Losing My Religion Page 19

  Quinn exhales loudly, reaching out to grab on to Rick’s sleeve as he starts to walk again. “Rick, wait—”

  Rick smacks Quinn’s hand away, his eyes wild as he whips back around. “Don’t you dare touch me. You got that? Don’t you put a fucking hand on me.” He storms off, cursing as he stomps down the street.

  Quinn stares off after him, disbelief and confusion written all over his face. I place my hand on his shoulder, and when he turns to me, his face crumbles.

  He leans into me, giving me all his weight, as he cries into the crook of my neck. I tightly hold onto him, taking every bit of anger and hurt he gives me.

  “I can’t believe it. I can’t believe that just happened,” he mutters over and over as I hold him.

  When it gets to be too much for both of us, I lean back against the wall, sinking down to the cement sidewalk below, taking Quinn with me.

  To most people, getting fired from a job is no big deal. There are thousands of jobs out there. But I know the implication this has for Quinn. He’s been looking for a new job the last few weeks, but nothing pays as well as his job at Ascent. He hated working for that asshole, but it was a necessary means to an end if he wanted to continue to pursue his dream of becoming an actor. Things just got a hell of a lot harder for him. I want to help him. I want to take it all from him and tell him everything will be okay.

  But I can’t promise him that. Not when I don’t even know if I’m going to be here in a week.

  When his tears finally dry and his body steadies its shaky breath, I get to my feet, pulling him up with me. “C’mon. Let’s get you home.”

  This time, it’s me who nestles him into my side, sheltering him from the evil and darkness that is this world.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  * * *

  Jaden

  It’s been four days since that awful scene outside of Halcyon. Four long, frustrating days of worrying and wondering. Quinn has been a frantic mess, out all day applying for jobs and going on auditions, even for roles he has absolutely no desire to take. At night, he pours his heart out to me as I hold him, my fingers running through his hair as he tries to work through the turmoil of his day.

  His savings account is nonexistent, and with rent coming due in a week, he’s out of his mind with panic over what he’s going to do.

  I tried to come up with a solution as we lay in bed last night, listening to Quinn recount the awful commercial audition he’d been on this afternoon.

  “It was a fucking herpes cream commercial, J. I never thought I’d stoop so low. Like I want to be walking down the street and have some random person recognize me. Don’t I know you from somewhere? Oh, I know. You were that cringing dude in that commercial for the herp. You ever get that cleared up?”

  I faked a laugh, trying to lighten the mood. “You’d be the best-looking herpes rep ever. Besides, there are all kinds of disclaimers on those ads, saying those are paid actors. Nobody would think you actually had herpes.”

  “Bullshit,” he scoffed. “Nobody cares what those things say. Everybody knows no self-respecting person would take a herpes commercial if they didn’t have firsthand experience and want to help spread the good news about the latest cock relief.”

  I continued my attempts to ease his mind, telling him something better would come along any day now and that he would have nothing to worry about. People would have to be crazy not to snatch him up, be it for a job or for a role. And I meant it. I was still in shock it had taken him this long to be discovered. With a face like that, he was born to be on the big screen. Or, at the very least, the medium-sized one in people’s living rooms.

  I snuck out of his apartment early this morning, telling him I’d try to check in throughout the day and wishing him luck. He had an interview set up this afternoon at a bar. It was nothing like Ascent—this place catering to more of a rough-and-tumble crowd than the hipsters and millennials who liked to spend time at his former place of employment. Nobody would be requesting a Sex on the Beach at this place, the bar owner refusing to stock anything other than whiskey and tequila. Quinn would stick out like a sore thumb in a joint like that, but a friend of his had tipped him off on the job and told him tips were usually decent, so he couldn’t turn down the opportunity. Plus, like he reminded me, he was an actor. He could play any part he needed to. Even the part of a badass biker bartender.

