The sun sets behind me as I make my way down the narrow street, my foot crunching an empty 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.

I politely thanked him for his time and advice, wanting nothing more than to get the fuck out of that office. Because dealing with Rick’s bullshit was bad enough. Dealing with people’s sympathy because of said bullshit was intolerable.

I turn the corner onto my street, the building lit up in the growing darkness. I look up to the second-story window, to the apartment that currently holds my heart. And the only reason I haven’t given up and gone home. As long as Jaden is here, there’s no way I can leave. Even if it means living in the alley out back. That’ll make for some romantic dates. We can cuddle under the stars, the stench of rotting garbage and stray cats setting the mood. Add in the junkie shooting up his next fix, and you’ve got every man’s dream. Jaden will never be able to resist my charms.

As if today wasn’t already bad enough, Jaden texted earlier today and said he wouldn’t be able to come up tonight. Fucking Fisher has been watching him like a hawk, never letting him out of his sight for more than the twenty seconds it takes him to piss. Honestly, I’m surprised the dude doesn’t insist on following J into the bathroom and shaking it for him, just to make sure there’s no funny business.

Jaden managed to sneak up to my place for a few minutes last night, but he didn’t stay long. He told me all about the altercation with Rick outside the restaurant and how Fisher had witnessed it all. He also told me how he’d been able to talk his way out of it, but he wasn’t sure that Fisher really believed him. Today only confirmed it, Jaden having to rush out a text as he stood in a stall.

I pull my phone out, calling up the text from earlier.

Not exactly the most glamorous proposition, but I’ll take what I can get. I sent him back a sad face along with the word yes. I might understand why things must be this way, but that doesn’t mean I have to like it.

Especially after the day I’ve had, I want to curl up next to my man, maybe drink a glass of wine or three, and purge this shit-tastic excuse for Tuesday from my system.

But nope. Instead, I get to spend the evening curled up with my right hand and Netflix. I can’t even watch my new favorite show because I promised Jaden I wouldn’t watch it without him—no Major and Ravi to help pull me out of my funk.

I reach my building, giving the can one last kick out into the street. “I’ll see you soon, buddy,” I pathetically call out.

God, I’m just a fucking ray of sunshine tonight, aren’t I?

As I reach for the main door to the lobby, a loud crash sounds from the alley between this building and the next. I pause for a moment, waiting to see if there’s any sort of follow-up commotion. With my luck, that damn junkie who likes to hang out back there has probably overdosed and is passed out in the dumpster. Because why not? Let’s add witnessing an unintentional suicide to the ever-growing list of things that make this day blow.

A soft groan follows after a moment, and I’m half-tempted to just pretend like I didn’t hear it and continue on my way. But I know I’d never be able to live with myself if the dude died, and I could’ve done something to help him. It’s the Southern boy in me. Fucking bleeding heart.

I let go of the handle on the door, my shoulders slumping as I trudge over to the alley. It’s dark, but I’m able to make out a shadowed figure stooped over in between the dumpster and the wall.

“Hey,” I yell out, not wanting to walk back into the dank and disgusting place if I don’t have to. “You okay?”

Another groan is the only response I get.

“Fuck,” I mutter under my breath, stepping around a puddle of God knows what as I enter the alley.

I might have to help this man, but there’s no way in hell I’m fucking up my boots in the process. They cost me two weeks’ worth of tips.

When I finally reach the man crouched in the corner, after passing what I’m positive is the rat that’s been tormenting me for the past two months, I bend over and nudge him on the shoulder.

“Hey, buddy. You need some help?”

The man lets out a loud breath, and it almost sounds as if he’s…laughing?

“I’m all set. You, on the other hand, might need some soon.”

The man rises to his feet, stepping out into the faint light seeping into the narrow space from the street.

Rick.

Something is wrong.

All day I’ve had this overwhelming sense of dread, as if the end is just right around the corner. The end of my mission. The end of my relationship with Quinn. The end of…everything good.

I’ve tried shaking it off, telling myself I’m just being paranoid after my run-in with Rick yesterday. Not being able to go to Quinn tonight doesn’t help, his easy smile and ability to make me laugh always soothing after a long day. Spending the entire day on edge has been even worse, knowing I won’t be able to see him tonight. To have him reassure me that everything will be okay.

But the closer it gets to sunset, the harder it becomes to ignore this niggling feeling deep in my gut. Now that the sun has sunk completely below the horizon, my stomach is in so many knots, a Boy Scout wouldn’t even be able to untangle the mess.

Something isn’t right.

As if on cue, a crash sounds from the street. Fisher’s face blinks up at me as I leave the seat across from him, moving to the window to try to find the source.

“I’m sure it was just a cat. Come on, we still have a lot to go over before bed.”

I ignore his words, causing him to blow out an exasperated breath, which is pretty much the extent of our conversations today. He lectures me, I ignore him, and he lets me know how much I’m irritating him without actually speaking the words. Normally, this would bother me, knowing I was so blatantly upsetting him. But I can’t bring myself to care today. Not until this sense of foreboding goes away.

