Page 37 of Preacher Man

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Hell, a piece of his presence.

I didn’t think.I just moved.

Up the narrow metal steps.Across the narrow landing.Hand on the doorknob.

I tried it.

Locked.

Of course it was.

Just like he’d locked me out, too.

Something hot and sharp bloomed behind my eyes.My throat tightened, and my jaw clenched.

Before I knew what I was doing, I reared back and slammed my shoulder into the door.

It gave instantly.

Cheap wood.Bad frame.No real resistance.

The door popped open with a groan, swinging inward like it didn’t even want to hold on to its secrets anymore.

I stepped inside, wiping at my eyes with the back of my hand.

It was still.Silent.

And empty.

Ethan had taken everything.

Not that there’d been much to begin with.

The trailer had always been too small, too gross.We’d barely spent time here together.A few stolen kisses by the door.A lingering goodbye once or twice.Nothing more.

But now?

It was hollow.

Like me.

I sauntered to the back, to the little room with the twin mattress shoved against the wall.The blanket was gone.The nightstand was bare.

I almost turned to leave, but then I saw it.Something white, crumpled on the floor next to the bed.

I bent down, heart hammering, and picked it up.

A T-shirt.Slightly dirty.Thin and worn, with a stretched-out collar.

I brought it to my nose and inhaled.

Ethan.

I swear to God, it smelled like him.

Clean soap.Warm skin.A hint of aftershave.

Like Sunday mornings and sin.

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