Chapter 22
Chapter twenty-two
Ezrah
The end of my shift is nearing, so I head to the bar to look for Sebastian. But when I get there, only Conrad is behind the counter.
"Hey, where's Sebastian?" I ask.
Conrad frowns. "He left."
"What do you mean he left?"
"He wasn't feeling well. Ethan told him to go home."
I pull out my phone and call him immediately. Why didn't he come to me? What's wrong with him?
I start to worry even more when the phone goes straight to voicemail. I'm about to storm out and drive to his place when I realize that I don't even know where my boy lives.
Ethan.
Ethan must know.
I knock on his office door and enter when I hear his voice, "Come in."
"I need you to tell me where Sebastian lives."
"Hello to you, too. You know I can't do that."
"Please. Just tell me where he lives. Conrad said he wasn't feeling well, his phone's off, and I was stupid enough not to learn where he lives. We've only stayed in my place so far."
Ethan lifts a brow in question, but I don't have time for this.
I'm worried about Sebastian. A gut feeling tells me there's something wrong.
"Fine," he sighs. "I'll tell you where he lives, but if he's pissed off, you'll have to protect my head."
"Thank you."
He texts me the address. It's fifteen minutes away. I set the GPS and drive as fast as I can without breaking the law.
My hands grip the steering wheel as all kinds of scenarios run through my head. Did he suddenly get sick? Did he have a cold? But he looked fine earlier. Did I do something or say something I shouldn't have when we were with his father?
Fuck. I'm sick with worry.
It's not like Sebastian to leave without telling me. Especially since we had plans to go over to my place after our shift again.
When I reach his apartment complex, I hurry to the elevator. He lives on the top floor, and luckily, the security didn't stop me.
His apartment is the only one on this floor, and part of me wonders how he's able to afford it, but the thought is pushed to the back of my mind. I ring the doorbell and wait, but there's no response.
Hitting the door with a fist, I scream his name, "Sebastian. It's me. Open the door."
No answer.
What if he's too sick to get up and open the door?
My eyes drop to the keypad. Fuck it. First, I tried his birthday, but it's not that. I have probably two more attempts. I rack my brain for what Sebastian could possibly use as a code.
The thought of my birthday crosses my mind, and I almost dismiss it, but decide to give it a shot.
The lock clicks.
Fuck, little one. I can't believe you're using my birthday.
I tear inside, calling his name, "Sebastian?"
The living room is empty. His bedroom too. For a second, I think maybe he went to the emergency room until I hear a faint noise from the bathroom. My stomach drops, and adrenaline floods me.
With a few strides, I reach the door and twist the handle.
"Sebastian!" I scream his name as my heart stops.
The sight knocks the air out of me.
I lunge forward, grab him from the tub, and drag him up. He gasps and chokes, water streaming down his face. I hook an arm under his waist and another under his legs, hauling him out. My knees buckle, and I collapse to the floor with him locked against my chest.
"Sebastian," my voice cracks.
I scan his body frantically, bile rising in my throat as I see his once white shirt now painted in his blood. That's when I spot the cut on his thigh. For a minute, I'm just frozen in horror. What would have happened if I hadn't come on time?
I shiver and tighten my hands around him.
Now's not the time to lose my mind.
"I'm fine, Daddy," he rasps.
His eyes are startlingly clear.
I shake my head. No, my boy's not fine. How could he be fine?
"Where's your first aid kit?"
"Under the sink."
I don't want to let him go, too afraid he'll disappear if I do. So I stand with him still in my hands, uncaring that it's harder this way.
I quickly go to the sink and crouch.
"I'll take it, Daddy."
Sebastian opens the drawers, but I grab the kit myself, holding him with one arm as if he might vanish if I let go.
I hurry to his bedroom and lay him on the bed as gently as I can. He's shivering, soaked through, and pale. My stomach twists as I take in the cut again. It's not gushing, but it's still open and bleeding.
Do I need to take him to a hospital?
"I really am fine," he murmurs.
I narrow my eyes. "I decide whether you're fine. And obviously you're not. Now lie there and let me take care of you."
I clean the wound, disinfect it, and then bandage it. My hands are steady, even though inside I'm unravelling.
Once I'm sure he won't bleed out, I grab a towel, wet it, and return to him.
I undress him carefully, clean every inch of his body, then dry it.
I grab some clean clothes and dress him.
When I slide his trousers up, I catch sight of old scars along his thighs.
My teeth grind as rage floods me. Not at him, never at him.
But at the thought of him hurting so deeply, alone, without me there to protect him.
Sebastian is mine.
Fucking mine.
And I'll be damned if I ever again let him hurt himself like this.
The sudden, overwhelming overprotectiveness nearly crushes me.
"Daddy?" he asks hesitantly, biting his lower lip.
"It's okay, boy. I've got you."
I strip down to my boxers, toss my wet clothes aside, and climb under the blankets. I pull him into my arms and lock him there. My body is taut as wire, but even if I tried, I can't relax.
From all the scenarios my mind ran through tonight, finding him bleeding out in a bathtub with blood clouding the water and his head slipping under was never one of them.
Just like that, in one moment, I could have lost him.
I squeeze my eyes shut, but the sight of him in that bathroom still flashes before my eyes.
I wish I knew what to say, how to soothe him, how to help. But it's like my mouth is full of lead and I can't speak.
Never in my life had I been as scared as I am right now.
I just hope holding him in my arms is enough for now. I hope it gives him some comfort and makes it clear I'm never letting him go.
In this moment, I vow: no matter what, no matter how dark it gets, I will never let go of Sebastian.
He's mine.
From now on till our last breath, he's mine.