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.

“I might not be a religious person, Fisher, but I know God would never wish something so cruel on one of his devoted children. And, despite what you might think, Jaden is as devoted as they come. He loves his church and his God, sacrificing his own wants and needs to put the church first for years.

“What he and I have is real. The bond that exists between us could never be described as anything less than beautiful to anyone who witnessed it. Anyone with two eyes can see that man is nothing but pure goodness through and through. And I feel very sorry for you for being so blind.”

I turned and walked off, leaving Fisher staring after me with his mouth gaping. I’m sure he has dozens of rebuttals worked out by now, reasons everything I said was wrong and why everything he thinks is right. Guys like him will never see reason, and I have neither the desire nor the energy to try to change that. All I want is to find Jaden.

I’ve been going through the motions for the last week, my cell phone always within reach in case he calls. I’ve even taken to carrying his with me, thinking maybe that would be the only number he remembered. But, so far, I’ve received nothing but disappointment.

Deciding to do something other than sit here and feel sorry for myself, I head downstairs and out to the alley that started all this. I keep my eyes averted, refusing to look over at the spot that ruined my life. I’ve decided not to press charges against Rick. The police picked him up the day after he attacked me, but I was too heartbroken over Jaden leaving to care. Besides, Rick has a shit-ton of money and the best lawyers said money can buy. He’d get off with a minimal fine—if that —and then he’d make my life even more of a living hell.

I lift the top of the dumpster, the foul stench hitting me full in the face, making my eyes water. Reaching in, I grab a few of the empty boxes and shake them, trying to dispel any lingering filth that might have affixed itself to the outside.

When I find three that don’t seem to be too disgusting, I haul them back upstairs and start unceremoniously dumping my shit into them. The rent is already four days past due, and I know it’s only a matter of time until I’m evicted. Might as well get a head start.

I’m taping the first box closed, a marker clenched between my teeth, when there’s a knock at the door. My heart lurches for a moment, hope that Jaden has returned flooding through me. But, when I open it, it’s only Judy K. And I realize how stupid I was for getting my hopes up. He hasn’t contacted me in a week. He’s not just going to randomly show up on my doorstep.

No matter how many times I wish for it.

Judy walks past me and into my apartment without waiting for an invitation. “What are you doing over here? You’re sure making a hell of a lot of noise.”

She stops when she sees the boxes, giving me a quizzical look. I shrug, pulling the marker out of my teeth, and start writing my home address back in Georgia.

“Going somewhere?” she asks with annoyance when I don’t speak.

“Home.”

Her hand darts out and grabs the marker before I can finish writing, causing a large black squiggle to drag across what I already printed.

“Judy! What the fuck?”

She smacks me on the back of the head. “You’re a dumb-ass; that’s what the fuck. And watch your language. I’m your goddamn elder.”

I would laugh at that under any other circumstances, but as it is, I’m not finding much humor these days.

“What do you mean, you’re going home?” she demands, her hands coming to rest on her hips.

“Exactly what I said. I can’t pay the rent because I can’t get a job. I’m being evicted. It’s over, Judy. I’m going home.”

She smacks me again. I curse, rubbing the tender spot on the back of my head. It’s been a week since Rick’s attack, so most of my bruises are starting to fade, but that doesn’t mean I’m up for being smacked around by an eighty-year-old former Hollywood starlet.

“Do that again, and I’ll pick your scrawny ass up and kick it the hell out of here.”

“Ha, I’d like to see you try,” she retorts, her tone defiant.

My shoulders slump, knowing she’s right. I’d never do that regardless of how much she’s currently pissing me off. But I’m also not in the mood for this. Not today, of all days.

“Judy, can you please just go? I’ve got a lot to do here to get ready to leave. Including calling my dad and begging for a plane ticket home. That’s not exactly a conversation I’m looking forward to. So, if you wouldn’t mind…” I trail off, gesturing toward the door.

Instead, she pulls out one of the battered kitchen chairs and takes a seat. I let out a loud sigh. Why can’t things ever just go my way?

“Fine, stay. But don’t expect me to be much in the way of company.”

She silently watches me for a moment as I throw the rest of my meager belongings in boxes. It only adds to my sour mood, seeing how little I’ve accumulated in the three years I’ve been out here. I moved out here with two boxes of shit. I’m leaving with three.

“How will he find you?” Judy finally says, breaking me out of my thoughts.

“Who?” I ask without thinking.

“You know who,” she says with a knowing look. “If you’re not here, how will he find you? I’m going to assume you never gave him your Georgia address.”

I shake my head. “No. But you don’t have to worry about that. He’s not coming back.”

She dismissively waves a hand. “Don’t be silly. He’ll be back.”

“I’ve ruined his life, Judy. You don’t understand. He probably can’t stand the thought of me right now. Now that he’s home, he’ll fall right back in line with his family and his church’s expectations. I doubt I’ll ever hear from him again.”

I turn to the open box in front of me, fidgeting with the crap inside so that I don’t have to look at her and have her see the tears that are threatening to spill over. When her soft, wrinkled hand closes on my arm, I know she sees right through me.

“Oh, Quinn. I know you can’t believe that. You two are perfect for each other. You know that. He knows that. Hell, I’m pretty sure the dumb-ass who lives out behind the building knows that. It might have been young, but your love was something special. The sparks that flew between you two…well, it’s the type of thing Hollywood is always trying to re-create but rarely gets right. That kind of emotion can’t be faked. Give him time to adjust and come to terms with it. He’ll be back. I promise.”

“It’s been a week, Judy. I don’t think he’s coming,” I tell her, my voice warbled with grief.

She shakes her head at me. “A week. A blink of an eye in the grand scheme of things. Let me tell you something, as someone who’s been around the block a few times. Good things are worth waiting for. But, if you don’t want to wait anymore, go to him. The only thing standing in the way of you and your happiness is yourself.”

“I don’t know how to find him,” I say meekly. “He didn’t leave an address or a note. Nothing.”

Judy rolls her eyes. “Have you never heard of Google?”

I laugh softly, rubbing my nose with the back of my hand. Judy reaches out and wipes away the few tears that managed to escape my eyes.

“I’ve paid your rent for you this month, Quinn. You don’t have to go anywhere. And I know some people. It’s nothing special, but a friend of mine needs a night-shift bartender. The job is yours if you want it.”

I start to protest, knowing there’s no way I can accept her charity, but she cuts me off, “Don’t even start. I have more money than I know what to do with. I can help a friend if I want to. Besides, you’ve been dealt nothing but shit cards these past few weeks. It’s about time your luck turns.”