I pull open the blinds, looking down onto the street below. Other than a few cars and a couple of mischievous-looking teenagers, there’s nothing. I watch the two boys, waiting to see if it was them who caused the commotion, but before they move, another loud sound comes from somewhere to my left.

One of the teens walks over to the alley next to our apartment complex, keeping his body out of sight of whatever might be down there as he peers around the corner. Whatever he sees seems to excite him because he quickly waves over his friend, a smile spread across his face.

I crack open the window to see if I can get a hint of what they’re saying, but it’s no use. They’re too far away, and it’s too loud outside, the sounds of the busy road a few streets over carrying through the still night. From the continuing noise coming from the alleyway, it’s easy to deduce that people must be down there. Likely the guy who always seems to be hanging out in the darkness. I think he’s a druggie of some sort. He’s the one guy we’ve run into whom Fisher hasn’t even attempted to convert.

From the sounds of it, I’d guess the dude is fighting with someone—maybe another junkie who tried to move in on his turf. I’m about to turn back to Fisher and tell him to call the cops when I hear a familiar voice.

It’s strained, as if the word is causing him physical pain. But, even over the din of the city sounds, I’d be able to identify that voice anywhere.

“Help!”

Quinn.

I’m across the room, flinging open the door, before I even register what I’m doing. I’m already halfway down the stairs when Fisher’s voice comes shouting after me.

“Where are you going?”

“Call the police!” I shout back, taking the steps two at a time, adrenaline and fear the only things keeping me from tumbling face-first to the bottom.

Somehow, I make it out to the street, my feet carrying me straight around the corner to a sight that stops my heart.

Quinn is lying on his stomach on the alley floor, straining to push himself up on shaky arms, as another man kicks him over and over in the gut. With each strike, Quinn drops back down to his chest, a pained moan escaping his lips. But he doesn’t give up, continuing to prop himself back up between each blow.

I dash down the alley, jumping up and wrapping my forearms around the man’s throat as I pull him away from Quinn. The two of us stumble backward, crashing into the side of the brick building. All the air rushes out of my lungs as the man’s big body pins me in place, but I don’t let up my hold. I squeeze the asshole’s throat with every ounce of strength I have, hoping the lack of oxygen will cause him to collapse until the police can get here.

The man stumbles forward before throwing both me and himself back against the wall, and my entire body lights up in pain. I falter for just a second as I try to catch my breath, but it’s all the opportunity he needs. Grabbing hold of my arms, he throws himself forward, flinging my body over his shoulder and down on the ground at his feet.

Rick’s sadistic face smiles down at me. “Look who it is. Thought you didn’t know Quinn? Isn’t that what you tried to tell me yesterday? Then, you come flying in here like the fucking Boy Wonder. Too bad for you, Robin was always sort of a pussy.”

Rick pulls back his leg, and I brace myself for the kick, knowing it’s going to hurt like hell. But, if it keeps him off Quinn for a minute, then I’ll gladly take it for him. I just hope Fisher followed my instruction and called the cops.

As if summoned by my thoughts, Fisher appears at the end of the alley. “Stop. The police are on their way. You’d leave now if you knew what was good for you.”

Rick’s face whips around to where Fisher stands, the two teen boys on either side of him. He glances back down at me and Quinn, Quinn finally lying in defeat where he left him. I push myself up and get to my knees, letting him know I won’t let him continue to hurt Quinn without a fight.

Seeing he’s outnumbered, even if it is by a couple of missionaries and a few teenagers, he nods. Needing to make one final statement, he spits on Quinn’s back before walking away. I lunge for him when he does it, seeing red at the complete act of disrespect. But a soft grasp closes around my ankle, stopping me in my tracks.

I don’t turn to watch Rick leave the alley. And I don’t hold back even though I know Fisher is watching. I collapse onto my knees, my hands instinctively moving to cradle Quinn’s head. I push his hair off his swollen face, and he gives me a lopsided smile. Or tries to at least. It comes out more of a grimace.

“Are you hurt?” I ask stupidly.

Of course, he’s hurt. His face looks like it’s made of hamburger, and judging from the tender way he moves, he probably has at least one or two cracked ribs from those kicks.

“I’m fine,” he assures me, lifting his hand to place it over mine.

I bend over, pressing my lips to his forehead, the only part of his face that doesn’t seem to be covered in cuts and bruises.

“We need to get you to the hospital,” I say, the faint sound of sirens finally appearing in the background.

Quinn groans. “No. No hospitals,” he mutters with a slight shake of his head. “I’m fine. I just need to get upstairs and rest.”

Fisher clears his throat from somewhere behind me. I throw him a brief glance, and the look on his face tells me we’re going to have a very lengthy conversation when this is all over. But he can wait. I’m not going anywhere until Quinn is okay.

