Epilogue
ASHER
SIX MONTHS LATER
T he storm that brought Silas’s memory to life had destroyed what remained of him, flooding several rooms in the east wing, including the one behind the locked door. The room had never been Silas’s, but a place they’d met to have the rough sex Lev hadn’t wanted.
Lev had tried to paint his pain as punishment, and lock it away with the notebooks Silas had filled with loneliness, but pain didn’t listen to locks, and penance without forgiveness was just purgatory.
Unfortunately, they hadn’t discovered the mess until after their trip to Berlin where Lev had undergone a series of tests and treatments at a world-renowned hospital.
They were still waiting on genetic testing results for hereditary Early-onset Alzheimer’s and several extremely rare conditions, but everything looked reassuring so far.
Stewing in six weeks of damp had destroyed Lev’s paintings of Silas, and the leak in the ceiling had turned the trunk into a vat of disintegrating paper.
They’d tried to salvage Silas’s notebooks, but it was like trying to catch the wind.
Lev had lost it, searching the water for any shred of Silas to cling to, until Asher had dumped bucket after bucket of water out of the window and Lev accepted that Silas’s words were gone.
While Asher held him, Lev had cried the cathartic tears he hadn’t when the ocean swallowed the paper boat, because no matter how much Silas had haunted him, Lev had still lost the man he’d loved for three decades.
Luckily, Lev hadn’t lost all of Silas’s words. Wendell had compiled a thick anthology of Silas’s short stories and shelved it beside his own books in Lichenmoor’s library.
Inside the book, Wendell had left a handwritten message above his signature.
If you miss me when I’m gone,
find me in the library.
If you ever feel alone,
shelve your book beside my own.
If you forget what I sound like,
listen to the voice I write with.
If you feel like an imposter,
look at the book in your hands.
If you wish you'd had more time with me,
spend time inside my head.
If you ever doubt my love for you,
open any of my books and read the dedication:
For Silas, with love
For all Silas’s faults, he’d deserved to be loved. Hurt people hurt people. Silas’s tragic history put his actions in perspective, and Asher no longer demonized him .
Lev had insisted on burning the art he’d created to punish himself, even the painting in Lucian’s studio. While the paintings burned, Asher had encouraged Lev to relinquish what he could of his guilt, but forgiving himself would probably take years more of therapy.
Disposing of the life-size statue of Silas had been a more difficult task, but with Hector’s help, and his tractor, the statue now resided on the ocean floor off the cliffs of Lichenmoor.
The tide did not return him.
Asher’s road to forgiveness was still ongoing. He’d rejoined his virtual support group, and been surprised by how many of the men had remembered him. There were new faces too, and he found comfort and kinship in their shared struggle and growth.
With the help of a therapist specializing in men’s sexual assault and abuse in the kink community, Asher had rearranged the jumbled puzzle pieces of his experience into a clearer image.
Whether he’d said no to Ben or not, he never could have consented freely when Ben had groomed and blackmailed him.
Ben had died in May. Regardless of the pain he’d caused, Asher had still grieved him, though not as extensively as Lev had grieved Silas.
Enduring Ben’s abuse didn’t have a silver lining.
It wasn’t some character-building exercise, and it sure as fuck wasn’t God’s plan as Nonna had suggested when he’d left Watson.
But Asher didn’t blame himself anymore. He knew his own strength.
Ben hadn’t broken him, and Lev hadn’t fixed him, because he’d never needed to be fixed to begin with.
But that was the past. It wasn’t now, and it wasn’t them.
He and Lev had collaborated on a series of paintings on grief, guilt, and forgiveness. The art they’d made was honest, and beautiful, and hurt in all the right ways.
Free from Lucian’s expectations and punishments, Lev had stepped into his own renaissance age, creating masterpiece after masterpiece that differed so starkly from Lucian’s style, no one would ever compare them again.
Asher’s solo exhibition of The Seven Sins and the Bolton Strid had achieved higher critical acclaim than their own joint exhibition, but Asher already had the only approval he needed—his own.
SEPTEMBER 17
Lev sifted through the mail they’d picked up from the post office as they walked up the front steps.
“It’s here.” Lev stopped mid-stride and passed him a nondescript white envelope that looked more likely to contain an electricity bill than a life-altering revelation.
Asher’s stomach dropped with dread. The envelope weighed nothing but might as well have been packed with lead.
Lev’s face blanched before Asher’s eyes. “Let’s read it inside.”
“Okay.” Asher took Lev’s hand and led him up the steps.
The front door screeched open as they entered, more unnerving than usual.
“Do you want to sit down?” Asher asked.