  Looking down at my watch now, I realize he must be getting close to wrapping up the interview. I wish I had time to sneak away and see how it went. Even though I know he’d be happier elsewhere, I still hope he gets it. It’ll at least give him some peace of mind until he can find something more suitable.

  Elder Fisher steps in front of me, halting the progress I’ve been making down the sidewalk toward our next investigator’s house. We received a call yesterday from a ward member, telling us he had a friend who was interested in hearing more about the church. The man had told his friend the basics and already given him The Book of Mormon, so we should be walking into a slam dunk.

  Fisher’s face, however, tells me he’s more concerned about the next hour than I am. But, when he opens his mouth, I realize it’s for an entirely different reason.

  “You need to get your crap together, Elder. I don’t know where your head is—again, I might add—but I know it isn’t on this lesson. If you’re going to lead this, then you need to pull your head out and find the words to say.”

  I must say, I’m a bit taken aback by his newfound attitude. I’ve known Fisher isn’t exactly my biggest fan since the second we met, but he’s never spoken quite so…bluntly before. It’s a bit impressive. I didn’t know he had it in him.

  “Why don’t you take the lead on this one?” I say, knowing this will please him and get him to shut his face.

  And, just like I expected, his eyes light up at the mere mention. But he falters for a second, probably recalling Elder Shaw’s orders that I need to be teaching the lessons until further notice.

  “I won’t tell if you won’t,” I say, giving him a sly smile. Then, realizing this might not be the best tactic to use on a straight-laced guy like Fisher, I add, “Besides, I’m not feeling well today anyway. I can feel a major headache coming on. I would hate to have to back out right in the middle because my stomach got too queasy. Headaches always make me nauseous as heck.”

  Fisher gives me a quick once-over, as if trying to assess my health situation. I squint my eyes, letting out a deep exhale, as if my head just suddenly worsened. I’m sure he knows I’m faking, but I just can’t bring myself to care right in this moment.

  With a slight roll of his eyes, he mumbles, “Whatever,” before turning on his heel and continuing down the street.

  The lesson passes quickly, a piece of cake, just like I anticipated. Fisher taught the initial lesson we give to all new investigators, but instead of the difficult questions we usually get, this guy seemed more concerned over when he could be baptized than trying to debunk any of the church’s teachings and prophesies.

  Fisher is in such a good mood when we leave, he suggests we stop and grab a bite to eat for lunch. We’re nowhere near Quinn’s bistro—not that he’s working today anyway—so we stop into a small soup-and-sandwich place a few blocks over from the investigator’s apartment complex.

  I order my usual roast beef and a cup of broccoli cheddar even though it’s pushing ninety outside and way too hot for soup. I’ve never been one to say no to a good cup of soup. I scarf down the delicious cheesiness as Fisher plots out our plan of attack for the rest of the afternoon.

  After we’re finished, I follow Fisher back out to the street, feigning interest in the map he has pulled out in front of us as we step out onto the sidewalk. I’m looking down at the folded piece of paper and don’t notice the man until I run into him.

  “Excuse me,” I say in apology as I right myself and go back to looking at the spot Fisher is pointing at on the map.

  “Don’t worry about it,” comes the mumbled reply.


  Fisher and I have taken a few more steps when a hard hand comes down on my shoulder.

  “Hey, I know you,” the same voice says again, this time with more conviction.

  My eyes flit up to the man’s face, about to tell him he’s surely mistaken, as I’m not from here, when all the air rushes out of my body.

  It’s like a bad dream, like I’m reliving a nightmare, and no matter how hard I try, I can’t wake myself up.

  Rick’s pensive face stares back at me, his eyes scanning mine, as he tries to place me.

  His expression changes when my gaze meets his, and I know my face must reflect my absolute bewilderment at running into him.

  “I—I,” I stammer, clearing my throat, as I search for the right thing to say. “I don’t think so, sir. I’m new here.”

  His eyes narrow, his lips pursing together, as he searches my face. “No, I’m certain I’ve seen you before. Do you boys come into Ascent?”

  Fisher jumps in then. “What’s Ascent?”