After a few minutes, the ambulance shows up, a police car following right behind. The EMTs examine Quinn, stitching a cut on his chin and telling him to take it easy for a few days. The bruising on his torso isn’t as bad as I expected it to be. They said he was lucky—only a few hairline cracks, but nothing that should have any trouble healing on its own. I’m sure his side will be nice and colorful tomorrow, however.

An officer, whose badge reads Officer Goodman, takes statements from me and Elder Fisher while the EMTs finish examining Quinn. I tell him what I heard from upstairs and then what I found when I reached the alley. I give him a detailed description of Rick, describing the altercation outside Halcyon and then again outside the sandwich shop yesterday. Fisher’s mouth drops open wider, the more I talk. But I can’t focus on him right now. Despite the repercussions this conversation is going to have for me later, I need to be honest. I need to tell the police exactly what happened, so they have enough to lock Rick up.

The EMTs clear Quinn shortly after I finish telling the police everything I know, and the officer goes over to take his statement.

Fisher uses the opportunity to pull me off to the side. “I’m sorry Quinn was hurt.”

His words surprise me. I was expecting him to tell me off, to let me know just how much he disapproved of everything I just told Officer Goodman. I nod, unexpected tears springing to my eyes at the sincerity of his voice.

If I had been five minutes later, Quinn could’ve been hurt so much worse. I don’t want to even think about what might’ve happened had Fisher and I not called it an early night and come home to prepare for tomorrow’s meetings.

Would anybody have tried to intervene? Or would those two dumb-ass teenagers have stood there and watched Rick beat Quinn until he killed him?

I look over at the two boys, who, in reality, are only a year or two younger than myself. But, looking at them and then looking at Quinn, I realize how much I’ve changed in the past two months.

I came out here a frightened child, afraid of being away from home for the first time in my life. Yet, over the course of only a couple of weeks, I’ve matured. I’ve found someone who makes me happy, who makes me feel valued for being exactly who I was meant to be. And, more importantly, I’ve found myself.

I look at those two boys, the ones who were so entertained by the prospect of watching a fight that they didn’t even care that someone who meant the world to me was the one being hurt. It wasn’t too long ago I stood idly by and watched someone being hurt. Maybe not physically, but I watched plenty of people being cast aside by their families and friends just because they were different. Because their beliefs might not match the majority. It might have bothered me, especially in those last few months after the church’s proclamation regarding the children of gay parents. But I didn’t do anything about it. I stayed silent, preferring to remain safely in the background, not once standing up for what I knew was right.

Never again, I silently vow.

“Thank you, Elder Fisher. It means a lot to hear you say that,” I finally mutter in response.

He nods, his eyes turning sad. “You know that I can’t keep quiet about this though. You know what I’ve got to do.”

I nod, knowing exactly what he means. And, really, it’s something I should’ve done myself, weeks ago. As soon as I realized I was falling for Quinn, I should’ve marched into that office and told Elder Shaw exactly what was happening. But I was too big of a coward.

“I’ll wait until morning,” he continues. “I don’t want to wake Elder Shaw if he and his wife are already in bed.”

He turns to walk away, pausing after only a few steps. “You should stay with him tonight. I really am sorry he was hurt, and I hope he’s okay. But I’d prefer if you didn’t come back to our apartment. At least not until someone else is there with us.”

Ah, there’s the Fisher I know and love to hate. A few brief seconds of compassion eclipsed by the fact that he can’t stand the thought of being alone with me now. Now that he knows I’m gay, he can’t be in the same room with me. As if I’d ever come on to him.

Don’t flatter yourself, Fishy, Jafar bellows in my head.

Once all the emergency personnel are gone, I help Quinn inside the building, letting him lean on me as we stagger to the precarious elevator. Now that the adrenaline and anxiety have worn off, I realize just how much my back hurts from being slammed up against the wall. I refuse to let Quinn know, however. If he knows I’m in pain at all, he’ll insist on trying to walk himself. And, even though he escaped any serious injury, I know he’s still pretty banged up. He’s getting my help whether he likes it or not.

When we reach his apartment, I help him over to the bed and gently lay him down. It strikes me how different this situation is from all the other times we’ve lain on this bed. Instead of moans of pleasure and whimpers of bliss, there are grunts of pain and sighs of frustration as Quinn tries to make himself comfortable among the pillows.

“You’d better get going,” he says after he’s finally situated. “Fisher is going to have all sorts of questions, I’m sure.”

I shake my head. “I’m not going anywhere. It’s over. Fisher knows everything. He’s going to the mission president tomorrow.”

Quinn stiffens, trying to sit forward and reach for me, but the pain in his side prevents him from getting far.

“Shh,” I whisper as I help him back down to his previous position. “It’s okay.”

“But what does that mean? Are you leaving?” he asks, his voice in a panic.

I shrug. “I guess we’ll just have to wait and see what tomorrow brings. For now, let’s just enjoy the night we have. Well, as much as we can.”

Quinn’s eyes flash to mine—something veiled behind them that, if I didn’t know better, I would say looked a lot like desire.

“In that case, if you’re not going anywhere tonight, how would you feel about helping me take a shower?”