Free Beautifully Forgotten by L.A. Fiore

he was dumped at St. Agnes. He remembered the fear and the loneliness that had been so overwhelming that at times it had threatened to consume him. Sister Anne was the only one to see how difficult the adjustment was for him, and she stepped up. She became his teacher, his disciplinarian, his friend, and his protector. She had made the intolerable tolerable and gave a lost boy hope that someday it would get better.

    Twenty-three years earlier . . .
    “Sissy boy. Are you gonna cry, baby?”
    He tried to not listen, tried to ignore them like Sister Anne was forever encouraging him to do, but the fury that was always simmering just below the surface started to boil. He wasn’t even aware that he had balled his hands into fists, or that he had taken a few steps closer to his taunter, until he pulled back his hand, stepped into the punch, and nailed the bully in the face.
    Stars sparked in his vision and his hand throbbed like a mother, but seeing the look of shock and just a touch of fear on the face of the jerk he punched—yeah, it was worth it.
    Sister Anne appeared, as she had a habit of doing, but it was the look of disappointment on her face that gave Lucien a moment of guilt. He wanted to please her but sometimes it was just too hard to rise above.
    “Take Jake to the nurse, Billie. And don’t for a second think that this is over, Jacob. I know you started this and we will have words.”
    Lucien watched as Jake was helped away; the sight of his blood dripping down his face drew a smile.
    “That’s nothing to be proud of, Lucien.”
    He knew the look on her face, the one that said far more than mere words ever could. He didn’t want to look, but he also didn’t want to be a coward. He braced himself before he turned his attention to her. He was not disappointed.
    “Hitting is not the answer. Any animal can hit. Rise above it. Use your words, Lucien, not your fists.”
    “Sometimes that is easier said than done,” he muttered.
    Tenderness swept her face before she said, “I know, but in life you have to find solutions without using your fists.”
    “Maybe I’ll be a fighter.” He knew, even to his eight-year-old ears, that he sounded like a baby.
    “Be a fighter—but for the love of the sport. Fighting for any other reason is just a cop-out.”
    She knelt down in front of him and gently took his hand into her own and studied the broken skin and blood.
    “Let’s get this cleaned up.”
    He knew his shoulders were slumped in defeat, because as much as he had wanted to hit Jake, he was upset that he had disappointed Sister Anne. She stood to lead him away, but drew him close to her side in a half hug.
    “With that all being said, I think I would have hit him too.” She winked at him before she led him to the infirmary. Inside his little chest, his heart swelled with love.

    “Mr. Black?” Lucien focused back on his accountant. “Should we reschedule?”
    If the older man was annoyed about the sudden change of plans, he remained professional about it.
    “Thanks for being so accommodating. I’m a bit distracted,” Lucien said in the way of an apology before he saw the man out. He closed his door and poured himself three fingers of Scotch. He wasn’t one for drinking during the day, but he needed a drink now. It hadn’t taken long for him to realize the gift that had been bestowed on him when Darcy arrived at St. Agnes. For those two years as he watched Sister Anne slowly lose her battle with cancer, he’d had Darcy. With everything that Sister Anne had been to him, it was Darcy who became his salvation.

    Sixteen years earlier . . .
    Lucien didn’t cry, hadn’t shed a tear in years, but he was damn close to it now. Sister Anne was dying. There weren’t even words to express the desolation that filled him. He wanted to rage at the world, but what was the point?
    She moved so soundlessly that he didn’t hear her until she spoke from behind him. Darcy.
    “I just heard about Sister Anne. I am so