I stood, heart pounding, and grabbed my bag from the closet. Tossed in my clothes without folding them, muttering under my breath the whole time.
“God put him in my life for a reason.”
“This isn’t sin. It’s love.”
“You don’t make mistakes, Lord. I know that now.”
My toothbrush fell in last. I zipped the bag shut and flung it over my shoulder.
I paused in the doorway just long enough to glance back at the little cabin. It had been nice. Peaceful. But it wasn’t home.
Home was wherever Jake was.
I jogged down the path, gravel crunching under my boots, past the chapel, past the fire pit, past the youth tent still tangled in fairy lights.
And then I was in my car, the engine sputtering to life like even it knew I wasn’t supposed to be here anymore.
I threw it in gear, the tires spitting dust behind me as I sped out of Sweetwater Ridge, windows down, wind in my face, heart pounding so hard I could feel it in my throat.
Jake.
I was coming for him.
And this time, I wasn’t running away.
Chapter Twelve
Jake
“Ifucking hate Sundays.”
Bright sunlight poured through the gaps in my blackout curtains like it had something to prove, and I groaned, flipping onto my stomach to bury my face in a pillow that definitely smelled like sadness and old sesame chicken.
The Game Show Network was still playing on mute, the same damn rerun of Press Your Luck I’d watched three times in a row now. I didn’t even care who won anymore. I just needed the distraction.
At first, I thought it was something I did. That maybe I’d pushed Ethan hard, gone too far. Maybe asking him to love me in the daylight had been too much.
But then I heard one of the crusty old deacons at the church talking outside the sanctuary. Something about the summer youth camp up in the mountains and Brother Ethan “praying and teaching the obedient children.” Something about how, “hopefully when he returns, he’ll be ready to lead the flock the right way.”
That’s when the nausea set in.
He didn’t leave because of me.
He left because of them.
Because their hate was louder than my love. Because they still had their claws in him, twisting and pulling and whispering lies wrapped in Bible verses.
I lay in bed, face pressed to the pillow, trying not to cry again. My house smelled like french fries and regret, and the floor was littered with fast food bags and plastic utensils.
Normally, I was a neat freak. I hated clutter. Hated crumbs. But right now? I was living in a landfill and didn’t have the energy to give a single shit.
The kitchen sink was stacked with dishes I didn’t remember using. There was a dried-up chicken wing in the living room. My laundry was a pile on the floor that had become part of the ecosystem.
I hadn’t showered in… God, I didn’t even know.
I groaned and rolled over, forcing myself to sit up. My muscles ached from doing absolutely nothing, and my neck cracked like I was 85 years old.
“I gotta get out of the house,” I muttered, scrubbing a hand over my face.
