Page 10 of Preacher Man (Divine Temptations #1)

Chapter Ten

Jake

I t had been a week.

Seven days.

One hundred and sixty-eight hours of nothing.

I was still in bed. Well, mostly. The sheets were tangled around my legs, and the comforter had slid halfway to the floor during what I could only describe as a very dramatic roll-and-sigh session.

Empty takeout containers littered every flat surface. Chinese. Pizza. Something that might’ve been lasagna but was now unidentifiable sludge in a black plastic tray. A crushed Red Bull can sat on the windowsill like it was judging me, and I’d flipped it off at least twice.

The TV was on, but muted. Game Show Network. A rerun of Wheel of Fortune was playing, and some middle-aged woman in a sequined blouse was clapping like she’d just won a Nobel Prize because she was going to the Bahamas.

Good for her. I hoped she got sunburned. I pulled the blanket over my head and groaned.

When Ethan disappeared, I thought I’d broken him. Crossed a line. Said the wrong thing. I told myself he’d be back. That he just needed space. A day or two. Maybe three.

But after a week?

I’d started to rot from the inside out.

I hadn’t shaved or done laundry. I hadn’t even jerked off, which was saying something because I’d once done it during a commercial break while watching Jeopardy.

Every second without him felt like a punishment I didn’t understand. Like God had scooped him off the chessboard and left me to stare at an empty square, trying to remember how to play the damn game.

I would’ve gone crazy wondering what I did wrong, if I’d driven Ethan away, if he’d decided we were just too different, too broken, too sinful…

But I’d overheard something.

Two days ago. I was loitering around the back of the church like a creep when I heard one of those bitter deacons talking to another.

“Heard from the youth camp,” the woman had said, with a voice so smug it could’ve curdled milk. “Brother Ethan’s been praying and teaching the obedient children. Hopefully, by the time he gets back, he’ll be ready to lead our flock properly.”

Hearing that gave me a sliver of relief, like one crack of sunlight through a boarded-up window. He didn’t disappear because of me. He hadn’t been raptured, or run screaming from town, or thrown himself off a cliff.

He was away on church business. Kind of like a spiritual rehab. Or maybe it was conversion therapy with s’mores and rug rats.

Fuck.

I wiped my eyes, the skin under them sore from too many nights of crying and pretending I wasn’t. Just as I was preparing to wallow in despair for another six to eight business hours, my phone rang.

I blinked at it, half-hoping it was Ethan. My stomach flipped at the thought. But no.

Brother Thomas.

I let it ring until the very last second, then swiped. “Yeah?”

“Brother Jacob.” His voice oozed through the speaker like a clogged drain. “I was wondering if you could come by the church today. The fellowship hall sink is leaking again, and the lock on the back door seems a little loose. I’d be most grateful if you could take a look.”

I stared at the ceiling, jaw clenched. Shit.

I didn’t have the energy or the will. I didn’t want to see the church, or that crooked-eyed portrait of Jesus in the foyer, or the stale coffee in the fellowship hall, or anything that reminded me of the man who used to sit behind the office desk and look at me like I was the last star in his universe.

But Brother Thomas didn’t care about any of that.

“Yeah,” I muttered. “I’ll be there shortly.”

I hung up without waiting for a response. No goodbye. No God bless.

I flopped back onto the bed, surrounded by the wreckage of my loneliness.

Even when Ethan wasn’t around, the church found ways to haunt me.

And I didn’t know what scared me more. Living without him for another week. Or him coming back and pretending like none of it ever happened.

* * *

The drip from the fellowship hall sink had turned into a steady leak, one of those obnoxious, rhythmic things that made you want to bash your head against the wall just to break the pattern.

I was crouched beneath the basin, flashlight between my teeth, hands deep in the guts of ancient plumbing that should’ve been replaced five pastors ago.

Somewhere behind me, the church air conditioner wheezed like it had emphysema, the only sound besides the occasional creak of the old building settling.

I finished tightening the final fitting and gave the pipe a slow twist, checking for leaks.

Nothing.

Good.

I sat back on my heels, rolled my shoulders, and sighed. My shirt was damp with sweat, my jeans smeared with whatever passed for grime under a church sink, and I probably smelled like mildew and despair.

Then I caught my reflection in the window above the sink.

At first, I didn’t recognize the man staring back.

Unshaven. Puffy-eyed. Dark circles like bruises under both eyes.

There was a hollowness in my face that hadn’t been there before. A sharpness to my jaw, not from weight loss, but from tension. I looked like I hadn’t smiled in a year.

And the worst part?

I couldn’t remember the last time I had.

I turned away, swallowing the lump rising in my throat, and packed up my tools in silence.

The walk through the sanctuary felt longer than usual. Every pew stared at me. Every hymnbook felt like a relic from a version of the world that didn’t include me or Ethan or people like us.

Outside, the sun was merciless.

I headed toward my truck, keys in hand, telling myself I’d done enough for today. Sink fixed. Door inspected. Time to go home and resume my scheduled programming of lying in bed and hoping for death.

But then I saw it.

The trailer.

Ethan’s trailer.

That dented-up tin box they’d stuck their preacher in like he was a utility they could just plug in on Sundays.

It was ugly as hell, but now it looked worse. Lifeless. Quiet. Abandoned.

And yet…

I couldn’t stop staring at it.

My feet slowed.

My chest ached.

What if he left something behind?

Something small. A scrap of paper, like a note.

Hell, a piece of his presence.

I didn’t think. I just moved.

Up the narrow metal steps. Across the narrow landing. Hand on the doorknob.

I tried it.

Locked.

Of course it was.

Just like he’d locked me out, too.

Something hot and sharp bloomed behind my eyes. My throat tightened, and my jaw clenched.

Before I knew what I was doing, I reared back and slammed my shoulder into the door.

It gave instantly.

Cheap wood. Bad frame. No real resistance.

The door popped open with a groan, swinging inward like it didn’t even want to hold on to its secrets anymore.

I stepped inside, wiping at my eyes with the back of my hand.

It was still. Silent.

And empty.

Ethan had taken everything.

Not that there’d been much to begin with.

The trailer had always been too small, too gross. We’d barely spent time here together. A few stolen kisses by the door. A lingering goodbye once or twice. Nothing more.

But now?

It was hollow.

Like me.

I sauntered to the back, to the little room with the twin mattress shoved against the wall. The blanket was gone. The nightstand was bare.

I almost turned to leave, but then I saw it. Something white, crumpled on the floor next to the bed.

I bent down, heart hammering, and picked it up.

A T-shirt. Slightly dirty. Thin and worn, with a stretched-out collar.

I brought it to my nose and inhaled.

Ethan.

I swear to God, it smelled like him.

Clean soap. Warm skin. A hint of aftershave.

Like Sunday mornings and sin.

I sat down on the bed and held the shirt against my face, choking on a sob before it could escape.

The tears came fast. Hot. Unstoppable.

I pressed my face into the fabric like it could bring him back.

Like maybe if I held on tight enough, I’d stop feeling so empty.

I’d stop feeling so left behind.

My voice cracked as I whispered into the silence, “Is he ever coming back?”