Caine
Fifteen years ago
“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned.” Looking up at the cross in the tiny, dimly lit room, I inhaled, sucking deep until the red ember tip burned through to the end of the rolling paper, heating my thumb and forefinger.
“You can’t ask forgiveness for s**t when you’re in the middle of sinning again. You’re supposed to be repentful, dickwad.”
“Show some respect with your language. We’re in a church, for Christ’s sake.”
Liam laughed from the other side of the dark booth. “Yeah, right. You just smoked a fatty in a confessional, and it’s my language that’s disrespectful.”
He had a point. And since my half-baked brain was transitioning nicely into full-on mellow mode, I ditched out the tiny remnant of my smoke on the floor and slipped it into my pocket while it was
