Losing My Religion Read online

  My face falls briefly. “How will I get in and out? I’m not sure my ribs will cooperate.”

  “I’ll help you,” he breathes, his voice husky.

  My eyes widen as he removes his shirt, his hand reaching over his head and pulling it off in one swift move.

  He helps me undress the rest of the way, his cheeks blushing furiously as he removes my boxer briefs. He tries to keep his eyes on my face, but I catch a glimpse of them shooting south for just a moment. The blush deepens when he realizes he’s been caught.

  “It’s okay, Jaden. Don’t be embarrassed.”

  I run my fingers over his abdomen, trailing them down into the waistband of his sleep pants. He reaches down, dropping them to the floor, leaving him in only the white undergarments he wears every day.

  He explained them to me once, saying they were a requirement of the church after he took out his endowments in the temple. I had no idea what that meant at the time—still don’t fully understand it, if I’m honest—but I know it’s important to him. They symbolize a commitment and promise he made to his church. Standing before me, wearing only that reminder of his vow, I wonder if it’ll be too much. I see something flash behind his eyes, and for a moment, I expect him to pull away and tell me he can’t do this.

  But, as fast as it appeared, the apprehension in his eyes evaporates. He peels the tight white fabric off his body, kicking them and the pajama pants over to the corner with my own clothes.

  The sight of Jaden Barker completely bare before me takes my breath away faster than any of the kicks Rick rained down on me earlier tonight.

  Jaden drops a kiss to my shoulder before helping me into the tub. Getting in behind me, he slides us both down into the warm water, settling my back against his chest as his arms circle me.

  From the outside looking in, I’m sure we look ridiculous. The tub in this apartment is tiny, and here we are, two grown-ass men, both trying to squeeze into it. Jaden has to hang one leg out over the edge, and my knees are practically shoved into my face, but the feel of his warm, naked body against my own is more than enough to overpower any discomfort this position might be causing.

  Jaden reaches for the washcloth I draped over the faucet earlier this morning. Dropping it into the water, he runs the soft fabric up and down my arms, washing away the dirt and grime from the alley. He pays special attention to my shoulders and torso, the cloth ghosting gently over my tender skin.

  The water doesn’t do much in the way of hiding the way his touch is affecting me. When he tilts my face back toward him, giving my lips a gentle swipe with his own before washing the dirt and blood off my face with the cloth, my dick all but jumps out of the water, practically begging for attention. My body doesn’t care that some asshole just beat the ever-living fuck out of me not even two hours ago. The only thing that matters right now is him.

  Once the filth is washed from my face, Jaden tosses the cloth to the floor beside the tub, his hands returning to my shoulders. They knead the flesh there, his long fingers sliding down every so often to brush over my nipples.

  I can feel the evidence of his own arousal pushing into my back, the hard length twitching against me as I let out a groan when he swipes his hand over my puckered flesh once more.

  I twist my neck around, claiming Jaden’s lips urgently with my own. His mouth instantly opens for me, his tongue meeting mine stroke for stroke. I reach up, locking his face to mine, as I try to deepen the out-of-control kiss. I can’t get close enough to him. I could crawl inside his skin and take up residence, and it still wouldn’t be enough.

  His hands caress down my stomach, and my world tips on its axis when I realize he’s not stopping. He teases around my sensitive flesh, his fingers massaging everywhere but the only place I need them.

  When his hand finally closes around the thick length of my cock, the world stops. Nothing exists, except this bathroom and this man. When his fist starts to pump over my erection, I lose all ability to think. My head drops back against his chest, and all I can do is writhe against him as he works me over.

  It doesn’t take long, my body wound so tight that I’m surprised it didn’t unravel at first contact. After a few more pumps of his hand, Jaden sends me over the edge, his strong grip only tightening its hold as I come.

  “Wow,” he whispers against my ear when I finally return to earth.

  “Yeah,” I breathe. “Wow.”