  Rick shoots him an annoyed glance. “Ascent is the best nightclub in LA. I own it.”

  “Oh,” Fisher says with a laugh. “No, you wouldn’t have seen us in there. We’re not exactly club-goers.”

  Rick eyes our attire, his eyes stopping on our name tags. “Elder Fisher and Elder Barker, huh? What are you guys? Some of those freaky Mormons?” he says jokingly, as if the idea of running into Mormons on the streets of LA is the most hilarious thing he’s heard all day.

  I can practically see the steam rising from Fisher’s head.

  “Actually, sir, we are missionaries for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints. And, if you have a few moments, we’d love to share the gospel of our Lord with you,” Fisher spits out, his words friendly, his tone anything but.

  Not now, Fisher. We need to get the hell out of here, not try to convince this asshole that he needs Jesus.

  The corner of Rick’s mouth twists up in a sneer. “Is that right? You boys think you’re going to teach me all about the Lord, huh? In your matching outfits and coordinating accessories. You sure you ain’t a couple of fruits?”

  Fisher puts himself right in the man’s face, his anger radiating off him in waves. Apparently, the only thing that pisses Fisher off more than people insulting his church is someone insinuating he might be gay. I reach out, grabbing onto his shoulder and pulling him back against me before he can touch Rick.

  “Calm down, Elder. He’s not worth it.” I hold onto Fisher for a few seconds longer until I’m satisfied he won’t lunge for Rick the moment I let him go. When he finally settles down, I release my hold, turning my attention back to Rick. I need to defuse this situation and get us the heck out of here before trouble really erupts.

  The way Rick is looking at me when my eyes meet his tells me I’m too late, however. Recognition dances in his eyes, and his lips are already curling back off his lips, every square inch of him broadcasting hate.

  “It’s you. You were outside that homo club the other night. You were there with him.”

  Fisher’s eyes dart back and forth between us as he waits for me to reply.

  “You must be mistaken. I haven’t been to any clubs. Come on, Elder. We’d better get going.”

  I attempt to step around Rick, hoping he’ll let me pass without any trouble. I should’ve known better though.

  He sidesteps, getting right in my path and in my face. “Bullshit. You were there. You were that fag hanging all over Quinn.”

  This stops Fisher short. “Quinn? You were with Quinn?”

  My mouth falls open as I turn to him. “I—no—he—”

  “Yes, he damn well was. The two of them were outside that fucking faggot club, all over each other. It was absolutely disgusting.”

  “No, no. You-you’ve got the wrong guy. I’ve never been to a gay club. Come on, Elder. It’s time to leave.”

  I grab onto Fisher’s arm and drag him around Rick’s body. He lets us pass but not without shoulder-checking me as I walk by.

  “You tell that fucking faggot he’s ruined. He’ll never work in this town again, not after what he did to me. I’ve got friends in high places, and I know he’s trying to get a new job. I’m telling you, it ain’t going to happen. He’s finished.”

  I pause for a moment, his words catching me off guard with their ferocity. He sounds so vindictive, so full of hatred and spite. I can’t quite believe this is all over the fact that Quinn hid that he was gay. I catch myself before I stop for too long though, knowing I’m going to have a hell of a time explaining this as it is. If Fisher catches on that his words got to me, there’s no way I’ll be able to talk my way out of this one.

  I don’t let go of Fisher’s arm until we’ve turned the corner, and we are out of earshot and eyesight of that asshole. When I drop his arm, he shoves past me, walking three feet ahead of me the whole way back to our apartment. He doesn’t speak a single word, and even though I know we are supposed to do at least a couple of more hours of proselytizing, I follow him until we reach those familiar stairs, and he slams the door behind us.

  “What was that, Elder?” he shouts the second we’re locked inside.

  Fortunately, the walk back to the apartment gave me time to cool off and think. The lie rolls easily off my tongue. “I have no idea, Elder. I’ve never seen that man before in my life. And I’ve certainly never been to any club, let alone a gay club. How would I have even gone? Don’t you think you would’ve noticed if I disappeared for several hours? The guy was clearly delusional.”