Lev shook his head. “I need to know straight away, but… Might you read it to me? I don’t know if I can.”
Asher’s heart ached. “Of course, Lev.”
“Thank you.”
Asher slipped his finger inside, and tore it open. “Whatever it says, remember we live in the now, okay?”
Lev nodded solemnly .
Asher’s heart somersaulted inside his chest as he pulled out the letter and unfolded it, promising himself he’d be strong for Lev, no matter what it said.
“ Leviathan Marks, ” Asher read aloud. “The results of your whole genome sequence were negative. Please see the attached pages for the full report, and consult your practitioner for explanation and follow-up. Wishing you continued good health, Calista Falk, Genetic Counselor... ”
“It’s negative?” Lev asked in an even voice.
“Yes. The results of your whole genome sequence were negative ,” Asher read a second time, and held the pages out. “Look for yourself.”
Lev donned a pair of reading glasses that made him even sexier, lips moving as he silently read the first page and the lab results. A smile teased the corner of his lips. “It’s negative.”
“It is.” Asher burst into tears, the months of dread escaping him so quickly he almost felt dizzy.
“Baby, don’t cry.”
Asher sniffed. “I’m sorry. It’s just… We get our happy ending.”
“We do.” Lev grinned and pulled Asher into a hug.
Asher looped his arms around Lev’s neck and kissed him, pouring endless depths of devotion and gratitude and everlasting love into Lev’s soul.
Salty tears erased any memory of the sorrow they’d shed, painting over the pain and turning it into relief.
Lev hummed against Asher’s lips and deepened the kiss, gripping Asher’s ass and lifting him off his feet. With a needy whimper, Asher tightened his hold on the back of Lev’s neck and wrapped his legs around Lev’s waist.
“I love you,” Asher said, breathless, tears still falling, when they parted.
“I love you, too.” Lev eased Asher back down onto his feet and wiped Asher’s tears with his thumbs. “You’re still crying, hm? ”
“Yes, sir.” Asher nodded and bit into his bottom lip.
Lev’s eyes darkened. “You’re such a good lad, crying for me because you love me so much. What’s your color, Blakely?”
“Green,” Asher said on a long exhale, and licked his bottom lip. They could both use some decompression.
Lev caressed Asher’s cheek. “Kneel for me.”
The command injected heat into Asher’s veins as he lowered to his knees right there on the wood floor, sat back on his heels, pressed his palms against his thighs, and looked up the length of Lev’s decadent body.
“Mm. Look how obedient you are, how sweetly you listen. You’re so pretty down there on your knees for me.”
Surrendering to Lev was a far more honest and vulnerable submission than when Asher was with Ben, because Lev was stronger than him, and because he trusted Lev to take care of him, and because he wasn’t submitting out of fear or desire for acceptance.
He submitted because it soothed him, and pleasing Lev pleased him too.
“Unknot my bootlaces, Blakely.”
Asher rushed to comply, bending his head.
A belt jingled above him. Asher froze, muscle memory tensing his body as he braced for the sound of a strap whipping through the air.
Battling his PTSD would always be a challenge, but it was easier to stop the cycle because he’d reclaimed his strength and trusted himself.
Fingers carded through Asher’s hair, stroking his scalp soothingly. “Look at me, baby.”
Asher did.
“Keep your eyes on me always.” Taking Asher’s chin in hand, Lev stepped out of his boots and kicked them aside. “Unbutton my trousers.”
“Yes, sir.” It took Asher a second to find the button with jittery hands and eyes on Lev, but he managed.
“My zipper next.”
Asher looked down .
“Eyes on me,” Lev reminded sweetly. “I know you’ll be careful. You have a vested interest, after all.”
Asher rolled his eyes, but suppressed the urge to debate Lev’s vote of confidence. He wanted to be good for Lev. He wanted to serve him, so he slipped one hand inside Lev’s pants to guard his cock and slowly dragged the zipper down.
Lev stroked Asher’s chin with his thumb. “Thank you, baby.”
Asher’s cheeks flushed at his praise.
“Now, pull me out.”
Lev wasn’t fully erect yet, but Asher would get him there.
“Such a good pet.” Lev stroked Asher’s scalp with nimble fingers as his cock bobbed higher. “Hold your hands in your lap and get me ready with only your mouth.”
Precum wept from Asher’s cock and seeped into his boxer briefs as he leaned forward and nuzzled his cheek into the ginger hair at the base of Lev’s cock.
Humming, Asher ran his lips up and down Lev’s length, and licked him broadly with his tongue, teasing his glans out from his foreskin, lapping each fresh drop of precum while Lev rained praise down on him.