Finding Us (Christian Interracial Romance)

Out Of the Closet

2,445 Miles Away - 160 E 48th St, New York, NY

Jeremy

The doorbell rings just as my mind settles into serenity from reading a book about hope, peace, and purpose. I set the book on the coffee table and reach for the tip I prepared, walking toward the door. I open it to see a tall, slender man with russet skin holding a bag of food. "Here you go, sir."

"Thanks, man." I give him a friendly grin as he hands me the food from the red DoorDash bag. Just as he's about to leave, I stop him. "I've got a tip for you." He turns back, and I hand him a folded bill. His eyes widen, and his jaw drops when he sees the hundred dollars.

"Wow, one hundred dollars! Thank you!" He embraces me with one arm, and I hug him back before he pulls away. "You really made my day! God bless you."

"You're welcome. Have a great day!" I reply, feeling elated. I close the door and sit down at the table, unpacking my takeout box of chicken fried rice and a gallon of mango tea. Mei Lai Wah's food is fantastic, and their chicken fried rice is my favorite. As I enjoy my meal, I decide to scroll through Instagram, but my phone rings, interrupting my peaceful moment. I see the caller ID and sigh before answering. "Dennis, I already told you I'm not doing the part."

"Come on, Jeremy! You're the guy Damien and I want for Joel Rifkin." Damien wants to cast me as a real-life serial killer sentenced to 203 years for murdering nine women, with the possibility of eight more victims between 1989 and 1993. I've played dark, sinister characters throughout my career on the TV show Murder Diaries for the past eight years until I left last year. Damien O'Bryan, the creator, producer, writer, and director of the series, met me during my second year at USC. I had just won the role of a college student during the 1966 Texas Tower shooting, and the first season received critical acclaim. Since then, I've played antagonists in seasons three, five, and seven, with the eighth being my last.

"You and Damien thought I would be perfect to play a serial killer who took the lives of nine innocent women?" I question.

"I-I didn't mean to bring Damien into this, but yes," Dennis confesses.

"Damn it, Dennis! I don't want the families still affected by this tragedy to relive it. Find someone else for the part because I'm done playing dark characters. I want to play bright and goofy roles, maybe a romantic comedy. Until you find a role that doesn't involve killing people, good luck finding your Joel Rifkin." I hang up and grab the remote to watch The Office on Comedy Central. While I had a great run on Murder Diaries, I'm tired of being typecast.

The sound of keys jingling and the knob twisting catches my attention as the door opens. My girlfriend of three years, Hannah Tripper, walks in. Like me, she's also on "Murder Diaries," starting in season two. We remained best friends and played a couple in seasons two and four, but we didn't start dating until after season six wrapped up. Today, she sports a new look with vibrant cayenne hair stopping at her collarbone, complementing her brown S-shaped eyebrows, sand beige complexion, hazel eyes, turned-up nose, and rosy pink down-turned lips coated with lip gloss. She's wearing a white button-up blouse, denim shorts, and brown ankle boots.

"Hey, gorgeous! How was your day?"

"Jeremy, we need to talk."

Oh, crap. This isn't good. Hannah only calls me by my first name when something's wrong. By the expression on her face, it's serious.

"What's going on?" I ask.

"Jeremy, for the past year, I've been sleeping with one of your friends." She lets the cat out of the bag easily. Hannah cheated on me with one of my friends?

"Which one did you cheat on me with, Hannah?" I try to stay calm, but rage seethes through my veins.

"Yoo-hoo, ready or not; here I come, Hannah!"

Hell no. Not her. I recognize that damn voice anywhere. A large stone of distress sinks to my stomach. My worst nightmare is confirmed when Cindy seductively struts into the living room wearing a bikini made of hard candy—the kind with a string through the holes. The moment Cindy brushes her fingers down Hannah's arm, rage flows through me like lava, my eyes blazing with fire.

"Honey, I've been waiting for you in the closet for four hours!" Cindy complains.

"Babe!" Hannah shushes her, shaking her head frantically. When Cindy turns to see me, her face pales. Their true colors are already showing.

"Babe," I scoff, standing from the couch. "You're leaving me for not just one of my friends, but my acting coach?! Is that it?" She can't be serious. Cindy, in her early to mid-thirties, has wavy dirty blonde hair stopping above her shoulders, alabaster skin with beauty marks, bold dark brown eyebrows, clear bluish-gray eyes, a narrow nose, and stands at five foot eight with a slim build.

"Jeremy, these three years with you were incredible, and I'll never forget the moments we shared. But I know who I want in my life, and I want to be with her. I want to be with Cindy." Hannah approaches me, arms outstretched. If she tries to hug me, I'm backing away. I don't want her unsympathetic touch. Before she can reach me, I shake my head and take a few steps back.

"Jeremy, I know this is a shock to you. I've always had a thing for women."

"Then why waste your time with me? How long have you two been hooking up?" I ask.

"Since your birthday night," Cindy and Hannah answer simultaneously. Their response punches me in the gut. Seven months. "Jeremy, we're sorry."

"Don't tell me you're sorry because you're not," I grimace. "You can save your sorry in the fridge and eat it later. You and your girlfriend can have a good life together at her place tonight because I'll be gone tomorrow. Enjoy your perfect happily ever after." I lower my head and head to my room, shutting and locking the door behind me. I pull out my phone and tap on the call icon of a friend.

The first two rings and some shuffling sounds pass before a voice responds. My words come out, sealing the deal. "Meet me at LAX; I'm coming back home tomorrow."