  Fisher glares at me for a moment, his face screwed up in anger and confusion as he takes in what I said and tries to decide whether he believes me.

  When I see the tension in his shoulders lift ever-so slightly, I strike again. “You’re the most vigilant missionary I’ve ever met. There’s no way I’d ever be able to pull that sort of thing off with you even if I wanted to, which I don’t. Why on earth would I ever want to go to a place like that? It goes against everything I believe in.”

  The words taste bitter on my lips, but they’re the necessary catalyst for my argument. I can practically see Fisher’s anger leaving his body, every muscle that was clenched in outrage relaxing as my words wash over him.

  But, just when I think I’m home free, his head darts back up to meet my eyes. “But he knew Quinn! He said you were there with Quinn. How would he know about Quinn if you weren’t there with him?”

  I stumble for a minute. I’m such an idiot. The whole way home, I crafted this story, but I never once thought about what I’d say if he questioned Quinn. How could I be so stupid?

  I shrug, as if it were no big deal. “You think there’s only one Quinn in this city? He must’ve been talking about something else.” My tone is cool, my voice steady. But, on the inside, I’m reeling.

  I think back on the conversations the two of us have had with Quinn. Did he mention working at Ascent? Quinn is a common name. But I’m pretty sure gay men named Quinn who work at Ascent are few and far between.

  Fisher warily eyes me. “You might be right. I’m sure there are plenty of gays named Quinn in this city. Gay people are a freaking dime a dozen out here.”

  I force out a laugh. “You’ve got that right.”

  It physically pains me to pretend to joke about something so close to home for me, but if it gets Fisher off the subject, then it has to be done.

  We spend the next ten minutes rerouting our afternoon route since we’re now in a different part of the city. We head out, and the rest of the day goes smoothly with no more outbursts by apparent strangers on the street. But I can feel Fisher’s eyes on me every time he thinks I’m not looking.

  I might have pacified him for now, but that doesn’t mean he’s going to let it go so easily.

  My babysitter just got promoted to a maximum-security warden.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  * * *

  Quinn

  The sun sets behind me as I make my way down the narrow street, my foot crunching an e
mpty beer can as I walk. I stop, looking down at the can lying next to the gutter, discarded and destroyed.

  Sort of like me.

  I continue to kick the tin down the street as I walk because, if there’s one thing this town has taught me, it’s to always kick ’em while they’re down. This crushed beer can has so many parallels to my current predicament, it’s uncanny—no pun intended. I might as well be the one lying in the gutter, some punk-ass kid kicking me on his way to a better life.

  Fuck, if things don’t turn around soon, I will be hanging out in the gutter. Because I’ll be living there.

  Two more interviews today, and it was a complete waste of time. After Jaden passed Rick’s threat along to me last night, I almost threw in the towel and booked my ticket back home then and there. If Rick is going to blackball me, I’m as good as done. Rick is an asshole. But he’s an asshole with a lot of sway. If he says he doesn’t want me working, then I won’t be working.

  I don’t even understand why these people are even calling me in the first place. Maybe they just want to catch a glimpse of the man who completely screwed up his life in an instant. Maybe they want to meet the guy who was stupid enough to get on Rick’s bad side. Or maybe they just feel sorry for me, wanting to give me some semblance of hope even though they’d never jeopardize their own careers to help me out.

  Each one of these people knows what Rick is doing to me is a bunch of bullshit. Despite the rumors Rick has tried to spread, word has gotten around about what really happened that night. This last interviewer came right out and told me he was sorry for what I was going through, but there was nothing he could do. He told me what Rick was doing was wrong and that I shouldn’t lose my job because of my sexual orientation. He said he was sure there were laws against that, and I should maybe consider filing a lawsuit.

  Yeah, I’ll get right on that. With all the cash I have growing out back on that money tree of mine.