedily, like it was his last meal, like he’d been teased with something worth taking. Swallowed raspy, encouraging moans sent into his mouth on hard-won breath, exhaled like a blessing. A nip at Ariel’s lip earned a harder grip—yes—and a thigh wedged between his legs—yes. He thumbed at Ariel’s cheekbone, his temple, and brushed across smooth, featherlike material—skin, not skin—speared through with bone or needle. Opening his mouth for another hungry kiss, Diego tracked a palm skirting his sternum, fingernails scraping his side, knuckles tracing his joggers, a palm resting heavy on his lower back. Impossible, he thought, and then, nothing is impossible in a dream.

Diego broke away to breathe, to go to his knees, to make a demand. Touch me. Take me. Use—

But he stopped. Blinked. Shuddered through an exhale. “Ariel,” like wait, like don’t. It was too late though. The moment Diego opened his eyes, he saw the diamond-shaped orb peering at him from Ariel’s forehead. Feathers shooting away from his skull. Appendages outstretched, littered with eyes. Human, goat, leopard, reptile. Diego blinked, just once, and heard wings beat, feathers cutting through the night. In the midst of his lashes flicking, Ariel disappeared.

Diego braced against the church and turned his gaze skyward. I’m awake, he thought, and hiccupped through a soft, surprised laugh. What are you?