  He helps me out of the tub, carefully drying me before doing so to himself. His arousal is still evident between his thighs, and after he helps me back onto the bed, I promptly return the favor.

  Jaden, sprawled out in my sheets, his eyes hooded as his cock juts out from his body, is my every fantasy come to life.

  I only use my hands, knowing this is his first time letting anybody touch him. I ache to taste him, to lap at every inch of his gorgeous body. But I refrain. Deep in the back of my mind, I know my own body will thank me for it later.

  I settle my head on Jaden’s shoulder, the position giving me the perfect vantage point to see both his face and his cock as I run my fingers up and down his hard length. When his head falls back against the pillows, his eyes squeezing shut as his pleasure overtakes him, I take his mouth with my own. I want to taste every moan and sigh of pleasure he gives me.

  After he cleans up, he pulls me against him, our positions reversed from the usual. I’m usually the big spoon, remember? But I’ve got to say, being his little spoon doesn’t exactly suck either.

  I listen to his heart thump against my back, the sound hypnotizing after the shitty day I’ve had. It’s not long until my eyes drift shut, sleep dragging me under, no matter how hard I try to fight it.

  I wake several times throughout the night, and each time, Jaden’s arms are still securely wrapped around me. After about the fourth time, I convince myself he’s not going anywhere, and finally, I fall into that deepest stage of sleep.

  I dream the sweetest dreams.

  And, when I wake in the morning, he’s gone.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  * * *

  Jaden

  As the wheels touch down at Salt Lake City International, the dread in my stomach increases tenfold, causing a ripple of unease to fire through my body. I don’t want to face my family. I don’t want to see the looks of disappointment and failure written all over their faces.

  I’m a coward—a fact only solidified by the dastardly way I left LA.

  That’s right. After the amazing night I spent with Quinn, I slunk away under the cover of darkness. I went downstairs, packed my things, woke Fisher, and told him I’d wait down in the lobby until Elder Shaw arrived. The man got there in record time. I hadn’t even been waiting twenty minutes when a black car pulled to a stop outside our building, the familiar baby-faced man coming around to open the back-passenger door for me.

  He was far from silent on our way back to his office, but I didn’t hear a thing he’d said. He wasn’t telling me anything I hadn’t already known. Besides, I had bigger things to worry about.

  When I didn’t try to defend my actions, Elder Shaw told me he’d booked me on the first flight back to Salt Lake City. He said my family had been informed and would be there to collect me.

  Collect me. Like I was a package they weren’t looking forward to receiving.

  I’m not sure which is worse. Imagining the looks on my parents’ faces when they take in my dishonored state. Or the look on Quinn’s face when he woke to realize I was gone.

  Just the thought of the heartbreak I surely caused him is enough for me to want to slam my face against the window of the plane.

  So, why did I do it?

  Because I am a goddamn coward.

  I couldn’t say good-bye. I couldn’t handle seeing any tears that might spring to his eyes as I left him. I’d caused him enough pain already. I couldn’t bear the thought of being the source of any more.

  And, instead of facing it like a man, letting him make the choice for himself and owning up to wha
tever might come next, I had made the decision myself. I didn’t want to see him upset, so I’d left. I took everything we’d shared and flushed it down the proverbial toilet. Once again, instead of facing my fears, I took the easy way out.

  Because I am a fucking coward.

  There’s no other way to describe it.

  And, now, as I walk down the corridor that will lead me to my family, I want to bolt in the other direction. I don’t want to face them. I can’t face them. I can’t look my mother in the eye, knowing she knows what I did. And my father…

  His reaction will break me.

  Guaranteed.

  But I keep walking forward. Because, despite how much I wish I could avoid this whole situation, I need to face the music. I’ve already run from one person I love today. If I do it again, I’ll never be able to look myself in the eye. Let alone live with myself.

  I take a deep breath and step out into the terminal, my jaw clenched as I attempt to remain stoic over what is surely going to be one of the worst moments of my life.

