Page 43 of Divine Temptations

I stood, shuffling toward the dresser like a zombie. Caught my reflection in the mirror above it and winced.

Jesus.

My hair was wild, like a raccoon had nested in it. My jaw was patchy with stubble, and my eyes looked like two bruises had taken up permanent residence beneath them.

I looked like I’d lost a bar fight.

I stared at myself a second longer, jaw tight, then sighed. “Get your shit together, Jake.”

But I didn’t know how.

I didn’t want to clean or shower or call a friend or go for a drive.

I wanted Ethan.

And I was so mad at myself for still wanting him.

But then something shifted in my chest—just a flicker.

A thought.

The church.

Yeah, I disagreed with almost everything the people in there stood for. But… maybe if I sat through a service, I’d feel him.

Maybe I’d hear something that would make this ache make sense.

Or maybe I was just desperate enough to look for scraps of Ethan anywhere he might’ve left a shadow.

Either way, I knew what I had to do.

I turned from the mirror and padded into the bathroom, turning on the faucet in the shower. Once the air grew thick with steam, I stepped into the shower, wincing as the hot water pelted my skin.

“Gotta get clean for church,” I mumbled.

I pulled into the church parking lot on my Harley like I was rolling into a damn war zone.

The engine rumbled low beneath me as I kicked down the stand and climbed off, tugging off my helmet and raking a hand through my hair. I was clean, technically. Showered, deodorized, and wearing the least-wrinkled black T-shirt I could find. Jeans with only one hole in the knee. Real classy.

God’s gonna strike me dead as soon as I step foot in the church. I thought dryly. Maybe I should’ve worn a lightning rod around my neck, just to speed up the process.

The front doors loomed in front of me like I was walking into a lion’s den, but fuck it. I didn’t come here for Jesus.

I came for Ethan.

I pushed open the heavy door, and the air inside hit me like a time warp. Stale perfume, old Bibles, and whatever cologne Brother Thomas probably bathed in. Something cheap.

I slid into the back pew as quietly as I could, though my boots still squeaked like I was trying to sabotage my own entrance. I sat down, stiff and awkward, like I was afraid the seat would burn my skin. I half-expected the wood beneath my ass to sizzle and catch fire.

But then it hit me.

That feeling. Like the sun through the clouds after a storm, or warm hands smoothing over my chest, calming my heartbeat.

Ethan.

Not the physical kind of presence—he wasn’t here—but something in the air vibrated with the memory of him. The ghost of him, maybe. The proper kind, not the spooky kind.

He’d sat in these pews. Ethan had walked down this aisle. He’d breathed the same air I was breathing now.