This chapter was emotional for me, and hopefully that comes through. As always, thanks for the reviews (especially to anmodo, politik, and Loozy for this past chapter!) You let me know there are readers out there.

(x)

"It's been more than once or twice."

At Fr. Jorge's last comment, Danny Taylor squeezed his eyes shut. Throughout the day from hell, his headache had come and gone – except it was never really gone. Even when the pain subsided, he knew it was there hiding in the background just waiting to slink to the front of his mind, like a horror movie monster that would not die. Now, the headache came back to life with a new surge of power. It pulsed and snarled at his temples.

Danny's voice was measured but strained, the voice of a man losing the battle with his temper. "I told you those things in confidence."

Fr. Jorge spoke in a gentle tone. "Danny… "

Whatever reassuring thing Fr. Jorge was going to say, Danny didn't let him say it. His headache stepped up another notch, and the floodgates holding back his temper snapped. "That's what a secret is, padre. Something you confide in someone else. Something you trust them with. Any of that sound familiar?"

His gaze upon Danny remained, never wavering. "I have broken no confidence with you, Danny. Not now, not ever. You know this."

For a few moments the rage was so complete that Danny found himself buried inside of it. "I told you those things to get them off my chest – NOT so you could throw them back in my face whenever it works for one of your sermons."

"This isn't a sermon-"

"It's not? Then what is it?" Danny barked a condescending laugh. "What – are you trying to live out some fantasy of some type of father/son heart-to-heart?"

Fr. Jorge stared forward. "You can use hurtful words, Danny, but I won't let this go."

Danny wouldn't hear it. He used the same voice he had in countless situations at his job, a voice portraying complete control over a situation. "I've got news for you. You're gonna have to let it go, because we're done talking about this." Danny got up from the couch and headed for the door.

Fr. Jorge didn't budge. "You can run from this, Danny, but running away won't solve your problems. It won't bring Jordan or Jason any closer to where you are."

At their names, Danny's anger swelled, and he swerved around. His voice boomed in the priest's face. "¡Cómo atrévasele los trae en esto!"

Fr. Jorge's tone stayed the same. "Yo los traigo en esto salvar su alma."

"You bring them into this for my soul? Does it look like I'm worried about my soul right now, padre?" he shouted. Danny pointed at his own face. "Look at me."

Fr. Jorge did as Danny requested.

Rage widened his eyes. "Do I look like I give a fuck about what my family did to me? Do you think I give a fuck about what you think about me?" One half of his mind felt disconnected from the other half. In the wake of that, he felt like he'd lost his sanity, and he was sure Fr. Jorge could see in it in his face. "Do I look like that's what I care about right now?"

"You look like you have been to hell, Danny. Today it is at its worst, but there have been other days … where Jordan and Jason have been safe … that you have looked this way, too."

"Why are you doing this?" Danny demanded. His voice escalated. "Are you enjoying this?"

Fr. Jorge flinched at his shouting and at the accusation. "I'm not stone, hijo. If you keep shouting this way, I will shout back." It was no threat. Fr. Jorge only sounded sad and disappointed. "We will fight, and that will help nothing."

"You weren't looking for a fight?" Danny glared at him. "You bring up my parents and my brother, and you're telling me that you weren't looking for a fight?"

"I don't want to fight you."

"Then, what do you want, padre?" Danny opened his arms. "Huh? Tell me what you want."

"I want what I've wanted for a long time, hijo." Fr. Jorge looked up to see rage chained in Danny's eyes. "Many times now we have been in this room. You've shared your secrets, and I give them up to God." Fr. Jorge did not try to quell the passion in his voice. He let it take him over, let it fill his words. "I let go of your secrets, and Dios in his glory makes me whole. He forgives you, Danny. He forgives you for your every sin, even the ones you don't mention, even the ones you don't know yourself. That's what confession is, Danny. It's forgiveness. God's love is so complete that it forgets our wrongs."

Danny knew all these things from Catholic Catechism. He let the priest keep speaking only because he still had not answered his question.

"But you, hijo," Fr. Jorge continued, "you cannot forget. You cannot forget what your parents have done to you. You cannot forget what your brother has done to himself. They would not let you save them, and for that – you will not forgive them. No matter how many times you come into this room and go through these doors, you walk out of this room bearing the same memories and the same sins that brought you here." Fr. Jorge focused his gaze on Danny. "God forgives you, Danny. He has always forgiven you. But you won't forgive yourself."

(x)

Upon hearing the point Fr. Jorge had been so desperately trying to make, Danny grew silent and his lips ran dry. Danny had a natural talent for sarcasm. Most of his life, he'd been able to come up with a quick and snappy retort for almost any situation. Now, here in this room, as Fr. Jorge showed him the pure, bare bones of the truth, Danny's mouth gapped open. He could find no comeback, not even a weak one, so he closed it again.

Danny stood there, useless, and certain that he must look entirely stupid. Thoughts belted his mind, one swift punch after another, leaving him dizzy and reeling from the impact. He became so lost in them, so tangled up in the confusion, that he pushed them out of his mind all together. He forced himself to think, forced himself to rely on what logic had guided him before. He closed his eyes and waited for some coherent thought to find him. Eventually, a grain began. They were familiar thoughts, thoughts he'd had before.

Danny didn't believe that people – even those who tried to be honest with themselves – knew when some things were over. He saw it all the time – in Martin, in Jack and Sam, in Vivian, and in 99 percent of those they tried to help. People mostly just went on believing, even when neon flashing signs a hundred feet high told them otherwise. If it was something you really cared about, something you thought you needed, it was easy to cheat. It was easy to tell yourself lies and confuse your life with TV – if it meant you could believe that whatever felt so wrong could eventually turn out right in the end.

Sometimes the truth crashed through. Other times, it dropped down like a nuclear bomb, dissipating every lie and misperception around it for miles.

Danny Taylor experienced that ground zero now. When Fr. Jorge spelled it out for him, so simply that a kindergartener could have understood, he knew that he couldn't keep fooling himself, not after hearing the truth.

He didn't forgive himself. Not for his parents' deaths, not for the way he treated Rafael. He didn't forgive himself for not being able to find Jason in the warehouse, or for not being able to stop Jordan from becoming a drug mule and a prison escapee. Forgiving himself would mean he wasn't wrong; forgiving himself would mean that there was nothing else he could have done.

Forgiving himself would mean that it was over.

Fr. Jorge said something, but he sounded muted, like he was speaking from somewhere far away. "You have to forgive yourself, Danny," he said. "It's the only way that you can move on."

Danny finally raised his head. Color ebbed away from his face. "I don't want to move on," he raked out. His eyes wet with tears. "I just want them back."

For the first time since they began talking, Fr. Jorge stood up and stepped closed to Danny. "Hijo?"

The idea stayed front and center. He could lose Jordan and Jason, just like he lost his parents and Rafael, and if it happened, he would not be okay.

In the past twenty hours, there had been many points where Danny had thought he was going to burst into tears. But every time, it passed. This time it did not. Danny's shoulders hunched forward. He felt Fr. Jorge take him by the shoulder and lead him to the couch. The moment Danny sat down, it happened. Sobs racked his whole body.

Fr. Jorge kept a hand on his shoulder. "El grito, el niño. Estará bien…"

Danny cried strangled tears, tears he had needed to cry for a long time, and he feared – as he had before – that he would not stop.