  But there’s nobody.

  Oh, there are plenty of people in the large space, each of them waiting anxiously for their loved ones to arrive. The smiles that erupt around me should be enough to put anybody in a good mood. Too bad I’m not just anybody.

  I thought seeing their upset faces would gut me. Turns out, not seeing them hurts even worse. Evidently, I wasn’t even worth collecting. I’m not just an unwanted package. I’m like a chain letter, spam, or junk mail that nobody wants, sent straight to the recycle bin without ever being looked at.

  I bite my bottom lip, the pain I’m creating the only thing that’s able to keep the agony I’m living at bay. I walk quietly through the crowded airport, careful not to look up at any of the happy families that surround me. I wasn’t expecting a grand welcome. But I was at least expecting someone to be here.

  I make my way over to the baggage claim, staring down at my feet as I wait for my luggage, wondering how I’m going to get home. I don’t have money for a cab. Heck, I don’t even have money for a pay phone to call anyone, and I’d left my burner phone behind in LA. Are there even pay phones anymore? I look up, glancing around the airport in search of the ancient tech that might be my only saving grace. Can you still call people collect?

  Spotting a bank of phones a few yards away, I breathe a sigh of relief, knowing I won’t have to walk home. That is, until I realize, if my parents didn’t show up, that probably means my brother wouldn’t either. My aunts and uncles probably haven’t found out about my indiscretion yet. And do I really want to be the one to call and inform them? My friends are out; there’s no way I could stand listening to their self-righteous judgments as they drove me home. They were bad enough to deal with in high school. Facing them now? No, thanks. I’d rather walk the thirty miles back to Lehi.

  A red tag catches my attention as it drops down onto the carousel, and I move over to grab my bag. Another hand reaches for it at the same time I do.

  I open my mouth to let the person know they must be mistaken because this is my bag when my eyes meet the man next to me.

  My father.

  His hard eyes look me up and down, taking in my rumpled appearance, his lips pursed together. I didn’t iron my dress shirt this morning, and a few hours stuffed into economy has made the already-wrinkled fabric look even more like the rolls of a shar-pei.

  “Hi, Dad,” I squeak out, hating the sadness that is so evident in my voice.

  “Jaden,” he says simply, grabbing the bag and turning to walk out. “We need to get going. I’m parked in a no-parking zone.”

  I trail after him, his brisk stride keeping him three steps ahead of me at all times, no matter how hard I try to catch up. As we exit the airport, I can’t help the smile that spreads across my face at the sight of his car, a car I’ve ridden in more times than I can possibly count. The shiny blue paint feels like a welcome home even if the man currently chucking my luggage in the trunk does not.

  Surprising me, he opens the passenger door before walking around to the driver’s side. I was half-expecting him to demand I ride home in the trunk, so nobody in the neighborhood would be witness to his apostate son. I wasn’t expecting him to want me to ride next to him.

  The drive home is silent, not even the static sounds of the radio breaking through the tension. It’s not a long ride back; traffic at ten a.m. on a Wednesday is never very heavy. It’s not until then I realize that my dad must’ve missed work to come down and pick me up.

  “How’s work going?” I ask when we’re only a few minutes away from our exit.

  Dad shoots me an incredulous look, as if he can’t believe I’m asking about his job in a situation like this. He turns his attention back to the road before offering a terse, “Fine.”

  That’s all the sign I need that he’s unwilling to talk to me. I turn and prop my chin on my hand, resting my elbow on the armrest, as I watch the signs and other cars we pass.

  When we pull into the driveway of our house, I notice all the blinds are closed tight. This is so unlike my mom, who always insists a house is not a home without a little sunshine beaming in, that I know it was a conscious decision for my father to come alone. He turns to me when we step inside the front door, the house dark and not smelling of my mother’s constant cooking, confirming my suspicions.

  “Best to leave your mother to it for now. She’s had a rough morning.”

  I want to protest, to tell him, if he thinks their morning has been rough, try living my life for the past forty-eight hours. I was accosted on the street, I watched my boyfriend get the crap kicked out of him while simultaneously taking a few hits myself, and then I spent the most wonderful few hours with the love of my life and then left him without a word. If anybody knows what rough is, it’s me.

  But I know reminding him of my actions over the past two days will only worsen the situation. So, instead, I nod, grabbing my suitcase as I make my way over to the stairs.

  “I’ll just go to my room then. I need a shower.”

  My father lets me leave without a word. I woodenly climb the stairs, each step more difficult than the last. Stopping in front of the door to my room, the custom nameplate my parents bought me when I was only six still fixed in the center, I drop my head against the white paint, letting the tears I was holding back finally fall. Not wanting my mother to hear me, just in case she is down the hall in her and my dad’s bedroom, I open the door and let myself in, dropping my suitcase to the floor, before kicking the door shut behind me.

  I fall face-first onto the bed, my already-tearstained cheeks burying deep into the down pillows as I release my sobs.

  What have I done?

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  * * *

  Quinn

  Fisher won’t tell me a goddamn thing.

  I swear, if I wasn’t already hobbled from one ass-kicking, I’d beat the shit out of his arrogant ass for refusing to tell me how I can reach Jaden. And I’d gladly tack on a few extra gut punches for his hateful comments toward Jaden and myself.

  When I woke to find Jaden missing last week, the first thing I did was book it downstairs to see if he was there. Fisher answered the door, leaning against the frame, and he smugly told me Jaden was already gone.

  “He left, first thing this morning.”

  “Did he leave an address? A note? Anything?” I asked desperately.

  Fisher gave me an assessing look, his downturned lips making it evident he didn’t approve of what he saw. “Haven’t you caused him enough trouble? Just let him go. Let him make this right.”

  I hadn’t done a damn thing but fall for the guy. But I wasn’t about to waste any precious seconds arguing with this asshole.

  “Please. Just tell me how to reach him. He had to have left some way for me to contact him.”

  Fisher disappeared momentarily, stepping back into the doorframe after retrieving something from the kitchen. “He left this,” he said, handing me the cell phone Jaden and I had
been communicating on for the past month.

  I’d already tried calling it as I ran down the stairs moments ago, so I knew it wasn’t turned on. Seeing it here though, instead of with Jaden, devastated me. If he was really gone, leaving behind the only known way I had of contacting him…

  What did it mean?

  I grabbed the phone from Fisher’s hand, turning to head back upstairs to think this through.

  But Fisher’s callous voice stopped me in my tracks.

  “You have no idea what you’ve done to him, do you? The world of hurt you’ve opened for him? Thanks to you, he’s going to be labeled a queer. Thanks to you, he’s a dishonored missionary. He’ll never be able to look a member of this church in the eye again. Even if he repents, people will still talk.”

  A million responses flew through my head, most of them involving extensive use of the words mother and fucker.

  But, instead, I turned, looking Fisher in the eye with as much bravado as I could muster for someone who was sporting some pretty hefty facial bruising. “For the past two months, I’ve listened to you talk about your gospel and the Savior and God’s plan for us all,” I started, my voice surprising even me with its gravity.

  The nerves and anger that had been coursing through my veins were nowhere to be found. It’s lucky for Fisher because, inside, I’d have loved nothing more than to tear his face off.

  “You preach all these wonderful things about God’s forgiveness and his unwavering love for his children. Yet you don’t practice what you preach. You speak of repentance and how sins can be wiped clean because of the Savior’s sacrifice. Yes, Fisher, I actually listened to your obnoxious spiels. Occasionally. Yet you stand here and tell me that, no matter if God forgives Jaden, the members of your church will not. Sure, he might be allowed to sit in your pews and recite your scriptures. But at what cost? Enduring years of scathing looks and whispered rumors, never feeling accepted in the one place that should be a safe haven for all.